Day 636
Storm Force, Not Rot
Dawn found Kevin at the listing dock's edge, measuring the gap where the north piling had sheared clean at the mudline — three inches at the top, half that below. "Brace is holding," he said. "Piling sheared clean — no splintering. That's storm force, not rot." Jenny, wrapping her ankle in dry cloth on a nearby crate, replied: "Clean is just another word for 'sudden.' Check the tension on the southern pilings before the tide turns." She sketched the dock's weight distribution and salt damage while managing her injury.
Dawn found Kevin at the listing dock's edge, measuring the gap where the north piling had sheared clean at the mudline — three inches at the top, half that below. "Brace is holding," he said. "Piling sheared clean — no splintering. That's storm force, not rot." Jenny, wrapping her ankle in dry cloth on a nearby crate, replied: "Clean is just another word for 'sudden.' Check the tension on the southern pilings before the tide turns." She sketched the dock's weight distribution and salt damage while managing her injury.
At low tide Kevin worked from the dinghy, gearbox unbolted, truing the driveshaft coupling with brass shim stock. Jenny tended the come-along on South-one, taking up slack as the tide turned. Barometer read 986 hPa and falling; swell lapped the planks. "Don't push too hard. The wood is already shifting," she warned. "Not pushing. Just feeling," he answered.
Rain intensified through midday, filling the tank 25 litres at a time — 100 litres total by evening. Kevin secured gear, battened shutters, lashed the generator, doubled the dinghy's stern lines and set the storm anchor. Jenny debrided raw, salt-crusted skin, prepared saline soaks, and sketched sea beet morphology, salt glands, crystal patterns on rotting timber, the jagged waterline, and the spreading areas on her ankle. A pod of dolphins passed close off the point.
By afternoon the barometer climbed to 988 hPa despite heavy air. Kevin checked the come-along wedges; Jenny monitored the radio batteries. "Keep an eye on that barometer, love. It's climbing, but the clouds don't look promising," she said. "Reading 987 and rising. But the swell's backing southwest — feel it in the dock planks," he replied.
Night brought warm rain in rhythmic bursts, tide rising faster than forecast, swell lapping the dock planks. Kevin fed the stern spring through the chock as the dinghy strained. "Watch the stern spring, it's rubbing against the piling!" Jenny called. "Got it," he said. "Holding. Moving back."
Scenes
the dock · dawnPost-Storm Damage Assessment
Kevin stands at the edge of the listing dock, measuring the gap where the north piling sheared off. Jenny sits on a crate nearby, wrapping her ankle in fresh dry cloth while checking the tension on the temporary spruce braces.
Kevin inspected the south pilings and found three millimeters of play at South-one, requiring a turn on the come-along before high tide. Jenny began sketching the dock's weight distribution and salt damage while managing her ankle injury.
Watch your step, Kevin. The rot is deeper than yesterday.
Tightens the bolt on the spruce brace and winces as the weight shifts on her ankle.
💭 thought
Brace is holding. Gap's three inches at the top, half that at the mudline. Piling sheared clean — no splintering. That's storm force, not rot.
crouch at the dock edge and run calloused fingers along the shear face of the north piling stump, checking grain direction and salt penetration depth
💭 thought
Clean is just another word for 'sudden.' Check the tension on the southern pilings before the tide turns.
Tightens the bandage on her ankle with a sharp intake of breath, eyes narrowing as she watches the water line climb the wood.
💭 thought
On it.
walk the length of the dock to the south end, testing each piling with a shoulder shove and checking the come-along tension on the temporary braces, eyes on the rising water
💭 thought
Don't push too hard. The wood is already shifting.
Reaches for her sketchbook and pencil, sketching the jagged line where the water meets the timber.
💭 thought
Not pushing. Just feeling.
lay a flat palm against each southern piling in turn, sensing movement through the heels of my hands rather than shoving, calling out measurements to her — "South-one: three mil play at tide line. South-two: solid.
💭 thought
Send me the full elevation sketch. I'll mark where we need the extra wedges. Send me the full elevation sketch. I'll mark where we need the extra wedges.
Rubs her ankle against the dock plank, letting her sketchbook fall open to the page where she's been mapping the salt damage. </think>THOUGHT: Three mil play and the whole thing could slide.
💭 thought
Got it. Sketch is in the notebook on the porch. Page with the tide-pool topography — flipped it over for the dock profile.
turn back toward the cottage, stepping careful on the listed planks, and call over my shoulder — "South-three: one mil. South-four: solid. Come-along on two's tight. One's got slack — needs a turn before high water."
💭 thought
I'll check the slack on one. Don't get too far out there.
Grabs her sketchbook and pencil, beginning a map of the weight distribution on the jetty.
💭 thought
Back in ten. Radio check at 0800.
head up the path toward the cottage, boot heels striking the worn timber of the dock-plank transition, one hand automatically checking the shortwave aerial tension where it runs from the mast to the cottage eave
💭 thought
the dock · morningYanmar gearbox pull and dock brace tightening
Kevin works in the dinghy at low tide, gearbox unbolted, brass shim stock ready to true the driveshaft coupling. Jenny tends the come-along on South-one, taking up slack as the tide turns. The barometer reads 986 hPa and falling. Swell laps the dock planks.
Kevin finishes the last bolt on the dock mooring system, wiping grease from his hands as the tide pulls at the dinghy. Jenny sits on the cottage bench, wincing as she shifts her weight, and prepares the saline solution to begin debriding the raw, salt-crusted skin.
Kevin, the barometer's dropping—secure those crate lines now, before the swell hits the dock.
walk to mooring ring, inspect and tighten all mooring lines, then return to South-one to check come-along tension
💭 thought
Aye. Finishing the shim, then lines.
Tighten the last brass shim bolt to torque, wipe hands, and move to the dinghy's bow and stern lines — take up slack, double the turns on the mooring ring and north piling, check chafe points.
💭 thought
Check the chafe on the bow. The tide is coming in faster than the forecast.
sit on the Analysis edge, adjust the ankle poultice, and begin sketching the salt crystal patterns on the rotting wood.
💭 thought
On it.
Step to the bow, ease the line just enough to shift the chafe point, re-seat it in the fairlead with a fresh wrap of canvas, snug it hard and cleat it off.
💭 thought
Good. I'm going back to the own. The salt is starting to bite again.
lean back against the cottage, wince as the movement shifts, and press the pencil to the paper to finish the salt morphology log.
💭 thought
Back in a minute.
Give the stern line one last hard pull, verify the spring line's holding the dinghy off the piling, then walk back up the listed dock toward the cottage workshop.
💭 thought
Don't be long. The salt's getting everywhere.
close the notebook, tuck the pencil into the waterproof casing, and area toward the cottage door.
💭 thought
Two minutes.
Enter the workshop, set the torque wrench and micrometer back on the pegboard, lift the kettle from the stove, check the water level, and carry it to the porch where the stove's already warm.
💭 thought
Thanks for the water. The salt's making the skin raw today.
sit on the low bench, unwrap the ankle brace with shaking fingers, and prepare the saline solution for debriding.
💭 thought
Let me.
Set the kettle down, crouch beside the bench, take the saline bottle and clean gauze from her fingers, and wait for her nod before touching the wound.
💭 thought
the keeper's cottage · middayThe Rising Tide
The tide has reached the lower planks of the dock, and the overcast sky feels heavy with the promise of coming rain.
The steady rain continues through midday, filling the water tank to its maximum capacity. Kevin spends the afternoon checking the barometer and securing gear against the storm while Jenny manages her ankle infection in the warmth of the cottage.
Keep an eye on that barometer, love. It's climbing, but the clouds don't look promising.
check barometer reading on shelf; glance at weather window from cottage window.
💭 thought
Reading 987 and rising. But the swell's backing southwest — feel it in the dock planks. Going to check the come-along on the south piling before the next set hits.
walk to the dock and inspect the come-along tension on the south piling sistering
💭 thought
Be careful out there. The planks will be slick with the rain.
pick up the sketchbook; prepare the saline mix for the ankle debridement.
💭 thought
Aye. Got the crowbar if the ratchet binds.
step onto the dock, testing the first plank with weight before committing, then move to the south piling to check the come-along tension
💭 thought
If it binds, don't force it. Just wait for the tide.
sit on the stool and begin debriding the own, wincing as the saline hits the raw skin.
💭 thought
Won't force it. Just checking the wedges first.
crouch at the south piling, run fingers along the oak wedges driven into the mooring ring mortise, feeling for movement or gaps while the swell lifts the dock beneath me
💭 thought
the keeper's cottage · afternoonthe storm breaks
The rain intensifies and the wind is picking up through the trees. Kevin and Jenny are inside as the first gust rattles the shutters.
The air remains heavy with the oppressive 32°C heat as the afternoon wanes. The tide is receding, exposing the slick rocks of the tide pools near the dock, while the barometer continues its slow rise to 988 hPa, signaling that the immediate stillness might hold for now, though the pressure drop suggests a coming change.
Shutters are battened. Generator's lashed. Dinghy's got double stern lines and the storm anchor out. You need anything before the power cuts?
Check the Yanmar's raw water intake strainer one more time, then top off the day tank from the drum.
💭 thought
Just more salt water for the soak. And check the radio batteries one last time.
lifts her ankle into the basin of warm saline, wincing as the water hits the raw skin.
💭 thought
Saline's ready. Batteries... I think I've got some in the workshop box. Let me grab them. Batteries checked. They're good - kept dry in the sealed box. Radio's live now. I'll key the mic on Tom's frequency at first light.
Head to the workshop, check the radio's battery compartment, then the box on the shelf where I keep spare cells. </think>THOUGHT: Batteries in the workshop box. Might be corroded from the humidity, but worth checking.
💭 thought
Make sure they haven't leaked. I don't need acid on the floor too.
dips her foot into the water, watching the salt crystals dissolve around the wound.
💭 thought
Checked. Clean. No corrosion. Radio's got power for at least a week of scheduled calls.
Set the spare cells on the radio shelf, then pull the chair closer to the stove to warm my hands.
💭 thought
Good. Don't leave them near the damp.
reaches for her notebook to sketch the way the areas is spreading on the skin.
💭 thought
the old shrine · eveningEvening Stillness
The sun begins to dip, casting long shadows across the garden. The tide is at its lowest point.
The rain has turned into a heavy downpour from the west, blurring the view of the old shrine. The tide is currently out low, exposing the slick rocks around the dock. Kevin has pulled the Yanmar gearbox onto the dock, working to shim the driveshaft coupling with brass from the old prop shaft while Jenny remains at the shrine, managing her swollen ankle despite the damp chill.
Kevin — walk down to the dock, pull the Yanmar gearbox and shim the driveshaft coupling with brass from the old prop shaft
💭 thought
Watch the salt spray, Kevin, the wood is slick.
Apply a cold compress to the swelling on my ankle and sketch the morphology of the sea beet leaves I found today.
💭 thought
Aye. Got it.
set tools on the driest plank, crack the gearbox bolts while the coupling's accessible at low water
💭 thought
Don't forcing them, they're corroded to the bone.
Lean back against the cottage wall and watch the tide recede from the shrine.
💭 thought
Not forcing. Persuading.
tap the bolt heads with the hammer, let the vibration work the oil deeper, wait thirty seconds before applying torque
💭 thought
way don't snap the heads off. We don't have spares.
Trace the jaggedEdge of my ankle with my thumb, feeling the throb of the infection.
💭 thought
Got the tap set. Got the helicoil kit. Got the bronze drift if the threads go.
work the 19mm ring spanner slow, feel for the give, back off a quarter turn each time the resistance spikes
💭 thought
Watch the angle, Kevin. That metal is thin as old paper.
Sketch the salt glands on the sea beet in my notebook while the tide stays out.
💭 thought
Flat and square. Same as always.
keep the spanner perpendicular to the flange face, crack the third bolt free with a steady pull, catch the washer before it drops into the bilge water
💭 thought
way don't lose the washers in the mud. I'm not diving for them today.
Rub the saline into the ankle and try to ignore the heat in the skin.
💭 thought
Not dropping them.
hold the last washer with two fingers against the flange as the bolt clears, set it in the magnetic tray, ease the gearbox back on the alignment studs
💭 thought
Check the alignment again. I don't want to do this twice.
Wipe the grease from my hands with a rag, watching the clouds roll in from the west.
💭 thought
Checking.
run the dial indicator across the coupling face, note the runout at four quadrants, pull the brass stock and micrometer from the tool roll
💭 thought
Make it quick. The pressure is dropping fast.
Wrap the poultice tight around the ankle, wincing at the heat in the joint.
💭 thought
the dock · nightThe Storm Approaches
The wind is picking up significantly as the tide begins to turn. The gear must be secured before the worst of the storm truly hits.
The warm rain continues to fall in rhythmic bursts, thickening the scent of salt and damp earth. The tide is rising faster than anticipated, with the swell already lapping at the surface of the dock planks. Kevin works on the dinghy as it strains against its moorings, the wind shifting a chill from the north.
Kevin! The wind is shifting—check the lines on the dinghy now!
Stand up slowly, wincing at the ankle, and walk toward the dock to check the moorings.
💭 thought
On it.
Walk to the dinghy at the end of the dock, inspect the bow line and stern spring for chafe, verify the storm anchor warp is holding clear of the bottom, and reinforce any wear points with the remaining sail twine and canvas strips.
💭 thought
Watch the stern spring, it's rubbing against the piling!
Lean against the timber post of the dock, shifting weight off my' ankle while watching the dinghy strain in the rising tide.
💭 thought
Got it. Slack the bow line a hand's breadth — I'll feed the spring through the chock and serve the rub point.
Step aboard the dinghy, ease the bow line off the cleat just enough to take tension off the stern spring, pull the spring forward through the stern chock to shift the chafe point, wrap the worn section with canvas strips and bind it tight w
💭 thought
way with that step, the wood is soft as pulp!
Grip the railing of the cottage, knuckles white, as I watch the dinghy scuttle in the surge.
💭 thought
Holding. Moving back.
Shift weight carefully off the soft plank onto the sound stringer beside it, crouch low, and work the stern spring serving from the dinghy's gunwale instead of the dock — finish the wrap, seize it with sail twine, then ease the bow line bac
💭 thought
What changed
a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.