Archive

Barometer's still dropping. Wind's backing southwest — means it'll hold this direction till morning." I set the wrench down on the table, the metal clacking quiet against wood. "Let me see.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — jenny unlaces the ankle brace and touches the swollen skin with the back of her hand.

Quiet — crack the bleed screw on the Yanmar primary filter housing and work the hand primer until fuel runs bubble-free, then torque the housing bolts to 18Nm in star pattern.

Quiet — walk to the porch, check the radio shelf for moisture, then move the shortwave and spare coax to the kitchen table away from the leak.

Coffee's on if you want it. Filter housing's laid out on the bench — first light I'll crack it.

Be careful on the dock, the boards are slick with algae.

Aerial's the weak point. If it goes, we lose the shortwave.

Got the light. I’ll be back before it pours. Keep the leaves soaking — they need one more rinse.

Got it. Drip loops every metre, lashed to the stays. Slack at the mast base for swing.

Quiet — drill through-bolt holes in oak plank for dock mooring ring reinforcement

Check the antenna tension again once you hit 0400.

(whispering) Is it there yet?

Door's close. I've got you all the way.

Do what you want. Just don't fall in; I'm in no state to drag you out of the surf.

Quiet — straighten, wipe salt off fingers on trousers. Scan the waterline on the pilings — greenheart sister plank holding, scour void still there but shimmed. Driftwood braces still wedged.

It's fine Kevin. I need to check the beets.

Good light through the window. Take your time.

Almost done.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — grind the dried mint sprigs in the mortar to prepare the poultice.

Quiet — reach for the sketchbook and pencil to refine the cell structure on the sea beet drawing.

Check the filter while you're at it.

Good. I need to finish the sea beet before it's too late.

Almost done — just checking the bow.

Aye.

Back before the turn. Watch the radio.

I’ll re-check the lower bolts at low water tomorrow. If they’re shy, I’ll drill deeper and epoxy-set new ones.

(Quiet)

Chalk line at the barnacle band. That's the high water today. Next spring tide we'll see if it climbs.

Be careful with the leaves, they're still damp.

Be careful with the ladder, the wood is slick.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — cast off the bow line, engage forward gear, motor out to the end of the storm anchor warp, put the helm hard over both ways at half throttle, watch for vibration and shroud movement.

(nothing — wind takes anything I'd say)

And the clouds don't care about your log, they're coming for us.

(quiet, to the generator as it catches) There she goes.

Close the door, Kevin. The wind is picking up.

Quiet — cover the Yanmar with the spare tarp and lash it to the transom cleats, then grab the ditch bag and dry bag off the dinghy and carry them up to the cottage porch.

Quiet — climb the porch steps to the radio shack, inspect the aerial insulator and coax connection, tug-test the mast guys

(No response)

Quiet — crouch at the dock edge, run fingers over the mooring ring mortise, test for play with both hands

Barometer hasn't moved in six hours. Generator's got fuel for twelve days at two-hour cycles. Water tank's full.

Boat's due in six. Barometer's holding. Generator gave us a full charge.

Aye. Let me grab the wrench and the light. You stay put — I'll look.

Be careful, the shingles are slick with that moss.

Aye. Slow hands.

Good. Finish it.

Be careful with the mallet, the wood is soft from the rot.

Aye.