I like to go trogging, (that’s caving don’t you know),
And there’s nothing to beat walking ’round 100 feet below,
When you’ve been in a cave a day and half a night,
You’ve earned the right to call yourself a full-on troglodyte.
Some people often wonder why we’d want to wander ’round,
In dark and muddy caverns beneath the clayey ground,
But caving is a fun sport and really not that bad,
The reason that we do it, is simply cos we’re mad.
Well you wear a pair of overalls and boots and other sundries,
But none of them will keep the mud from squelching through your undies,
The caves aren’t always wet and you’ll take my word I trust,
Though when they’re dry it’s often hard to breath for all the dust
We don’t mind the name “troglodyte” but we object to “mole”,
Although we do go mucking ’round in dark and grubby holes.
Now some say trogging lingo is something of a joke,
(I used to think “Acoustic Pot” was something that you smoke).
And “Blowfly” ain’t a thing that flies and spreads disease,
It’s a cave down at Bungonia, where you ruin your King Gees,
And “Dragon’s Teeth” formations are painful in the least,
Though not the eating instruments of some mythical beast.
“Punchbowl” isn’t where you drink the plonk with all the fruit,
Although the bat guano makes the water taste real beaut,
And when you hit foul air, it makes your vision hazy,
So why do we go trogging? Quite simple, we are crazy.
Some of the abseils that we do are over 100 feet,
And if you let go of the rope, you’ll end up like minced meat.
Now please don’t get me wrong, abseiling is alright,
Just one rule to remember, do your knots up tight.
And when you hit the bottom, you yell up “I’m off rope!”,
Then down will come the next guy, at least that’s what you hope,
To start off, all you have to do is find a hole or doline,
And venture down it on a rope, that you’ve tied in a bowline.
Then when you reach the bottom, and all the light has gone,
You’ll ask “Why am I down here?”, “Because I’m off my scone!!”.
© copyright A Jack 1983