Archive

Quiet — walk along the tide pool shelves with a bucket, collecting limpets into it

Careful with the seedling, the roots are shallow.

"Barometer's falling to 1003, Kevin. I'll check the tank seal again after dinner - want to make sure we don't lose water if the wind picks up." (I should also mention needing help with the radio insul

Don't let the wind pick up yet.

Quiet — finish wiping the transom joint, tape off the edges with masking tape, and lay out the fibreglass mat pieces cut to size beside the epoxy tub

Quiet — carefully slide the succulent specimens into the cool, shaded crevice beneath the limestone overhang.

Didn't pull. Just lifted.

"The map is only useful if they know how to read the terrain." (I don't look up from the leaves I'm arranging.)

Eat while it's hot. The limpets toughen fast.

Quiet — eat another limpet, watching the clock hands move toward 1400

Alright, it's time to get the dinghy back in shape and call Tom. Let's see what we can do with this sticky epoxy.

Quiet — walk back up to the cottage to check the time and make the 1400 call to Tom on the shortwave radio.

Almost done.

Fine grit it is. Acetone wipe after.

Aye. Tank's at three-seventy-nine. Rat's quiet tonight.

Don't forget to check the trap before then.

Dew always comes. It's the only thing that does.

I'll look at it after I finish these leaves.

Quiet — inspect both Yanmar seacocks thoroughly while the tide's low, checking valves, through-hulls, and hose clamps for corrosion or growth.

Check the water tank while you're up. We're close to four hundred.

Don't use too much. It'll get tacky before it even sets.

Quiet — follow behind her on the path, testing each foot placement, crowbar hooked over my shoulder, headlamp beam cutting through the rain ahead

Careful, don't splash the paper.

Back. Kettle on?

Leaves can wait. Transom first while the tide's low enough to work the hull.

Quiet — wipe a thin smear of corned beef fat around the hot skillet with a folded cloth

Quiet — step off the porch onto the path toward the tide pools, watching the water line

Don't bother. I need to finish these sketches.

*Maris* copies. Five by five. ETA holding at day 66.

Quiet — check the water tank and firewood stack

(mouth full) Good beet.

Great. Just don't let it roll off the bench.

I have enough time to finish the sketches by then.

Quiet — lean against the whitewashed wall and cross my arms, staring at the radio.

Corned beef and sea beet if you've got it. I'll get the lathe warm.

Quiet — read the dial indicator and note the runout figure in the notebook; wipe the sleeve and shaft clean with a rag; pull the engine tarp back over the Yanmar and secure the corners with bungee cor

Quiet — file the bronze sleeve bore, steady strokes, checking with calipers every few passes. Log the fit measurements in the notebook.

Quiet — smear a thin ring of lapping compound on the sleeve's inner face, fit the split lap, and rotate by hand with light pressure — one full turn, check, repeat.

Five days. I need to finish these deets before.

Barometer's holding. Wind's dropped to nothing.

Check the intake too. It's been sluggish.

Quiet — sit on the porch steps, opening the notebook, and begin sketching the leaf structure of the succulents I just rescued.

Done. Getting a clean carrier on 6215 now.

Back the nuts quarter-turn each. Don't force the stem.

Quiet — trace the edge of the sea much leaf in the notebook, noting the salt

977, and it's not stopping.

Ankle's hot.

Didn't say you were helpless. Said your leg can't wait. Let me look.

"The needle's where it was when I sat down." I set the fork down slow. "Show me.

Quiet — carry ladder and tape to the mast base, lean ladder against the stayed section, start climbing