One wonders if the author's friendship with "Essex Lad" would not be taken differently today. A great article on using clouds to predict weather.Iit was in the Moon of Many Fish that Essex Lad and I closed in the storm-shutters of Wilderness House, adjusted our packs, took up our rods, and followed the first ray of spring sunlight into the forest. The day before, we had sent Prunier, our guide, across the Sentinels to our cabin on Evergreen Lake, where he would have much wood cut and the floor swept out (unless he got to thinking) by the time that E. L. and I should have fished down the wide, wandering Evergreen Brook and around to him.
We set out in light fishing formation—that is, without tent and with but one blanket apiece, a very little food, and an ax as reliable in the handle as a woodsman is at heart.
"I suppose you won't mind being rained on," I said to the Lad, knowing that he would n't. Essex Lad is five feet eight now, and as lusty for adventure as Mr. Hudson of Hudson's Bay ever was. Also he has developed that fine lalance the woods life gives—a tough hide and a tender heart; and I have seen him as quietly cheerful after a day's soaking as a robin in a snow-squall who has just got to sing for the joy of "better coming."
"Rained on! Why, Lucky, it can't rain for days. Look at that sky!"
It was deeply clear and a more beautiful blue than ten Pacific Oceans. But still I had noticed a white arrow of cloud which had shot half-way up from the western horizon, drawing fine threads of silken feathers after, and I knew a change was due.
"I '11 wager we are poured on before we reach the lake to-morrow night."
"How do you know?"
"By the sign-posts on the wind's highway," and I pointed to the white arrow. "Read that."
"There 's just one word written there," he said smiling, "and that is Clear."
"That wisp of cloud says one thousand miles to rain," I affirmed; "and as a spring storm is able to do a thousand miles in twenty-four hours, I '11 give you this holiday free (E. L. is reading "Caesar" with me) if we get to Prunier with a dry stitch on our backs."
"That 's a go," he said; "and I '11 chop a cord of birch if it rains." And he laughed again, looking into the vast sun space, so beautiful in its wind-washed freshness of mid-May.
We came out then upon the brook, brawling between pools, and instantly we were fishermen, with no thought for anything but the first cast of the season. We had trout for lunch, which we cooked in a tree-surrounded spot, with the sun pouring cloudlessly upon us.
"Nothing to read," said E. L. pointing aloft. "You 're out of luck for once, Lucky, with your storm. I 'm enjoying my vacation."
I made no reply at once, as I was paying attention to a new leader (which is best limbered in the mouth), but later said: "He crows safest who crows last, my dear student. A day like this is called a weather-breeder because the atmosphere is poised between two tides. The air is a vast ocean a hundred miles deep and thrown into great waves. These waves travel across our country from west to east. When one is over us, the currents are running strong from the upper levels where all is dry and cold. Then the wave passes and the trough which is warmer and moister is upon us. The trough has whirlpools in it sometimes as broad as our land, and the nearer the center of the whirl gets to us the cloudier it gets the warmer it grows, and the stronger blows the wind. From the center of the whirl the air is revolving upward into the colder regions, where it condenses, is caught by the perpetual current of wind that flows from west to east at a hundred miles an hour, and blown ahead of the slower storm. That is why, E. L., when I see white arrows of ice-crystals that have been shot up from the cradle of the storm, I know that in about twenty-four hours, if all goes right, the storm will be upon us."
"If all goes right," he repeated ponderingly; "but who can tell?"
"The clouds, which are the ever-changing, ever-sensitive sign-posts on the storm road."
"Are they sure signs, Lucky? For if they are, I want to know them."
"They rarely deceive, but one has to be as sensitive as they, for the storm course changes, and many a thing happens behind the veil which we cannot see and so blame it on the cloud. There are only four main sorts: cirrus, stratus, cumulus, and nimbus. Roughly these four stand for successive stage of the storm's advance. Cirrus says Coming, Stratus says Sure, Cumulus Quickly, and Nimbus Now."
"Cirrus Coming, Stratus Sure, Cumulus Quickly, Nimbus Now," he repeated.
"In winter we rarely have cumulus, which is oftenest caused by a quick uprush of hot air—the thunderhead cloud; and in summer, many a day will half fill the sky with white squadrons of cumulus when there is no likelihood of storm. Indeed, they are called fair-weather clouds, as well as thunderheads: but you can tell by the breadth and blackness of the base whether it will rain from them or not. It all depends on your eyes, Lad. You are learning the use of your eyes daily."
"I sure was blinking blind when I came to Wildyrie," he said solemnly. "Are n't you sorry for the people who have nothing around them to look at?"
"The same clouds float over the city," I said sternly, thinking of the myriad eyes who had no desire to see and so saw nothing.
"But it 's hard to see them through three layers of window-curtain and the cracks in the elevated."
Just then a long sigh of the wind sounded in the great pine nearby. "Hullo, so soon!" I cried, noticing that the breath came out of the east, and I made up my mind to tell E. L. of the winds that evening. He was busy over his tackle and had not heard my exclamation, and soon we were tossing up to see who should have the first try at the green-gray pool below the falls.
"We won't need a tent to-night, anyway," said E. L., when I had caught up to him; "your storm must be two thousand miles away by now. Look at it!"
Indeed it was a lovely evening, and the strands of cirrus that had been swimming across the zenith all day had been absorbed. But certain signs told me that I need not fear for the outcome of my prophecy: it was overwarm for the usual May evening; the little breeze blew fitfully from the south-east; and while the sky was clear, the sun was setting in a level sea of lurid color.
"There is sign-post number two," I pointed.
"Sky red at night is the sailor's delight; But red in the morning, the sailor's warning." quoted Essex Lad, who was cleaning his catch.
"There are as many kinds of red as there are ways of missing trout," I said, explaining that this fiery disturbed hue was a danger signal and quelling any sarcasm on his part by reminding him of an incident of the afternoon when his hat was floating down the brook, his line was hung in an alder bush, the fish that had been on it had returned to the fresh water, and he had involuntarily followed.
"Oh, well," he said gamely, "it was a small one."
"The trout may not mind being tied up in a tree after it begins raining." I said, laughing.
"I just can't wait for that rain," he said: "for it certainly looks like a drought now, and I 'd hate the fishin' to dry up."
Supper was made of the same materials as lunch; but this time the fish were broiled instead of fried, and the cornmeal was fried instead of boiled, and we stewed the prunes instead of eating them raw. We spread the rubber blanket on a thick layer of balsam boughs at the fringe of a wide-reaching old white pine; and while little whispers from the wind-talk above reached us lying there, I began to question E. L. on the little I had told him already.
"There are four kinds," he said; "the silky cirrus, which is the warning-cloud; the stratus, which is a fine, whitish veil or haze that thickens as the center nears; the scale-like mackerel sky, which is part cumulus and part cirrus or stratus, depending on the height; and finally, the cumulus, meaning heap-cloud."
"You left out one."
"I don't see why you need count the nimbus. Nobody needs to be warned when it is already raining."
"But when you see that smooth blue curtain trailing behind a cumulus, you know that it is going to rain soon. Then there are variations of it, like the 'scud' at sea, that mean immediate wind and rain. All these are signs, and the wind is the sign-poster. Each wind hangs out a different sign, E. L., and you '11 know them all some time if you live at Wildyrie long enough."
"Is a lifetime long enough?" he asked softly.
"Those who live at Wildyrie live many lives in one, Lad, as you know; and you remember how the Talking Trees let you into theirs? Well, when I have spent a spring night like to-night beneath the Soothsayer Tree on the Peak of the Eight Winds, I have often heard messages from far away."
"Tell me some, Lucky."
"The sleep-giving balsam is in my nostrils. Lad."
"The Peak of the Eight Winds? Which arc they?" he asked drowsily, himself.
And between yawns and listenings to the breeze-whispers above, I told him the chief characteristic of the eight winds that blow on the little isolated peak and loiter in the great Soothsayer Tree at its base; how the northeast is the chief keeper of the snow; how the east brings moisture from the sea; how the southeast hurries the ragged nimbus clouds from the warm Gulf Current inland; how the south is the spring wind on which the first bluebirds ride over the ranges; while the southwest divides the cumulus clouds and is the wind of summer; and the west brings us our mountain showers; the northwest flows from the upper sky and always means clearing; and lastly, the north is the keeper of the cold. Each of these winds brings picture-tales of sea and southern swamp, of prairie and northern plain; but Essex Lad was in No Man's Land before I had got well started, and, indeed, in a moment I caught myself rising on my elbow and staring strangely at the new-risen sun. It was morning.
E. L. blinked as I stirred, and began to laugh. "Where 's your rain? Of all the little liars, those flimsy cirri are the worst. I 'm plumb scared of forest fires it 's going to be so dry."
"Until about three this afternoon," I said. He looked at me to see if I was serious. "I 'm real worried about your going blind, E. L. Perhaps you don't notice it 's about twice as hot as it ought to be at sunrise. Perhaps one ought n't to expect a blind man to see that fine, muslin-like gray-white that 's creeping so evenly over the blue. It 's called cirro-stratus, because it's a very high stratus. And those little regular puffs are cirro-cumulus."
"The sun is getting dimmer," he admitted; "but there 's not much danger of being struck by lightning yet."
But I held my peace, for I was sure now of my storm. In winter the process is more completely visible. Then the stratus thickens momently, until the sun, that once had strength to make a ring of color about it, grows weaker and goes out in a gray gloom, after which it is only a question of a few hours until the first snow falls. But in late spring the air is warmer and the first stage is less noticeable; the final comes quicker. In midsummer all the preparation is cut short, and in an hour the first big thunder-drops announce the middle of the cycle.
At noon the sun was a ghost, and by three of the afternoon I caught Essex Lad looking slyly, but none the less anxiously, at the sky. The stratus had become a gray cloud pavement, and in the west a line of sullen blue had formed above the tree-tops. We were still an hour away from Prunier and shelter.
"Is n't it rather early in the year for a thunder-storm?" he asked, winding in his line.
"What are you going to do?"
"Save myself cutting a cord of birch. We have all the fish we can eat in three days, anyhow. We 're not more than an hour from the shack, are we?"
"No, but the rain is n't ten minutes off."
He stepped out and looked up quizzically. The flagstone-colored stratus was being ridden over by the advancing cavalry of cumulus. A growl of thunder, like the roll of many hooves, came to us: and behind the line of tumbled blue, an even gray of rain-dust obscured the neighboring mountain. Suddenly a ring of water widened dancingly over the waiting pool where the first drop had ended its long journey.
"Well!" exclaimed the boy, with a short laugh, "I guess I'm a—wood-chopper!"
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