We got up at 6,
Wrapped up good and warm,
Grilled the tide table,
We're the benefactors of the storm.
Put a little wheaten bread
in the knapsack,
Memorising images of Wrights
and Black Backs,
Told my friends I recognise
the danger of sea stacks,
Navigating Marrum with incredible form.
The antithesis of certain schools of thought,
that we try to bludgeon.
As a child that's fascinated by the Gulf Stream,
I worry we're ignoring; not debating.
Dad jumped in the surf,
Checked what it was worth,
Tied a length of wire but wasn't arriving,
Rushing back to talk about
the power of surviving.

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