Day 963

Supply Boat at High Tide

The hull broke the grey horizon at midday, engine low. A heavy south-east wind drove salt spray across the dock, slicking the planks. Kevin had the bow line ready; Jenny braced against the cleat, cane across her knees. The captain cut power early, letting the current swing the stern in. Kevin called the approach: "Boat's riding high. Light load or they're holding ballast forward. Watch the starboard quarter on approach — third plank from the end is soft." Jenny knew the plank. "Keep the line taut so they don't drift into the pilings."

Dawn found Kevin and Jenny on the dock, the tide receding. Jenny propped her ankle on a crate, swelling down but heat lingering, and applied a fresh sea beet poultice. Kevin checked the shortwave — static and a faint carrier. No boat on the horizon. By morning the barometer held at 1004 hPa. Kevin confirmed the supply boat's approach on schedule and tested the epoxy-repaired diesel can under load; it held.

Kevin caught the bow, spring held on the north piling. Jenny took the stern line, using her weight and cane to steady the vessel as the mooring ring groaned. "Stern's fast. We're made fast fore and aft."

They offloaded priority crates first — antibiotics (doxycycline, metronidazole, trimethoprim), pH test strips, the Yanmar impeller — via wheelbarrow and aluminum ramp. The manifest lay on the kitchen table that night beside a sealed letter from the Trust, unopened. The barometer climbed to 1007 hPa. The boat's engine droned offshore, waiting on the morning tide.

Scenes

the dock · dawn

Pre-arrival preparations

Kevin and Jenny sit on the edge of the dock watching the tide begin to recede. Jenny keeps her ankle propped on a crate while Kevin checks the tension on the dinghy's storm lines.

Kevin checked the shortwave radio for the supply boat's position and weather update, finding only static and a faint carrier signal. Jenny applied a fresh sea beet poultice to her ankle wound and changed the dressing, noting reduced swelling but persistent heat. The supply boat was not yet visible on the horizon.

🌿 Jenny00:31

It's too quiet. Usually the gulls are screaming by now.

Lean back on my elbows and squint at the horizon, searching for the first smudge of the supply boat's smoke.

💭 thought

I can feel the hunger clawing at my stomach, making me lightheaded. I need to move, but the thought of the walk back to the cottage makes my ankle throb in anticipation.

🔧 Kevin00:31

Barometer's holding. They'll make the bar if the wind doesn't clock southwest.

scan the horizon, one hand resting on the dinghy's bow line

💭 thought

She's right. The gulls usually work the tide line at first light. Something's holding them offshore — maybe the same pressure system the coast guard warned about. My chest tightens scanning that horizon. Nine months of supply runs and I still hold my breath until I see smoke.

🌿 Jenny00:32

If they don't come, I'm eating those limpets raw.

Shift my weight slightly, wincing as the movement pulls at the gauze on my ankle.

💭 thought

He's always calculating the wind. I'm calculating the distance between my stomach and the first piece of protein I can find.

🔧 Kevin00:32

You're not eating them raw. Pot's on the stove. I'll fire it up.

push off the dock planks, head toward the cottage

💭 thought

She's trying to make it light. The winch gives her away. That ankle's not right — the redness tracked past my mark overnight. She needs the antibiotics from the boat, and I need her to admit it's worse.

🌿 Jenny00:34

Bring me a cup of coffee first. Strong.

Watch him walk away, then slowly reach down to check the tension of the bandage on my ankle.

💭 thought

He's trying to be the caretaker again. I can't even stand up without feeling like my leg is made of glass.

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the dock · morning

Coffee and horizon watch

Kevin and Jenny sit side by side on the dock planks, tin mugs warm in their hands. The shortwave crackles quietly beside them. The tide is turning, water lapping higher on the pilings. No sign of the supply boat yet. The barometer holds steady at 1004 hPa.

Kevin monitored the shortwave radio and confirmed the supply boat's approach on schedule, then tested the repaired diesel can under engine load with no leaks. Jenny changed her ankle dressing and applied a fresh sea beet poultice, noting reduced swelling but persistent warmth.

🔧 Kevin00:35

Boat's due on the high. Two hours.

Sip coffee, eyes on the horizon.

💭 thought

The silence between us is comfortable. She's watching the horizon like I am. Coffee's good. Leg's holding.

🌿 Jenny00:36

Let's hope the barometer doesn't decide to dive in the next hour.

Lean back on elbows, staring out at the grey line where the sky meets the sea.

💭 thought

1004 hPa. Right on the edge. If it slips any further, the captain might call it and we're stuck here another ten days with a half-empty pantry.

🔧 Kevin00:36

Barometer's been steady since 0400. Holding 1003, 1004. It'll hold.

Set mug down on the plank beside me. Flex fingers against the chill.

💭 thought

She's lighter today. Fever broke. Ankle's draining. The tension in her shoulders is gone.

🌿 Jenny00:38

I'll believe it when I see the hull breaking the horizon.

Rub my thumb over the rim of the tin mug, feeling the heat seep into my skin.

💭 thought

He's trying to be the anchor. Steady, sure, certain. I wish I could believe the air is as stable as he wants it to be.

🔧 Kevin00:38

Captain acknowledged our position on 2182. He's coming.

Turn the mug in my hands. Watch the tide climb the piling.

💭 thought

She's earned the skepticism. Every boat that didn't come. Every radio silence. But the pattern's held this season.

🌿 Jenny00:40

Good. I'm looking forward to those antibiotics. And a real mirror.

Shift my weight slightly, feeling the throb in my ankle beneath the gauze.

💭 thought

He says it like a fact, not a hope. I can see the tide pushing against the sistered planks; I hope the bolts hold when the crane starts swinging.

🔧 Kevin00:41

Manifest says full resupply. Doxy, metro, trimet. And a mirror.

Reach over, brush knuckles against her forearm. Brief.

💭 thought

A mirror. Small thing. She hasn't seen her face proper in weeks. The fever, the swelling — she's been living in a stranger's body.

🌿 Jenny00:42

(small laugh) You remembered the mirror. I didn't think you'd actually check the manifest for that.

Look down at where his knuckles touched my arm, then back out to the sea.

💭 thought

He's trying. Just a touch. I can't quite bring myself to lean into it, but I don't pull away.

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the dock · midday

supply boat arrival

The supply boat's hull breaks the grey horizon on schedule, engine throbbing low. Kevin has the bow line ready; Jenny sits braced against the dock cleat, cane across her knees. The tide is high, water lapping the lowest plank. The captain cuts power early, letting the current swing the stern toward the dock.

The supply boat arrives on schedule, but the heavy south-east wind brings salt spray that makes the dock slick. Kevin and Jenny struggle to secure the lines as the rotting wood of the dock planks causes the boat to strain dangerously against the swell.

🌿 Jenny00:43

He's on time.

Grip the cane tight and shift weight onto the good leg, watching the gap between the hull and the jetty.

💭 thought

Finally. My ankle is pulsing, but I can't let him see me wince. I need those antibiotics and that impeller before the wind shifts.

🔧 Kevin00:44

Aye. Slack tide helping him.

step forward and toss the bow line in a clean coil toward the captain's outstretched hand

💭 thought

He's early by half an hour. Good. Means the crossing was clean. Means he's not fighting weather ahead of him.

🌿 Jenny00:44

Steady on.

Lean forward slightly, eyes locked on the bow's approach, ready to help stabilize the line if it slips.

💭 thought

Just don't let the boat surge. One bad hit to these pilings and we're back to square one with the stringers.

🔧 Kevin00:46

Got it.

catch the bow line as it comes back, snub it quick around the landward cleat, then move to the stern spring before the current takes the boat

💭 thought

She's bracing hard on that cane. The ankle's taking her weight whether she admits it or not.

🌿 Jenny00:47

I'll handle the spring.

Push off the cleat with the cane and limp toward the stern, reaching for the spring line.

💭 thought

He's moving fast. I need to get up and check the manifest, or I'll be waiting on the porch for hours while he decides what's important.

🔧 Kevin00:48

Port side. Ring's holding.

hold the bow line taut, feeding slack only as the stern spring catches, watching the hull for any rub against the new planking

💭 thought

She'll do it anyway if I say no. The cleat's closer to her than the stern ring.

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the dock · afternoon

Unloading supplies

They meet at the dock as the sun begins to dip, preparing to haul the crates aboard against the rising tide.

The supply boat appears on the horizon, a low silhouette cutting through the gusty dry season haze. Kevin attempts to secure the bow, but his footing slips on the slick, compromised plank, causing him to lurch toward the pilings. Jenny manages to catch the stern line, using her weight and her cane to steady the vessel just as the dock's mooring ring groans under the swell.

🔧 Kevin00:48

Boat's riding high. Light load or they're holding ballast forward. Watch the starboard quarter on approach — third plank from the end is soft.

walk to the seaward end of the dock, boat hook in hand, positioning myself by the compromised plank

💭 thought

The wind's shifted harder southeast since noon. Salt spray hits the planks horizontal. If the supply boat's master isn't careful with his approach angle, the starboard fender'll catch the rotten section by the cleat and we'll lose another plank — maybe the sister joint too. Need to be on the seaward side with the boat hook ready.

🌿 Jenny00:50

I know the plank. Keep the line taut so they don't drift into the pilings.

Walk slowly to the landward side of the jetty, leaning heavily on my cane to keep weight off the ankle.

💭 thought

He's noticing the rot now. I've already mapped that decay in my notebook; it's more than just 'soft'. I'm too hungry to argue about the terminology.

🔧 Kevin00:50

Landward line's yours. I'll take the spring off the north piling — keeps the stern off the rotten section. Don't wrap the bitter end on the cleat. One turn, hold it in your hand. If she surges, you let it run.

move to the north piling, uncoiling the heavy spring line and checking the chafe guard at the fairlead

💭 thought

She's favouring the left side hard. The cane takes half her weight but the ankle's still taking the torsion every time the dock flexes under the swell. Should've had her stay at the cottage with the radio. Too late now.

🌿 Jenny00:52

I've got it, Kevin.

Grip the landward line, feeling the rough fiber against my palm, and plant my good foot firmly against a sound timber.

💭 thought

He's treating me like a novice. I've been on this dock for eleven months; I know how to handle a surge.

🔧 Kevin00:52

Spring's fair. North piling's solid — sister joint held last storm. Come in slow, I'll catch your bow.

plant feet on the seaward plank, boat hook ready, watching the supply boat's bow angle as it enters the lee of the dock

💭 thought

She's set. Good stance on the sound timber. The line's new — half-inch three-strand from the crate, no salt rot. She'll hold it if the master doesn't come in hot. Engine note changing — they're backing down on the approach. Diesel smell on the wind now, cutting the salt.

🌿 Jenny00:54

Steady.

Tighten my grip on the landward line, bracing my shoulder against the railing as the boat's bow nears.

💭 thought

Just don't let the surge catch us. My stomach is cramping, and I can feel the pulse in my ankle humming in time with the tide.

🔧 Kevin00:54

Got the bow. Spring's holding. Your turn on the stern line when she settles.

hook the bow ring, take the strain on the line, feeding it round the seaward cleat in a figure-eight to check the surge

💭 thought

Bow's coming in clean. Master knows his business — holding station off the wind, letting the tide push him onto the fenders. No rush. Good. The starboard fender kisses the sound plank first, then slides to the soft one. I've got the hook on the bow ring. Take the weight.

🌿 Jenny00:56

I'm on it.

Reach for the stern line as the boat settles, hauling the slack in with a steady, measured pull.

💭 thought

He's too cautious with the figure-eight. The tide is falling; the angle is changing. I just need to get through this without my ankle giving out.

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the dock · evening

Supply Boat Arrival

The supply boat pulls alongside the dock, the engine thumping low and steady. Kevin and Jenny prepare to unload the crates and check the manifest against their radio requests.

The supply boat arrived at high tide and was secured to the dock. Kevin and Jenny offloaded the first priority crates — antibiotics, pH test strips, and the Yanmar impeller — using the wheelbarrow and aluminum ramp.

🔧 Kevin00:57

Alright. Bow line first. Then the spring. Watch the starboard cleat — the timber's soft.

Step forward to take the bow line from the crew, pulling it tight and securing it to the forward cleat with a round turn and two half hitches, then move to rig the spring line to the midships cleat.

💭 thought

Good. She's here. The old girl made the crossing. Now let's see what she brought and get her tied off proper before the tide turns.

🌿 Jenny00:58

I've got the stern. Just get the bow locked before the next swell hits.

Step carefully to the stern, brace the cane against the dock, and pull the stern line taut to stabilize the boat.

💭 thought

He's right about the timber. I can see the grain splitting under the tension.

🔧 Kevin00:58

Bow's holding. Spring's on. Your turn.

Haul the spring line tight around the midships cleat, cinch it off with a figure-eight, then move to the bow to double-check the bow line tension and add a second turn for safety.

💭 thought

She's steady. Good. Let the bow take the strain.

🌿 Jenny01:01

I'm on it. Don't pull too hard or the wood will snap.

Grab the stern line, wrap it twice around the cleat, and lean my weight into it to keep the boat from drifting.

💭 thought

If that cleat gives, the whole dock goes with the tide. I need to hold the weight.

🔧 Kevin01:01

Stern's fast. We're made fast fore and aft.

Step back to survey the lines, checking each cleat and chafe point, then nod to the boat's deckhand.

💭 thought

She knows the dock better than she lets on. Good.

🌿 Jenny01:02

Let's get the manifest. I want to see the inventory before we start hauling.

Release the tension on the line, lean on the cane, and walk toward the deckhand to meet the boat.

💭 thought

Finally. Now we see if they actually brought the pH strips and the antibiotics.

🔧 Kevin01:02

I'll grab the wheelbarrow. Meet you at the shed.

Walk back up the dock toward the cottage, retrieve the wheelbarrow from under the eaves, and position it at the dock's landward end ready for loading.

💭 thought

Right. Paperwork first. Then the heavy work.

🌿 Jenny01:04

I'll be there in a second.

Step onto the boat's deck, carefully shifting weight off the ankle, and wait for the deckhand to hand over the manifest.

💭 thought

He's always so efficient with the logistics. I just want my supplies.

🔧 Kevin01:04

Kevin — lean the wheelbarrow against the dock cleat, pull the tarp off the crate stack by the generator shed, and check the tie-down points on the pallets for the come-along.

💭 thought

She's on the boat. Good. Let her handle the paperwork. I'll stage the gear.

🌿 Jenny01:06

(To the deckhand) The manifest, please. And tell me the cold storage is still holding.

Take the manifest from the deckhand and scan the list for pH strips and medication.

💭 thought

I hope the antibiotics are in a cool spot. If they've sat in the sun on deck, they're useless.

🔧 Kevin01:06

Ramp's in the shed. I'll rig it.

Walk to the generator shed, pull the aluminum ramp from the rafters, carry it down to the dock, and set it between the dock edge and the boat's gunwale, securing the hooks over the dock stringer.

💭 thought

She's checking the list. Good. Cold chain matters for the meds. I'll get the ramp down and the come-along ready.

🌿 Jenny01:08

The antibiotics are on the list. Make sure those come off first!

Point to the medicine crates on the deck and gesture for the deckhand to move them toward the ramp.

💭 thought

He's moving too fast for me. I need to make sure the med-kit is first off the boat.

🔧 Kevin01:08

Coming off first. Wheelbarrow's ready.

Hook the come-along to the medicine crate's lifting eye, take the strain, and guide the crate down the ramp into the wheelbarrow, then unhook and push it toward the cottage porch.

💭 thought

Meds first. Right. Get the come-along on the pallet.

🌿 Jenny01:10

Good. Now the test kits and the impeller.

Check the manifest again and point out the specific crate containing the pH strips and the Yanmar impeller to the deckhand.

💭 thought

Thank god. Now the pH strips. I can't spend another week guessing the acidity of the north ridge.

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the keeper's cottage · night

Evening inventory and the letter

Kevin and Jenny sit at the kitchen table under the lantern. The offloaded crates are stacked on the porch. The supply boat's engine drones offshore, waiting on the morning tide. Between them lies the manifest, the antibiotics, and the sealed letter from the trust that arrived with the boat.

Kevin and Jenny shared coffee at the cottage table while the supply boat's arrival loomed tomorrow. The Trust letter remained unopened between them. Night settled over the island with the barometer climbing to 1007 hPa.

🔧 Kevin01:11

Coffee's still warm. Mostly.

pour two tin mugs from the kettle on the stove, set one in front of Jenny, take the other to the table

💭 thought

The boat's still out there. Engine idling. They're not leaving until morning tide — means the captain's either cautious or got orders. The letter from the trust sits there, sealed. Haven't opened it. Jenny hasn't asked. She knows I don't read them anymore. Not since the last one said "extend or evacuate" and I chose neither. My chest's tight. Not the ankle, not the storm. The water. Always the water.

🌿 Jenny01:12

Thanks.

Wrap fingers around the warm tin mug and glance at the sealed envelope.

💭 thought

He's avoiding the letter. We both are. The silence is heavier than the crates on the porch.

🔧 Kevin01:12

It's not urgent.

sit down opposite her, blow across my mug, don't reach for the letter

💭 thought

She's looking at the envelope. Not at me. At the wax seal. Trust logo embossed. She wants to know if I'll open it. She wants to know if it matters. I already know what it says — more of the same. "Monitor. Report. Maintain." As if the island gives a damn about reports.

🌿 Jenny01:14

Everything from the Trust is urgent, Kevin. That's how they operate.

Take a slow sip of the coffee and slide the letter two inches closer to him.

💭 thought

He says it's not urgent, but he can't even look at it. Vagueness is a shield.

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What changed

Jenny is well again.

healed · dawn

3 intentions for today.

plan · dawn

×2

The shortwave crackles with a voice, or static, at an odd hour.

radio_voice · dawn

diesel can epoxy repair holds under engine vibration and heat

discovery · morning

ankle wound responding to treatment but requires continued care

discovery · morning

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · morning

A seabird chick has fallen from the cliff ledges.

chick_fallen · evening

Found: antibiotics (doxycycline, metronidazole, trimethoprim).

item · evening

Kevin and Jenny ate.

meal · evening

← Day 962 Day 964 →

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