Like the Mists of Brigadoon

The fog rolled thick thru the city canals. 

“Can na see a thing in dis pea soup” squinted Old Hob as he rowed.

“We are almost there.” said Cadmus and he took a draw from his pipe.

The rowing continued in the white mist.

“We can na be in Iron Bay any mo.” grumbled Hob.

“No, Not Iron Bay.” The Captain muttered, peering hard for the place.

“Here it is.” nodded Cadmus with a grin.

The canal spit in odd angles and a piece of land jutted out of the water.

“I can almost see it. Like Brigadoon.” said Cadmus

“I dinna see a thing.” groused Hob.

“Not now but you will.”