Most things at Straddy are set in stone,
Like the southerly blow with its whistle and moan,
Like the tree shady beaches all white with sand,
Like the spray from the headland always so grand,
But ever so rarely those waves ain’t so rough,
They become calm as a millpond if you’re lucky enough,
Angry waves that once crashed on those craggy brown rocks,
Will sometimes just lap their mossy green locks.
Here was our chance to discover and explore,
It was laid out before us like never before,
So down to find secrets in a foreboding place,
That has captured the life of a smiling face,
Came three grown men with little boy hearts,
They all stayed together never drifting apart,
With snorkel and goggle and body on raft,
They paddled the gorge – others thought they were daft,
But they knew the terror of what lay beneath,
They weren’t into dying they wanted no wreath,
With mask in the water and mouth filled with pipe,
The talk among them just didn’t seem right,
When look became “hook” and there became “hair”,
With two becoming “hoo” now that’s a bit rare,
Well Dave gave us a “hingray” for goodness sake,
But Tom’s “hook hoo hingray” that so took the cake.
