Day 513

Yeah, you're right. They're seated. I'll back off now.

ease off wrench pressure, check bolt tension by hand, wipe rain from face with sleeve, glance at Jenny's ankle in the bucket, then step back to watch the tide creep toward the lower beams.

Barometer's holding. Wind's east and freshening. If it drops sudden, we snub the dinghy to the windward piling — now, not later.

scan the horizon for cloud shift, grip the wrench loosely but ready, move to stand beside Jenny on the dock beam, keep voice low and steady.

990's the line. We'll have the dinghy snubbed and the hatch battened by then.

watch Jenny's hands as she rewraps the ankle, note the whitening of her skin under the cloth, then turn to check the mooring lines — make sure the dinghy's painter is clear and ready to run, feet planted wide against the wind.

Painter's clear. Runs free to the bow eye, no chafing, no knots.

step forward along the dock, run hand along the painter line from dinghy to mooring pin, feel for snags or salt-crusted stiff spots, then return to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with Jenny, facing the water, silent but ready.

Barometer’s holding. If it drops below 990, we snub the dinghy and lash everything down. You good here?

walk to the starboard piling, place hand on the damp joint where greenheart meets old timber, feel for movement under the rising tide lap.

I’ll check the tin. You rest that ankle — I’ll bring you water when I’m back.

walk back toward the cottage, keeping pace slow to match hers, eyes on the shade cloth where the seedlings are tucked under, then cut toward the porch where the tin sits under the plastic tarp.

Want me to hold the lantern? Light’s flat in here.

Walk over to the shelf, pick up the LED lantern, and place it beside Jenny at the table so it shines on the seed tin. Then step back and wait, hands loose at my sides, ready if she asks for more.

Kevin — pull out the chair opposite Jenny and sit down, quiet. Watch the rain streak the window, and let the silence sit between us without filling it. Keep my hands where she can see them — open, not reaching.

Pressure’s heading south. Let’s secure the dinghy and batten the porch before it blows.

Stand up, move to the porch door, and throw it open to check the wind and rain. Then grab the coil of storm line from the hook and start walking toward the dinghy, ready to tie her off snug to the mooring ring.

Take your time. I’ll be at the dinghy when you’re ready.

Walk to the dock, scan the lines for chafe, and begin checking the dinghy’s bow line where it meets the mooring ring — looking for slip, stretch, or give in the knots and splices. Keep one eye on the cottage door, waiting for her to appear.

Let me take the tarp. You sit — I’ve got the ridge beam.

Walk quickly to the porch, ease the spare tarp from Jenny’s grip, and begin fastening it securely under the ridge beam with timber strips, pulling it tight and wedging the edges so it won’t lift in the wind.

On it. I’ll run the lines aft to the bollard and take up the slack.

walk to the dock, grab the dinghy’s bow line, and reeve it through the mooring ring’s eye, then haul it tight to the bollard and secure with a round turn and two half-hitches.

Fenders are out. I’ll lash a couple of those driftwood planks we salvaged as bumpers.

walk to the beach, haul two sound driftwood logs up to the dock, and wedge them vertically between the piling and the dinghy’s hull, then secure each with a length of new rope and a clove hitch to the cleat.

I’ve got my feet on the planks. Watch the line.

climb onto the dock’s starboard side, grab the mooring pennant, and take a half turn on the winch to surge the dinghy offshore as the swell lifts, then ease it back as it drops, keeping the boat fendered off the piling.

Almost got it steady. Just need to take the strain off the bow line.

haul the bow line tight to the bollard, secure it with a figure-eight knot, then check the stern spring and breast line for chafing, adjusting each with a trucker’s hitch to keep the dinghy centered off the dock.

Tide’s turning. I’m taking a turn on the stern spring to hold her head into the current.

walk to the stern cleat, take the stern spring line off the bollard, rerun it through the mooring ring’s opposite eye, and haul it tight to the cleat, then tie off with a round turn and two half-hitches while watching the dinghy swing to fa

All clear. Let’s get below before the gust hits.

coil the excess line, stow it in the dinghy’s locker, then jog back to the cottage, haul the porch door shut, and bolt it from the inside.

Pressure's heading for 990. Let's get the dinghy snubbed now—storm lines and all.

Walk to the dinghy at the dock, grab the storm anchor warp and heavy weather line from the ditch bag, begin securing bow to offshore anchor and stern to mooring ring with doubled lines.

On it. Seacocks first, then we lock her down.

Kneel by the dinghy’s engine well, inspect the raw water seacock and fuel tank vent for leaks or salt creep, tighten with wrench if needed, then close both securely.

Vent’s clear. Seacocks are shut and seated. Let’s get the lines on before the next set hits.

Grab the storm anchor warp (50m) from the ditch bag, walk to the dinghy’s bow, secure it to the storm anchor already set offshore, then run the heavy weather line from the stern to the mooring ring, doubling it around the piling and taking

Doubling them now—bow and stern. Hold the line.

Take the storm warp from the bow, lead it back to a secondary cleat amidships and figure-eight it for redundancy; take the stern line, add a second half-inch three-strand rope alongside it, serve both with sail twine at the chafe point on t

Seeds are safe. We’re snug for now. I’ll keep watch.

Step back from the dock, scan the reef for breaking sets, listen to the wind in the rigging, then return to the porch and stand beside Jenny in silence, sharing the watch as the pressure drops and the sea rises.

It’s here. I’ll get the poultice warm and the radio ready—just in case.

Walk into the cottage, take the sea beet and mint poultice from the counter, warm it gently on the stove, then return to the porch, kneel beside Jenny, and press it to her ankle without a word.

Wind’s picking up. I’m going to check the dinghy’s storm lines—make sure they’re holding. You alright out there?

Walk briskly to the dock, eyes on the dinghy snubbed with doubled lines, hands already moving to feel the tension on the storm warp where it bites into the bow cleat. Salt spray stings my cheeks as I pull the line tight, testing for give.

It’s pulling out hard. Barometer’s down to 992—falling fast. If it hits 990, we snub the dinghy and batten the porch. You got the notebook? I’ll check the south piling—see if those greenheart shims are still holding.

Move quickly along the dock toward the south piling, crouching low against the wind, fingers probing the joint where the shim meets the piling toe—feeling for shift, for give, for the hollow sound that means the void’s working again.