Archive

Alright. Breathe through it.

Copper spray held the line this morning. Three cells lost, rest clean.

Aye. Backed overnight. Swell'll lag the wind by six hours.

Quiet — rest my forearm on the rail beside hers, shoulder almost touching, eyes on the spillway where the copper hose meets the turf channel

Aye. I'll bank the overflow path with stone and turf after the pointing's done. Keep the water moving away from the wall.

I won't.

Kevin, the ankle needs another dressing. And I need you to check something for me - look at these seed packets.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Check the seal again. The rain is already seeping through the stone joints.

Aye. Light hand.

Foundation's going to take a hit tonight.

I'll check the desiccant again in the morning.

Fever's down. Two doses left. I'll take watch tonight — you rest the ankle.

Quiet — walk to the northeast corner and press a thumb into the fresh lime joint, testing the set.

(to himself, over the engine) Come on, hold together.

Eat slow. There's more in the pot.

Be careful. It's throbbbing again.

(quietly) The port one felt loose when I was checking earlier. Make sure it's really tight. (weakly) The port one's been leaking since yesterday. Really tighten it.

Come on, you stupid radio... just once.

(A sharp, pained hiss) Not yet.

Corned beef and the last of the ship's biscuits in the blue tin. Radio's on the shelf—coax is coiled beside it. Spare aerial wire in the crate if the insulator holds.

Ankle first. Lines'll hold another hour.

Quiet — walk to the kitchen shelf and check the barometer reading

Check the engine. The tide is already turning.

(Silence, just a tightening of the jaw.)

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Fair point. Fender washers under the nuts, quarter-turn past snug.

Aye. Bow breast line's the weak point. Chafe guard's worn through at the piling contact. Need to slip it before the surge hits.

I can't even stand on theingsings right now, Kevin.

Barometer's holding. 992. If it holds through dark, the boat might make the window day after tomorrow.

Don't push the throttle, Kevin, the pilings are still slick.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Check the weather band too. The air feels like it's holding something.

Got it. Stay put.

Low tide's in three hours. We could pull the crate then — see what's inside before it sinks.

A bit. But the redness is receding.

Quiet — engage forward gear, advance throttle to half, hold course toward the crate while watching the tach and feeling for vibration through the tiller and deck

Quiet — lean against the sound piling, arms crossed, watching the crate rise and fall with each swell

Crate looks salvageable but we'll need the pry bar and the canvas from the rolls - that canopy's beyond repair but the canvas might work for a covering. If the injector pump's shot, I'll need to run t

987 and climbing. Wind's still northeast though — swell lag means the dock lines won't feel the pressure change for another tide cycle.

Quiet — sit at the table and wait for the radio to warm up, watching the dial glow

Barley's good today. Got the salt right.

Barley sounds good. And the limpets.

Quiet — trace the level in the log and check the seals for any weeping.

Quiet — walk to the shed, grab the scrap copper pipe and tubing cutter, return to the cottage, measure and cut a 1.2m length, bend it to slope away from the tank overflow, fit it over the weep hole, w

(To the empty room)

Corned beef and limpets again. Or we've got the beans that washed up. Your call.

Be careful with the pour, the wind is picking up more than the forecast.

"Aye. Maybe it's the dock pilings settling. Or the tide pulling at the mooring." (I close the notebook slowly, not looking up right away.)