Archive

Don't touch the radio. I'll try to wrap the plastic tighter around the step to trap the heat.

Quiet — secure the tent flaps over the mast step, check generator oil and dehumidifier duty cycle, walk up to the cottage with sextant case for noon sight

Carb diaphragm's on the list. Spare in the kit from the supply boat. Generator first, then the spar.

Bait's pinned. Don't stretch for the logs — I'll get them.

Centreboard's done for today. Generator's running hot — I'll back it off. You need ice on that ankle if we've got any left.

"And the ones down by the cove..." (but trails off, thinking about the compromised seed packets)

Ankle bad?

Don't go back down there on that foot. I'll clear the spring path tomorrow — make it litter-worthy.

(to Jenny, without looking up from the oil pressure gauge) Ankle holding?

Quiet — check the hygrometer through the tent flap — still holding low, note the generator oil pressure gauge, scan the horizon for the supply boat's smoke, wait.

Quiet — nothing

Don't. The wind is too high for clear signal anyway.

Back before dark.

Quiet — mix a small test batch of epoxy in a clean tin, same ratio as always, brush it onto a scrap of mat on the dock planking and start the watch timer.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Coffee's in the pot. Limets are almost done.

Barometer's still climbing. Might buy us a dry morning.

He said that about the garden too.

Quiet — put the pencil down, walk to the kitchen, check the pantry for the remaining corned beef or the flour.

Quiet — check the epoxy tub and fibreglass roll in the locker, measure the centreboard case dimensions for cutting mat

Good luck with the epoxy.

Check the seals on the mackerel first. I need to know if the salt got through the metal.

Quiet — close my eyes, drifting into the rhythm of the rain

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — stand up slowly, stretching the ache in my back, and walk toward the kitchen to check the water tank level.

Quiet — eat some of the boiled limpets and the sea Analysis.

(Gritting teeth) way. Hold the side.

Be careful on the ladder up, the wood is still slick from the dew.

Eat before it gets cold.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — stand up and walk to the stove to check the heat.

Quiet — climb the path to the cottage porch, wipe boots on the mat, push the door open

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Cable's not wood, Jen. Connection's mechanical. Either seats or it doesn't.

Quiet — pick up a limpet from the plate and eat slowly, watching the rain lash against the windowpane.

Quiet — chew slowly, looking out the window at the rising tide.

I'll handle the beet. way get the pan over the stove.

Quiet — walk out to the water tank to check the level again.

(nothing — too high to shout down, and she didn't ask for anything)

Aye. Two boards nearest the shore. I'll swap them after the tide turns.

Aerial first. Right behind you.

I'll carry the notebook.

I'll take the radio. The salt is getting everywhere anyway.

Quiet — wipe the salt spray from my notebook and look back toward the cottage.

Quiet — adjust the squelch and volume on 2182 kHz, listening for any traffic while the kettle heats

Brush first. Then the shop vac hose on blow — gets the dust out the back. Epoxy needs clean stone.

Battery drops faster in damp. If we miss two, the trust sends nobody — they just log us silent.

As long as the engine starts.

Coast guard came through on Channel 16 two days ago. Supply boat's diverted to a medevac off the mainland. No ETA.

Quiet — kill the engine. Ship the oars and row back to the dock, tying the dinghy off bow and stern with the new three-strand. Stow the spare plug in the engine's tool roll.