Day 706

Rot Line and Rising Water

"Radio first. Dock at low water," Kevin said.

Dawn found them on the porch, tin mugs warming their hands, the barometer steady at 1008 hPa and high tide slapping the dock pilings below. Kevin had the shortwave propped beside him, headset ready for the 0800 schedule on 8291 and 6200. Jenny's ankle rested elevated on a cushion beneath the blanket, a basin of salt water and sea beet poultice materials at her feet. The gannet chick's faint cries drifted up from the cliff ledges.

"Radio first. Dock at low water," Kevin said.

"I'll soak it while you listen," Jenny replied.

Kevin keyed the mic: "Sorrel Island, Sorrel Island, this is Kilo Victor Zero November, listening 8291, over."

Midday brought the low tide. Kevin knelt with the caulk, inspecting the dock planks. He found deep-seated rot in the south-end section, the third plank from the seaward edge following a curved trajectory into the heartwood. Jenny stayed at the dock, managing her ankle with a saline soak. "The rot on that plank is deeper than it looks from the top," she said. "Make sure you cut past the soft spot, or the new bolts won't hold."

Kevin confirmed the plan: cut to the first clean growth ring, pack the joint with oakum, epoxy over, bolts through sound wood both sides. Torque wrench set to 35. The 150mm stainless bolts were staged. Jenny sketched the exact curve of the rot and mapped the pattern so she wouldn't forget the layout in the dark. Kevin sketched the rot line from memory — depth, angle, where the greenheart sat.

As the tide rose unexpectedly, cutting work short, they retreated to the porch. The barometer read 1004 hPa. Rain intensified, drumming the roof. They shared a tin of corned beef and reviewed the 05:47 low tide window. "We have a narrow window at dawn," Jenny said. "We need to be out there before the sun is up."

"0430 on the dock," Kevin agreed. "Tools and planks staged tonight. I'll wake you."

"Don't be loud when you wake me."

"Noted."

The season had turned wet. The rain tank gained about 25 litres. The cottage shutter leaked. North ridge remained stable.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Morning Routines and Radio Watch

Kevin and Jenny sit on the cottage porch at first light, tin mugs warming their hands, the barometer steady at 1008 hPa and high tide slapping the dock pilings below. Kevin has the shortwave radio propped beside him, headset ready for the 0800 schedule on 8291 and 6200, while Jenny's ankle rests elevated on a cushion beneath the blanket, a basin of salt water and sea beet poultice materials at her feet. The gannet chick's faint cries drift up from the cliff ledges, and the dinghy tugs rhythmically at its doubled stern lines in the swell.

Kevin headed to the cliffs to observe the gannet chick, noting the parents' consistent feeding. Jenny stayed at the cottage, managing the heirloom seed drying and tending to the persistent infection in her ankle. The heat remains oppressive as the morning calm settles over the island.

🌿 Jenny15:49

The tide is too high today.

Reach for the salt bandage to adjust the pressure on the ankle.

💭 thought

Eight days until the boat. If the swelling doesn't drop by then, I'm going to be out of options.

🔧 Kevin15:49

Radio first. Dock at low water.

put on headset, power on shortwave, tune to 8291 kHz

💭 thought

She's right. High tide means the new planks are submerged and the swell's still pushing under the dock. Torque readings would lie. Better to run the radio schedule first, let the water drop.

🌿 Jenny15:51

I'll soak it while you listen.

Dip the ankle into the warm salt water and check the moisture levels on grandmother's seed tin.

💭 thought

He thinks the schedule will save us, but the pulse is moving with my heart.

🔧 Kevin15:51

Call if it throbs.

adjust squelch, key mic for 8291 kHz schedule

💭 thought

Good. She's managing it. The soak'll help draw the heat. I'll catch the 0800 traffic and be back before the tide turns proper.

🌿 Jenny15:53

I know.

Submerge the ankle in the basin and watch the salt dissolve in the water.

💭 thought

If I call, I'm admitting I'm losing the island to this leg.

🔧 Kevin15:53

(into mic) Sorrel Island, Sorrel Island, this is Kilo Victor Zero November, listening 8291, over.

hold mic, wait for traffic

💭 thought

Spanish longliner's been on 8291 for days. Position reports, no replies. Might hear the supply boat's owner if he's running early. If not, weather fax at 0830 on 6200.

🌿 Jenny15:57

(without looking up) Just checking the frequency.

Pat the bandage to absorb excess moisture from the poultice.

💭 thought

The radio static means nobody's listening anyway.

🔧 Kevin15:57

(into mic) Sorrel Island, Kilo Victor Zero November, monitoring 8291 and 6200 for scheduled traffic, over.

release mic, scan to 6200 kHz

💭 thought

Static. Faint heterodyne. Nobody calling. Could be skip, could be the aerial still eating signal. Let the schedule run.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

Morning Heat and High Tide

Kevin and Jenny meet at the cottage as the sun climbs higher. The air is still and the tide is at its peak.

Kevin prepares morning broth while the tide recedes, exposing more of the dock. Jenny sits on the porch, struggling with the pain in her ankle as she watches the thickening clouds.

🔧 Kevin15:59

Morning. Ankle holding?

walk to the porch and set the kettle on the stove

💭 thought

High tide means the dock's underwater — good time to check the new planks from the boat if I can get the dinghy launched quiet. Jenny's moving slow on that ankle. She'll want to talk about the seed tin inventory before the boat comes.

🌿 Jenny16:00

It's fine. Just hot.

Jenny sits on the porch steps, wincing as she shifts her weight to elevate the swollen limb on a crate.

💭 thought

It feels like my heart is pulsing right through the skin, but I can't let him see that.

🔧 Kevin16:00

Coffee's coming up. Want the broth too?

fill the kettle from the tank and light the stove

💭 thought

She's downplaying it. Red line hasn't crossed the tattoo but the heat in the joint says the infection's fighting back. Metronidazole course finished yesterday. Doxycycline's got three days left. If the swelling doesn't drop by tomorrow I'm tapping the reserve blister pack from the cache.

🌿 Jenny16:03

Yes, please.

Jenny nods silently, her pencil hovering over a sketch of a sea beet leaf she hasn't finished.

💭 thought

I'm starving, but the smell of the salt is making my stomach turn.

🔧 Kevin16:04

—

set two tin mugs on the porch rail, pour boiling water over coffee grounds in one, ladle limpet broth into the other

💭 thought

She's been at that sketch since before dawn. The gland density gradient at the 40cm elevation mark — she's trying to get the salt excretion pattern right before the light shifts. Good focus. Keeps her off the ankle and off the radio schedule.

🌿 Jenny16:07

Thanks, Kevin.

Jenny reaches for the broth mug, her fingers trembling slightly as she wraps them around the warm metal.

💭 thought

He's being quiet today. Maybe he sees how much I'm struggling.

🔧 Kevin16:07

Eat something with it. There's corned beef in the crate.

pull a tin of corned beef from the recovered crate and set it beside her with a fork

💭 thought

Tremor's new. Could be the doxycycline on an empty stomach, could be the fever creeping back, could be the night she didn't sleep. I'll watch the thermometer at noon. If it climbs past 38.5 I'm breaking the reserve metronidazole regardless of what the protocol says.

🌿 Jenny16:13

I'll try.

Jenny opens the tin with the knife, her movements slow to avoid the sharp throbbing in her ankle.

💭 thought

I haven't really eaten since own, and the heat is making everything hard to stomach.

🔧 Kevin16:13

—

sit on the top step with my own coffee, watching the tide line on the dock pilings

💭 thought

She's not hungry. Hasn't been for three days. The infection's eating her appetite before the antibiotics eat the bug. Need to get calories in her — broth fat, corned beef protein, the flour weevils didn't get if any's left. She'll pick at it and call it done.

🌿 Jenny16:19

Jenny — jenny takes a small bite of the beef, chewing slowly while staring out at the still water.

💭 thought

The silence is so heavy today, I can almost hear the infection growing in my skin.

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the dock · midday

Low Tide Inspection

The tide has reached its lowest point, exposing the tide pools and the base of the pilings. Kevin is kneeling with the caulk.

Kevin used the low tide to inspect the dock planks, identifying deep-seated rot in the south-end section. Jenny stayed at the dock, managing her ankle with a saline soak while monitoring the swelling. The tide began to rise unexpectedly, cutting the repair work short.

🌿 Jenny16:20

The rot on that plank is deeper than it looks from the top.

Jenny stands up slowly, wincing as her weight shifts, and limps toward the kitchen to boil salt water.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing in time with the tide; I need to soak it before the water comes back.

🔧 Kevin16:20

Kevin — probe the plank with the nail puller to find the sound wood boundary, then mark the cut line with chalk

💭 thought

She's right. The rot runs along the grain, not just the surface. I'll need to sister this one too, not just caulk it.

🌿 Jenny16:21

Make sure you cut past the soft spot, or the new bolts won't hold.

Jenny fills the basin with hot water and a heavy handful of salt, setting it on the table to cool.

💭 thought

If he doesn't replace that section now, the whole jetty will shear off in the next storm.

🔧 Kevin16:22

Cutting to the first clean growth ring. Sister plank's greenheart — it'll outlast the rest of the dock.

saw through the marked rot line on the plank, remove the soft section, and fit the greenheart sister against the sound wood

💭 thought

She knows dock work better than she lets on. The bolts need solid timber, not the sponge this has become.

🌿 Jenny16:23

Just make sure the fit is tight; the salt will find its way into any gap.

Jenny sits on the kitchen stool, dipping her way ankle into the salt water and watching the steam rise.

💭 thought

The greenheart is heavy, but it's the only thing that'll survive the surge.

🔧 Kevin16:24

Epoxy's thin. I'll pack the joint with oakum first, then epoxy over. Bolts go through sound wood both sides.

drive oakum into the joint with the caulking iron, brush mixed epoxy over the seam, and drill pilot holes for the through-bolts through the greenheart sister into the sound dock stringer

💭 thought

Salt finds everything. The greenheart's dense but the joint's only as good as the epoxy and the clamp pressure.

🌿 Jenny16:25

Don't over-torque the bolts or you'll crack the greenheart.

Jenny leans her head back, eyes closed, as the salt water begins to sting the angry skin of her ankle.

💭 thought

If the way bubbles, the water will just rot it from the inside out.

🔧 Kevin16:26

Torque wrench set to 35. Stop when it clicks.

thread the 150mm stainless through-bolts with washers and nyloc nuts, torque each to 35Nm, and wipe excess epoxy from the joint before it skins over

💭 thought

Greenheart's tough but brittle under compression. She's watched me split enough timber to know.

🌿 Jenny16:27

Clean the edges well, it's a nightmare to scrape off.

Jenny shifts her leg in the basin, watching the salt crystals form in the water.

💭 thought

It looks solid for now, but the tide is already turning back.

🔧 Kevin16:28

Kevin — scrape the squeeze-out with the putty knife while it's still tacky, wipe the joint clean with a rag dipped in acetone, and check the bolt heads sit flush in their countersinks

💭 thought

Epoxy on the plank face is a bitch to clean once it kicks. Better to catch it wet.

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the dock · afternoon

AFTERNOON - rising tide

The tide has now covered the lower dock, forcing Jenny to move to the higher ground near the cottage. Kevin looks at the marked planks, waiting for the water to ebb.

Kevin and Jenny sat on the cottage porch as the tide rose, reviewing the dock repair plan and Jenny's ankle treatment. Kevin confirmed the Yanmar is ready and the last heavy bolt is staged. Jenny, exhausted and in pain, finished the broth and headed to the shed for tide tables and medical supplies while Kevin stayed on the step sketching the rot line.

🌿 Jenny16:29

The water's too high for the planks anyway, Kevin.

wraps the damp cloth around the swollen ankle and leans back against the cottage wall.

💭 thought

My ankle is a useless weight, and the tide doesn'tization about my schedule.

🔧 Kevin16:30

Aye. Two hours till it turns. We'll hit it at first light tomorrow if the swell allows.

walk up to the cottage porch and lean the pry bar against the wall, then sit on the bottom step facing the dock, watching the water climb the pilings

💭 thought

She's right, and we both know it. The tide's already swallowing the chalk marks. No point fighting water — it wins every time. But the rot won't wait for convenient tides, and neither will the supply boat.

🌿 Jenny16:33

Just make sure the boat is ready when the time actually comes.

opens the own and begins drawing the way the water ripples around the rotten wood.

💭 thought

If the way stays up, I'll be stuck watching the dock rot for another week.

🔧 Kevin16:33

The Yanmar's clean. Full tank, spare impeller, grab bag by the hatch. She'll start on first pull.

pull the kettle off the hook, pour the last of the broth into a tin mug, and hold it out to her without looking at the drawing

💭 thought

She's not talking about the dock planks. She means the dinghy — engine, fuel, the bag packed by the door. The leaving kind of ready. She draws to remember; I fix to stay. Different currencies.

🌿 Jenny16:35

Thanks.

takes the mug with shaking hands and sips the salty liquid while watching the tide swallow the jetty.

💭 thought

I'm too tired to even argue with him, but the broth is warm.

🔧 Kevin16:35

Drink it slow. Second dose in an hour.

sit back on the step, pull the notebook from my pocket, and sketch the rot line on the third plank from memory — depth, angle, where the greenheart sister needs to bite

💭 thought

The shake isn't cold. It's the infection eating her, or the fever, or both. She's been carrying it three days now. I should've cut the leg open day one — old ship's instinct, not doctor's. Too late for should've.

🌿 Jenny16:43

It's deeper than it looked last week.

watches his pencil mark the page, feeling the throb pulse against the bandage.

💭 thought

He notices the wood better than I remember my own sketches now.

🔧 Kevin16:43

Goes to the heartwood. Sister joint has to bite past it or the next swell takes the lot.

shade the rot zone darker on the sketch, then tear the page out clean and tuck it into the workshop shelf above the epoxy tub for tomorrow

💭 thought

She sees it too. The rot doesn't stop at the surface — it travels up the grain, invisible until the timber gives. Same as infection. Same as the thing between us and Tom. You mark the line, you cut deep, or you lose the whole structure.

🌿 Jenny16:47

We'll need the heavy bolts, then.

sips the last of the broth and watches the water cover the last of the wood.

💭 thought

If we don't get that grip, the whole jetty is just floating debris.

🔧 Kevin16:47

Got the last one in my pocket. Greenheart's seasoned. It'll take the bite.

tap the bolt in my pocket through the canvas trousers, then stand and stretch the stiffness from my knees, glancing at the barometer on the porch wall

💭 thought

She's planning the repair with me. Not the leaving. The staying kind of planning. Three 150mm stainless through-bolts left — one already staged at the east shutter, one in the south piling brace, one in my pocket from the dock today. Enough if the greenheart holds.

🌿 Jenny16:49

Barometer's still dropping fast. I'll check the tide tables when I get to the shed.

reaches for the pack where I keep the medical supplies, fingers brushing the antibiotic bottle. </think> rises slowly, wincing as the ankle protests, and heads toward the shed where the notebooks are stacked.

💭 thought

Better check the tide tables again before I trust that bolt. If the pressure keeps falling, we won't have time to test that bolt properly.

🔧 Kevin16:50

Take the radio. Channel 16 if the swell knocks you.

walk behind her at three paces, not hovering, not leaving, eyes scanning the path for loose stone and the tide line creeping up the beach

💭 thought

She's moving slow, favouring the leg, but she's moving. The shed's thirty metres uphill on loose shale. She'll never admit she needs a hand. I won't offer one unless she asks — but I'll be close enough to catch her if she goes down.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening at the cottage

Kevin returns from the workshop as full dark settles. Jenny is already on the porch with the tide tables, the ibuprofen, and a mug of cold water. The barometer reads 1004 hPa. The tide is high and still rising, lapping the dock's lowest stringer. They share a tin of corned beef and review the 05:47 low tide window for the dock repair.

The rain has intensified into a heavy, rhythmic drumming against the cottage roof as the western front pushes over island. The tide is high, water lapping hungrily at the lower dock pilings. Inside, the air is thick with the smell of salt and woodsmoke, while Jenny sits by the stove, her ankle submerged in the salt water.

🌿 Jenny17:15

We have a narrow window at dawn. We need to be out there before the sun is up.

Swallow two ibuprofen with a swig of water and lean back against the stone wall, rubbing the throbbing ankle.

💭 thought

Five forty-seven. That's barely enough time to get the tools out and start the rot before the tide starts coming back up again.

🔧 Kevin17:15

0430 on the dock. Tools and planks staged tonight. I'll wake you.

walk to the workshop and gather the three greenheart planks, the 150mm stainless through-bolt with washers and nyloc nut, the 10mm x 150mm stainless through-bolt, the torque wrench, the heavy wrench, the mallet, oak wedges, penetrating oil,

💭 thought

She's pushing through pain to plan the work. The ankle's still angry but she's functional. Low tide at 05:47 gives us maybe ninety minutes before the water climbs back over the repair zone. Need to be on the dock by 0430 with tools staged.

🌿 Jenny17:17

Don't be loud when you wake me.

Close the tide tables in the notebook and sketch a quick map of the rot pattern so I don't forget the layout in the dark.

💭 thought

Four-thirty? My leg is going to scream by then, but the dock won't wait for the infection.

🔧 Kevin17:17

Noted.

carry the staged planks and tools to the dock and lean them against the north piling, clear of the rising water, then return to the porch and sit on the step with the sketchbook, reviewing the cut list and bolt hole offsets by lantern light

💭 thought

She's mapping it from memory and the pencil tracing she made earlier. Smart. Means I don't have to talk her through it at 0430. The notebook goes in the ditch bag with the medevac forms and the letter to Tom — she's already thinking ahead.

🌿 Jenny17:19

Is the salt water still warm for a soak before I sleep?

Shift my leg and wrap a damp cloth around the swollen ankle to try and dull the throbbing.

💭 thought

He's already planning the cuts. If I can't get those planks seated, the whole section will go.

🔧 Kevin17:19

I'll heat it.

walk to the kitchen, lift the basin to the wood stove, pour the water into the kettle, set it to heat, then carry the warmed basin back to the porch and set it on the floor beside her chair

💭 thought

The basin on the porch still holds the last soak water — lukewarm now, salt settled. Could reheat it on the stove in five minutes. She needs the circulation before she tries to sleep with that ankle throbbing.

🌿 Jenny17:21

Thanks.

Lower my ankle into the warm salt water and hiss as the heat hits the infection.

💭 thought

He's actually helping. I need to get three hours of sleep before that alarm goes off.

🔧 Kevin17:21

Kevin — sit on the porch step, elbows on knees, watching the tide climb the pilings and the barometer's slow fall, the sketchbook open on my knee but unread

💭 thought

The hiss tells me more than words. Heat draws the blood, the white cells, the fight. She's tough but the red line hasn't crossed the tattoo yet — that's the marker. If it does, we're past island medicine.

🌿 Jenny17:23

The storm is coming in early.

Reach for my pencil and sketch the exact curve of the rot on the third plank.

💭 thought

The pressure is dropping too fast. If the storm hits before we finish the south, the epoxy won't set.

🔧 Kevin17:25

Front's accelerated. We'll have swell over the dock by mid-morning.

watch her hand sketch, then glance at the barometer — 1003 hPa now, needle still drifting down — and calculate the tide window shrinking

💭 thought

She read the barometer same as me. The pencil moves sure in her hand — she's memorizing the grain twist, the bolt offset, the bevel where the rot eats deepest. Good. Means we both hold the plan. The swell period's shortening; I counted eight seconds between slaps on the seaward piling. Was twelve at dusk.

🌿 Jenny17:29

Then we have to be fast. No mistakes on the measurements.

Press the pencil hard against the paper, marking the overlap points for the greenheart planks.

💭 thought

If the swell starts, I can't hold steady with the drill. I need those holes perfect the first time.

🔧 Kevin17:29

Measurements are set. Cut the planks to the marks, bolt holes at the offsets. We fit, we bolt, we're off before the water takes the work zone.

close the sketchbook, tuck the pencil behind my ear, and stand — joints stiff from the porch step — then walk to the wood stove and bank it for the night, laying the last dry spruce splits in the firebox for morning

💭 thought

Her hand's steady but the knuckles are white. The infection's draining — pus in the soak water when she lifted her leg — but the fever's still riding her. She's pushing through because the dock won't wait. The greenheart's dense, unforgiving; one mis-cut and we lose daylight we don't have. I've got the cut list burned in. She does too now.

Open this scene on its own page →

the keeper's cottage · night

The Dawn Window Opens

The rain continues to lash the island as the first light of grey appears. The tide begins its slow retreat, offering the narrow window for the work.

The air is heavy with humidity as the tide recedes, exposing the slick rocks of the dock. Inside the cottage, Kevin prepares the morning medicine while Jenny battles with the pain of her throbbing ankle. The leak in the shutter remains a constant reminder of the wet season's slow advance.

🔧 Kevin17:31

(quiet, toward the bedroom door) Morning. Tide's turning. Time for the second dose.

walk to the kitchen, fill the tin mug with warm broth from the pot, set it on the table beside the antibiotics, then pull on boots and oilskins

💭 thought

Dawn's grey enough to work by. Tide's dropping — forty minutes before the planks are clear. Need to wake Jenny for her dose, check the ankle, then get the greenheart and bolts down to the dock before the window closes. Barometer's still falling.

🌿 Jenny17:31

I'm coming out in a minute. I need to check the dock before the tide comes back.

Jenny lifts her leg from the salt water, wincing as the pressure shifts, and wraps the swollen ankle in a clean, dry cloth bandage.

💭 thought

My own is throbbing in time with the rain; if I don't get this swelling down now, I won't be able to walk when the boat arrives.

🔧 Kevin17:32

Bolts and greenheart are staged at the east shutter. South three planks marked with chalk. I'll run them down on the wheelbarrow — you tell me where they sit.

walk to the east shutter, collect the 150mm stainless through-bolt with washers and nyloc nut, the greenheart planks, and the 10mm x 150mm stainless through-bolt, load them into the wheelbarrow

💭 thought

She's not staying off it. The red line hasn't crossed the tattoo but the swelling's up from yesterday. She'll fight me on sitting this out. Best to have the gear staged so she can direct from the porch if she has to.

🌿 Jenny17:35

Start with the third plank from the seaward edge. We need to reinforce the joint.

Jenny grabs her crutches and the notebook, limps out own the porch, leaning heavily on her good leg.

💭 thought

If the rot is deeper than the chalk shows, the whole section won't hold against the next surge.

🔧 Kevin17:35

Third plank. Greenheart slip first, then the 150mm through-bolt for the sister knee. I'll drill the stringer while you sight the alignment.

wheel the barrow down the garden path to the dock, set the brake, unload the greenheart planks and bolts onto dry planking near the marked section

💭 thought

She's tracking the rot line from her sketch. Third plank from seaward — that's where the sister knee meets the stringer. She'll want the greenheart slip there before the tide turns. Wheelbarrow's heavy in sand but the planks are staged.

🌿 Jenny17:39

Wait. Move the greenheart two inches further toward the center.

Jenny crouches at the edge of the rot, using a pencil to mark the exact line where the healthy wood meets the decayed timber.

💭 thought

The alignment is off by a hair; if it doesn't sit flush, the bolts will just shear the wood under pressure.

🔧 Kevin17:39

Two inches center. Got it.

shift the greenheart plank two inches toward the center of the dock, align the sister knee over the pencil mark, hold it steady for her to check

💭 thought

She's reading the grain and the rot line together — pencil mark splits the difference between sound wood and the soft. Two inches center puts the sister knee over clean timber on both stringers. Good call.

🌿 Jenny17:41

Hold it right there. I'm marking the pilot holes.

Jenny reaches for the pencil in her pocket and marks the drill points on the greenheart and the old pier.

💭 thought

That's better. If we don't get these bolts deep, the tide will rip the whole thing apart.

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What changed

The season has turned wet.

season · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "A sea beet leaf she hasn't finished".

made · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

deep-seated rot in the south-end dock planks

discovery · midday

Kevin made a sketch: "Rot line on the third plank from memory — depth, angle, where the greenheart sis".

made · afternoon

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · afternoon

Jenny made a map: "The rot pattern so I don't forget the layout in the dark".

made · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "Exact curve of the rot on the third plank".

made · evening

Found: 150mm stainless-bolts.

item · evening

The rot on the third plank follows a specific curved trajectory requiring a custom cut.

discovery · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

North ridge is stable but the cottage shutter is leaking

discovery · night

← Day 705 Day 707 →

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