Danger Island Dumb-Dumbs

We knaves had orders both explicit and dumb: Scare the blazes out of a management bum. Thunderstorm weather rocked wide Prince William Sound, Feisty gales pouring rain all around. My partner and I took our overseer In a tiny smoker craft quite rough to steer. Motoring south, mighty gusts drove us to shore We staved off sandstone rocks with long wooden oars. Back to the channel against gusts we did plow. Our passenger sat white-knuckled in the bow. We rounded the curve of our wind whipped north shore To enter Danger Island Strait's tidal bore. Roller coaster billows rose twenty feet high Then dropped into wallows roofed only by sky At bottom our boat swirled among kelp and rocks Our passenger appeared as a stunned ox. Through the passage stood our island’s south cliff face Pacific waves raged, clawing cliffs to deface. Our passenger’s eyes set to leap into space, My partner asked about a smooth landing place. Sad faced I said, “High tide is still hours away No place for our boat above the surf today.” Our passengers’ face seemed as if borax bleached Praying our tiny craft was soon to be beached. We rocked and rolled daring Danger Island’s sway Then motored up our channel, heading camp’s way We fought the frenzied wind and staved off the rocks Our management friend quietly clutched his socks. Nodding, we grinned sideways as if to gloat As we bailed our boat simply to stay afloat. But when ornery orcas bumped our frail boat One gave us the eye; we croaked cries from tight throats. Our urban client raced to the cook tent door. While we pulled our craft above the tidal bore. When we got to the tent for our rum and tea Our client had downed high proof rums one, two, three.