Midday Heat Increases

Two drums inside the shed, full and sealed. One more lashed to the seaward dock cleats from the last drop. That's three hundred and sixty litres give or take — enough to run the generator through winter if the boat forgets us again. The hairline split in the marine-grade line at the tank bracket is still weeping; I wrapped it with self-amalgamating tape yesterday but the vibration works it loose. Need a proper flange fitting, not tape. The sound jerry can feeds the Yanmar fine. The cracked one sits on the workbench still, epoxy seam compromised. I'll re-do it after the boat leaves — clean the pitting proper this time, not just slap epoxy over salt.

The boat's still holding station in the channel. No smoke from her stack, no movement on deck. Could be waiting for high tide to cross the bar, could be engine trouble, could be they're just... waiting. Barometer's steady at 1019. Wind's light onshore. No reason not to come in except caution or orders. I've seen captains sit on a fair tide for hours because the owner said "don't risk the hull." Meanwhile the diesel weeps, the garden tarp corners lift, and Tom's frequency stays quiet. Should check the VHF — maybe the captain's on 16 and I missed the call.

Static. Nothing on 16 but the usual hiss. Either the captain's not talking or he's on a working channel I don't know. The boat hasn't moved — still a dark smudge on the grey water, bow into the swell. Tide's pushing hard now, current ripping past the dock pilings. I can hear it sucking at the rotten planks. Jenny's been at the tide pools a while. Long enough for a full circuit at low water. She knows the channels. But the swell's building, just a touch, and the rocks go slick fast when the water turns.