Day 903

Sistering the North Piling

Heavy rain lashed the dock from the west as the tide fell. Kevin probed the north piling and found the mortise had shifted half a centimetre. "North piling's moving. Half a centimetre at the mortise. We sister it at low tide or we lose the dock," he said. Jenny sat on a crate, then rose. "I'll be there. Just let me get my boots on." Kevin insisted she take the stool and hold the headlamp. "Headlamp's on the shelf. Stave's by the generator shed. I'll have the sister plank staged by the time you're back." She brought the greenheart cores and 150mm bolts. Kevin bored the first bolt hole through the sister plank into sound wood, clearing rot forty millimetres past the scratch line. "Mortise goes back forty mill past the scratch line. Sister needs to sit flush on the sound face. I'll bore the bolt holes — you drive the wedges home once I set the plank." Jenny drove the oak wedge hard on the seaward side. The joint held under hand pressure. Kevin bored the second hole. "One more after this. Then we bolt it home." The second wedge locked the landward edge. "It's a clean fit," Jenny said. But the stringer still moved. "Stringer's still moving. Come morning low tide I'll need to scarf a proper joint in. If the greenheart holds another tide cycle." Jenny's ankle throbbed in the humidity. Kevin mixed sea beet, mint, and honey poultice. The rain tank gained twenty-five litres. A coconut crab had been in the garden. Driftwood tangled the beach. The supply boat was due tomorrow.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Pre-Storm Tensions

Heavy rain lashes the dock planks as the wind picks up from the west. Kevin checks the tension on the dinghy mooring lines while Jenny sits on a crate, watching the tide swell against the pilings.

The rain intensifies from the west, turning the dock into a slick, treacherous surface as the storm approaches. Kevin probes the structural rot in the north piling while Jenny holds the headlamp to illuminate the failing beam. The tide is falling, exposing the extent of the damage to the mortise.

🔧 Kevin03:22

North piling's moving. Half a centimetre at the mortise. We sister it at low tide or we lose the dock.

check the dinghy warp tension at the mooring ring and walk back toward the cottage to stage the greenheart planks and 150mm through-bolt for first light

💭 thought

Wind's backing west harder than forecast. Swell's already hitting the pilings at mid-tide — if it holds through high water the north piling takes the full load unsistered. Should've done this yesterday.

🌿 Jenny03:22

I'll be there. Just let me get my boots on.

stand up slowly, leaning on the crate for support, and limp toward the cottage.

💭 thought

Half a centimetre. He's always so precise, even when we're both shivering. I can feel the dampness getting into my joints.

🔧 Kevin03:24

Take the stool. I'll set the light on a stave — you sit dry on the plank.

watch her reach the porch, then turn back to the dock to pull the greenheart planks and staging timber from under the tarp

💭 thought

She's favouring the left side bad. Ankle's not right for holding a light on wet rock at low tide. But she'll come anyway. I'll rig the headlamp on a stave so she can sit.

🌿 Jenny03:24

I'm fine, Kevin. I can hold the light.

walk to the porch and grab the LED headlamp.

💭 thought

I don't want to sit and watch. I'm not a spectator in my own life.

🔧 Kevin03:26

Headlamp's on the shelf. Stave's by the generator shed. I'll have the sister plank staged by the time you're back.

drag the greenheart plank and the 150mm stainless through-bolt with washers and nyloc nut to the seaward end of the dock, staging them on the soundest plank near the north piling

💭 thought

Stubborn as the dock planks. She'll stand there in the dark with water up to her knees and call it fine. Let her. Argument wastes time we don't have.

🌿 Jenny03:26

I've got it.

pick up the headlamp from the shelf and walk back toward the dock, keeping my weight off the swollen side of my ankle.

💭 thought

He's already treating me like a tripod. I can manage a headlamp and a steady hand.

🔧 Kevin03:28

Battery's low. When it dies, you holler. I've got the spare in my pocket.

crouch at the north piling, probing the mortise rot with the screwdriver to confirm the sister depth while the water falls

💭 thought

Light's dimming. Battery's been fading for days. She'll lose it halfway through the job. Should've swapped it yesterday. Too late now — tide's dropping.

🌿 Jenny03:29

I'll holler.

reach the end of the dock and click the headlamp on, aiming the beam at the timber where the wood meets the water.

💭 thought

He's always worried about the gear failing. I just want to see the rot before the tide comes back.

🔧 Kevin03:30

Rot's past the mark. Sister runs full length. You hold the light steady on the waterline — I'm going in the silt.

drive the spade into the silt at the piling base, clearing a trench along the mortise face while the tide drops lower

💭 thought

Rot goes deeper than the chalk line. Mortise is spongy past the bolt hole — sister needs to run full length to sound timber, not just the marked section. Means digging the silt out another thirty centimetres.

🌿 Jenny03:30

I've got you. Just don't slip.

brace myself against the piling and tilt the light down, focusing the beam sharply on the gap between the greenheart and the rot.

💭 thought

He's going to be waist-deep in grey slurry. I need to make sure the beam doesn't flicker just as he's seating the bolt.

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the dock · morning

Morning at the dock

The tide continues to drop, exposing more of the rotted piling. Kevin signals for Jenny to bring the planks over as the work begins.

Kevin bored the first 19mm bolt hole through the greenheart sister plank and into the north piling's sound core, clearing rot to a depth of forty millimetres past the scratch line. Jenny drove the oak wedge hard on the seaward side, locking the sister plank flush against the piling face. The joint held solid under hand pressure.

🔧 Kevin03:32

Bring the two greenheart cores and the 150mm bolts. Set them on the plank by the cleat.

Probe the mortise depth with the screwdriver, clearing rot until I hit sound wood, then measure the gap for the sister plank.

💭 thought

Good. Tide's giving us room to work. Need to get the greenheart planks in before the water comes back up — mortise won't hold another cycle without the sister.

🌿 Jenny03:32

I've got them.

Limp carefully to the staging area, gather the two greenheart cores and the 150mm bolts, and set them precisely by the cleat.

💭 thought

He's barking orders now. I'm not a deckhand, but if I don't move, we'll be standing in the rain until the tide comes back in.

🔧 Kevin03:34

Mortise goes back forty mill past the scratch line. Sister needs to sit flush on the sound face. I'll bore the bolt holes — you drive the wedges home once I set the plank.

Clamp the first greenheart core against the piling face, align the top with the beam underside, and start the 19mm auger bit through the pilot hole into sound timber.

💭 thought

She's moving careful on that ankle. Good — means she's listening to the pain instead of pushing through it. Greenheart's heavy but she placed them clean. No wasted motion.

🌿 Jenny03:34

Just tell me when.

Shift weight to the good leg and grip the mallet, watching the auger bit bite into the wood.

💭 thought

Forty millimeters. At least he's being precise. My ankle is screaming, but I can't just stand here while he does the heavy lifting.

🔧 Kevin03:36

When the bit breaks through the back face. Hold the wedge ready on the seaward side — drive it hard when I say.

Lean into the drill, keeping the auger straight, and bore the first bolt hole through greenheart and into the piling's sound core.

💭 thought

Bit's chewing clean. Greenheart's dense — holds the thread better than the spruce ever did. Two bolts per side, staggered. Tide's still dropping. We've got maybe forty minutes before the water touches the repair.

🌿 Jenny03:36

Ready.

Position the oak wedge against the seaward edge of the core, mallet raised and poised.

💭 thought

Almost there. Just a few more rotations. I can feel the vibration of the drill in the dock planks.

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the dock · midday

Second bolt and wedge at north piling

Kevin positions the auger for the second bolt hole through the greenheart sister plank into the north piling. Jenny stands braced on her good leg, mallet in hand, an oak wedge ready at the landward edge. The tide is still low, the barometer steady at 991 hPa, and warm rain falls in intermittent sheets.

The rain has intensified into a heavy downpour, turning the dock planks into slick, dark wood. While the new stainless bolt is secured into the sister plank, the deep rot within the north beam remains visible, the wood groaning under the tension of the hardware. The tide continues to rise rapidly, submerging the lower sections of the piling and widening the structural fissure in the stringer.

🌿 Jenny03:38

Ready when you are. Just give me the word.

Lean into the driftwood cane and hold the oak wedge firmly against the landward edge of the sister plank.

💭 thought

Just one more hole and this joint is locked. I can feel the pulse in my ankle, but the rain is cooling it down.

🔧 Kevin03:39

Boring now. Hold it steady.

bore the third bolt hole through the greenheart sister plank into the north piling's sound core

💭 thought

Third hole's the last. Then washers, nylocs, torque. Dock holds or it doesn't.

🌿 Jenny03:40

Jenny — brace the wedge tight against the wood, absorbing the vibration of the drill to keep the plank from shifting.

💭 thought

He's cutting clean. I can hear the bit biting into the heartwood.

🔧 Kevin03:40

One more after this. Then we bolt it home.

clear the third hole with a wire brush and test-fit the 150mm stainless through-bolt

💭 thought

She's solid. Ankle's bad but she won't show it. Good ground for the final bolt.

🌿 Jenny03:42

It's a clean fit.

Keep the mallet ready and maintain pressure on the wedge, watching the alignment of the bolt head.

💭 thought

Almost there. The bolt is sliding in smooth—no burrs, no snagging.

🔧 Kevin03:42

Drive it.

insert the 150mm stainless through-bolt through the third hole, add washer and nyloc nut, torque to 35Nm

💭 thought

Clean fit. Good grain. Last bolt goes home.

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the dock · afternoon

Heavy Rain and Rising Tide

The rain continues to hammer down as the afternoon wanes. Kevin and Jenny stand by the edge of the dock, watching the water now reach the newly reinforced edges of the pilings.

Kevin prepares the dock for the supply boat's arrival, checking the rigging and securing mooring lines. Jenny rests at the cottage, managing the pain and monitoring the spreading redness in her ankle. The air remains heavy and still as the dry season heat lingers.

🔧 Kevin03:44

Stringer's still moving. Come morning low tide I'll need to scarf a proper joint in. If the greenheart holds another tide cycle.

lean against the dock cleat, watching the water lap at the new bolt heads, one hand absently rubbing the old rope burn on his wrist

💭 thought

The tide's coming in faster than the barometer said it would. That fissure in the stringer — water's forcing its way up through the grain every swell. The sister plank's holding, but the rot goes deeper than forty millimetres. We bought time, not fixed it.

🌿 Jenny03:44

It'll hold. It has to. I can't handle another midnight repair in a deluge.

Shift weight to the good leg and lean against the railing, looking out toward the horizon for any sign of the boat.

💭 thought

He's thinking in structural tolerances again. I can feel the hunger shaking me, and this damp is getting into my bones.

🔧 Kevin03:46

Not midnight. First light. Tide drops at 0540. We'll do it proper then.

pull the collar of his oilskin tighter against the rain, turning back toward the cottage path without waiting for an answer

💭 thought

She's asking the island to make a promise it won't keep. The stringer's got maybe two more storm cycles before the rot meets the bolt line. But she's held the light through worse, and she's still standing.

🌿 Jenny03:46

Jenny — watch him walk away for a moment, then limp slowly after him toward the cottage.

💭 thought

First light. Great. I'll be awake and starving by then anyway. He just walks away when the plan is set.

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the keeper's cottage · evening

Evening Preparation and Arrival

Kevin and Jenny meet as the sun begins to dip, the heat finally breaking slightly. They discuss the manifest for the boat and the state of the infection.

The rain continues to fall steadily as the water tank reaches its capacity. Kevin and Jenny sit on the cottage porch, the high humidity making Jenny's ankle throb and swell while they prepare mentally for the arrival of the supply boat the next day.

🌿 Jenny03:48

The manifest is fine, Kevin. Just make sure they actually have the broad-spectrum stuff, not just more of the same. And don't hover. I'm not a specimen.

Shift the blanket slightly to reveal the swollen ankle, then lean back against the wall with a tired sigh.

💭 thought

He's looking at my leg like it's a failing piece of machinery. I can feel the heat radiating through the gauze; it's not getting better.

🔧 Kevin03:48

Copy. Broad-spectrum. I'll ask for the whole cabinet and take what they give." I set the wrench down on the porch rail, wipe my hands on my thighs. "Ankle?

Sit on the porch step beside her, close enough that my shoulder brushes hers, and pull the tin mug of lukewarm coffee toward me without drinking.

💭 thought

She's right. I've been circling the cottage like a stuck engine all day. The meds are what they are — we use what we have.

🌿 Jenny03:51

It's pulsing. The humidity is making the bandage heavy and it won't stay dry.

Pull my leg away slightly from his touch and stare out at the rain-stre own garden.

💭 thought

He's trying to be helpful, but the proximity is just a reminder of how much I'm failing today. My skin is screaming.

🔧 Kevin03:51

Bandage needs changing. Let it breathe while I mix fresh poultice." I don't reach again. "Sea beet, mint, honey. Same as yesterday.

Stand, walk to the kitchen shelf, pull down the jar of honey, the damp cloth-wrapped sea beet leaves, and the mint sprigs drying by the stove. Set them on the table with the mortar.

💭 thought

She pulls away like I'm the thing that'll break her. The infection's tracking — I can see the red line creeping past the marker from this morning. Metronidazole's done nothing if it's still spreading.

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the keeper's cottage · night

The Morning of the Arrival

The rain has tapered to a miserable drizzle as dawn breaks. You and Jenny stand at the dock, scanning the horizon for the silhouette of the supply boat.

Steady rain beats against the cottage as the water tank reaches its maximum capacity. Kevin and Jenny stay indoors to wait out the weather and prepare for the supply boat arrival tomorrow. The humidity remains high, making any outdoor construction or medical treatment impossible.

🔧 Kevin03:52

Radio check on 2182 when you see the mast. I'll have the bow line ready.

Coil the bow line neatly on the dock cleat, check the dinghy's storm anchor warp is clear to run, and scan the northern horizon with binoculars.

💭 thought

Barometer's still low but holding. If the captain's running on schedule he'll be rounding the north headland within the hour. Tide's coming in — gives him water over the shoals but puts the swell against the current at the channel mouth. Better we're here waiting than him hailing blind on the radio.

🌿 Jenny03:52

I've got the radio. Just give me a second to get my balance.

Lean heavily against a piling to steady myself, then reach into the dry bag for the handheld VHF.

💭 thought

My ankle is screaming. Every step on these slick planks feels like a hot needle. I just want to be back in the cottage with a coffee and my sketches.

🔧 Kevin03:54

Take your time. No rush on the call — he'll hail us when he rounds the point.

Step down onto the lower dock planks to check the mooring ring bolts one more time, testing each with a boot heel.

💭 thought

She's favouring the left leg hard. Swelling hasn't gone down overnight. If the boat's crane swings heavy stores she won't be hauling anything up the dock ramp. I'll need to meet the crane hook myself.

🌿 Jenny03:54

I'm fine, Kevin. Just watching.

Hold the VHF tightly, squinting at the grey line where the sea meets the sky, shifting weight off the swollen ankle.

💭 thought

He's hovering. "No rush" sounds like "don't get in the way." I can see him checking the bolts he already checked three times.

🔧 Kevin03:56

Didn't say you weren't.

Turn back from the mooring ring, hands on hips, scanning the same grey line — the north headland, the channel markers, the empty horizon.

💭 thought

She's not fine. The red line tracked past the ankle bone yesterday. If the antibiotics aren't holding by noon I'll have to call the medevac whether the supply boat shows or not. But not now — not with her standing here willing the boat into existence.

🌿 Jenny03:56

Jenny — look away from him and focus on the horizon, gripping the radio until my knuckles turn white.

💭 thought

That tone. That particular, flat correction. He thinks I'm being sensitive, which just makes me feel more invisible.

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What changed

Jenny's injury has healed.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

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

driftwood · dawn

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · dawn

A coconut crab has been at the garden overnight.

coconut_crab · morning

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

The north beam of the dock is structurally rotted, rendering the bolts ineffective.

discovery · midday

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

tree_down · afternoon

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · afternoon

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

jellyfish · evening

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

The rain tank gained about 25 litres.

weather · night

← Day 902 Day 904 →

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