Sometimes the fog in La Honda starts in the valleys and weaves its way uphill. One day I was climbing just a few steps ahead of the fog, rising, racing, until finally I got far enough ahead to turn around and take this picture. The fog was blowing upwards from the right hand side of the photo. At the top of the ridge where you see a white, leaning, spindly telephone pole (bottom left corner of the photo), the fog dropped like a waterfall of vapor into the canyon below. It was creepy and wonderful to behold, like being chased by the ghostly breath of God. In another minute, the fog had caught me, blowing cold and wet against my flesh. By the time I walked home, I was soaked, shivering, and felt I had beheld a miracle.
What a stunning photo. I know what you mean. At my house in Vermont, half way up the mountain, I once was outside and watched the fog crawl up the mountain from the village two miles below. It was just breathtaking. Luckily you were able to capture it in your photo.
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