We all go through our mackerel sky days.
“Mackerel in the sky, three days dry.”
Ah, the mackerel sky. How well I remember them above the
ocean as an almost young man out to catch a fish or two in a boat with
foil-strung lines. I used to think them a portent of something special. I
didn’t know what - good weather, a storm, maybe a cosmic event. Generally it
meant nothing, as these things seldom do, and generally I came back without any
fish, though once I caught a bucketful. I'd love to see a mackerel sky so rainbow-coloured
as the king mackerel fish that flapped in my bucket that day.
“Mare's tails and mackerel scales, make tall ships
carry low sails.”
Mackerel skies are named for the patterned skin of the skin
of the fish. I caught this one above my sky watching field in Wales , the one
I stand in sometimes watching the sun go down. On windy evenings I stand close
to the hedge with the sheep, sheltering from the wind and watching the vast sky
above - brilliant red sunsets, pink fluffy clouds, the deep yellow of an
approaching snowstorm and mackerel skies.
A mackerel, or buttermilk sky is a sky freckled
with altocumulus clouds. It’s pretty rare and an indicator of moisture and
instability at the mid levels of the atmosphere. Rainshowers or thunderstorms often
follow; but whilst it is there it’s a beautiful sight – especially at sunset.
“Mackerel sky, mackerel sky, never long wet and never long
dry.”
Mackerel skies never stay long nor the rain that can follow - but often doesn’t. It’s a patchy period of uncertainty, something to get
through - taking in the beauty, the good, living with the sadness of the grey
and the rain if it comes. Don’t worry, the instability will firm up. It won’t
last, it’s pretty rare.
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