Day 644

Already on it. Dinghy's bow and stern springs are doubled, storm anchor deployed off the bow. Just need to walk the dock pilings and the mooring ring.

walk down the porch steps and head toward the dock, flashlight beam cutting low across the planks

Checked the north piling at low tide. Rot's past the sister. Might need to drive a new pile before winter.

step onto the dock planks, flashlight sweeping the north piling at the waterline, crouch to probe the softened wood with the crowbar tip

Generator's lashed, radio under tarp, ditch bag on the dinghy. Just the fuel drums and the spare propane to tie down.

straighten, sweep the flashlight along the dock to the fuel drum lashings, move to cinch the ratchet straps tighter around the diesel drums

Chocks are greenheart, wedged tight. But not bolted. I'll drive spikes through them into the stringers.

grab the 19mm wrench and a handful of 150mm stainless spikes from the workshop shelf, return to the fuel drums, drive the first spike through the forward chock into the dock stringer with heavy hammer blows

Pre-drilling. 12mm auger first, then spike.

swap the hammer for the brace and 12mm auger bit, bore a pilot hole through the forward chock into the stringer, blow out the salt dust, drive the spike home slow and straight

Got the tarps staged by the porch door. Radio's sheltered under the overhang, aerial's tied down. Generator's lashed. Dinghy's double-warped to the north piling and the mooring ring with the storm anchor out on fifty metres of warp.

Walk over to the wood stove, open the door, and add two armfuls of dry firewood from the stack by the back wall, then close the damper halfway to build a slow, hot bed of coals that'll hold through the night.

Gutters held last blow. Screen's clear. If it chokes, I'll clear it at dawn.

Pull the kettle from the hook, set it on the stove top, and fill it from the tank tap — water's cold, will take a few minutes to boil.

It's tight. Checked the chafe points at the ring and piling — new guards on both. Bow line's got slack for the surge. Storm anchor's holding in good mud.

Lift the kettle off the stove as it starts to whistle, pour hot water into the two tin mugs on the table, drop a spoonful of coffee into each, and set one mug down in front of where Jenny stands at the window.

You need to come inside. The west wind's rising.

Walk to the porch and stand between Jenny and the open water, scanning the tree line and the dock.

Barometer held at 989 since dawn. That's the lie. It'll drop after noon.

Step onto the porch boards, grip the rail, and scan the horizon southwest to northwest. Check the dinghy's bow line tension from here.

Tin's sealed. I watched you do it yesterday.

Turn from the horizon, walk to the radio shelf, and key the mic on Channel 16. "Sorrel Island caretaker station. Radio check. Over."

I'll do the shutters. You sit.

Take the insulator from her hand, set it on the porch rail, and move to the west shutter with the drill and the 150mm stainless through-bolts staged there.

Roof's holding. You need anything before I kill the lantern?

Walk to the porch door and secure the inner bolt, then check the radio's still sheltered under the tarp.

Already checked. Cedar shims and epoxy on the overflow channel. Water's running clean through the copper spillway.

Walk to the back wall, press my palm against the tank cover latch to verify it's seated, then return to the porch and sit on the edge of the bunk, boots dripping.

Foundation's weeping at the northeast bed. Mortar's gone soft. I'll re-bed it when this breaks if the lime holds.

Pull the wool blanket tighter around my shoulders, watch her sketch by lantern light, and let the silence stretch.

Not planning to. Radio watch at midnight. You wake me if the ankle throbs past what the poultice handles.

Lean back against the cold stone wall, close my eyes, and listen to the wind find every gap in the cottage.

989 and steady. You'll hear it drop before I do.

Reach over and brush a strand of hair from her forehead, fingers lingering on the cool skin, then pull my hand back and settle into the bunk facing the wall.

I'm not here because the sea won't take me back. I'm here because you're here.

Turn onto my back, face the lantern light, and hold her eyes without looking away.

Rain's backing off. Tank's near full — overflow channel held. You need anything before I check the dock lines?

walk to the kitchen, fill the kettle from the tank tap, set it on the wood stove

Dock's doubled up. Storm anchor's out on the dinghy bow. I'll walk the lines at high water.

set a tin mug on the table beside her, pour hot water from the kettle, drop in a spoon of coffee from the jar

Boots have grip. I'll take the upper path, not the rocks.

pull on my oilskin jacket, check the shortwave aerial lead where it passes through the porch wall, step out onto the porch

Back before full dark.

walk down the porch steps, take the upper path toward the dock, boots finding purchase on the worn grass track

Kevin — reach the dock, crouch at the starboard mooring ring, check the oak wedges driven into the mortise, test the doubled stern line tension by hand