Rarden descended on the ropes with the kind of precision only possible by a man desperately attempting to ignore his captain's charades on the deck. The man knelt down and ran the rope through one of the foremost cleats on the deck, knotting the shipside end with a sloppy cleat hitch. Just like dad used to make, he remarked in his mind, missing the cuisine the phrase was usually attributed to and blessing what nautical know-how he'd gleaned from the old man. They'd need four of these but he wondered if they had enough rope for it. In the event they didn't, securing simply the bow and stern would be sufficient for a short time stay. But if the waves got rough... he suspended his considerations to return to his job. Mooring cable in hand, he skipped the short distance from the rail to the pier and began to secure their small vessel around the nearest bollard. As he did so, he noticed for the first time the imposing looking man that had ventured down to meet their ship. The smile on his face immediately put his mind at ease. No doubt a customs officer of some sort, he figured the man's business would be solely with the captain. Rarden gave the man a polite nod of the head and a "G'day to you," before sailing back over the ship's rail to grab up yet more rope and repeat his routine at the other mooring cleats.