Pick a conservative latest-start and an absolute turnaround anchored well before published low water, adjusting for range, wind, surge, and group speed. Wear a watch, set alarms, and honor them. Crossing late feels bold until a flooded notch erases choice and forces scrambling where calm steps once worked.
Assign a lead to scout and a sweep to guard the rear, keep communication short and specific, and pause only on safe platforms. Normalize speaking up about uncertainty or fatigue. Rotate navigation and time checks so responsibility stays shared, and match pace to the slowest hiker, not the keenest.
Never navigate by a lighthouse beam; it is designed for mariners, not footpaths. Carry a headlamp with a warm flood and a red mode to protect night vision. Mind foghorns, which can be startlingly loud; give operational areas wide berths and keep lights low near windows to avoid disruption.
Arriving early, two hikers still set a turnaround forty minutes before predicted low because strong easterlies lifted levels. They crossed unhurried, explored briefly, and returned as wind waves began licking slab edges. Because timing was disciplined, the path home stayed dry, calm, and perfectly ordinary—exactly the goal.
Long-period swell arrived a day after a distant storm, surging unpredictably across otherwise dry rock. The party posted a spotter, avoided edges, and kept packs on. When a set boomed through, everyone was already moving high. Dry feet, steady nerves, and an untold rescue were the simple result of vigilance.
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