We’ve all faced days when everything feels hazy — on the fireground, in leadership, and in life. The safe path forward is there, but you can’t quite see it. Maybe the calls are coming faster than decisions can be made. Maybe policy, politics, or pressure blur the line between what’s right and what’s easy. That’s when you listen for your internal foghorn — the voice that tells you to stop, reassess, and navigate with intention instead of instinct.
We’ve all used expressions like “mind fog” and “the fog of war.” Fog, of course, stands for chaos and uncertainty. And like any good mariner or firefighter, when that foghorn blows, you’d better pay attention.
Surfing Blind
As a young man, I went surfing with a few friends in our favorite spot in Encinitas, California. We loaded up our boards and headed for the shore, thrilled to be chasing waves despite a heavy fog. We could barely see two cars ahead on the road, and when we reached the beach, the ocean itself was invisible. Only the sound of crashing surf hinted at its presence.
We paddled out anyway. There was no plan, no buddy system. Just the unspoken rule: “Every man for himself.” The fog was so thick, we could hardly see each other, and the waves were big, the current strong. We surfed by instinct, not sight.
After an hour, tired and disoriented, I decided to head back in. It wasn’t until I spotted a familiar landmark that I realized I’d drifted nearly a mile to the south. Alone, exhausted, and far from where I’d started, I was hit by the gravity of our recklessness.
We had been surfing blind. That day taught me more than any wipeout ever could. The fog wasn’t just a weather condition, but a metaphor for every moment we charge forward without clarity, without caution, without connection.
The ocean doesn’t care about your ego — and neither does a fire. In both cases, overconfidence can get you in serious trouble.
“Courage isn’t the absence of confusion; it’s the ability to move through it with purpose.”
Foggy Lessons
I learned so many life lessons from that foolhardy day of surfing. Many of them have stuck with me well into my firefighting years — including my time in leadership roles. Here are just a few of the most important ones.
Poor visibility means we can’t see hazards or each other. In any high-risk environment, whether ocean or fireground, sightlines save lives.
No accountability means no one is watching out for anyone else. In crisis situations, isolation is dangerous. Teamwork isn’t optional; it’s survival.
Strong currents pull us far from our starting point. Without anchors, physical or moral, we drift, often without realizing it.
Cold water and fatigue compound the risk. Exhaustion dulls judgment, and in nature’s grip, that can be fatal.
As winter rolls in, bringing literal fog and figurative uncertainty, these lessons become more than metaphor — they’re strategies for survival. Whether navigating a structure fire, a political storm, or a leadership challenge, visibility and connection matter most.
Let’s teach our personnel, our communities, and ourselves to respect the fog. Let’s teach them not to fear it, but to prepare for it. Because sometimes, the most dangerous thing isn’t the wave, but not knowing where you are.
Baptism by Smoke, Not Fog
Not long after that carefree surfing safari, I found myself swept into a very different kind of wave — one made not of water, but of flame and fury. As a young firefighter, I was dispatched with my crew to a brush fire in Malibu, California. The Santa Ana winds were blowing and multiple fires were tearing through the region. It was an immediate response: no strike team leader, no additional engines assigned with us, just raw urgency.
Visibility on the freeway was nearly nonexistent — not due to fog, but to dust and debris whipped across the asphalt, turning daylight into a blur of shadows. It felt as if a veil had descended. Smoke wasn’t just a substance; it was a separator, a curtain between the world I knew and the one I was about to enter.
Upon arrival, we were assigned to structure protection in a neighborhood already under siege. Though the sun was up, the scene felt like midnight. Smoke blew sideways, thick as concrete, and ash danced with the wind like ghostly confetti. Homes, trees, and even the sky seemed to be burning.
It was like stepping into a scene from “Apocalypse Now.” (And after all, who doesn’t love the smell of napalm in the morning?) Aircraft roared overhead — heard but not seen — fixed-wing tankers and helicopters cloaked in vapor. Sirens wailed. Engines rumbled. Citizens fled. The chaos was total.
That morning in Malibu wasn’t just about fighting fire; it was about fighting fear. It taught me that courage isn’t the absence of confusion; it’s the ability to move through it with purpose.
Looking back, I realized that morning marked a crossing. The veil didn’t just obscure, it transformed. What lay behind it was youth, simplicity, and the illusion of control. What lay ahead was grit, humility, and a deeper understanding of what it means to serve.
Today’s fire service is more coordinated, better equipped, and far safer. But that morning in Malibu? It was a trial by fire, a baptism in smoke, and it left an impression on me I’ll never forget.
Navigating Uncertainty in Combat and Beyond
In the chaos of battle, clarity is a luxury. The “fog of war” is a term coined by 19th-century strategist Carl von Clausewitz to describe the confusion and unpredictability of combat. He wrote that “three quarters of the factors on which action in war is based are wrapped in a fog of greater or lesser uncertainty.” Commanders, von Clausewitz said, must often act with incomplete or misleading information about enemy movements, terrain, or even their own forces.
This fog isn’t just literal, it’s psychological and strategic. It can lead to hesitation, miscommunication, and costly errors. Despite modern surveillance and intelligence tools, uncertainty remains a constant adversary.
The fireground shares that same truth. Even with thermal imaging, GPS mapping, and radio command channels, uncertainty can always creep in. Visibility fades, communication breaks down, and leaders must act in spite of the many unknowns.
Understanding the fog of war reminds us that leadership often requires action in the face of ambiguity. Whether in combat or community service, clarity must be earned and resilience forged in the haze of the unknown.
The Fog of Policy Failure
In the public sector, policies are meant to illuminate the path forward, especially in high-stakes environments. But when those policies are outdated or missing altogether, a dense fog descends. This doesn’t just cloud judgment — it breeds uncertainty and, at worst, can cost lives.
Without clear, current policies, chaos replaces coordination. Like firefighters navigating a smoke-filled corridor without a map, personnel are left to improvise in the dark. Confusion spreads, divisions grow, and departments fracture into silos.
Policy fog is real, and it’s dangerous. Neglected policies don’t just slow progress, they actively obscure it. The fog they create can lead to compliance failures, liability, and public mistrust. Outdated protocols can cause safety lapses or ethical missteps that damage morale and reputation alike.
I know of one case where a department operating under a decades-old mutual aid agreement found itself paralyzed during a regional disaster. Without clear expectations, each agency found itself unsure of its role, lost in a bureaucratic haze. The only way to prevent this type of situation is to begin taking steps now. As communities evolve, so must the policies that protect them. Regular reviews, inclusive input, and legal alignment are not just administrative tasks, but rather acts of leadership that cut through the fog.
As leaders, it’s our responsibility to be the navigators. Clear, current policies:
- Illuminate expectations and empower teams to act decisively.
- Reduce the margin for error in high-pressure situations.
- Rebuild unity and trust across departments and with the public.
In short, policy neglect doesn’t just dim the lights, it thickens the fog. And in that fog, even the most dedicated public servants can lose their way.
When the Foghorn Blows
In firefighting, the foghorn isn’t just a warning — it’s a call to awareness. It says, “Slow down, get your bearings, and trust your instruments.” The same is true in leadership. Whether those instruments are your policies, your people, or your principles, they’re what keep you from drifting into danger.
The fog of uncertainty will always be there — in weather, in war, and in leadership. What defines us isn’t how thick the fog gets, but how we get ourselves and our crews safely through. So, when that foghorn blows, don’t ignore it. Stop. Look. Listen. Then move forward with purpose.
Because sometimes, the greatest act of courage isn’t charging ahead, but finding clarity when everyone else is lost in the mist.
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