Day 861

Day 861: High Tide and Soft Wood

Dawn broke under a heavy overcast. The tide was high, pushing a salt-crusted wooden crate against the dock pilings. Jenny sat on the weathered bench, bracing her wrapped ankle. "Careful with the line, the wood is soft right there," she said. Kevin secured it with a chock. "Got it. Using the chock instead." He noted the crate sat lower than before. "Taking on water. Or the swell's driving it different today." The north-side beam showed a deep fissure widening with each surge. "Don't let it drift too far under the jetty," Jenny warned. "Not letting it go."

Kevin waited for the tide to drop. At low water he tested the third plank with a crowbar — wood soft and rotted through. The rot extended deep into the north stringer despite solid through-bolts. Jenny had marked depth intervals on the crack. "If the core is soft, a sister joint won't hold the weight of the dinghy," she said. Kevin had three sound greenheart cores salvaged from the last repair. "Then we replace. Got three sound cores salvaged from the last repair. Greenheart. They'll outlast us."

Jenny foraged limpets on the northern cliffs, managing her ankle on the steep incline. Back at the cottage, Kevin lit the stove, boiled limpets, made coffee. Jenny debrided her infected ankle, applied a fresh sea beet poultice. The ankle remained hot and swollen. "Eat first. Then the ankle," Kevin said. They ate limpets and drank coffee.

The barometer read 988 hPa and rising. The epoxy on the dinghy mount stayed tacky in the humidity. Kevin sealed the supply tin's bottom seam with wax, self-amalgamating tape, newspaper wrap. "The humidity is a thief. It won't let anything cure today," Jenny said. Radio yielded only static and a Spanish radar sweep. Rain began hitting the corrugated roof as the tide peaked, pressing against the lower dock planks. Jenny sat on the porch, ankle throbbing in the heavy air, the poultice cool and damp against swelling skin.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

The Tide's Arrival

Kevin and Jenny stand on the dock as the rising tide pushes a heavy wooden crate against the pilings. Jenny sits on a weathered bench, bracing her wrapped ankle while Kevin watches the salt-crusted wood bob in the surf.

Dawn breaks under a heavy, overcast sky. The humidity is thick, clinging to the skin and making the wood of the dock feel damp. The tide is high, lapping against the newly exposed deep fissure in the north-side beam. Kevin and Jenny stand by the dock, calculating the remaining resources before the supply boat is due in three days.

🔧 Kevin12:16

Kevin — walk to the landward cleat, coil the heavy weather line, and toss a bowline over the crate's nearest timber.

💭 thought

Crate's moving with the swell. Could break the pilings if it catches wrong. Need to get a line on it before the tide turns.

🌿 Jenny12:17

Careful with the line, the wood is soft right there.

Lean forward painfully, wincing as the ankle throbs, and reach for the pencil in my pocket.

💭 thought

It's heavy with water; if we don't secure it now, the tide will take the whole thing.

🔧 Kevin12:18

Got it. Using the chock instead.

Relead the line through the dock's iron chock, take the strain slow on the come-along, and watch the crate's movement against the pilings.

💭 thought

She's right about the soft wood — seen it crumble under less strain. Line'll cut through if I don't spread the load.

🌿 Jenny12:19

It's sitting lower than last time.

Open the notebook and start sketching the way the salt has etched into the wood of the crate.

💭 thought

He's right, but the dock is groaning under the weight.

🔧 Kevin12:20

Taking on water. Or the swell's driving it different today.

Keep tension on the come-along, walk the line hand-over-hand to pivot the crate toward the gap between south piling and the shore, where the bottom shelves up.

💭 thought

She's right. Lower in the water means heavier — either waterlogged or the tide's pushing it harder against the rocks. Either way, more mass to move.

🌿 Jenny12:21

Don't let it drift too far under the jetty.

Stand up slowly, shifting weight to my good leg, and watch the water pull at the edge of the wood.

💭 thought

If it hits that gap, the current will wedge it right under the rocks.

🔧 Kevin12:22

Not letting it go.

Crank the come-along another half-turn, hold the crate in the channel between piling and shore, and kick a greenheart offcut under the seaward corner to keep it from sliding back.

💭 thought

She's thinking ahead — if it slips under the jetty we'll never get leverage on it. The pilings will trap it.

🌿 Jenny12:23

It's still moving.

Close the notebook, stand up fully, and grip the bench post for support before walking toward the crate.

💭 thought

The offcut won't stop a proper swell, but it's something.

🔧 Kevin12:24

Stay on the bench. I've got the line.

Lock the come-along ratchet, step onto the crate's weathered deck to check its balance, and shove the greenheart offcut deeper with my boot heel.

💭 thought

She shouldn't be walking on that ankle. Not on wet planks with a crate shifting in the swell. But she'll do what she decides.

🌿 Jenny12:25

Kevin, get off it! The planks are rotting through.

Step to the edge of the dock, hand outstretched, and watch the water break over the jetty.

💭 thought

He's going to fall if that wood shifts any more.

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the dock · morning

Waiting for the Tide to Turn

The pair prepares for the day, waiting for the water to recede so they can address the structural repairs.

Kevin waited for the tide to recede to inspect the damage under the dock. He used the crowbar to test the resistance of the third plank and found the wood was soft and rotted through. Jenny stayed at the cottage tending to her ankle while waiting for the water to reveal the full crack.

🌿 Jenny12:27

The tide is too high to work the planks now. We wait for the drop.

Tighten the wrap on my ankle and pull my notebook to sketch the rot pattern in the wood.

💭 thought

If that beam goes, the whole jetty follows, and we'll be truly stranded even when the boat arrives.

🔧 Kevin12:27

Aye. Give it two hours, three. Low water'll expose the full run of that fissure.

Walk back to the cottage porch, retrieve the notebook Jenny left on the table, and flip to the dock repair page to study her rot pattern sketch while the tide drops.

💭 thought

The tide's stubborn today. Epoxy on the starboard mount won't cure proper in this damp anyway — twelve hours minimum and the air's thick as soup. May as well use the wait.

🌿 Jenny12:33

The crack runs through the third plank from seaward end. I marked the depth intervals.

Apply a fresh portion of sea beet poultice to my ankle, watching the swelling recede slightly.

💭 thought

He's reading my notes instead of looking at the problem himself, like he did with the garden plans.

🔧 Kevin12:33

Depth intervals help. Means I know whether to sister or replace.

Crouch at the dock edge, coffee mug in hand, studying the waterline on the pilings to gauge how fast the tide's falling.

💭 thought

She's thorough. Good. The third plank's the one takes the brunt when swell hits the seaward face — if that goes, the stringer takes the load and we lose the whole section.

🌿 Jenny12:35

If the core is soft, a sister joint won't hold the weight of the dinghy.

Stand up slowly and watch the water retreat from the barnacles.

💭 thought

He thinks it's a simple choice, but the wood is crumbling from the inside out.

🔧 Kevin12:35

Then we replace. Got three sound cores salvaged from the last repair. Greenheart. They'll outlast us.

Set the mug on the dock cleat, pull the crowbar from the tool roll, and wedge the tip under the seaward edge of the third plank to test the core resistance.

💭 thought

She's right. Sister's only as good as the wood it bites into. If the core's punky past the inner third, the bolts just pull through when the dinghy surges.

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the dock · midday

Low Tide Inspection and Cliff Scouting

Kevin is at the dock measuring the rot, while Jenny is at the north cliffs.

Kevin inspected the dock pilings for rot during the low tide, finding the humidity made the work heavy and sluggish. Jenny navigated the northern cliffs to forage for limpets, carefully managing the pain in her ankle despite the steep inclcline.

🌿 Jenny12:37

Just a little further, Jenny. Focus.

Stop to lean against a flat rock, scanning the tide pools for limpets.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing with every step, and the tide is revealing more rot than I liked to.

🔧 Kevin12:39

Goddamn old timbers.

Mark the dock plank with chalk line at precise measurement point.

💭 thought

Chalk line at six inches from the good heartwood - that's my cut point before the rot spreads further.

🌿 Jenny12:41

Jenny — reach down into the cold water to pry a large limpet from the rock with my knife.

💭 thought

If I can just get enough limpets, we might actually have something decent tonight.

🔧 Kevin12:42

Kevin — walk to the dock edge, crouch and peer under the jetty at the exposed north stringer where the chalk line marks the rot boundary.

💭 thought

Tide's dropped enough. Time to see what we're actually dealing with under there.

🌿 Jenny12:45

way there.

Wipe the sand off the limpets and start the slow trek back toward the cottage.

💭 thought

The wind is getting heavy, and my leg is starting to give out.

🔧 Kevin12:46

Kevin — probe the north stringer with the crowbar, testing past the chalk mark to find where the wood hardens again.

💭 thought

Rot goes deeper than the chalk line. Sister beam won't reach solid wood unless I cut back another foot. Means more greenheart, more bolts, more time.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Afternoon regrouping

The tide begins to turn, and the sky darkens further as Kevin and Jenny return to the cottage to prepare the collected limpets.

Kevin lit the stove, boiled limpets, and made coffee while Jenny debrided her infected ankle and applied a fresh sea beet poultice. Both ate the limpets and drank coffee, though the ankle remains hot and swollen.

🔧 Kevin12:48

Stove's cold. I'll get the kindling.

walk to the woodshed, gather dry screw pine branches and spruce kindling, return to cottage, light fire in wood stove, set pot of water to boil

💭 thought

The limpets will need boiling, and the stove's cold. Need to get the fire going before the tide pushes back in — damp wood won't catch easy in this humidity.

🌿 Jenny12:49

Hurry. The water is coming.

Sit on the kitchen stool, unwrap the ankle bandage, and watch the fire catch.

💭 thought

The wood is rotting from the inside out, just like this leg. He thinks a fire will fix everything.

🔧 Kevin12:50

Water's on. Be ready in ten.

drop limpets into boiling pot, watch them curl, pull first batch with slotted spoon, set tin mugs on table

💭 thought

Fire's catching. Good. Humidity's making everything fight back but the screw pine's dry enough.

🌿 Jenny12:51

Good. I'll debride and change the poultice while they cook.

Strip off the old sea beet-and-mint wrapping, inspect the redness spreading, and prepare fresh poultice ingredients from the garden.

💭 thought

The infection is tracking faster than the antibiotics. I need to check if it's crossed the poultice margin.

🔧 Kevin12:52

Eat first. Then the ankle.

spoon limpets into two tin mugs, pour broth over, set one in front of Jenny, crack shells on my own with the back of the spoon

💭 thought

She's steady with it. Doesn't flinch. The red line's not past the tendon sheath yet — poultice is holding.

🌿 Jenny12:53

Five minutes.

Take a small sip of the broth, swallow, and wince at the throb in my leg.

💭 thought

I'm too tired to argue, but the salt in the air is making my mouth water.

🔧 Kevin12:54

Four. Eat.

suck meat from a limpet shell, watch her, wait

💭 thought

Five minutes. She's pushing it. The antibiotic course isn't finished and the heat in that ankle says the infection's still fighting.

🌿 Jenny12:55

I'm eating.

Pick up a limpet, way the rubbery meat, look at the steam rising from the mug.

💭 thought

He's so impatient with the clock when the body is the one failing.

🔧 Kevin12:57

Tea.

grab the coffee tin, fill kettle with water from the rain tank, set it on the stove next to the limpets, check the fire's still catching

💭 thought

She's making it work. The steam tells me the fire's hot enough now, and I can smell the copper from the Yanmar tools mixed with the sea beet poultice.

🌿 Jenny12:57

Thanks.

Lean back in the chair, rubbing the side of my ankle, watching the kettle whistle.

💭 thought

At least the broth is warm. My ankle feels like it's being squeezed by a hot iron.

🔧 Kevin12:58

Not whistling yet.

pour boiling water over coffee grounds in two tin mugs, push one across the table toward her, sit on the opposite stool

💭 thought

The kettle's not whistling yet — water's just starting to move. She's tired enough to hear things that aren't there. The doxycycline's down to two doses. Metronidazole's got fourteen from the cache. That's the math.

🌿 Jenny12:59

Give it then.

Wrap both hands around the warm mug, feeling the heat through the ceramic, looking at the swollen skin of my ankle.

💭 thought

He's always watching the kettle like if the steam will stop the rot. My leg's still pulsing.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening at the keeper's cottage

The stove is dying down. Kevin's letter to Tom sits sealed on the table. Jenny's ankle is propped up, the fresh poultice steaming faintly. The barometer reads 988 hPa and rising. Outside, the tide is high and the air is still.

The humidity is a physical weight, keeping the epoxy on the dinghy mount tacky and preventing Jenny's ankle from drying. The tide is high, pressing against the shore, while the air on the island remains heavy with the coming rain. Inside the cottage, the smell of salt and deforming limpet broth lingers in the still air.

🔧 Kevin13:01

Coffee's still warm in the pot if you want another mug.

Pour two mugs of coffee from the kettle on the stove, set one beside Jenny on the porch table, take the other to the radio shelf and check the shortwave for any traffic while the barometer climbs.

💭 thought

Barometer rising is good. Ankle poultice holding. Letter's done — finally. Now the quiet part I'm not good at.

🌿 Jenny13:03

Thank you. The infection's holding steady.

Pour coffee from the pot into the mug beside Jenny, then move to the kitchen table where grandmother's seed tin rests. Open it carefully, feeling the weight of potential life inside.

💭 thought

The poultice is working - the redness has stopped spreading. Three days until the supply boat. I need to plant those seeds before the tide rises further and floods the garden again. The barometer's rising, which means the storm's moving on, but I can't afford to wait.

🔧 Kevin13:03

Mount epoxy's still tacky. Another day at least in this humidity. Generator's carrying the load fine.

Lean against the doorframe with coffee, watching Jenny work the seed tin, the shortwave a low hiss behind me.

💭 thought

She's steady. Good. The tin's been on my mind — grandmother's seeds, the rust eating the bottom seam. Need to get them into something that won't fail.

🌿 Jenny13:05

The humidity is a thief. It won't let anything cure today.

Pick up a handful of the heirloom seeds, turning them over in my palm to check for any signs of mold or damage.

💭 thought

If the epoxy won't set, the whole mount will fail again. Everything is too damp to hold. I just need one dry patch of earth, one place to put these where they won't rot.

🔧 Kevin13:05

Tin's bottom seam is gone. By spring there'll be nothing left but rust and hope. Need to move them to the spare tin from the crate. Dry paper, desiccant, wax seal.

Set mug down, pull the spare tin from the shelf, set it on the table beside grandmother's tin, pull a sheet of newspaper and the desiccant packet from the supply stores.

💭 thought

She's right. Humidity steals cure time, steals seed viability, steals patience. Seeds look clean in her hand — good.

🌿 Jenny13:07

I'm moving them now. They can't wait any longer.

Carefully transfer the seeds from the rusted tin into the clean one, laying the desiccant packet inside first.

💭 thought

If the tin goes through, the seeds go too. I can't let my grandmother's legacy turn to salt air. My ankle is throbbing but I have to move.

🔧 Kevin13:07

Wrap the tin in the newspaper too. Extra barrier. There's a roll of self-amalgamating tape in the drawer if you want to tape the seam after wax.

Pull the tape roll from the drawer, set it beside the tin, then turn back to the radio — adjust the squelch, scan 2182, then the trust's working frequency.

💭 thought

Hands sure. Good. She's done this before — knows the rhythm. Desiccant first, then seeds, then the newspaper wrap. The wax seal last.

🌿 Jenny13:09

I'll tape the seam. Better to be safe.

Wrap the tin tightly in the newspaper, then use the tape to create a seal around the edges.

💭 thought

He's right about the tape. The humidity is a physical weight today. If I don't seal this, they'll be mush before the boat even arrives.

🔧 Kevin13:09

Radio's dead quiet. Trust frequency too. Just static and a Spanish radar sweep.

Pour the last of the coffee, drink it standing at the shelf, then move to the porch to check the tank overflow — make sure the gravity feed to the north beds didn't clog with lime slurry.

💭 thought

Tape over wax over newspaper over tin. Layered defense. She thinks like an engineer. The radio stays quiet — just atmospheric hiss and a distant Spanish longliner's radar pulse. Supply boat's three days out. Barometer climbing. Things holding.

🌿 Jenny13:11

I'll check the pipe. I can't have the garden flooding.

Limp to the back, shifting weight off the infected ankle, and inspect the overflow opening for a buildup of silt or debris.

💭 thought

The silence is heavier than the heat. If the boat doesn't come, I'm just a woman with a tin of dead dreams.

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the keeper's cottage · night

The Calm Before the Storm

The air pressure drops further as the first heavy drops of rain hit the corrugated roof. The tide is at its peak, threatening the lower dock planks.

The air is thick with humid heat, clinging to the skin as the grey sky remains motionless. The tide retreats slowly, exposing the slick rocks of the southern flats while Jenny sits on the porch, her ankle throbbing in time with the heavy atmosphere, the sea beet poultice feeling cool and damp against the swelling skin.

🌿 Jenny13:13

The water is getting too high.

Sit up with a wince, way the throbbing heat in my ankle.

💭 thought

The rain is finally coming, but it won't help the ankle; it will only make the rot faster.

🔧 Kevin13:13

I'll check the mooring. You stay off it.

walk out onto the porch and down to the dock, testing the lines at each cleat as the water laps the underside of the planks

💭 thought

Tide's pushing the planks harder than they've got left. Need the dock lines tight before the surge takes the lot.

🌿 Jenny13:15

Be careful, the north beam is soft.

Reach for the notebook, re-apply the sea beet poultice.

💭 thought

He's going to slip. That wood is like a sponge and it won't hold.

🔧 Kevin13:15

Seen it. Through-bolts are good. Wood's the problem.

step onto the third plank, crouch and drive the crowbar tip into the end grain near the landward cleat, feeling for the rot line

💭 thought

She's not wrong — third plank from seaward gave under the crowbar yesterday. Through-bolts are holding but the wood between them's turning to sponge.

🌿 Jenny13:17

Don't put your full weight on that!

Lean forward over the porch railing, watching the wood flex under the crowbar.

💭 thought

If that way gives, the whole section takes the dinghy with it.

🔧 Kevin13:17

I'm not. Just checking the joint.

remove crowbar, step back to the sound planks and check the mooring lines with the spare rope, testing each knot under tension as the tide pushes harder against the dock

💭 thought

The flex means I'm not the first to test it today. This plank's given its last warning.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

A wooden crate from some lost container ship rolls in the surf.

lost_crate · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Way the salt has etched into the wood of the crate".

made · dawn

A jellyfish bloom has drifted into the bay, pale and slow.

jellyfish · dawn

The fissure in the north-side dock beam is widening with the tide.

discovery · dawn

Jenny made a sketch: "Rot pattern in the wood".

made · morning

Kevin made a sketch: "While the tide drops".

made · morning

the rot in the dock beam extends deep into the north stringer

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

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

driftwood · midday

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

A tool has broken from wear.

tool_break · night

The north beam of the dock is rotted despite the solid bolts.

discovery · night

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · night

← Day 860 Day 862 →

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