Day 248

Holding at 1800. Feels smoother than yesterday, but there’s still a tick at 2000.

watch prop shaft closely, note RPM and any wobble in the shaft or bracket as Jenny leans on the mooring ring.

Mortise is gone. Shims are a waste. Need to cut back to sound wood and bolt a doubler plate.

throttle down the Yanmar, kill the ignition, and step onto the dock to examine the mooring ring mortise up close.

Rot runs deep. Two inches at least. We’ll need to remove the ring, cut out the bad timber, and either scarf in a new piece or bolt a steel plate through to the sound wood below.

use the nail puller to lever the mooring ring out of the mortise, then probe the cavity with the blade of my knife to check the extent of the decay.

It’s rotted clear through to the back. We’ll have to take out a chunk and either scarf in a new piece or run bolts through to the solid timber behind.

continue scraping out the rotted wood with the knife and nail puller until I reach firm, dry grain, then measure the cavity for a repair piece.

Take the aft one first. I'll cut the sisters to length while you clear the rot.

Walk to the workshop, retrieve the circular saw and measuring tape, then return to the dock to measure and mark the replacement timber lengths for the sistered stringers.

I'll mark the cut line where the solid wood starts, then add thirty inches for overlap. That should bite into the sound stringer.

Use the tape measure to find the edge of sound timber beneath the rot, then mark the sister plank for cutting with the pencil, ensuring at least thirty inches of overlap beyond the rotten section.

They won't be short. I'm measuring off the sound wood, not the rot.

Set the circular saw depth to cut through the sister timber in one pass, then rip the first sister plank to the marked length.

I’ll heat it up. Limpet broth too, if you want.

walk to the stove, put the tin of corned beef in a pot with a splash of water, turn on the wood stove flame low, then grab the limpets from the bucket, rinse, and drop them in a second pot to boil.

Eat first. Talk after.

ladle the hot corned beef onto two chipped enamel plates, set one in front of her with a fork, pour the limpet broth into two mugs, set one down beside her plate, sit opposite with my own plate and mug.

Broth’s good? Just salt, like you asked.

take a slow bite of corned beef, sip the limpet broth, wipe my mouth with the back of my hand, then slide the letter toward the center of the table where she can see it but doesn’t have to touch it.

I’ll send Tom’s letter. Be back in ten.

push back the stool, stand, walk to the radio shack, flick the shortwave on, tune to Tom’s frequency, key the mic, and begin: “Tom, this is Kevin. Receiving?”

Kevin — walk slowly toward the dinghy, hands loose at my sides, eyes on the water where the prop churns. I don’t look back at the cottage.

Heard you. Killing the throttle.

Walk back to the dinghy, kill the Yanmar, let the prop freewheel to a stop. Step onto the dock, crouch at the mooring ring, probe the mortise with fingers — feel the play, the rot depth.

Wedges won’t bite. Need a plate — through-bolts, epoxy bed. Let me get the stock.

Pull my hand free gently, stand, and walk toward the workshop. Don’t look back. Keep my voice low, steady. Open the shed door, scan for the bronze stock we saved — the one meant for the propeller sleeve. It’s thick enough.

Back in five.

Step into the workshop, grab the bronze bar stock — 60mm OD, 30mm ID, the piece I machined for the prop sleeve but never used — and the battery drill with the 12mm auger bit. Slip the tap set into my pocket.

Got it.

Walk fast back to the dock, bronze stock under one arm, drill in hand. Stop at the edge — Jenny’s on her knees, chisel biting into the punky wood, mallet ringing. I don’t speak.

Back before dark. Headlamp's on the shelf if you stay late.

Walk up to the cottage porch, pick up the LED headlamp, and lean it against the door frame where she'll see it. Then grab the 19mm ring spanner and the epoxy tub from the workshop and head back to the dock to inspect the mooring ring mortis

Light’s yours. Shout if the water starts sucking back.

Kneel at the dock’s edge beside the mooring ring, clear out the rotted wood chips from the mortise with the old screwdriver, then dry-fit the 6mm stainless doubler plate I brought from the workshop.

Got it. I’ll deepen the seat so the shank’s fully buried.

Switch to the 12mm Forstner bit in the brace, bore the mortise deeper until the doubler plate sits flush with the dock surface, then clear the chips and test-fit the plate again.

Right. Mix it stiff.

Squeeze a bead of thickened epoxy into each bolt hole in the mortise, coat the shanks of the two 10mm stainless through-bolts, drive them through the doubler plate and mortise, fasten washers and nyloc nuts, then wipe excess epoxy from the

Half turn past seat. Epoxy does the work.

Snug each nut with the 17mm ring spanner until the doubler plate seats firm, then exactly half a flat more. Set the spanner down and watch the epoxy squeeze-line for movement while the tide laps the planks.

Green in ten. Full cure by morning.

Stand, wipe hands on the rag, pick up the headlamp she left on the planking, and walk back toward the cottage with her notebook tucked under my arm.

Stove's cold. I'll get water heating.

Walk up the path to the cottage, shove the door open, drop the headlamp on the table, and kneel to rake ash and lay kindling in the woodstove.

Right behind you.

Walk back to the dock and grab the heavy wrench to torque the mooring ring bolts before the water rises further.

Won't lean on it. Just snug.

Apply steady, measured pressure on the wrench — firm but not brutal — watching the bolt head seat and feeling for any give in the wood under Jenny's hand.

Aye.

Wipe the wrench clean on the rag, tuck it back in the tool belt, and stand to watch the water climb the pilings — checking the ring for any shift as the surge hits.

Come on.

Turn and walk with Jenny back along the jetty toward the cottage, keeping pace with her slow steps, shoulders hunched against the rain.