The Deadweight Anchor

Night swallowed the flagstone shoals whole! Pitch-black... and that stretched rubber towline was humming in the draft—hummm! A taut line without a deadweight anchor will snap the wooden cleat clean off the timber! Kept low beneath the cedar riser. Waited... then—snap! Lodged in a mossy seam lay a heavy square iron nut, rusted orange and cold as ironwood. Lunged across the stone! Squeezed my curved felt hook straight through the threaded hole—clink! Hauled the iron block to the step, looping the elastic band clean around it to pin the tension solid. Locked fast! Curled my plush body into the dark crevice, hook resting over the iron. Deck watch is secure!