Archive

Come on, answer back. Come on, answer back.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Air weighs the same. It's the water in it that counts.

Be careful on the dock! I'll get the table cleared for whatever you bring in.

Eat.

Quiet — walk to the tide pools

Quiet — look through the rain at the harbor.

Quiet — walk to the kitchen, light the stove, set water for coffee. While it heats, pull the tool roll from the porch shelf and check the spare insulator.

Be careful with the wiring; the jacket is brittle from the salt.

Just don't take it out yet. Let's wrap the crack in tape and see if it holds through the night.

Don't use all the dry wood.

Quiet — check barometer again.

Don't breathe on it. The moisture off your skin's enough to foul the cure.

Be careful. If they clump, they'll rot before spring.

Aye. Radio check first. Then we see what the sea takes.

986 hPa and falling. It's coming.

Alright. Shout if the tin’s weeping.

Got it. Seaward side. I'll stay aft of the lee rail.

Quiet — walk up to the cottage porch

Be careful with that skillet! If it slips, it'll crack the generator housing.

Don't let the mast snap! I'm getting the seeds inside!

Aye. Not going anywhere.

Quiet — drink tea, feel warmth returning to my fingers, watch the flames catch behind the stove glass, listen to the wind find new gaps in the cottage walls.

Quiet — coil the halyard, secure the dinghy painter to the cleat with a round turn and two half hitches, grab the tool roll and walk back to the cottage porch.

Quiet — close and reseal the crate with its lid, then carry it up to the cottage porch for storage, and fetch the dinghy sail and spruce spar to begin bending on the sail.

Come on, the water is getting too high!

Aye. Back in twenty.

Aye. Good to have water stored. I'll take a look at that spar after we eat — see if the epoxy's finally set.

(to himself) “No one’s coming for the rain. Just get the ring tightened.”

Quiet — lean against the post of the porch, watching the alignment of the ring.

Don't use way much way, the salt is high today.

Bolts are spinning free—no bite left in the wood. Mortise is trash. We'll need to cut a new oak block, epoxy-bed it, and through-bolt fresh.

Almost got it seated. Just need to mix the thickened epoxy — wood flour and resin, peanut butter thick.

Quiet — push off the stone and follow her down the ridge toward the cottage.

"Fat'll save the flour we've got left." I watch the beef hit the hot iron, listen to the sizzle. "And the skillet.

Almost there. Just past the third piling — that's where the rot stops.

Quiet — chisel out rotted wood and debris from the mortise with the cold chisel and mallet, working from the top down to avoid splitting the dock further.

Quiet — walk along the exposed dock planks, probing the wood with the crowbar to test for rot, then set up at the mooring ring to ream the bolt holes clean.

1003 hPa and still falling. The tide is turning soon.

Almost got it. One more twist and she's clear.

Quiet — fill the kettle from the rain tank tap and hang it on the stove hook, then spoon coffee into the French press

A quiet turn — nothing said.

1004 and dropping. We've got hours, maybe less. Secure the porch tarp first — wind'll shred it if it gets loose.

Aye. I’ll ream the holes and drive the bolts through with washers both sides. You keep the line taut and watch for chafing.

Feel how much it's moving?

Ease the spring half a turn—let her breathe before she snaps the cleat. I’ll check the bow bollard and the shore pins for movement.

Agreed. For tonight it'll hold. Tomorrow I'll drill through and bolt it with a backing plate — same as the oarlock.

Don't wait until night, the tide is coming in fast and the wind is picking up.

Quiet — splice a new eye into the bow line using the half-inch three-strand rope, forming a proper eye splice with a served throat. Fit the eye over the mooring ring and seize it with sail twine. Chec