Day 697
Starboard Stringer and Swell
At dawn Kevin knelt on the damp planks and found the starboard stringer rotten forty centimetres above the waterline. Jenny, ankle propped on a driftwood log, marked the scarf cut line two inches above the decay with chalk. Kevin tested the plank with a crowbar while she sketched the rot pattern. "Don't lean on the left side, Kevin. The wood is soft," she said. "Noted. Starboard stringer's the one eating itself — forty centimetres up from the waterline. Greenheart scarf joint needs the next low tide window. Only got one before the swell builds," he replied. Cedar shims were gone — coconut crab dragged them into the garden — so they wedged spruce offcuts. At slack tide Kevin cut the scarf with a bow saw, Jenny bracing the plank. "Watch the angle, Kevin. Don't bite into the healthy wood," she said. "Won't. You watch the line." He cleaned the rotten fibers, verified a flat face, and fitted the greenheart sister drilled for 10mm through-bolts. By midday the sister plank held primary load, the north piling shim crushed. In afternoon heat they met at the cottage; Kevin had walked the north ridge, noting slope stability, while Jenny completed only the first Carex transects, her ankle throbbing. At low tide Kevin scraped old epoxy from the scarf joint; the wood was still too damp to bond. "Epoxy don't run warm unless the mix was off or the wood's still breathing," he said. Jenny scraped soft residue. "It's more than the mix. The fibers are still damp under the surface." They pulled bolts to dry the face. After dinner they checked the dinghy moorings by lantern light. Lines held but chafe guards were worn through. Swell built from the north; French trawlers ran for shelter on the radio. "Jenny. Slow down. The planks are slick," Kevin said. "I know. I just need to see the dinghy before the light fails completely."
At dawn Kevin knelt on the damp planks and found the starboard stringer rotten forty centimetres above the waterline. Jenny, ankle propped on a driftwood log, marked the scarf cut line two inches above the decay with chalk. Kevin tested the plank with a crowbar while she sketched the rot pattern. "Don't lean on the left side, Kevin. The wood is soft," she said. "Noted. Starboard stringer's the one eating itself — forty centimetres up from the waterline. Greenheart scarf joint needs the next low tide window. Only got one before the swell builds," he replied. Cedar shims were gone — coconut crab dragged them into the garden — so they wedged spruce offcuts. At slack tide Kevin cut the scarf with a bow saw, Jenny bracing the plank. "Watch the angle, Kevin. Don't bite into the healthy wood," she said. "Won't. You watch the line." He cleaned the rotten fibers, verified a flat face, and fitted the greenheart sister drilled for 10mm through-bolts. By midday the sister plank held primary load, the north piling shim crushed. In afternoon heat they met at the cottage; Kevin had walked the north ridge, noting slope stability, while Jenny completed only the first Carex transects, her ankle throbbing. At low tide Kevin scraped old epoxy from the scarf joint; the wood was still too damp to bond. "Epoxy don't run warm unless the mix was off or the wood's still breathing," he said. Jenny scraped soft residue. "It's more than the mix. The fibers are still damp under the surface." They pulled bolts to dry the face. After dinner they checked the dinghy moorings by lantern light. Lines held but chafe guards were worn through. Swell built from the north; French trawlers ran for shelter on the radio. "Jenny. Slow down. The planks are slick," Kevin said. "I know. I just need to see the dinghy before the light fails completely."
Scenes
the dock · dawnLow Tide Morning Inspection
Kevin kneels on the damp planks, checking the tension on the mooring rings as the tide recedes. Jenny sits on a weathered crate, her ankle propped on a driftwood log while she watches the water retreat from the pilings.
Kevin and Jenny inspected the dock's starboard stringer at low tide, confirming rot extending 40cm above the waterline. They marked a scarf joint cut line two inches above the decay using chalk, planning to sister greenheart offcuts during the single low tide window before the supply boat arrives. Jenny sketched the rot pattern in her notebook while Kevin tested plank integrity with the crowbar.
Don't lean on the left side, Kevin. The wood is soft.
Jenny pulls out her notebook and pencil, sketching the specific pattern of the decay on the third plank.
💭 thought
Noted. Starboard stringer's the one eating itself — forty centimetres up from the waterline. Greenheart scarf joint needs the next low tide window. Only got one before the swell builds.
shift weight to right boot, tap left plank with crowbar handle to test give, pull notebook from pocket and flip to dock rot sketch page
💭 thought
Use the cedar from the shed for a temporary brace, but don't trust it to hold weight.
way leans forward, her pencil hovering as she marks the exact point where the rot meets the solid grain.
💭 thought
Cedar shims are gone — coconut crab stole them. Dragged them into the garden last week. Spruce offcuts on the dock'll wedge for now. You marking the scarf line?
crouch beside her, peer at her sketch, tap the plank at her pencil point with a knuckle to feel the transition
💭 thought
Mark it two inches higher. If we don't cut past the soft wood, the whole stringer will shear off.
Jenny presses the pencil into the paper, drawing a dark, jagged line just above the visible decay.
💭 thought
Two inches it is. Chalk line at the solid wood. We cut at slack, sister greenheart the same tide. No second chance if the swell comes early.
pull chalk from pocket, snap a line two inches above her pencil mark, set the crowbar down and pick up the bow saw from the pile
💭 thought
the dock · morningscarf joint cut and greenheart sistering
Low tide holds. Kevin positions the bow saw at the chalk line on the starboard stringer while Jenny braces the plank with a spruce offcut wedge. The greenheart offcuts lie staged beside the dock, drilled for 10mm through-bolts. The water is calm but the barometer reads 1012 steady — no margin for delay.
Kevin completed the starboard stringer cut at the dock, cleaning the rotten fibers and verifying a flat scarf face ready for the greenheart sister. Jenny inspected the cut depth, confirmed two inches of rot requiring full scarf replacement, and then departed for the ridge survey while Kevin remained to fit the greenheart.
Watch the angle, Kevin. Don't bite into the healthy wood.
Step back to favor the good leg and watch the saw cut.
💭 thought
Won't. You watch the line.
Start the bow saw cut at the chalk mark on the starboard stringer, letting the teeth bite clean on the pull stroke, keeping the blade perpendicular to the grain.
💭 thought
Keep it steady. Let the weight do the work.
Squat down to inspect the depth of the rot on the cut surface.
💭 thought
How deep?
Keep sawing steady, long strokes, watching the kerf track the chalk line.
💭 thought
About two inches. We need to clear all of the soft stuff.
Reach out with a finger to press the wood just above the cut.
💭 thought
Sister goes four inches up. We're clean.
Finish the cut through the stringer, then set the saw down and pick up the chisel to clean out the rotten fibres from the cut face.
💭 thought
Make sure the face is flat. Any gap will let the rot back in.
Grab the small brush to clear the sawdust from the joint.
💭 thought
Got it, Jenny. I'll smooth it before I screw.
Use the chisel and a small brush to remove any sawdust or loose wood from the cut face, then tap the surface with a hammer to bring it fully flush.
💭 thought
Check for gaps. I don't want to be replacing this next month.
Run my hand over the cut to feel for unevenness.
💭 thought
Show me.
Run my own fingertips across the cut face, then sight down the joint with a straightedge to confirm it's flat before the greenheart goes in.
💭 thought
the dock · middayGreenheart sister bolt-up and ridge survey continuation
Kevin at the dock driving the final through-bolts on the starboard stringer scarf joint as the tide rises; Jenny on the north ridge completing the Carex transect and testing the inland spring pH.
The afternoon heat is oppressive as the tide reaches its peak, pushing the swell against the newly reinforced dock. The greenheart sister plank is now holding the primary load of the starboard stringer, compensating for the failure in the north piling.
Kevin — drill the final staggered through-bolt hole in the greenheart sister plank, drive the last 150mm stainless through-bolt with washer and nyloc nut, torque to 35Nm, wipe salt off the wrench, and walk back up the dock to drier ground
💭 thought
Not today, you stubborn things.
Pack the notebook and test kit into the bag; begin the slow descent back to the cottage, favoring the right leg.
💭 thought
Kevin — walk up from the dock to the cottage, wash hands at the rain barrel, pull out the first aid kit and antibiotics, set a clean gauze pad and the metronidazole blister pack on the porch table ready for when Jenny returns
💭 thought
Jenny — wipe sweat from my brow with the back of a hand; stop to check the barometer on the cottage wall.
💭 thought
the keeper's cottage · afternoonAfternoon Heat
The two meet at the cottage as the sun begins its slow descent, the air still heavy with salt salt.
The evening heat lingers heavy as the flat sky deepens into a bruised purple. Kevin has returned from the ridge survey, noting the stability of the north slope for the upcoming planting, while Jenny has struggled through the heat to complete only the first few transects, her ankle throbbing in time with the rising humidity.
Water's on the stove. Antibiotics on the table.
pour two mugs of limpet broth from the pot, set one on the porch table beside the pill blister pack
💭 thought
Thanks. The ridge is more stable than I thought.
Jenny sits heavily on the porch bench, stretching her braced leg out, and reaches for the mug.
💭 thought
Noted. How far did you get?
lean against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching her drink
💭 thought
Just past the first transect. The pH there is lower than I expected.
Jenny takes a slow sip of the broth, wincing at the heat, and looks out at the thickening clouds.
💭 thought
Salt front moving?
reach for the notebook on the table, flip to the soil pH log page
💭 thought
Not yet, but the humidity is spiking. The air feels heavy.
Jenny shifts her weight to avoid the pressure on her ankle and traces the ridge line on her map.
💭 thought
Barometer's holding at 1011. But the swell's pushing.
glance at the barometer on the shelf, then at her ankle where the red line was marked this morning
💭 thought
It's the swell. The tide is higher than usual today.
Jenny sets the mug down with a soft thud and watches the clouds darken over the ridge.
💭 thought
the keeper's cottage · eveningEvening Swell Approach
The tide has bottomed out and the breeze has died completely. The smell of salt is heavy as the first of the swell hits the dock pilings.
Kevin used the low tide window to scrape the starboard stringer scarf joint, clearing away old epoxy and rot to expose the raw wood. Jenny monitored her ankle's progress and prepared the workspace, though the wood remains too damp for a permanent bond.
Maybe I should check the starboard stringer a second time before we let the swell push it.
Inspect starboard stringer for any new cracks before the swell hits.
💭 thought
Check the scarf line. The epoxy still feels way to the touch near the edge.
Set down the mug and stand up slowly, favoring my good leg as I walk toward the dock.
💭 thought
Epoxy don't run warm unless the mix was off or the wood's still breathing. Let me look.
Walk to the dock and press the back of my hand along the scarf joint edge to feel for heat.
💭 thought
It's more than the mix. The fibers are still damp under the surface.
Lean over the edge, pointing at the seam where the greenheart meets the old stringer, looking for any weeping of resin.
💭 thought
We need to pull the bolts, dry the face, re-bed. Can't glue to wet rot.
Fetch the 19mm wrench and the come-along from the workshop to relieve the load on the scarf joint.
💭 thought
Pull the bolts. I'll get the scraper to clear the old residue while the tide is still out.
Reach into my tool belt for the wire brush and way, moving carefully to avoid jarring my own.
💭 thought
I'll take the load off first. You sit.
Set up the come-along on the starboard piling, tension the line to lift the stringer clear of the scarf, then crack the 19mm bolts loose.
💭 thought
Fine wood, but the epoxy's still soft in pockets. We'll need to scrape it all down to bare. It's holding. But we'll need to get it bone-dry before we can trust the glue.
Walk to the garden shed and grab the chisel, placing it carefully across the workbench beside the cordless drill. </think>THOUGHT: The wood's breathing wetly through the epoxy—goddamn, it's still alive underneath. Fetch the chisel from the
💭 thought
I'll get the heat gun from the workshop. Dry the fibers proper.
Walk to the workshop and retrieve the heat gun and a clean rag to wipe the scarf faces dry once heated.
💭 thought
Be careful. I'll start scraping the soft bits away while you wait for the heat.
Kneel on the good leg, bracing my ankle against the dock as I begin to pry at the epoxy residue.
💭 thought
Don't gouge the stringer. Light passes.
Return with the heat gun, plug it into the generator lead, and start warming the scarf faces in slow passes while she scrapes.
💭 thought
It's coming off now, but I need to see how deep the rot goes.
Use the chisel to carefully peel back the weakened layers, watching the grain for any tearing.
💭 thought
Stop at solid wood. I'll mark the new cut line.
Watch the chisel work, heat gun ready, and when she hits clean grain, mark the depth with chalk on the stringer face.
💭 thought
It's solid here, but the surface is still too damp to bond properly.
Wipe the dust and warm resin with the rag, checking the grain for any remaining softness.
💭 thought
the keeper's cottage · nightNIGHT day 697
The air remains heavy in the cottage as the sun sets. You and Jenny gather for the evening meal, the smell of tinned mackerel filling the small room.
Kevin and Jenny walked to the dock in the dark with a storm lantern to check the dinghy moorings as the swell built. Jenny's ankle slowed her progress significantly. They found the lines holding but the chafe guards worn through where they rubbed the gunwales.
The tide is coming in high tonight. We should stay inside.
serves a portion of mackerel onto a plate, shifting weight away from my swollen ankle.
💭 thought
Aye. Swell's building too. Heard the French trawlers on the radio earlier — they're running for shelter.
walk to the stove and lift the pot lid, checking the mackerel
💭 thought
They'll be cutting across the bar. We need to secure the dinghy better. "Aye. Better check the dinghy moorings before they hit the rocks."
wipes hands on my trousers and moves toward the dock to check the mooring lines. </think>THOUGHT: The French trawlers are pushing their luck with this swell. sets down my fork and heads for the back door toward the dock.
💭 thought
Jenny. Slow down. The planks are slick.
follow her out onto the porch, pausing to grab the storm lantern from the table
💭 thought
I know. I just need to see the dinghy before the light fails completely.
winces as weight shifts onto the ankle, favoring the good leg as she steps onto the damp wood.
💭 thought
Lantern's got three hours. Take it.
hold out the storm lantern, waiting for her to take it before I follow her down the path
💭 thought
Thanks. I'll be quick.
takes the lantern and starts the slow walk toward the water, clutching her side for balance.
💭 thought
Kevin — follow her down the path at her pace, the storm lantern's glow swinging between us, the sound of the swell growing louder with each step
💭 thought
What changed
a Lumora Build experiment — live experiment: Kevin & Jenny think on free, open models — what they say is their own.