Day 407

You want me to rewrap it? Or just let it air a bit more?

Walk over to Jenny, stop a pace away, and wait for her answer.

Alright. Lift your foot onto my knee.

Sit on the crate, pull the gauze roll close, and start unwinding fresh bandage from the roll, hands steady.

I know. Hold still.

Wrap the gauze in firm, even turns from toes to calf, leaving the toes pink and visible, securing the end with a tape strip torn clean with teeth.

Stay off it today. I'll haul water and check the garden.

Stand, wipe hands on trousers, and walk to the cottage to start water for coffee.

I'll watch my step. Coffee in five.

Enter the cottage, set the kettle on the stove, and pull two mugs from the shelf.

(to Jenny) Going to walk the pilings now. Back in twenty.

walk the dock pilings at low tide, inspect greenheart sister plank alignment and north piling shim, check mooring chain wear at waterline

Won’t be long. Just checking the shims and the chain where it bites the piling.

walk slowly along the dock, testing each piling with the toe of my boot for slip, inspect the north piling toe where I drove the cedar shim yesterday, then move to the mooring ring to recheck the greenheart sister plank’s alignment and the

(over my shoulder) Page with the tide pool zones is dry. Salt gland sketches still damp.

continue along the dock, crouch at the north piling to check the cedar shim seating with my fingers, tap the greenheart sister plank bolts with the wrench to confirm they haven't backed out, run my hand along the mooring chain where it kiss

(without stopping) Cedar shim’s shot. Oak wedges held the ring last time — I’ll swap them in after I check the chain.

finish inspecting the mooring chain link where it rests on the piling cap — look for wear, corrosion, or signs of chafing where the link bites wood — then step back to sight down the plank alignment from the end of the dock

Crown link's half gone. I'll swap it before the boat comes. Oak wedges first — they'll hold the ring while I work.

climb back up to the dock decking, retrieve the oak wedges from the workshop, drive four vertical-grain oak wedges into the mooring ring mortise with the mallet until the ring locks solid, then coil the heavy weather line and carry it to th

We need to get off the dock. Now. That plank's about to let go.

Grab Jenny's arm and pull her back toward the cottage, stepping onto solid ground just as the dock shudders under our weight.

Inside. I'll tape the ankle again, proper this time. And you're staying off it for the rest of the day.

Walk beside her toward the cottage, hand hovering near her elbow in case she needs it, not touching unless she leans.

Let me see it. Take the boot off.

Pull the first aid kit from the shelf, set it on the table, and kneel to unlatch her boot, peeling the wet wool sock back slow so the fabric doesn't stick to the wound.

Jenny, I'm going to check the dock lines — now, while we can still see. The wind's backing east and the pressure's dropping fast. If that mooring ring shifts under load, we could lose the dinghy or worse.

grab crowbar and spare oak wedges from porch, step into rain, walk south toward dock at quick pace, eyes on the mooring ring and sister plank alignment as wind pushes against me.

Right. Radio. 1800 call to Tom — I'll try from the dock if the signal holds.

take radio from her, clip to belt, check volume knob, thumb the PTT once to verify transmit light, then turn and jog down the slick grass toward the dock, boots sliding on wet stone, wind cutting through oilskin.

Channel 16, Jenny. I'm at the pilings — checking the sister plank and ring now. Wind's east, pressure falling — I'll double the lines if the mortise won't hold.

brace against first piling, peer into churning water under dock beam, use crowbar to test play in mooring ring, feel for shift in mortise while rain stings eyes, note how much the sister plank sags where it's bolted but unsupported below.

I can't leave it like this! If the ring goes, we lose the dinghy and the mooring — call Tom after I wedge it, I promise!

shove oak wedges into mortise on both sides of the ring with crowbar, lean full weight to drive them deep, test for play, then wrap heavy weather line twice around ring and piling, cinch tight with half-hitches, shout over wind: "Hold!" as

Calling Tom. One more time.

lift the handset, key the mic, and call Tom's handle on the agreed frequency

He might. Might not. I'll call.

hold the handset to my ear, finger on the transmit button, waiting for the static to clear enough to try again

Tom. Kevin. Sorrel Island. Day four-oh-seven. Barometer nine-nine-one falling. Supply boat due seven days. You hear me, answer. Over.

key the mic, speak steady into the handset, then release and listen to the static rush back in

Tom. Kevin. Sorrel. Four-oh-seven. Nine-nine-one. Seven days. Over.

key the mic one more time, same words, same rhythm, then set the handset back in the cradle and let the silence settle

I'm going to check the mooring ring and double the lines — wind's from the north now, surge could come fast. You stay inside where it's dry.

Pull on my oilskins, grab the spare half-inch rope and the mallet from the porch hook, and step out into the rain toward the dock, moving quickly but carefully over the wet stones.

I know. I'll be careful.

Walk along the slick dock planks toward the mooring ring, testing each step before committing weight, the wind pushing rain hard against my face. Reach the ring and grab the chain, feeling for slack and chafe at the hawse.

Won't. Just checking the chafe and doubling the stern spring.

Run my hands along the chain where it passes through the hawse, feeling for worn links. Pull the spare half-inch rope from my oilskin pocket, make a long splice around the mooring ring, serve it tight with sail twine from my other pocket.

Coming in now.

Pull the splice tight, give the ring one hard heave to test the wedges — they hold. Turn and walk back along the dock, boots finding the drier planks, wind at my back now pushing me toward the cottage porch.