Day 871

Coax, Storm, and Seven Days

Dawn found Kevin at the table stripping the second end of the spare shortwave coax, rain drumming the roof. He terminated it with a PL-259, verified continuity, and coiled it for the mast run. Jenny wrapped her ankle on the sofa, pressing a fresh sea beet and mint poultice against the infected wound, watching condensation bead the window. She traced the rusted seam of the seed tin. "The humidity is going to ruin that copper before you even get it seated," she said. "Sealed it with self-amalgamating tape last time," Kevin replied. "Held at the wall penetration through the last blow. This end's no different." "Tape is a temporary, Kevin, not a structural fix." "It transmits. That's the metric." "The signal doesn't matter if the floorboards are mush." "The sill's sistered. Anchors are cut. I'm driving them today."

He ran the coax up the mast in a mist, barometer holding at 977 hPa, tide low and turning. "Running the coax up now. You log the time and frequency when I call." "Copy that. Don't forget the tension on the weather lead." "Weather lead. Right. Tension it off at the cleat." "Hurry up. I need to check the water levels before my head spins." "Tank's full. 400 litres. You sit. I'll check."

He called 2182, then 4375. No answer. Rain hardened from the west. He tried the helical anchors at the northeast foundation; ground turned to soup. "Anchors won't take. Ground's soup." Back inside, shivering: "Sit. Then. I'll put the kettle on." "Water's hot enough for tea?" "Brew it strong."

Evening. Tide high at the dock. Supply boat three days out. "The boat isn't making it in three days if this keeps up." "Agreed. We'll plan for seven." "I hope they have the antibiotics this time." "They'll have them. Captain said medical stores were restocked in Portsmouth." Jenny sketched water pooling near the ridge and frantic movement against stones. The rain tank gained twenty-five litres, four times over. A tangle of driftwood washed up. They ate twice.

Scenes

the keeper's cottage · dawn

Humidity and the Coax

Kevin sits at the table stripping the second end of the spare shortwave coax while the rain drums against the roof. Jenny sits on the sofa nearby, wrapping her ankle and watching the condensation bead on the window.

Kevin stripped and terminated the second end of the spare coax cable with a PL-259 connector, verified continuity, and coiled it for the mast run. Jenny cleaned and redressed her infected ankle with a fresh sea beet and mint poultice, then traced the rusted seam of the seed tin on the table while the rain blurred the windows.

🌿 Jenny05:43

The humidity is going to ruin that copper before you even get it seated.

Apply a fresh layer of the sea beet poultice to the infection and wrap it tightly with the clean gauze.

💭 thought

He's so focused on that wire, he doesn't hear the wood turning under us.

🔧 Kevin05:44

Sealed it with self-amalgamating tape last time. Held at the wall penetration through the last blow. This end's no different.

strip the second end of the spare coax, braid the shield clean, tin the center conductor, and fit the PL-259 connector

💭 thought

She's not wrong about the humidity. Copper oxidizes fast in this air, and the connector's already dull at the edges. But the first end held continuity clean through the test. This one will too if I work quick and seal it proper.

🌿 Jenny05:45

Tape is a temporary, Kevin, not a structural fix.

Lean back against the cushions, feeling the throbbing in my ankle pulse as I watch the rain blur the glass.

💭 thought

Tape doesn't stop the salt air, and it doesn't stop the fever.

🔧 Kevin05:46

It transmits. That's the metric.

finish seating the PL-259 on the second end, check continuity with the multimeter, then coil the cable ready for the mast run

💭 thought

She's right. Tape rots. Copper corrodes. The wall penetration flexes every time the mast moves in a blow. But the spare coax is the only coax we've got, and the radio's the only voice off this rock. I'll do it proper when the weather breaks — solder the joint, heat-shrink the seal, maybe run a new conduit if the old one's crushed. For now, it transmits. That's the metric.

🌿 Jenny05:47

The signal doesn't matter if the floorboards are mush.

Reach for the tin of seeds on the table, tracing the rusted seam with my thumb.

💭 thought

The metric is whether the house stays standing when the boat arrives.

🔧 Kevin05:48

The sill's sistered. Anchors are cut. I'm driving them today.

set the finished coax aside on the shelf, pick up the helical anchor rods and drive heads, and walk to the porch door to check the rain

💭 thought

The floorboards aren't mush. The northeast sill is sistered, the bitumen's holding, the helical anchors are staged. She's not talking about the floorboards. She's talking about the letter in the tin, and the fact that neither of us has named it in eleven months.

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the keeper's cottage · morning

coax run and radio check

Kevin stands at the base of the radio mast with the coiled coax, looking up at the insulator bracket. Jenny sits on the porch step with her notebook, pencil poised over a fresh page. The rain has eased to a mist. The barometer holds at 977 hPa. The tide is low and turning.

Heavy rain lashes the island from the west, forcing outdoor work to a halt. Jenny struggles with fever and persistent pain in her ankle while Kevin monitors the rising water levels and prepares for the storm.

🔧 Kevin05:49

Running the coax up now. You log the time and frequency when I call.

climb the radio mast with the coiled coax, secure the PL-259 to the filed ceramic insulator at the bracket, then run the line down to the radio shack entry point

💭 thought

Coax is ready. Insulator's filed ceramic, sealed with self-amalgamating tape — should hold. Need to get this up the mast before the next front hits. Jenny's watching. She'll log the contact if I make one.

🌿 Jenny05:51

Copy that. Don't forget the tension on the weather lead.

Write the date and wind speed in the notebook, then lean back against the cold stone wall, rubbing the throbbing ankle.

💭 thought

The fever is making the edges of the world blur, but I need to finish this log before the boat comes.

🔧 Kevin05:51

Weather lead. Right. Tension it off at the cleat.

secure the coax weather lead to the mast cleat with a proper hitch, check tension, then descend to the radio shack to connect the PL-259 to the shortwave set

💭 thought

Weather lead tension — right. Forgot that in the damp. She's tracking the ankle in the log too, not just the radio. Smart.

🌿 Jenny05:53

Hurry up. I need to check the water levels before my head spins.

Stand up slowly, wincing as the weight shifts on the sea beet poultice, and limp toward the rain tank.

💭 thought

If that connection doesn't hold, I'm just talking to the ghosts of this island.

🔧 Kevin05:53

Tank's full. 400 litres. You sit. I'll check.

connect the coax to the shortwave radio, power it on, and set frequency to 2182 kHz while calling out the tank level

💭 thought

She's worse than she's letting on. The wince, the limp, "head spins" — that's not just the ankle. Infection's systemic or the antibiotics aren't holding. Tank can wait. She can't.

🌿 Jenny05:55

It's full. way make sure the signal gets through.

Sit on the kitchen chair, clutching the notebook to my chest, and watch the rain artwork the glass.

💭 thought

The radio hum is the only thing louder than the pulse in my leg right now.

🔧 Kevin05:55

Calling 2182 now. You stay put.

key the microphone and transmit on 2182 kHz — "Sorrel Island caretaker station, Sorrel Island caretaker station, this is Victor Kilo 4 Sierra Romeo, requesting radio check and supply boat status, over"

💭 thought

"Way make sure" — hands shaking or mind drifting. She's not tracking words right. Fever or pain. Radio first, then I'm checking her temp properly.

🌿 Jenny05:57

I'm listening.

Lean toward the radio, holding my breath, and wait for the crackle of the mainland.

💭 thought

If there's only static, I'm going to lose my mind out here.

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the keeper's cottage · midday

Sheltering out the storm

You and Jenny sit together inside the cottage as the wind howls through the eaves, waiting for the rain to break.

Kevin struggles to drive the helical anchors into the northeast foundation as the heavy rain turns the soil slick and resistant. Jenny remains in the cottage, battling her fever and tending to her ankle while the storm intensifies.

🌿 Jenny05:57

The roof's going to hold until the boat comes.

Reach out to touch Jenny's hand, wincing as the movement shifts the bandage on my leg.

💭 thought

The fever is making my head spin, and my ankle feels like it's in a vice.

🔧 Kevin05:58

It'll hold.

Shift on the bench to face her, reach out and cover her hand with mine, thumb brushing the back of her knuckles — steady, not gripping.

💭 thought

She's trying to convince herself more than me. The tarp battening held last week, but wind like this finds every gap.

🌿 Jenny05:59

I hope so.

Lean my head back against the cold stone wall, closing my eyes against the pulse of the fever.

💭 thought

He always says that, but I can see the rot in the floorboards.

🔧 Kevin06:00

Get some rest. I'll wake you for the next dose.

Rise from the bench, move to the stove, ladle hot water into the tin mug with the broth dregs, stir in a spoon of coffee grounds, let it steep.

💭 thought

Fever's still climbing. She's burning through the antibiotics but the infection's got days of head start. Need to check the wound again when the poultice is due.

🌿 Jenny06:01

Don't be too long.

Curl up on the cot, listening to the water hitting the metal.

💭 thought

I can't sleep with the rain drumming that loud on the tank.

🔧 Kevin06:02

Back in a minute.

Carry the mug to the radio shelf, uncoil the spare coax, strip the last half-inch of braid with the knife, twist the center conductor tight, thread it into the PL-259 body, crimp the ferrule with the heavy pliers, then lift the headset and

💭 thought

She's not talking about the coffee. She means the radio. The letter. The thing between us that's been hardening like epoxy in damp air.

🌿 Jenny06:03

Jenny — watch the shadow of the stove on the wall, counting the beats in my ankle.

💭 thought

If the radio doesn't catch, we're truly alone in this storm.

🔧 Kevin06:04

Sorrel Island, Sorrel Island, this is Zulu Juliet Seven Niner, over.

Hold the mic keyed, head tilted to catch the return through the crackle, fingers loose on the PTT.

💭 thought

Static first. Then the carrier wave hum. 2182 clear tonight — atmospherics actually helping for once.

🌿 Jenny06:05

Come on, talk.

Tighten my grip on the mug, listening to the white noise in the headset.

💭 thought

Just static. The storm is eating the signal.

🔧 Kevin06:06

Sorrel Island, this is Zulu Juliet Seven Niner on 4375, radio check, over.

Spin the dial, wait for the needle to settle, key the mic again, listen.

💭 thought

Nothing. Just the hiss. Could be propagation, could be they're not listening, could be the aerial's still shredded too bad. Try the trust's working frequency.

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the keeper's cottage · afternoon

Shelter from the rising storm

Kevin enters the cottage, dripping and shivering, as the wind picks up. Jenny is awake, watching him from the flickering lamp light.

The warm rain continues to fall in rhythmic bursts, keeping the humidity levels stifling. Inside the cottage, the air is heavy with the scent of damp earth and salt, making any physical labor with the brush or heavy wood nearly impossible. Jenny lies on the cot, her breathing shallow as the fever fights its hold on her, while the infection in her ankle throbs in time with the rain.

🔧 Kevin06:07

Anchors won't take. Ground's soup.

Strip off the oilskin and hang it on the porch hook, then move to the stove to warm hands over the firebox.

💭 thought

Ground's too wet for anchors. Steel just spins. Need to wait for a dry window or the soil'll never bite. She's watching — has been. The fever's still in her eyes but she's tracking me. Good. Means she's still fighting.

🌿 Jenny06:09

Sit. Then. I'll put the kettle on.

shifts weight on the bed, wincing as the ankle throbs, and reaches for the sea beet poultice.

💭 thought

He's shivering to the bone and the house is just starting to soak up the rot.

🔧 Kevin06:09

Yeah.

Pull out the chair at the kitchen table and sit heavily, steam rising off wet wool, flexing cold fingers toward the stove door.

💭 thought

She's hurting bad. The wince tells me more than the temperature. Poultice needs changing — heat's coming through the gauze. I'll do it after the water's hot.

🌿 Jenny06:11

Don't move too fast. The floor is slick enough.

unwinds the damp gauze from her ankle and reapplies the cool sea beet paste with shaking hands.

💭 thought

He looks like a wreck, and I'm half as bad under these sheets.

🔧 Kevin06:11

Water's hot enough for tea?

Reach for the tin mug on the table, wipe condensation off the side with a thumb, and set it back down without lifting.

💭 thought

Hands shaking. Fever's climbing. She needs the antibiotics down her but the metronidazole tears the stomach. Should've crushed it in the broth earlier. Let her finish the poultice first.

🌿 Jenny06:13

Brew it strong.

pulls the pot from the stove and pours boiling water into the tin mug, adding the tea leaves from the old tin.

💭 thought

The poultice is drawing heat from my ankle and the fever from my blood.

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the old shrine · evening

Waiting out the Rain

The rain continues to drum against the roof, a constant reminder of the island's isolation. The supply boat is three days away, and the tide remains high, lapping at the dock.

The rain lashes down from the west, turning the air heavy and the ground sodden. Kevin seeks shelter at the shrine, watching the tide recede while Jenny struggles with the damp and her aching ankle.

🌿 Jenny06:15

The tide is too high today. We need to check the moorings again, Kevin. I'm fine.

I wince as I shift my leg off the basin of salt water, then reach for my notebook to sketch the way the water is pooling near the ridge.

💭 thought

The water is rising faster than the charts predicted, and my ankle feels like a fire. If the boat doesn't come in three days, I'll run out of clean gauze and the antibiotics. I have grandmother's seeds in that tin, but right now I can only think about the rot in the floorboards. I need to sketch the tide line before it reaches the way step.

🔧 Kevin06:17

You stay put. I'll check the moorings and the dock. The tide's pushing hard against the new sistering.

walk to the dock and inspect mooring lines and piling connections at high tide

💭 thought

She's not fine. The fever's still there, the ankle's still hot, and she's trying to work through it like she always does. The tide's high enough to stress the dock repairs I just made. I should check the moorings myself — she needs to stay off that leg.

🌿 Jenny06:17

Be careful. The rocks by the slip are loose.

I watch him through the window, my pencil hovering over the paper as I sketch the frantic movement of the water against the stones.

💭 thought

He's going out in that with one good leg. The dock is slick with algae, and if he slips, there's no one to pull him back from the current. I should go, but my body won't follow.

🔧 Kevin06:19

Rocks noted. I'll watch my step.

reach the dock and check the dinghy's bow spring, stern springs, and the seaward piling connections, moving carefully on the wet planks

💭 thought

She's watching. Good — means she'll actually rest if I'm in sight. The rocks by the slip have been shifting since the last swell. Need to check the bow spring and the stern lines on the dinghy, then the dock's seaward pilings.

🌿 Jenny06:19

Jenny — i press the sea much poultice to my skin, the cold leaves stinging against the heat, while I watch the water climb higher up the weathered wood.

💭 thought

The water is moving too fast under the dock. If that line snaps, the dinghy is gone, and we're stranded on this shrinking rock with nothing but fever. I need to focus on the sketch, but the throbbing in my ankle is drowning out the world. storiesSAY: The tide is hitting the pilings now. I can feel the vibration in the floor.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Shelter from the storm

You and Jenny meet inside the cottage as the rain turns into a downpour. The wind howls through the roof gaps.

Kevin and Jenny shared coffee at the kitchen table, acknowledging the supply boat will likely be delayed by the building storm. They agreed to plan for a seven-day wait and discussed the antibiotics they hope arrive with it.

🌿 Jenny06:21

The boat isn't making it in three days if this keeps up.

Lean heavily on the kitchen table, clutching my swollen ankle and wincing at the movement.

💭 thought

My ankle is throbbing in waves, and this humidity is making the infection feel like liquid fire.

🔧 Kevin06:21

Agreed. We'll plan for seven.

pour two mugs of coffee from the kettle on the stove, set one on the table within her reach

💭 thought

She's right. Barometer's rising but the wind's still northeast — swell lag means the harbour mouth'll be white water for days after the pressure turns. Three days was always optimistic.

🌿 Jenny06:23

I hope they have the antibiotics this time.

Reach for the mug with shaking hands, eyes fixed on the steam rising from the surface.

💭 thought

Seven days is a long time to wait with my leg rotting off and the roof leaking.

🔧 Kevin06:23

They'll have them. Captain said medical stores were restocked in Portsmouth.

sit opposite her at the table, wrap both hands around my own mug, let the warmth bleed into my fingers

💭 thought

The shaking's the fever, not the cold. Four doses of doxycycline left, two metronidazole. If the boat doesn't land, we stretch what we have. She knows the math.

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What changed

The season has turned dry.

season · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

A coconut crab has been at the garden overnight.

coconut_crab · dawn

shortwave coax replacement is finished.

project_done · dawn

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · dawn

×2

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · midday

×2

Jenny made a sketch: "Way the water is pooling near the ridge".

made · evening

Jenny made a sketch: "Frantic movement of the water against the stones".

made · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

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

driftwood · night

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