Archive

0400. I'll put water on.

Quiet — jenny leans back against the window frame, nursing the warm mug and staring out at the grey, blurring line of the coast.

(She says nothing.)

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Don't forget to check the gasket surface while you're at it.

(Quietly)

Good. Then we both know where it stands.

(nothing — she's out of earshot)

Quiet — walk down to the dock with tools, check transom gap at waterline, drive wet shims into sleeve while tide's still low

Bring the heavy-duty stakes too. The twine won't hold if the wind picks up.

Don't wait for slack; the tide is already high and the air is dead.

Dock lines holding?

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Crank works. Shoulder holds.

Just don't stay out too long, the wind is picking up and the tide is going to surge.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Holding. Antibiotics are working. Drink the coffee while it's hot.

"I'm not going anywhere." (I settle back on the stone, close enough that my shoulder blocks some of the wind off her. The mic stays in my hand, thumb on the key.) "Three hours. I'll be here.

Don't touch.

Didn't say they were. Said I'd check.

Drink water. Now. Full mug. I'm fixing the ground stake — be back in fifteen with the radio up.

Quiet — walk down to the dock with the greenheart offcuts and tools, wait for the tide to turn, then check the transom gap and drive shims.

Black. Thanks.

Quiet — walk to the porch and check the ditch bag lashings on the dinghy, then return to the kitchen to heat water for coffee

Aye. Give me a minute.

Be careful with the edges. The ink is still bleeding.

Quiet — drive the second salt-pine knee into position against the mid-span stringer; drill and bolt the second knee with two 150mm stainless through-bolts; position the third knee at the landward abut

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Generator lashings next. Then the porch door. You holler if it throbs.

0640 is early. Don't push it if the wind holds.

Back in five.

Aye. Four days.

Quiet — check the handheld VHF battery level, then the shortwave power. Sit on the dock planking and wait for 0400 UTC.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Cable's new. Three-strand half-inch. Won't snap.

Crack the door.

Broth's coming up. Swallow the tablet with it.

Be careful. If that spruce shifts, it'll take the whole

Blade's in the tool roll. Take the come-along — I'll wedge and cut.

Coming free. Stand clear downhill.

Give me the wedge. way don't let it kick.

Ankle first thing. Then the spruce.

Barometer's 975 and steady. If it holds through the night, the dock buys us six days.

(shouting back over wind) Sister plank's moved. Void's worse. I'll wedge it best I can.

Quiet — unwrap the bandage, inspect the skin around the wound for heat, then pick up the pencil to finish the morphology sketch of the sea beet leaf.

Be careful down there. The wood is getting slick.

Aye. Wind'll be on us by tomorrow noon if this keeps dropping. Dock lines first. Then the dinghy. You stay off that ankle — I'll handle the heavy work.

0400's in six hours. Radio first, then the pine.

Already checked. Cleaned the porcelain at sunset. Salt's thick but the tape held.

A quiet turn — nothing said.