Day 237

Tank's holding. Almost full. You want me to check the overflow while you're out here?

walk to tank spigot, crack valve slightly to test flow, watch for steady drip, then close it and wipe rain from valve housing with sleeve.

Overflow channel it is. I'll clear it out and test the water once I'm back—see if we're getting salt creep.

walk to overflow channel behind tank, kneel, pull out leaves and twigs jammed in the grate, flush with bucket of fresh water from tank spigot, then stand and wipe hands on trousers.

Channel's running clean. Debris was mostly kelp and a dead crab. Flushed it through.

stand back from tank, watch Jenny's face for the strip result, pull a cigarette from pocket but don't light it.

What's it showing?

drop cigarette back in pocket, step closer to see the strip over her shoulder, arms crossed against the cold.

Kevin — hand Jenny the envelope with the letter and last week’s tide chart — the one with ‘Biscay’ in the margin — and place it on the bench where we used to split the catch.

Chart’s off. Let’s check the dock ring — it’s been shifting under load.

Walk to the mooring ring, crouch, and press my weight onto it to test for play in the mortise.

Threads are gone, but the ring’s solid. I’ll reset it with wedges and new bolts — should take twenty minutes.

Pull the cedar wedges from my pocket, drive them into the mortise around the ring to take up the slack, then bolt the ring through with fresh bronze bolts and washers, tightening to 35Nm.

Kevin — run to the garden, grab the loose tarp corner, and re-stake it with the spare rope and wooden pegs from the shed, pulling it tight over the seedbeds as the rain starts to fall.

Kevin — walk back to the dock, take the folded letter and tide chart from my pocket, and slip them inside the dry box under the dock bench — the one with the rubber seal that’s kept the oarlock bolts dry for months. Close it tight.

Kevin — start the Yanmar engine in the dinghy, advance to half throttle, and hold for two minutes while monitoring for vibration.

Kevin — advance the Yanmar to three-quarters throttle and hold for three minutes, listening and feeling for vibration through the transom and oarlocks.

Kevin — advance the Yanmar to full throttle for thirty seconds, then ease back to idle and shut down.

Dinghy’s still shuddering at half. Sleeve helped idle, but not load. Prop shaft or bracket — I’ll pull it tomorrow first light, check alignment with the straightedge.

wring out my shirt over the sink, then hang it by the stove to dry. Pull the chair out and sit, elbows on knees, staring at the rain on the window.

Save me a portion. I’ll be out in a minute.

rub my face with both hands, slow. Push up from the chair. Walk to the porch door and stand in the doorway, breathing the wet air. Listen to the drip off the eaves.

On my way.

step inside, pull the chair to the table, and sit. Wait for the limpets. Watch the fat render in the skillet, the corned beef sizzle at the edges.

Thanks.

pick up the fork. Spear a limpet, dip it in the fat, put it in my mouth. Chew slow. The salt and iron bloom on my tongue. Take another. And another.

Mm. Pressure’s held two hours now. If it holds through the night, they’ll cross.

eat the last limpet, mop the plate with a finger for the fat. Push the plate away. Pick up the tin mug of tea she left, blow steam, drink.

Aye.

reach for the fork she pushed over. Break the mackerel skin, flake a piece onto the tin plate. Eat it slow, bones and all. The oil coats my fingers.

Kevin — walk to the window and watch the tide line recede

Back before lunch if the wind holds.

pull on oilskin jacket and boots, grab the notebook from the shelf, head out the porch door toward the tide pools

Thanks.

move carefully along the shore, skirt the submerged rocks, pause at the first pool to rinse salt from the notebook cover before opening it to the sea beet transect page