The Marine Forecast

The garage behind this cabin served as my workshop a long time ago. In nice weather, I’d drag the carving bench towards the doors and carve outside. In less-than-nice weather, I’d light the small wood stove. And carve while listening to the marine weather forecast.

Why the marine weather forecast? It was a lingua franca for me. I wasn’t from the Maine coast. But I knew that every workshop I frequented had it on about sixty percent of the time. Every lobsterman and boatyard I worked in piously had it on. I could walk into Lowell’s shop while he was knitting heads for lobster traps. Soon we’d start a conversation about how high the seas were running. I’d ask whether that storm was going to sweep through. Then, we’d grab some coffee, and I’d casually ask to use his jointer or bandsaw. All the while the marine forecast was quietly repeating in the background.

I worked in my little greenhouse/workshop last winter and felt a terrible nostalgia for those days. 

Remember that weather forecasting has evolved. In the past, it relied on sensing the backing and veering of winds before a summertime thunderstorm. You’d wet a thumb to sense the direction of the wind. Or look to see which direction the flag was blowing. There’s an app for that now.

So the forecast was an ongoing soft susurrus of gentle noise in the background—a reassurance of normalcy. Funny—it could be howling a full gale outside, but there it was, murmuring behind the normal noises of the shop.

So there I stood last winter, trying to tune in to the marine forecast and having a devil of a time doing it. Living inland, I get the equivalent meant for flatlanders, not the true marine version. Finally, I found a phone app that allowed me to listen to the real thing.

There it was, scratchy and hard to make out, just as it had been in the 1970s. Of course, it was all psychology. But that entire week, I worked with it in the background while snow flakes fell outside. Ideal.

I had to cut it out after a while. My family complained. They were having trouble understanding my English. I’d gone coastal not only in my carving but also in my English usage and pronunciation.

Maybe in February, I’ll start listening again—just in time to tap the maples for syrup and watch the snow cover the workshop. All I need is the small wood stove to make it homey.

Let’s see:

…TODAY…South West winds 10 to 15 kt, diminishing to 5 to 10 kt late

this morning, then increasing to 10 to 15 kt this afternoon.

Gusts up to 20 kt. Seas 2 to 4 feet… Patchy fog this morning with

visibility 1 to 3 Nautical Miles.

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