Hello Winter, My Old Friend

Keeping the flame alive in the coldest month

This is Clouds Form Over Land, weekly writing about resilience, imperfectionism, and our relationship to the earth.

We’re tucked in for the season.

After six months in the jungle and two months in remote waters, we are in the city.

Tall buildings appeared on the horizon and boat traffic increased as we neared Cartagena. The Colombian armada military boats zoomed by, the largest we’ve seen since the Canal Zone. An AIS buoy is marked on the charts and bobs in the waves with cheery yellow paint, all the while emitting weather data to advise meteorologists, climate scientists, and ocean-goers — our first sighting of one of these since San Diego. Fisherman went out to sea, followed by tourists a few hours later. A boatful of revelers washed us in a wake of cologne. Old sailing stories speak of smelling the damp earthy smell of land and sighting seabirds, while ours include military mixed with tourists, data-collection, and smokestacks. From a distance, these potential ills of modern society pop out first. The skyline looks cohesive as if white buildings with hard edges were in the brand style guide. The chaos and collaboration of one million humans grew louder as we neared the docks. Honking horns, murals, and so many people walking from place to place.

We felt a bit like wild things stepping off the boat. Let the wild rumpus start!

We walked ten miles on the first day. Every street corner promised a new sight, sound, smell, or sale. I felt drunk on the fruits of others’ labor after a long time of DIY. There is so much choice here! We u-turned for a fourteen-cent glass of the most delicious orange juice, sold out of a small factory that supplies restaurants and groceries. We scoured the English section of the bookstore, bought new shoes and SIM cards, and were surprised by the tiny grey titi monkeys of Parque Centenario.

I tend to skip researching our next destinations aside from entry protocol, preferring instead to be surprised or perhaps simply at capacity with the current location. Sometimes like a monk living in the moment, other times like someone hustling on a treadmill set too quickly. We plan to stay three months in Cartagena, the amount of time necessary for the trade winds to lessen and our Colombian visas to expire. We’ve grown used to having a very short runway for plans, so this feels fresh and luxurious. I can decide to do something weeks from now and probably do it! That may sound odd to folks living on land during one of the busiest times of the year, but it is a delicious and steadying novelty for us on a voyaging sailboat.

Every landfall is an opportunity to discover who we are within new variables. Each place comes with differing access to supplies, Wi-Fi, outdoor activities, social opportunities, etc. Our time is built on whatever we hone in on. The mundane aspects of sustaining a life afloat is one of the big joys in this voyage. I’m partial to these operational missions. The days have been full and happy securing the necessities of power, water, food, health, connection, entertainment, and safe harbor since California. Our basic needs were quickly sorted in Cartagena. We are secure on a dock and the city buzzes nearby with eateries and other services. We can go beyond the basics — perhaps picking up a new routine, project, or other learning.

Maybe my three months in Cartagena are not so unlike your three winter months?

The timing is known, spacious, and brief. The changing of the seasons highlights certain activities and deters others. Our days are growing shorter until the solstice on December 21, marking the beginning of winter.

Who could you be during this time? What’s available here and now?

How do you want to feel on March 20?

Here are some suggestions on crafting a season, from my journal to yours.

1. Write a syllabus. Fill your brain with some new ideas. I want to think about sail handling and boat maintenance, with a side of Colombian culture and climate. My reading list includes Lin and Larry Pardey’s Storm Tactics, Nigel Calder’s Boatowner’s Mechanical and Electrical Manual, Love in the Time of Cholera, and new assignments from

   Jess Schreibstein
   's
   Book Club for the Planet
   .

2. Add pins to the map. There are 14 weekends this winter. During the cold, gray days it can be difficult to muster the get-up-and-go spirit of exploring. Search for some new places to go while the cold weather feels fresh, so they are waiting for you in the doldrums of February.

3. Make a project list. Consider what maintenance is a must before spring and what fresh projects are calling. I plan to take the lead on fixing our bilge pump switch, wiring a 12v fan, and coordinating with an engine mechanic to have our 44-year-old V-Drive rebuilt. These are stretches for me and lighten the load of my co-captain. I can’t get this halibut sweater pattern out of my brain and plan to go to the tienda de hilo (yarn store) soon.

4. Give your closet or space a seasonal refresh. Don’t worry, this isn’t about shopping. Humans are susceptible to additive cognitive bias, a tendency to tack things on rather than remove them. Consider the presentation of your space and self. Find homes for the things that don’t fit, recycle the detritus that accumulated since summer, and craft a small list of gaps to fill. We dropped some items on the marina’s free table, recycled old mail, received offcuts of sticky stained glass paper from our neighbors, and are filling some wardrobe gaps after hard-wearing of our hot weather clothes.

Consider it like packing a bag or decorating a room. You could include new recipes to try, games to play, relationships to prioritize, professional development, and more.

What could this winter be?