`Arizona Mist' Brings Cool Relief -- Man-Made Fog Over Phoenix Has Become A Desert Fixture

PHOENIX, Ariz. - The place was uncomfortably hot, like a Georgia O'Keefe landscape hospitable only to sand and sun-bleached cattle skulls.

Even the weatherman seemed compelled to lie about the situation, improbably summing up his forecast of sunny sky and a high of 106 degrees as "just another perfect day."

These beastly climatic conditions inevitably give way to a deep appreciation, perhaps even reverence, for the fake fog over Phoenix.

The fog is the creation of the man-made wonder called the outdoor misting system, something that has become almost as common as cacti.

Essentially the devices are a close cousin of the lawn sprinkler. Their mission is to spritz cooling mist over hot people. And mist they do - from their perches above the patios of every restaurant and bar in town. As a result, each establishment makes its own cumulonimbus.

The bevy of white halos of mist cropping up over the city at regular intervals conveys the sensation of a city trying to gain dominion over one last, unconquered frontier. Man may have broken the sound barrier, set foot on the moon, harnessed nuclear power; but he has not yet endeavored to do what Phoenix boldly attempts: to humidify the desert.

The very term "Arizona Mist" is a trademark, business and state of mind.

"The concept of misting has been around for about 50 years. But only recently has the principle been used for outdoor cooling," explains information from the company, based in Tempe, Ariz., that manufactures ready-to-assemble misting kits. "The outdoor cooling industry, as it is often referred to, is in its infancy. The potential for growth is unlimited."

The company sells kits to be used, as it suggests, around patios and gazebos, RV awnings and poolside umbrellas, back yards and dog runs. Some kits are portable, so you could mist your lawn chair wherever you take it. Prices range from $3,000 for a custom misting system requiring professional installation and a water-pressure booster pump to $25 for a six-nozzle kit.

Delightful as they are on a hot Phoenix day, the mister is rather ho-hum when reduced to its essential elements. It consists of tubing, stainless-steel nozzles and grips that connect the two and clips that connect it all to some other object.

But a dry recitation of the elements of such devices belies their significance on the desert landscape. Without them, summertime Phoenix would be devoid of any evidence that people ever go outside during the day. Everyone would beat a retreat to air-conditioned homes, offices or cars, waiting for sunset.

What air-conditioning did indoors, misting is trying to do outside. The mist isn't supposed to cool people by soaking them. The nozzles are supposed to spray out a "micro-fine mist," 1/10th the diameter of a human hair, and the evaporation of the mist is supposed to cool you.

Arizona Mist explains it this way: "As the droplets are expelled into the air, many are changed from a liquid state to gas, the same principle that gives air its humidity, and in the process removes heat calories."

It is true that these devices would probably not be much to crow in some cities. But it's another matter here in a city that brags about dry heat, the kind that desert dwellers contend makes 100 degrees feel like a mild 75.

Skeptics who have visited Phoenix know better, and the omnipresence of retirees in the mist only underscores any reservations on the mild qualities of desert heat. If the place actually did feel 75 when the thermometer hit 100, no one would have thought up the mister, which appears to be gratefully received by everyone except women preoccupied with the potential effects of a runny, dysfunctional nozzle upon their hairdos.

Misters have encountered other controversial moments. The city of Tucson for instance, once considered banning them for fear that they were water wasters. But the misters prevailed, arguing that their devices used 10 hours a week would require 50 gallons of water, about the amount needed to wash one load of clothes. The company mounted a spirited resistance to the proposed ban, insisting, "You'll sweat more water than you'll use with an Arizona Mist system."