Archive

Barometer’s at 994 and falling. Wind’s backing southeast. We need to double the mooring lines and wedge the ring—now, before the tide turns.

I can walk, Kevin. Just let me see the morphology of the salt glands.

Alright. I’ll check the shims on the seaward pilings — then I’ll sit here and stay quiet until you’re done.

I have it right here. Just don't push it too hard, the wood is slick.

Check the seacocks again, Kevin. The swell is already building out.

All clear. Let’s get below before the gust hits.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Barometer’s holding. If it drops below 990, we snub the dinghy and lash everything down. You good here?

990's the line. We'll have the dinghy snubbed and the hatch battened by then.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Be careful with the edges. It's... it's raw.

Quiet — jenny lets go of the rope, her fingers trembling as she collapses onto the step, throbbing in her ankle.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Go ahead. I’ll hold this.

Don't trust the wedges, the timber is soft like a sponge.

Aye. Batten down the hatches before dark. I’ll finish the injector check, then secure the tarp and radio mast.

I'll get the strips and the notebook. You lie back—don't move.

Almost there. Southeast next — then we lash the middle.

Quiet — drive oak wedges into the mortise with the mallet, seating them tight against the steel plate and ring.

Quiet — jenny limps to the kitchen to grab the barometer and the mint poultice, her movements stiff and pained.

Hold on — I’m almost there. One more set and it’ll be flush.

I won’t be long. I’ll check the generator and the dock mooring—then I’m back. You rest.

Be careful. It's still throbbing.

Be careful with the roots. The soil is too soft from the last rain.

Quiet — shut down the engine, disconnect the fuel line, and remove the injector from cylinder one for inspection.

Aye. I’ll go round the mast and lash the tarp down proper. You keep that water boiling—limpets’ll wait.

Check the tension on the north side; the wind is already starting to catch it.

I'll be careful.

Don't waste the spruce if the ground is too soft. Use the gorse stems first.

Heavy stones it is. I’ll haul the flat ones from the south ridge — they’ll bed tight and shed the silt.

Quiet — lean over the seed trays to inspect the stems for signs of rot, then move to the wood stove to check the pot of limpets.

Good call. I’ll dig down another six inches, lay a bed of those flat stones we pulled from the trench yesterday, and pitch it so the water runs clean to the swale. Hold that stick there — I’m using yo

It's not just the water, it's the pressure.

(no reply — focus on the climb)

(nothing — focus on task)

I’ll check the outlet again — see if the stones shifted. Maybe add a layer of gravel where it seeps.

Quiet — make bronze sleeve: dock mooring ring reinforcement

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Armoring the mouth now. Gravel and flat stone to keep it from silting up.

Keep wedging—I’ll feed you stones. Don’t stop.

Almost there. One more thing to hold it, then I’m coming.

Almost there. Almost.

Quiet — lean against a screw pine trunk to catch my breath.

Check the diversion point near the tank. The soil is already getting soft enough to turn to mud.

388 is enough for now, just make sure the channel doesn't choke again tonight. I'm going to go get the limpets started.

Bring a plate in, I'm starving.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

A quiet turn — nothing said.

Quiet — close the notebook, tuck it into the waterproof casing, and begin the limping descent back toward the cottage.

(None)