I like winter, in the abstract. In theory. I like that Maryland has a cold season to kill the bugs. I like to snuggle down and cuddle up and shift gears to a slower pace and make big pots of soup and enjoy indoor pursuits. In theory. I like the sense that the casual visitors, the summer crowds are gone, and the sense of camaraderie that is shared by those hardy few of us that live aboard during the rugged season.
But now, not in theory but in practice ... the wind has been blowing out of the north for days, pushing the water out of the Bay. We're a couple of feet below normal and from the settee I look UP at the bottom of our finger pier. To get out of the boat I climb onto the helm seat, then twist around, and boost myself to sit on the (chilly!) dock, then try with gloved fingers to re-zip the enclosure that shelters our cockpit. Down below, we have multiple space heaters running (after we carefully calculate how much our 30-amp shore power cord can handle before blowing a breaker) and the water's cold seeps up through the bilge and floor boards. The marina is quiet, but also a bit lonely.
December is the darkest month and maybe that's why I so love the holiday lights reflected in the water.
My friend Dave has observed, correctly I think, that day to day living aboard dockside is really not that different than living on land. In winter I think that's particularly true. Knowing we're not going to go out sailing again for months makes me less inspired (obviously) to keep all the surfaces clear and things stowed so we can get away quickly, a spontaneous decision to go out for a day sail.
No comments:
Post a Comment