I live on the coast in southern Maine where ocean waters still warm from summer have a big impact the weather. As New England boaters know too well, the Maine coast is notorious for fog in late August and in September. When cooler fall air meets warm water, you’ve got fog.

There are some terrific literary quotes about fog. Here are a few:

Writing is like driving at night in the fog. You can only see as far as your headlights, but you can make a whole trip that way. (EL Doctorow)

The fog comes on little cat feet. It sits looking over the harbor and city on silent haunches, and then moves on. (Carl Sandburg)

Exploratory research is really like working in a fog. You don’t know where you’re going. You’re just groping. Then people learn about it afterward and think how straightforward it was.(Francis Crick)

The coldest summer I ever saw was the summer I spent in San Francisco. (Mark Twain)

Fog engulfs Mara in Demon Spirit, Devil Sea as it did in Cold Blood, Hot Sea. Chapter One of Demon Spirit begins with Mara desperately trying to keep her run-away, rudderless kayak from sweeping her into the cold, deep Pacific Ocean off the Haida Gwaii archipelago. As if fighting the riptide were not enough, fog overtakes her:

Back at the Maine Oceanographic Institute, I’d studied Haida Gwaii’s currents. Longer than wide, Augustine Island protected Kinuk’s inner bay from the Pacific’s ravages. The outer bay was a very different story. A paddler dumb enough to venture out there’d be trapped in current that raced past the island’s tip.

If dumb paddler me zipped past Augustine, the jig would be up. The big ocean’s crashing waves twice the length of my boat, icy water, sharks—I’d be at the mercy of all of it.

What suddenly lay ahead erased all thoughts of currents and sharks. I squinted, squeezed my eyes shut, popped them open. The Maine kayaker’s nightmare.

Fog.

The clammy murk smothered me in an instant. Splashing waves, sky, light. Vanished. Replaced by a wet, woolly gray. My heart beat fast against layers of fleece, paddling jacket, and life vest. Breathing fast and hard, I swiveled and squinted in every direction. The vapor was so dense there was no telling where miasma ended and sea began. Waves booming against rocks said the island was tantalizingly close, but dead blind in fog, I couldn’t see a thing.

The scientist in me kicked in. Water and air warmed by July’s sun met frigid open-ocean. That meant fog. But for once, science couldn’t help me at all.

The kayak raced on through the gloom. Too soon, the booms were muted. I’d just slipped past my refuge. My fate was certain—I would drift out onto vast ocean in a seventeen by two foot boat.

Besides fog, in Demon Spirit Mara deals—among other things—with vanishing visions, hot pools that inexplicably drain, the Haida people’s claim that Raven’s spirit watches over them, a bear attack, and a (genuine) dispute between the U.N. and the Haida Nation. The book will be published in spring/early summer in time for summer reading.

The third week in June, as we’ve done for the last 20-odd years, my kayak buddies and I rented the same next-door houses on the water in Stonington, Maine. At the end of a long peninsula, Stonington is a seakayaker’s mecca. A dozen or so islands not far from shore offer us refuge from the open ocean and delightful spots for picnics and hikes. We can see the hills of Acadia National Park from the house and water.

This year, a sudden squall scared the heck out of a couple of us, including me. I wrote about what happened on my Facebook Page. Essentially, it was terrifying and truly took all my skill to not flip over. If I had, my pals couldn’t have reached me because they were fighting the same conditions. We made it to shore, but a few hours later we learned that two kayakers were not so lucky and died as a result of the decision not to wear wetsuits. There’s a scene in COLD BLOOD, HOT SEA in which readers learn how and why paddlers practice rescues. What happened to those kayakers is why.

Since the event, I’ve been asked for details on how to safely kayak in marine waters. I’ll use Mara as an example of Kayaking 101.

Mara’s kayak, like her buddies’, is specifically designed for rough ocean waters – very long and narrow (hers is 17′ long and cockpit narrower than most – just big enough to squeeze into). In high winds she might drop her skeg a bit into the water so the boat doesn’t turn into the wind. Other boats have rudders, some nothing. Basically these boats are designed to go straight and fast (river kayaks turn quickly). Mara’s kayak is light – less than 50 lbs – so she can lift it easily.

Mara always wears a wetsuit when she paddles off the Maine coast, even in midsummer, and of course her PFD (life jacket). She would never go out without her sprayskirt, which wraps around the cockpit and keeps waves from swamping the boat. If the water is really cold, as in early spring, she wears a drysuit. It’s a total pain to put on but keeps her dry if she rolls the kayak.

As I show in the book, Mara and her pals practice self and buddy rescues. Using a paddle float, she can get back into her kayak in about a minute if she flips the boat and can’t roll back up (although it’s never happened to her).
Mara has years of experience dealing with super tall waves, breaking waves, wind events, currents, and motor-boaters who can’t see kayakers (so low in the water) or don’t look for them. She loves to surf waves with her kayak even though that’s a tricky maneuver.

Finally, Mara carries these on her trips: weather radio, compass mounted on the deck, chart, extra paddle, emergency kit, emergency food, extra water, extra clothes in dry bag in the hatch, cell phone, bilge pump, tow rope, and whistle attached to her PFD. No wonder it takes her so long to get ready for a trip!

The event was another sobering reminder of how everything can change in an instant. As Mark Twain said, “Life is short, break the rules … Never regret anything that makes you smile.”

I’ve returned to Maine! Half the year I live in the Midwest with my husband, John Briggs (he’s Director of the Konza Prairie Preserve, a Nature Conservancy site). From April-November I’m in Maine and we travel back and forth.

I’m drinking up Maine. How I missed the slosh of waves on rocks and air perfumed with the odor of salt and seaweed! And – of course – sea kayaking. First warmish day, I’ll roll my 17 foot kayak down the driveway and launch it in the saltmarsh across the street. Huge grin on my face, I’ll paddle into the wind, play on the waves, and absolutely love it. I do have to be careful to get back before low tide, though, or I’ll be stuck in the mud!

Now that I’m back, I’ll visit bookstores to set up readings plus chats about climate-fiction (“cli-fi”) and environmental impacts of warming on Maine’s coast. I’d love to do some with environmental organizations. Those will take place over the summer and I’ll post information on this website. I do have readings already schedule with several book groups, but those are private events.

Several friends have asked about cli-fi since they’ve never heard the term. My friend and colleague, Dan Bloom, coined the term a while back. In a nutshell, this is fiction in which climate change is a major theme (or the theme). Most cli-fi takes place in the future and is dystopian, scary, and depressing. Of course, that approach serves a purpose.

My books are very different. They are contemporary stories in which readers get an idea what climate scientists actually do and the harassment they have to deal with. But it’s not gloomy by any means. It’s funny (like when Mara….oh, can’t let the cat out of the bag), fast paced, and immerses readers in the mysterious above and underwater ocean domain. And, of course, they are mystery so readers can try to figure out “who done it” along with Mara

I just came back from one of the ecological wonders of the world – Costa Rica. What a terrific place! They’ve never had an army and a quarter of the country is national park and other protected land. The biodiversity of Costa Rica is astounding, especially considering it’s roughly the size of West Virginia. The diversity of the landscape – extensive Atlantic and Pacific coasts with volcanic mountains and farmland between – is partly responsible. Also, of course, this is a tropical country with benign weather year around.

Tourists flock to Costa Rica. Two long coasts with gorgeous beaches, volcanoes you can drive up to in national parks, ziplines, river rafting. That’s me in front of the raft, by the way.

The Caribbean coast most impressed me. I spend several days in Tortuguero, a national park only accessible by water and air. It’s the closest I’ve been to a jungle and is replete with animals like caimans (they look like small crocodiles), brown pelicans, magnificent frigate birds, dozens of herons (little blue, tiger, cattle, green, tricolored), green macaw. The list goes on. Tortuguero is most famous for nesting turtles. For instance, the beaches swarm with leatherbacks on January nights.

Given the timing of my visit, I didn’t see turtles. I did see the beach, though, and was stunned that the distance from the upland down to the ocean distance was so short. That means this critical habitat is extremely vulnerable to rising sea level caused by climate change.

I’m always on the lookout for ideas for future books and have been thinking about setting one in Tortugero. Mara, Ted and Harvey would study impacts of warming on the turtle beach. What a setting for a mystery – caimans, the jungle, and howling monkeys and more!