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.