Day 696

Tide, Rot, and Ridge

Dawn found the air thick and still, the barometer dropping as the tide crept up the south dock pilings. Kevin checked mooring lines while Jenny sat on a crate, ankle propped. "Kevin, double the north line. The tide is coming faster than the glass," she said. "Already on it. Grabbing the spare warp." He ran a trucker's hitch with a half-hitch backup. "Cleat's not going anywhere."

Kevin cast off the dinghy, but the Yanmar ran rough, vibrating above half throttle. Jenny limped the north ridge path to the hilltop, slow on the injured ankle. At low tide they met at the dock, spraying penetrating oil on rusted coach screws and probing stringer ends with a crowbar. Rot tracked forty centimetres up the stringer from the end grain — a full scarf joint with greenheart offcuts and through-bolts, two days' work if tides cooperated. "Three sound cores in the shed," Kevin said. "East end first — it's carrying the dock's weight."

Jenny sketched: the water lapping decaying pilings, the dock's structural failures, rot spreading through grain, lichen patterns on shrine stones, a rough contour map of the ridge line noting cracks in the earth. Kevin sketched her tracing planks under fading light.

Evening found them at the ridge stones, the carved 'E' and the scrap reading 'I'm still here' catching the last light. Barometer 1012 and rising. Supply boat due in eight days. Jenny examined lichen on ancient carvings; Kevin tested soil moisture near Carex beds. Clay binding at the surface, slip plane at forty centimetres — blue clay over silt. The shortwave crackled with static at an odd hour as they finished. Ridge survey: twenty percent.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

The Heavy Air Before

Kevin stands on the south dock checking the tension on the mooring lines as the tide creeps in. Jenny sits on a crate near the porch, her ankle propped up, while she watches the barometer drop further.

The morning air is heavy and still, the humidity thick enough to cling to the skin. The tide is rising steadily, lapping at the lower pilings of the dock as Kevin and Jenny stand by the water, the barometer's slow drop a silent warning of a shift in the weather.

🌿 Jenny01:59

Kevin, double the north line. The tide is coming faster than the glass.

Picks up her sketchbook and begins sketching the way the water laps against the decaying pilings.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping too fast; if the surge hits now, those rotten planks won't hold.

🔧 Kevin01:59

Already on it. Grabbing the spare warp.

Walk to the north piling, pull the spare half-inch three-strand from the coil at the shed, and run a second line from the dinghy's bow cleat around the piling base and back to the mooring ring, taking up slack with a trucker's hitch.

💭 thought

She's right. The swell's pushing water in ahead of schedule — barometer's steady but the tide's running hard. North piling takes the brunt. If that sister brace lets go, the whole dock walks.

🌿 Jenny02:01

Make sure the knot is tight. I don't want the dinghy taking into the rocks.

Presses the pencil hard against the paper, capturing the jagged cracks in the timber near the tie-off point.

💭 thought

He's fast, but the wood is soft—I can see the rot right through the grey grain.

🔧 Kevin02:01

Trucker's hitch with a half-hitch backup. It'll hold.

Finish the trucker's hitch on the north line, cinch it down hard, add the half-hitch, then step back and sight along both lines checking tension matches.

💭 thought

She doesn't need to tell me. But she will anyway. That's how it works.

🌿 Jenny02:03

Good. Keep an eye on the cleat if it starts to pull.

Shifts her weight, wincing as the movement sends a sharp spike of throb through her ankle.

💭 thought

The tension looks right, but the wood itself is like wet cardboard.

🔧 Kevin02:03

Cleat's not going anywhere. You need water?

Glance at her ankle, then back to the water, watching the swell direction.

💭 thought

The cleat's sound — stainless, through-bolted into greenheart. But she's hurting and that makes her sharp. Let her have the last word.

🌿 Jenny02:05

I'm fine. Just watch the tide.

Traces the edge of a sea beet sketch in her notebook, her fingers trembling slightly.

💭 thought

I'm parched, and the hunger is starting to bite again.

🔧 Kevin02:05

Right.

Turn back to the water, plant feet wide on the dock planks, and watch the north piling where the sister brace meets timber — looking for fresh movement, new rot weep, any sign the coach screw's working looser.

💭 thought

She's not fine. The tremor's not cold. Fever's climbing again. But she'll bite if I push now. The tide's the thing I can do something about.

🌿 Jenny02:10

Jenny — closes the notebook with a soft thud and stares at the grey horizon.

💭 thought

If that piling goes, the whole way goes with it. I need to check the soil.

🔧 Kevin02:10

Kevin — stay at the rail, eyes on the north piling joint, one hand braced on the weathered gunwale timber. Wait.

💭 thought

The silence is louder than the argument would be. She's counting something — swells, minutes, heartbeats. The horizon's featureless. No boat. No break in the cloud. Barometer held at 1009 but the swell's long-period, building. That's not local weather. That's something big pushing from offshore.

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the dock · morning

Rising Tide and Pressure

The water is now touching the edge of the dock planks, and the stillness is finally broken by a faint, cool breeze from the west.

Kevin cast off the dinghy and started the Yanmar, but the engine ran rough with a persistent vibration above half throttle. Jenny limped up the north ridge path to the hilltop, finding the going slow on her injured ankle.

🌿 Jenny02:11

The tide is coming in fast. We need to get the gear off the jetty.

Jenny wipes the excess paste from her ankle and grips the seed tin tightly in her pocket.

💭 thought

The wind is shifting. If those clouds break, the north ridge will be a mudslide before I can finish the survey.

🔧 Kevin02:11

Aye. Grab the ditch bag and the seed tin. I'll get the fuel cans and the radio.

walk to the shed and collect the two fuel cans, the handheld VHF, and the spare impeller kit, then carry them down the jetty to the dinghy and stow them forward

💭 thought

Tide's pushing hard and the barometer's still falling. We're not waiting for the supply boat — we're leaving on our own terms. Gear first, then Jenny, then me. The dinghy's ready.

🌿 Jenny02:13

Keep the radio charged. The barometer is dropping too fast for comfort.

Jenny picks up the ditch bag from the cottage porch and limps toward the dock, favoring her good leg.

💭 thought

If the boat doesn't come in eight days, we'll be out of fresh water and salt.

🔧 Kevin02:13

Radio's charged. Spare battery in the bag. You take the bow seat — I'll handle the engine.

lift the dinghy's bow line from the cleat, coil it quick, and step aboard to the center console to check the Yanmar's fuel valve and kill switch

💭 thought

She's right — barometer's dropped three millibars since first light. Wind'll back northeast before noon. We launch now or we don't launch at all.

🌿 Jenny02:15

Watch those planks. The one on the left is as soft as wet cardboard.

Jenny steps into the dinghy carefully, sitting on the bow bench, and opens her own to a blank page.

💭 thought

He's always so focused on the mechanics while the world is literally rotting around us.

🔧 Kevin02:15

Noted. Keep your weight centerline.

untie the stern spring from the mooring ring, pull the dinghy clear of the jetty with a hand on the gunwale, then step aboard aft and drop into the helm seat, reaching for the Yanmar's starter cord

💭 thought

She's not wrong. The starboard plank's gone spongy. If we'd stayed another week the dock would've taken us with it.

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the dock · midday

Underway and on the ridge

Kevin is at the helm of the dinghy working the Yanmar; Jenny is on the hilltop with her notebook and pH kit.

Kevin stands at the dock, watching the tide pull away from the shore, exposing the slick, barnacle-encrusted pilings. The air is warm, but the light onshore breeze carries the scent of salt and drying seaweed. The barometer shows a slow drop, suggesting a shift in weather despite the dry season label.

🔧 Kevin02:21

Kevin — hold course at low RPM, watch compass and reef markers, key VHF on 2182 with position update

💭 thought

The vibration's in the shaft or the prop — not the mounts. Feels like a bent shaft or a dinged prop, but the sleeve job was true. Could be the mast bracket flexing under load, transferring shake down the transom. Won't know till I haul her.

🌿 Jenny02:23

Come on, you beautiful bastard.

Pack the pH kit and notebook into the waterproof bag, then start the slow descent toward the dock, favoring the good leg.

💭 thought

The boat is early. If he actually made it, I need to get the samples ready for the trade.

🔧 Kevin02:26

Kevin — maintain steady course, monitor engine temp and oil pressure, scan for supply boat off reef entrance

💭 thought

The mainland's getting clearer. Engine's holding at this RPM — vibration's tolerable under 1600. But every knot counts with Jenny's ankle. Supply boat captain said he'll hold position off the reef entrance. Need to make the rendezvous clean.

🌿 Jenny02:29

Jenny — wipe sweat from my eyes and squint against the glare at the smudge on the horizon.

💭 thought

The wind is picking up. If those clouds hold, the boat is going to have a hell of an approach.

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the dock · afternoon

Waiting for the tide

Kevin and Jenny meet at the dock as the sun begins to dip, discussing the plan for the final preparations before the boat arrives.

Kevin and Jenny worked on the dock at low tide, spraying penetrating oil on rusted coach screws and probing the stringer ends with a crowbar. They found rot tracked forty centimetres up the stringer, requiring a full scarf joint with greenheart offcuts and through-bolts — a two-day job if tides cooperate. The shortwave crackled with static at an odd hour as they finished.

🌿 Jenny02:31

We need to secure the dinghy before the tide turns again; those rotten planks aren't holding the weight if the swell increases.

Jenny leans heavily against the dockings, wincing as she shifts her weight to take pressure off her braced ankle.

💭 thought

Eight days until the boat, and if it doesn't show, I'm out of salt and clean water. My ankle is screaming in this humid heat.

🔧 Kevin02:31

Already on it. Doubled the stern line to the mooring ring, ran a second spring to the north piling. Used the new three-strand from the crate. She's not going anywhere.

Walk to the dinghy, check the doubled stern line and spring line tension, adjust the chafe guard where the line crosses the gunwale.

💭 thought

She's right about the planks — the two rotten ones on the seaward side flex under the dinghy's stern when the wake hits. The tide's falling now, but the next high will push swell under the dock if the wind picks up. I should double the stern line and run a spring to the north piling before dark.

🌿 Jenny02:33

Good work. But that third dock plank you marked? It's still going to give way under its own weight - I can feel the rot through the cleat where my boot's planted." Jenny shifts her weight again, a sharp intake of pain escaping her lips before she forces it silent. Her fingers trace the edge of a waterlogged plank. "We need to sister it before the boat comes. And replace the others - the east end's already splitting.

Jenny pulls her field notebook from her jacket pocket, pages fluttering in the warm wind as she flips to a page filled with precise sketches of the dock's structural failures, then taps her pen against her thumbnail with frustrated pressure

🔧 Kevin02:35

Three sound cores in the shed. Greenheart offcuts for the stringer repair. Two 150mm through-bolts left — one for the south piling brace, one spare. We'll need to pull the rotten planks at low tide tomorrow, bed and bolt the sisters before the tide turns. East end first — it's carrying the dock's weight.

Pull the notebook from my back pocket, flip to the rot pattern sketch Jenny traced earlier, compare it to the actual planks under the fading light.

💭 thought

She's felt the give in the third plank — the one I marked with chalk but haven't sistered yet. The east end's worse than I thought; the rot's tracked under the stringer. We have three sound cores salvaged, the greenheart offcuts from the crate, and the 150mm stainless through-bolts. Can sister the worst three planks before the supply boat if we work the low tide tomorrow. Need to pull the rotten cores first, bed the sisters in epoxy, bolt through. She's masking the ankle pain. The antibiotic course finished yesterday. The red line hasn't advanced since the last lancing, but the heat in the joint hasn't dropped either.

🌿 Jenny02:43

I'll get the mallet and the pry bar from the cottage. We need to clear the area before the tide comes back up, or we won't be able to lift the wood.

way winces as she shifts her weight to her good leg, her hand gripping the rough timber for balance.

💭 thought

If we don't fix the jetty now, the whole thing will drift into the channel. My ankle is throbbing with every shift.

🔧 Kevin02:43

Workshop's closer. I'll get them. You sit — prop the leg on the dinghy's gunwale. The tide's still falling; we've got two hours before it turns.

Walk to the workshop lean-to, retrieve the mallet and crowbar, return to the dock and set them down beside the marked planks.

💭 thought

She's moving too much on that ankle. The swelling hasn't gone down, and the heat in the joint means the infection's still active, even after the antibiotics. She shouldn't be walking the dock planks, feeling for rot with her boot. But she won't sit still — never has. The mallet and pry bar are in the workshop lean-to, not the cottage. Closer. I'll get them. She needs to sit.

🌿 Jenny02:45

Bring the pair of heavy-duty pliers too. Those bolts are going to be rusted right into the salt-rot.

Jenny sits on the edge of the dinghy, gingerly lifting her ankle to rest on the bench. She pulls her sketchbook from her lap and begins to draw the way the rot is spreading through the grain, her pencil fast and impatient.

💭 thought

He's trying to be helpful, but he doesn't see the way the wood is weeping. It's like a bruise.

🔧 Kevin02:47

Penetrating oil too. Soak the coach screws tonight — they'll back out easier at low tide.

Walk to the workshop, grab the heavy-duty pliers and the can of penetrating oil from the bottom shelf, return to the dock and set them beside the mallet and crowbar.

💭 thought

Pliers. Right — the coach screws in the stringers will be seized. The penetrating oil's in the workshop too, near the bottom shelf. Should soak the bolt heads tonight, give it time to work before we try to back them out at low tide. She's drawing fast, the way she does when she's documenting something she thinks we'll lose. The pencil moves like she's trying to hold the dock in the paper before it gives way.

🌿 Jenny02:47

Make sure you get the oil. I don't want a bolt snapping off inside the wood while we try to pry.

Jenny stops sketching, her pencil hovering over the paper as she watches the tide retreat further from the barnacle-covered pilings.

💭 thought

If the oil doesn't work, I'll have to drill them out, and I'm too tired for fighting metal today.

🔧 Kevin02:48

Got it. We'll probe the stringer ends first thing at low tide. If the wood's gone where the bolts bite, we sister the stringer too — greenheart offcuts are long enough.

Spray penetrating oil liberally on the exposed coach screw heads along the three marked planks and the east end stringer connections, then set the can down and crouch to probe the stringer end grain with the tip of the crowbar where it meet

💭 thought

She's watching the tide like she's timing something. The water's pulled back far enough now to see the full length of the pilings — the north one's clean, the south one shows the sister brace deflection I measured at twenty-eight millimetres during the storm. The coach screws are the least of it. If the stringer's rotted through where the bolts bite, the sisters won't hold no matter how many through-bolts we drive. Need to probe the stringer ends before we commit. The oil can's in my hand. Cold metal. Good.

🌿 Jenny02:49

Check the depth of the rot. If it's more than an inch, we'll have to reinforcement the whole section, not just the surface.

Jenny leans forward, her eyes narrowing as she watches the crowbar tip test the wood, her hand resting on the notebook to steady her weight.

💭 thought

If the stringers are soft, the whole jetty is a liability. I can't lose the dinghy if the storm hits.

🔧 Kevin02:50

Rot's tracked forty centimetres up the stringer from the end. Surface sister won't hold. We cut back to clean wood, scarf in greenheart, through-bolt the full section. Two days' work if the tides cooperate.

Pull the crowbar free, wipe the wet sawdust paste from the tip, mark the rot line on the stringer with chalk at the point where the wood feels solid under the bar.

💭 thought

The crowbar tip sinks into the stringer end grain with almost no resistance — half the length of the bar disappears before it hits sound wood. The rot's tracked up the stringer at least forty centimetres from the end, following the bolt holes. Surface sistering won't hold. We'll need to cut back to clean timber, scarf in a greenheart section, and through-bolt the whole repair. That's a day's work minimum, maybe two. The supply boat's due in eight days. We can do it if we start at first light tomorrow and work both low tides. But Jenny shouldn't be on this dock at all.

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the old shrine · evening

evening at the ridge stones

They climb the ridge path together as the sun lowers, Kevin carrying the ditch bag and Jenny leaning on her driftwood cane. The shrine's ring of weathered stones catches the last light, the carved 'E' stone and the softwood scrap inscribed 'I'm still here' standing beside it. The barometer reads 1012 and rising. The supply boat is due in eight days.

Kevin and Jenny spent the evening at the old shrine surveying the stability of the north ridge. Jenny examined the lichen growth on the ancient carvings while Kevin tested the soil moisture and compression near the Carex beds.

🌿 Jenny02:54

Look at the lichen on this stone, Kevin. It's almost obscured the name entirely.

Trace the carved 'LB' with a trembling finger, then sketch the lichen's growth pattern in the notebook.

💭 thought

The soil up here is holding, but the salt is eating everything below. I need to find that patch for grandmother's seeds before the next big storm.

🔧 Kevin02:55

LB. Laughing Bird. Old name for the island. Trust records have it in the '23 survey.

stand beside her, ditch bag at my feet, watching the light move across the stone circle

💭 thought

She's steady on her feet. The ankle's holding. That sketch means she's seeing tomorrow.

🌿 Jenny02:57

The survey didn't mention the soil stability here. They just marked the ridge.

Shift my weight to my good leg, wincing as the ankle brace pulls, and look out over the half-weeded garden below.

💭 thought

Laughing Bird. It sounds too cheerful for a place that's constantly trying to swallow me whole.

🔧 Kevin02:57

They didn't walk it at spring tide with a nor'easter blowing. North ridge slipped three metres in '21. Took the Carex beds with it.

shift weight, scan the garden slope where the intercept trench cuts across the lower terrace

💭 thought

She's reading the ground like I read an engine — listening for what's loose before it fails.

🌿 Jenny02:59

That's why I haven't opened the tin yet. The ground is too restless right now.

Open the notebook and sketch a rough contour map of the ridge line, noting the cracks in the earth.

💭 thought

Three metres? If that slope goes again, my grandmother's seeds are at the bottom of a cliff.

🔧 Kevin03:01

Tin's dry. Oilcloth held. Seeds won't rot waiting.

crouch beside her, pull the softwood scrap from my pocket, set it flat on the 'E' stone — I'm still here

💭 thought

She's waiting for the earth to settle before she commits the seeds to it. Smart. Stubborn. Same way she waited to tell me about the infection until she couldn't hide the line.

🌿 Jenny03:02

I need to be sure the soil won't shift before I commit them.

Press a thumb into the earth near the shrine stones, testing the moisture and stability of the surface.

💭 thought

He's right, but I'm terrified. If I plant them and the earth moves, I have nothing left.

🔧 Kevin03:03

Clay's binding at the surface. Slip plane's at forty centimetres — blue clay over silt. You'd need the auger to feel it move.

unsling the ditch bag, set it careful on the grass, pull the auger bit from my belt loop and hold it out to her

💭 thought

She tests the ground the way I test a shaft — thumb pressure, feeling for play. The ridge holds here. Clay binds tight under the lichen crust. But she knows the slip plane runs deeper.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Evening meal and gear check

Kevin and Jenny sit at the small table. The lantern light flickers over the remaining rations and the survey notebook.

Dawn breaks over the island on Day 697. The heavy, still air of the previous night lingers, though the barometer is holding steady at 1012 hPa. The tide is actively rising, pushing water against the lower pilings of the rotted dock.

🌿 Jenny03:04

The barometer is dropping. We should check the radio again tomorrow morning.

rub the ointment into my ankle and opens the tin of seeds to look at them in the light.

💭 thought

The humidity is a physical weight tonight, and my ankle is screaming with every movement. I need to know if that soil on the ridge will actually hold my grandmother's seeds.

🔧 Kevin03:05

Mm. First light. If the Yanmar holds at idle we'll know by then.

reach for the tin mug of cooling broth on the table, wrap cold fingers around it

💭 thought

She's right about the barometer. The drop's been steady since noon. If it hits 1005 by dawn we'll have swell building on the reef — crossing gets ugly fast. She's still favoring the ankle bad, but the red line hasn't moved since this morning. That's something.

🌿 Jenny03:06

If the engine fails, we aren't getting those supplies to the north ridge anyway.

sketch the morphology of the sea-deet seeds in the margin of the notebook.

💭 thought

He's so focused on the engine, while I'm thinking about the pH levels and the stability of the clay.

🔧 Kevin03:06

Engine's the least of it. Dock mooring ring's working loose in the rot. One good surge takes the ring, takes the piling, takes the porch roof.

set the mug down, pull the survey notebook closer, thumb to the page with the dock rot sketches

💭 thought

She's not wrong. North ridge seedlings won't wait. But the engine's not the only thing that could fail. Dock's one bad tide from taking the mooring ring with it, and if the cottage loses the porch we're hauling water by hand. She's thinking supplies. I'm thinking structural.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "Way the water laps against the decaying pilings".

made · dawn

The tide is coming in faster than predicted, potentially submerging the lower dock.

discovery · dawn

A tree has come down across the path in the wind.

tree_down · morning

North ridge path is passable but steep and slippery in places; cairns placed earlier are visible and useful for navigation

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

the north ridge is the only stable area for mass planting

discovery · midday

Jenny made a sketch: "The dock's structural failures,".

made · afternoon

Kevin made a sketch: "Jenny traced earlier, compare it to the actual planks under the fading light".

made · afternoon

Jenny made a sketch: "Way the rot is spreading through the grain, her pencil fast".

made · afternoon

The shortwave crackles with a voice, or static, at an odd hour.

radio_voice · afternoon

stringer rot extends 40cm inland from end grain, requiring full scarf joint not surface sister

discovery · afternoon

Jenny made a sketch: "Lichen's growth pattern in the notebook".

made · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "Rough contour map of the ridge line, noting the cracks in the earth".

made · evening

A new project: ridge survey.

project_started · evening

the north ridge soil is held in place by a dense root system

discovery · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

A tangle of driftwood and flotsam has washed up on the beach.

driftwood · night

ridge survey: 20%.

project · night

← Day 695 Day 697 →

a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.