Of all the weekends to go for a winter sail, one with a forecast calling for gale force winds, rough seas and snow might not be our top choice.

But we’d agreed to take our friends Kristen and Brian over to Bainbridge Island overnight on a particular weekend in December. In her typical exuberant fashion, Kristen had planned a surprise birthday party for Brian and arranged for a group of friends to show up at a pub there. We’d go by boat and Brian would just think we were going to the pub for dinner.

Now, I should mention that Kristen’s known for coming up with ambitious, harebrained schemes likely to involve extreme elements, an excess of alcohol, the possibility of illegal activity and frequently, trouble. This is a girl whose bachelorette party involved fording a rushing river, hiking in three miles with backpacks and camping in a primitive setting near natural hot springs. It’s testament to my fondness for her that I went along, since there are few things I hate more than camping, particularly when there are no showers or running water involved.

It was probably a given that Kristen’s party plans would coincide with the first snowfall of the season and some of the roughest conditions we’ve experienced sailing in this area.

We set out Saturday on six-foot, choppy seas that became manageable once we were going downwind, and moored at a marina in Eagle Harbor. The snow started falling in the late afternoon as Brian and Marty were stringing white Christmas lights up the mast. It was the first time I’d been in a marina during a snowfall and the white blanketing the ground made it seem unusually still and serene.

The surprise went off as planned, despite people having to trek close to a mile from the ferry through rapidly accumulating snow. After dinner and drinks at the pub, most of the group joined us back at the boat to continue the party. That required us to descend the steep, ice- and snow-covered ramp to the docks, made especially treacherous by the extremely low tide and the half-lit state of the partygoers. We managed to cram a record 17 people onto the boat, which was toasty with diesel and electric heaters and too many bodies crowded into a small space.

We went to bed late and lapsed into the happy slumber of people who aren’t the skipper and therefore don’t have to worry about the boat—everyone, that is, except Marty, who was kept awake by a rare eastern wind that knocked masts around and slammed the boat toward the dock, painfully squeezing the fenders. Around 4 a.m., he went outside to rig a spring line to prevent the boat from hitting the dock.

The next morning we awoke to ice-encrusted decks as slippery as a skating rink. Concerned the weather might worsen, we decided to delay making breakfast until we got back to Seattle. After some arduous deck scraping by Brian and Marty (sometimes I’m very grateful to be a girl), we hastily freed the lines up and headed out.

If the conditions were rough on the way to Bainbridge, they were twice as bumpy on the way back. The waves were steep and close together, the bow of the boat lifting up and then crashing down hard enough to bury the anchor pulpit.

Here’s what it looked like:

That might have been bearable were some of the crew not suffering hangovers on empty stomachs. With Marty at the helm, Brian dry heaving off the back of the boat and Kristen sitting up in the stern, squealing delightedly at every spray of icy seawater, I crawled queasily downstairs for a nap. Lily, who hadn’t spent the previous evening downing dangerous amounts of rum and wine, was smugly curled up in her bed.

Here’s the hardier half of the crew:

Marty and Kristen braving the waves

Later, after making a full recovery, I thought about one of the first times we’d ever gotten together with Kristen and Brian. It was a glorious July day, sunny and hot, and we’d invited them out for a day sail. Kristen showed up with fresh mint to make mojitos and it was shaping up to be a perfect afternoon. But alas, our plans were foiled by an engine problem that kept us stuck at the dock, waving to more fortunate sailors as their boats headed out into Elliott Bay.

Other friends might have bailed and found some other way to spend that picture perfect day. Kristen and Brian rolled with it. The afternoon wore on, the four of us talking and laughing and drinking on the deck, and stretched into a debauched evening. We stayed there until the sun went down, then for several more hours, having a great time.

It was a good reminder to take life as it comes, to make the best of the situation even if it seems at the time like there’s a buzzkill of a higher being conspiring to ruin your fun. Invariably, there’s some way to turn water into wine. Just remember to take a couple of ibuprofens.