Day 477

On it. I'll re-stake the corners and check the tension on the lines.

Walk to the garden shed, grab the mallet, oak stakes, and spare rope from the tarp repair kit. Head to the garden's southwest corner where the tarp's lifting.

North side next. I'll drive them deeper or bury deadmen if the soil won't hold.

Finish securing the southwest corner with two oak stakes driven at opposing angles, rope tensioned and hitched. Move to the northwest corner, test the ground with the stake tip, then drive stakes deep at opposing angles.

Got timber offcuts by the shed. Be back in a minute.

Walk back to the garden shed, grab two salt-pine knee blanks and a length of heavy-duty twine. Return to the northwest corner, dig shallow trenches with the spade, bury the blanks horizontally with twine looped around them, backfill and tam

Twine's cinched. Testing tension now—should hold.

Pull the twine tight over the buried deadman, tie a trucker's hitch with a slippery half-hitch, then drive two oak stakes through the tarp grommet and into the deadman for extra purchase. Repeat at northeast corner.

Hold on—I'm checking every knot and stake.

Walk to each corner, test the deadman by pulling hard on the twine, re-tighten any slack with the trucker's hitch, then hammer the oak stakes through the tarp and into the wood until they're flush. Move to southeast corner, repeat.

On it.

Walk to the dock, check mooring ring bolts and greenheart sister plank alignment under load.

I see it. Holding for now.

Grab the spare half-inch three-strand from the dry bag, tie a double constrictor knot around the frayed section, then serve it tight with sail twine to take the load off the core.

Coming.

Step inside, shut and bolt the porch door, then help Jenny secure the seed tin and generator under the plastic tarp on the porch, weighting the corners with the oarlock and spare spark plug.

Aye.

Fill the kettle from the rain tank tap, set it on the wood stove, then pull the storm lantern from the shelf, trim the wick, and light it to hang over the table.

Storm's talking louder than Tom's tape tonight.

Split a armful of dry spruce from the stack by the door, feed it into the stove to keep the heat up, then check the shutters are dogged tight and the cotter pins aren't vibrating loose.

You want me to hold the light or pass anything?

Walk over to the kitchen table, stop within arm’s reach, and watch her hands as she works. Keep the LED headlamp on but angled so it doesn’t glare in her eyes. Stay quiet unless she asks.

Here. (I slide the packet of antiseptic wipes and the tweezers across the table toward her, keeping my voice low and steady.) Let me know if you need me to hold the light or steady your foot.

Place the items gently in front of her, then lean back slightly to give her space but stay ready to assist. Keep the headlamp on, focused on her ankle. Watch her face for signs of pain or distress.

(Nothing. Just hold the headlamp beam dead on her ankle, hand braced on the table edge so it doesn’t tremble.)

Keep the light fixed on the swollen ankle, elbow locked, breath quiet. Watch the skin where the pen line was drawn. Don’t look away.

(Still nothing. Just keep the light locked on her hands and the wound, steady as a ship’s binnacle.)

Hold the headlamp firm, wrist braced against the table. Track the tweezers’ motion, ready to pass another wipe or gauze if she signals. Don’t speak, don’t move unless she does.

(Silence. Light steady. Breath held.)

Keep the headlamp beam locked on the wound. Left hand hovers over the gauze packet, fingers already tearing the corner open. Ready to press it into her hand the moment the tweezers clear. Don’t blink.

"You’re right. Let me pull back and check the mounts." (I reduce throttle to idle, let the engine wind down, then kill it.)

I cut the engine, let the dinghy drift to the dock, and step out to inspect the engine mounts and mast bracket for play or cracks.

"I’ll check the bracket bolts first. Then the mounts if it’s still there." (I keep my voice low, focused.)

I grab the wrench from the dock box and move to the mast bracket on the transom, checking the four 10mm stainless through-bolts for tightness, starting with the top pair.

"Copy that. Checking threads as I go." (I work the wrench on the first top bolt, feeling for resistance, then crack it loose to inspect.)

I break the first bolt free, spin it out, and examine the threads under the grey light— looking for pitting, galling, or stripped peaks.

"Let’s see what we got." (I hold the bolt up to the light, turning it slowly.)

I inspect the bolt threads closely— checking for damage, corrosion, or deformation— then do the same for the corresponding hole in the doubler plate and transom wood.

Aye. Doubled it, served the chafe point with sail twine. Ring's held three tides now with the wedges.

glance at the mooring ring where the cedar wedges sit tight in the mortise, then step to the dinghy bow to verify the storm anchor warp isn't chafing on the gunwale

Noted. Generator's lashed, tank's full, ditch bag on the dock. You need the headlamp or the tin mug?

walk back to the cottage porch, lift the spare tarp's leading edge to check the battening, then pause at the radio box to confirm the letter to Tom is still sealed inside

Mug’s on the stove, headlamp’s charged. I’ll bank the banker and bank the dinghy before the swell lifts her.

follow her limp with steady steps, keeping pace just behind her left shoulder, hand near her elbow in case she stumbles on the wet threshold boards

One check. I’ll be back before the kettle sings.

stride down the porch steps, cut across the yard to the dinghy, crouch at the bow to sight along the storm anchor warp and feel for any jerk or chafing on the half-inch line, then give the shackle a firm twist to confirm it’s seated before

Barometer’s at 980 and rising. If it holds through the tide cycle, the dock repairs should stand. I’ll check the mooring ring at low tide — just to be sure.

Pour the remaining water from the kettle into two tin mugs, set one in front of Jenny, and pick up the letter to Tom from the radio box — turn it over in my hands once, then place it back, sealed.

Torque wrench. Thirty-five newton metres. Both bolts. Won't rush it.

Set the mug down, pull the torque wrench from the tool roll, set it to 35Nm, and head out the porch door toward the dock.