Outside of prime boating season, one of my favourite things to do at night is to simply hang out on the boat. I must be different than most because every time I’m down on the docks, I gaze out at the hundreds of closed-up boats and wonder why more people aren’t doing the same. (After all, what’s a little snow?)

As readers may recall, I live in Garden Bay on the Sunshine Coast, but I keep my Catalina 27 sailboat, Nesika, moored at Mosquito Creek Marina, near the magazine’s new North Vancouver office. This gives me both a quiet, forested setting near the ocean on the Sunshine Coast and a boat to hang out on in town—the best of both worlds.

It’s after 21:00 hours most nights when I make my way along the marina’s darkened wood-planked docks. At times, the air is calm and the city lights reflect magically in the mirror-smooth water. Other times, the blustery wind rattles halyards while masts gyrate and the docks undulate from the wakes of passing ships. And, this winter, the docks were thick with frost almost every night (and morning), offering additional adventure and the threat of an unexpected swim if I made a wrong step.

Every evening, after checking the mooring lines and taking a cursory look on deck, I peel back the winter cover and climb aboard. Before heading below, I often stand in the cockpit and gaze around to soak up the nighttime aura of the marina. Amidst the gently rocking boats, the occasional screech of a seagull, splash of an otter or, on windy nights, the rustle and snap of tarps echo throughout the marina. And although Nesika may not be the most beautiful boat in the marina, I’m proud of my little boat as I gaze up at her tall mast, the overturned dinghy lashed on the foredeck and the lines all secured and neatly coiled. Then, after taking a last look around, I slide back the companionway hatch, climb below, crank up the heater and turn on the cabin lights.

The key to making a cold night aboard attractive is no secret—it’s just a matter of having a decent electric or diesel heater. A boat loses a lot of its appeal when one has to scrape ice from the cabin windows. I keep a small ceramic heater, set on low, going full-time. Combined with a 60-watt bulb in the forepeak, my little sailboat remains surprisingly comfortable and dry.

Ensconced below, I soak up the feel of being aboard, the gentle rocking and the salt tang in the air. If it’s not too late, I might pour a glass of red wine. Sometimes, I’ll pick up a good book; other times, I may pull out the boat’s to-do list, maybe tackle a chore or two, take a look at the charts or simply polish the brass. There’s no pressure of imminent departure or of having to tackle that pre-voyage checklist. Instead, I can just sit back and enjoy the warm glow of the teak woodwork, the lack of TV and the absence of other distractions of home (no, honey, I don’t mean you). And without distractions, I can let my mind wander and reflect, perhaps experience a different perspective on life, or become a little more attuned to what’s really important, do some creative thinking or pretend I’m at anchor in some far off locale (really, the boat could be anywhere…).

Yes, we’re lucky to own boats, and regardless of size, we don’t have to go anywhere to have an adventure. (Even better, there’s no fuel bill!) So, the next time the mood for something different strikes, you might consider heading down to the boat and spending the night aboard.