Some say that the camp wakes early But I say ‘tis only at night When the rain sweeps down the canvas Generator running for light
Carhartts n shirts on nails line walls Boots n socks hung around the stove Yet t’aint the rotten clothes I smell But the sweet warmth of jackpine smoke
Soft voices flicker back and forth A guitar is pulled from its case A low Hank voice sings ‘Way Up North’ Cowboy chords set a lazy pace
Chairs skid across the plywood floor And someone stokes the dying fire They’ve worked their day and need no more To prove them worthy of their hire
There is no better way to sleep No ale nor cigar duplicates Crawling to bed tired and beat Tho it’s three quarters past eight***
Now this is for them selfish ones Who believe they need ‘time for me’ Watching them bathe would be great fun In icy water on their knees
Sure they’d trek on manicured trails With Nalgene bottles on their hips A single hand grip on the rails Think ‘this is the life’ between sips
But would they wear duct taped Vikings Through bogs, blow-down infested hills On top, all the while claim staking I would think the chance next to nil
Yet somehow these men can do it Even some choice women as well Willingly put all into it With not one curse of heav’n or hell
And their reward lies at the end When the compass is put away With food set out and a word said Making ready for the next day
Then they fall to a lazy style Retreating at last to their cots They trade stories of the tough miles The war wounds and sights they've caught
Breakfast is ate at six-thirty When the sun sheds its waking light Tis true that the camp wakes early But only comes alive at night