by 
Now gather round, ye thirsty souls,
And pull your stools in near,
For I’ll tell a tale of Beiloon Bay
That’s best told over beer.
’Twas early morn, the tide a-turn,
The wind a salty roar,
When the Makos came with paddles raised
Like clans to ancient war.
At the front where battles first are fought,
Where courage sets the sea,
Stood Jax and Webby driving hard
For the first great race, ye see.
“Aye lads!” cried Bear, paddle high,
“Today we dinnae crawl—
We paddle hard, we paddle proud,
Or we dinnae paddle at all!”
With Babs the sweep to hold the line
While waves began to pound,
The waka surged through spray and chop
With thunder in the sound.
Behind them drove big Glasso strong
And Sam like some great ram,
While Sue and Britt cut through the swell
With grit and steady hand.
The first great clash was fought and done—
But still the sea called more,
So back they marched to meet the tide
And settle Beiloon’s score.
Now Shano stood beside Ness up front
To lead the second fray,
Their strokes like drums of Highland war
That would not fade away.
Through blistered hands and bleeding limbs,
Through muscles torn and sore,
Through broken bones—or near enough—
The Makos pulled once more.
So sing of Fletch and Timbo bold,
And AB driving through,
And Poonie, Allie, Sal the fierce
Who battled with the crew.
And though the tides of Beiloon turn
And many years may roam,
The tale will pass from pub to pub
Where paddlers gather home.
Of Makos strong who faced the sea
And would not yield that day—
And how they fought, and how they laughed,
On the wild tides of Beiloon Bay. 🍻
The Battle of Beiloon?
Aye…
The Makos won. 🍻
