I realize that fog might be an odd thing to love, since most people seem to think of it as a weather inconvenience, a hindrance to an otherwise lovely day. But not me. The first things I do every morning are come downstairs, feed Nika, and look out our west windows to see if the city lights in the distance are visible, and I always hope that they are not. I love photographing in the fog. I have mental bookmarks of places to visit with my camera in the fog. But fog in our locality of the Loess Hills is uncommon, so I rarely have the chance.
There’s just something mystical about fog. It’s secretive, deceptive, mysterious. It mandates myopia, immediacy. It asks questions, yields few answers, and I love that dynamic in photographs. The narrative always starts clearly enough but fades with distance, dissolving into shapes, discolorations, suggestions of form, eventually becoming gray nothingness.
As I explained in my introductory post, South Padre Island was shrouded in fog for much of our visit, so many of the photographs I brought home are of the foggy sort. My first morning on the island, I drove north to see what I could find, but very little was visible beyond the road, so I eventually made my way back south toward the causeway between Port Isabel and South Padre and spent the rest of the morning there with the seagulls, photographing alongside the bridge and the fishermen’s boardwalk. I’ll share several images from that morning over the next few days, starting with this one.