The fog rolls incessantly off the ocean. We gazed off into the grey white nothingness all along the drive the first day. The clear unrelenting tone of fog horns floated though the air. On exposed points, the lonely sound of a bell from an invisible off-shore buoy marker drifted up to the cliff tops. From atop Cadillac Mountain the very peaks of other mountains across the island appeared to float on a sea of clouds. It isn’t the weather I would have chosen but beautiful none the less.