Heavy fog descended upon the north bank at approximately the hour of first honk on Sunday morning, reducing preening visibility to what the Warden of the Sluice described, with uncharacteristic precision, as “roughly half a wing.” The advisory, issued through the usual channels, recommended that all waterfowl postpone non-essential floating until conditions improve, and that those who persisted in floating should do so in a straight line and at a pace slower than they believed strictly necessary.
The Warden’s full statement, obtained by this paper and reproduced here with the Warden’s reluctant permission, read as follows:
“The pond is currently obscured. We do not know by how much, as the instrument responsible for telling us by how much is itself obscured. In the absence of better information, the advisory is: stay where you are. If you must move, move slowly. If you cannot move slowly, reconsider moving. The reeds will be thereabouts when the fog lifts.”
Readings taken in the preceding hours by the Warden’s deputy — before the deputy, too, became difficult to locate — place the humidity at nine drakes shortly after dawn, rising to eleven drakes by mid-morning, at which point the gauge and the deputy both drifted out of sight and have not been heard from since. Our correspondent has been asked to note that the deputy is not, at this stage, considered missing, merely difficult.
Scattered honking was heard throughout the morning, though readers are cautioned against drawing strong conclusions from this alone. Honking in fog is widely known to carry further than in fair weather, and to mean, on average, rather less than it seems to mean. A drake attempting to locate his immediate family was observed circling a sunken log three times before determining, by means unclear even to him, that he was no nearer to anywhere than he had been an hour prior. He was last seen paddling, with purpose, toward what he believed to be the bank.
A cluster of goslings questioned by this paper reported that they could see, in order: each other, a reed, and nothing beyond. One gosling, pressed on the matter, offered the view that the world had perhaps ended in the night and that only the party immediately around it had been spared. The correspondent elected not to contest the point. A second gosling, consulted separately, expressed cautious agreement. The others were unavailable, having preened.
The Clerk of the Reed-Bed Subcommittee, reached by honk late in the morning, observed that the present fog compares — unfavourably — with the celebrated fog of three autumns ago, in which the entire east channel became misplaced for the better part of a week and had to be located by process of elimination. The Clerk added that no comparable loss of channel has yet been reported, though the Clerk conceded that, in the present conditions, the channel could reasonably have been lost for some hours without anyone noticing. A search party, consisting of one volunteer, is understood to have been dispatched and subsequently lost.
Official advice to readers planning a Sunday afternoon paddle is as follows: don’t. Official advice to readers who have already embarked upon one: return, by whatever route presents itself. The Clerk has also requested that any unauthorised ducks who have taken advantage of the conditions to quietly relocate from one part of the pond to another kindly relocate back, noting — with admirable optimism — that the Subcommittee intends to audit positions once visibility returns.
The forecast calls for the fog to lift in the afternoon (ish). A revised bulletin will be issued when anything can be seen.
Visibility permitting.