The Long Surface Interval
For Midwest divers, winter brings a natural surface interval whether we want it or not. The lakes freeze, the quarries close, and the gear sits in the garage or the basement a little too clean. Most of us promise to stay active, but the truth is that the water is cold and the motivation fades. What used to be a weekend rhythm turns into a season of waiting. I always notice it the first Saturday I am home without a plan. My dive locker looks like it's judging me.
At first that pause feels like loss. You go from a steady rhythm of planning dives, packing gear, and heading to the quarry every weekend to staring at a calendar with nothing on it. The change is abrupt. Your brain is used to the focus that comes with a dive day and suddenly it is gone. The idle time feels strange because the routine you looked forward to and kept you busy is gone.
A good season of diving wears you out more than you notice. Your body needs rest. Your gear needs attention. Your brain needs time to process what it learned. The long surface interval gives you that chance if you use it well. It is when your perspective resets. You remember what drew you in at the beginning and why it still matters. Winter forces you to admit what you actually enjoyed and what you only tolerated. When diving becomes routine, winter is the only thing that forces you to step back and actually look at it.
What I intend to do with this time is reflect on what I learned this season. That is part of why I am writing this journal. Each dive teaches something, but the lessons only stick when you slow down long enough to notice them.
My last dive in Chicagoland before winter was in my drysuit, which I had not used in more than two months. My buoyancy was fine, but the suit felt foreign again, like I had skipped a few steps. That tells me I need more time in it. That will be one of my goals for next year, to spend more time practicing.
During the winter, I am also going to make a point to check in with dive friends. Not necessarily to talk about diving, but just to stay connected. A quick text message or comment is enough to keep people engaged. Divers drift when they take a whole season off, and staying in touch now makes it more likely we will still have each other to dive with when spring comes.
I also plan to take stock of my gear. What did I never use? What did I wish I had? Which pieces annoyed me more than once? This is the time to fix what is broken, replace what is worn out, and drop the things that never quite worked. That small honesty about equipment often mirrors the same honesty we need in our own habits. Every winter I find the stupid thing I swore I would fix in July.
When the ice melts and the air warms, the first dive back always feels a little unfamiliar. It takes a few minutes for breathing and buoyancy to sync again. Then, somewhere between the surface and the bottom, it all clicks back into place. The rhythm returns because the surface interval was never an ending. It was a reset. The first inhale as my head goes below the surface after a long break always sounds louder than it should. It always reminds me how long it has been. Then the noise fades and the normal rhythm comes back.
Diving in the Midwest teaches you that seasons matter. The cycle of dive, reflect, and return is what keeps the practice sustainable. So do not see the long surface interval as lost time. Use it to think, to rest, and to prepare. The next descent will feel cleaner because of it.
