Archive

Check the kitchen window too, theので has been rattling!

Back of the dock box. Steel plate, four holes.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Be careful on the dock. The wood is slick.

Doing good. Red line hasn't moved. We'll flush it, fresh poultice, next antibiotic dose.

Bedroom shutter bolts are seized. Getting the pipe wrench.

Eat something first. Corned beef, broth — whatever stays down.

Barometer's 977 and dropping. Wind's northeast twenty-five, gusting thirty. I'll check the dock and the generator lashings. You rest.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — hand her the antibiotic blister pack and the tin mug of water from beside the stove.

It's going to rain, Kevin. Check the tarp on the garden.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Be gentle.

Aye. Wind's backed northeast already. Give it six hours, we'll be in it proper.

(quietly) Hold on.

(low, without looking up from the radio) "Copy. Listening."

Be careful on the rocks, they're getting slick.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — open the notebook and start sketching the venation on the sea-beet leaves.

Check the radio when you're done with the wayhy.

Dinghy first. Engine's warm — I'll motor her to the lee of the point and anchor. You take the uphill path, slow.

Be careful with the ladder. I'm starting the poultice again.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — strip and splice the spare coax to the new aerial insulator, secure with self-amalgamating tape

983. Steady. Same as ten minutes ago. Sit. Now.

Quiet — drain the water, eat the limpets, check the barometer again.

Check the ring first. If the boat goes, we're truly stuck here.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Be careful. It's tender.

Quiet — jog down the slick path to the dock, headlamp beam cutting the rain, check the doubled stern spring, the breast line, and the storm anchor warp for chafe or slip.

Be careful. It's sensitive.

Quiet — squat down to pick up a piece of salt-bleached driftwood, turning it over to check for rot.

Housing bolts are torqued. Gasket's new. I'll watch the tell-tale and the bilge. Ten minutes at load, then shut her down if there's any weep.

Generator cover's next. Then the dinghy warp. You stay put.

Quiet — walk the ridge line back toward the cottage, checking the shrine stones as I pass, then secure the radio shack for the coming weather.

Adding a forward breast line. Back in a minute.

Quiet — pause at the top of the dock ramp, test the first stone with boot weight, adjust grip on the plate, descend steady — one hand on the piling line, feet finding the worn grooves — reach the moor

Quiet — kneel on the slick dock planking, run fingers along the greenheart sister plank where it meets the transom, feeling for movement at the bolt heads; check each of the three 150mm stainless thro

Back in twenty.

Don't crowd them. They're still breathing.

982 now. Dropped two since noon.

Quiet — open the seed tin and carefully touch the edges of the paper packets, searching for the telltale curl of moisture.

Quiet — limp to the stove and pour a tin mug of water to take the next dose of antibiotics.

I'm holding it. Just don't let it slip into the water.

Got it. Snug, not tight. I'll check the mast insulator while you work the stake.

How much lower?

Jenny… I keep keying the mic at 0400. Tom's birthday today. I said I'm still listening. Nothing back. Just static. I don't know if he hears it. I don't know if he wants to.

Quiet — kneel on the rock ledge, brace left knee against the trunk, start the bow saw in the compression side at the butt end — slow, deliberate strokes, clearing the gullets every few pulls

Quiet — walk to the dock with the come-along and inspect the sister plank and transom bolts at the ebb slack tide.