Cruising cold

I dreamed of high latitude cruising, inspired by stories like Dave & Jaja Martin’s book about wintering over with their family in Iceland and Norway, and tales of Cape Horn by classic and modern cruisers. In soft focus imaginings of our future afloat, Jamie saw palm trees… I saw glaciers. Tropical latitudes are a fine place to start.

This past month, my romantic ideal of cold-weather cruising had a rude awakening. We anticipated the chilly weather as much as we could, choosing to pay the big bucks at Capital Yacht Club so we could plug into shore power and run a space heater down below. The cost of mooring isn’t in our budget, but off-season rates at CYC eased the decision. No regrets: they made us feel like family, access to the city made it easy to get the most from our stay, and we really wanted to be reasonably warm.

There were a couple of fun little idiosyncrasies from our snug berth in the Washington Channel: like “knocking fish,” which actually made us a little concerned at first. It sounded like someone was tapping, LOUDLY, on the outside of the hull. We genuinely suspected divers at first and went looking in the water around Totem. No divers: just active fish eating bottom growth, later christened the Zombie Catfish for their relentless effort. Them there was the daily parade of military helicopters running just over mast height along the no-fly-zone waters around us, between various bases and the White House.

November rolled at a steady beat. Friends cracked the opportunity for us to visit the White House, garnering a private evening tour at the West Wing and EEOB (our efforts through conventional channels failed). UNFORGETTABLE. No cameras allowed, but a few permissible spots to snap pics with a phone.

My three-decades-and-counting friend Suzi flew out from Louisville to visit. It’s a testament to what kind of friend she is that she didn’t flinch at the suggestion that maybe she should bring a warm sleeping bag for her bunkbed. DC cooperated with a stretch of beautiful weather, but we made a pact to meet somewhere warm next time.

It hasn’t even been that cold. Just a lot colder than we’ve been in a long time. Many nights in the 30s; a few lower, a bunch warmer. We ran the space heater. There was more baking and roasting (our oven is basically a heater: the ONLY time I’m glad the Force 10 isn’t insulated). My parents sent the kids fleecy blankets.

Back in October, when we met up with Andy & Mia from 59 North in Annapolis, they talked about how they love high latitude cruising. The colder it got, the more I remembered they don’t have a heater or insulation on their boat, Isbjörn. It doesn’t stop them. Swedes have a saying, related Andy, that “there’s no bad weather, only bad clothing.” He’s got a point (they’re also booking berths for a Leeward Islands trip in April…keeping it balanced!). So we bundled ourselves: I knitted a hat. We layered up. SOCKS were worn. Well, sometimes. There were a couple of keyed gates between Totem and street level, but I still couldn’t get the kids to wear shoes when they did the ten minute shuttle to let in visitors… chilly weather or not.

But DC often gave us spectacular days of bluebird skies and warm sun, too.

CYC’s easy access to the dozens of museums and monuments along the National Mall, only a ten-minute walk away, was a gift. A leisurely stay meant we could see places at a slower pace, and enjoy them without feeling like we had to cram everything in.

We expected to be southbound sooner but fronts brought weather that would create nasty conditions in the Potomac, so it wasn’t hard to decide to wait. Meanwhile, friends who are former (and future) cruisers invited us to spend Thanksgiving with them in Charlottesville, so when it was well and truly cold (nights in the 20s) we had a home warmed with friendship, kittens, and lots of blankets.

Our stay between DC and Annapolis added up to two months. Two months. Goodbyes are never easy. And here, some were a little harder than usual. Friends I’ve had for years through the interwebs extended to awesome in-person-reality. I try to keep perspective, knowing we’ll almost certainly meet again, but it’s started up an ache that had was laid to rest for a while. (Cindy nails this feeling perfectly with her article in Spinsheet this month, free to read online.)

I slipped and slid my way down the frosty dock to return our key cards before we slipped the lines on Monday morning. Mallards floating alongside, heads snuggled in their wings, cracked an eye at me as if to say: shouldn’t you should be tucked in somewhere warm? Yes. Soon enough.

On our way south from DC, it’s a motorboat ride to the bottom of the Chesapeake.

Wool I bought in St Helena earlier this year is now a beanie (cable knitting level, achieved!).

We’re looking a little bogan, with our no-longer-clear “clears” on the dodger held on with duct tape. That’s a job for another venue.

We have a pace, now. Niall takes the SATs this weekend in Norfolk. He’s scheduled to take the ACTs the following weekend in Charleston. So in a hop and a skip (and weather permitting), we’ll be a significant distance south. Cross your fingers for us that the conditions are favorable for a mellow passage around the Cape Hatteras ahead. In fact, make it calm enough please for Jamie to be able to keep reading Alexander Hamilton… with our without the fleece one piece.