The fog came as a surprise, even to the locals. Even to Syd. One could usually predict it easily enough, but this fog was odd and unsettling even to those on solid ground. For those still out in small boats, it smothered and confused and had them flashing lights and calling into the soup. Syd’s boat was alongside Carnac Island, and he thought how the first colonial ships had offloaded their human cargo there after hitting a sandbar. He thought about such things a lot of the time. He liked to ruminate on history and facts. He considered that it would be safer sitting close to the island than braving the fog, but he couldn’t persuade his old fishing mates to listen, and they moved further out from the rocks and disappeared into the fog like other craft out there in the Sound. 

He wondered why he listened to his mates, who were novices when it came to boats. But they played bowls together and they were better at that than him, so Syd followed the usual course of things. He told them to keep calling into the murk every ten seconds, then listen. The outboard putted slowly but surely, and they headed south. Syd estimated they’d need to do this for about twenty minutes before swinging in to where the beach should be. He plotted the course in his head: the shape of a set square.