Archive

Drill the stringer and piling. Epoxy the holes. Bed the bolts. Two hours. You hold the drill steady, I'll feed the bit.

4125 dead. 6215 dead. 8291 — wait.

Salt's in the wind, not the leaf. Mid-morning sun pulls the crystals out the glands. You picked them late.

Don't forget. I'm starving.

Quiet — reach for my pencil and start own the way the steam curls off the pan.

Quiet — open the heirloom seed tin and inspect the seeds for any sign of damp or mold.

Bearing’s at 0.3mm—still okay. But if the mount’s soft, we’re just buying time. I’ll cut the sister knee while you drill.

Holes are wallowed. Transom's compressed, not rotted. We can sister it with a hardwood patch — seal it, bolt through with backing plate.

Bronze it is. I'll pull the sleeves from the prop shaft spares — same metal, already machined to size. Hand me the tape; let's lay out the hole pattern before the tide comes back.

Cut line's marked. Take it slow — let the saw do the work.

Aye. It's gone too far for a patch. We'll need to cut out the rot and sister in a new section—use one of the salvaged planks from the old dock. It'll take most of the afternoon, but it'll hold.

Quiet — walk down to the dock with tools and bronze sleeve

Check the clearance properly. I don't want it seizing halfway out.

Got it. I'll take those lines and cut the doubler to match the rot — full width, through-bolted into the sister.

Aye.

Back before dark. Headlamp's on the shelf if you stay late.

"The ring is moving, Kevin. Don't pull the load yet."그런DO: Stand up, pick up the rusted seed tin, and walk out to the dock to watch the water vibrate.

Broth is fine. Just salt.

I'll mark the cut line where the solid wood starts, then add thirty inches for overlap. That should bite into the sound stringer.

A doubler plate will work, but we need to make sure the timber underneath is solid.

Bolts first. Then the sister planks. Epoxy bedding, through-bolts, nylocs. Not cedar this time — the old dock planks we salvaged. Sound cores.

Another.

I'll prep the epoxy mixture. And Kevin? Try not to let the boat scrape the new planks—salt corrosion will eat through them faster than you can say "structural integrity."

Quiet — spread the heirloom seed packets on the porch table in single layers, weigh corners with stones. Check the tin's rubber gasket — still pliable, no cracks. Wipe condensation from inside the lid

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Back it off. Don't strip what's left.

Check the window latches, Kevin. The wind is catching the porch door.

Quiet — wash hands at the sink, then check the wood stove — add a split if it's burning low

Quiet — check the engine mounting bolts again—three of them stripped, one missing in the bilge. Need to find it.

Quiet — walk into the kitchen and set the letter on the table beside the radio

"Running smooth. No change in vibration yet." (I keep my voice low, eyes on the pilings as the tide laps higher.)

Got three sound cores in the shed. Landward side. Seaward needs new.

Finished the four holes. Epoxy's kicking. Twenty minutes and the rods set. That's it for the ring.

Drill the stone. Epoxy the rods. Through-bolt the ring. Only way.

Epoxy tub's down to residue. Scraped it clean yesterday. Unless you found another.

Quiet — drive the first oak wedge into the mooring ring mortise with the mallet, seating it tight against the bronze sleeve.

Keep an eye on the exhaust temp.

Good. Now let’s take the weight off the ring—run a spring line from the dinghy’s midships to the bollard on the seawall.

Aye. High as I've seen it since March.

Quiet — crouch by the wood stove, pull crumpled newspaper from the box beside the hearth, and lay kindling and a split log on top

Head back now. Secure the ring on the way — if the wind shifts, we don't want it working loose before dark.

Quiet — check the water tank level one last time.

Holding. Give it another drive on the starboard wedge—port’s biting.

Easy. Don't hit it too hard at once or you'll crack the frame.

Eat what you can. Wrap the rest for tomorrow.

978 and still falling. I'll batten the hatch on the water tank and check the generator lashings.

Quiet — lean against a coconut palm tree to catch my breath, wiping grit from my eyes with the back of a dirty hand.

Quiet — push the wheelbarrow toward the cottage to check the garden stakes.

I'll get the water test kit and check the tank while you're grabbing the wood.

Aye. Slack for the surge.