Written on the shores of Lake Laberge on the evening of July 21, 1998-with apologies to Robert Service. Service changed the name to Labarge.

There are strange things done north of Highway One
Where men still search for gold
These northward trails have their own weird tales
That take place in the heat and cold


In the truck headlights I have seen strange sights
But the weirdest I ever did see
Was the night on the marge of Lake Laberge
I created 'Stan McCree'

Now Stan McCree was from Condor see
Where the quackgrass blooms and grows
Why he left his home to the Yukon roam
Only God in his humour knows

He pushed on forth to the frozen north
With his run-down worn out Ford
It was bent and rusted, but old Stan trusted
In the goodness of the Lord

On past the ruins of Edmonton
His trusty old truck roared
And within the week he made Dawson Creek
In that wonderful well-oiled Ford

Old Stan he stopped just long enough
For some gas and a gallon of oil
With a slam of the door he was off once more
To the northward he did toil

When he crossed the bridge at Taylor
Well his humming it did cease
For he'd never seen a river
Like the mighty rolling 'Peace'

And at Fort St. John, with its oil all gone
The old Ford just had to rest
But you wouldn't shoot a faithful dog
Who was doing its darned best

With the old Ford filled-and its hammering stilled
Stan headed back on the Alaska route
With a bit of luck, and his faithful truck
Why he'd make it without doubt

Mile after mile they mushed along
'Cause the steering weren't too tight
And a tire would go flat like a run-down rat
But he'd patch 'em up at night

And finally at Fort Nelson town
Did Stan the Staunch arrive
Saying 'man, a highway such as that
Only idiots would drive'

When a new tire old Stan had to buy
Why the taxes made him cuss
"Now I know why this damned town exists-
To catch suckers just like us"

With another tank of high priced gas
And a bunch of not-cheap-oil
The old Ford got to Steamboat
Both Stan's blood and it did boil

'Cause the gas and the hill were both too high
And the old truck caused a 'ruction'
When it hit the bloody poor excuse
That those morons called construction

And just as Stan, the summit passed
The truck let out a cough
And halfway down the other side
Well, a bloody wheel came off

Old Stan got out, and he looked about
With a well placed "Golly-Gee"!
And exclaimed "these B.C. nitwits
They will be the death of me"

Stan rounded up the wayward wheel
Then put on his ragged spare
Which, for reasons only known to God
Had just run plumb out of air

Poor Stan let out a kind of prayer
Or at least that's how it seemed
He always turned to God for help
Whenever he was steamed

And there in a forlorn gravel pit
Stan got the old truck patched
And he headed out on his quest once more
That old truck was far from 'ratched'

Past the Tetsa and Toad rivers-on to Muncho Lake
Where the price of gas got even worse
Just to feel his wallet shrink like that
Sure did make old 'Staunch Stan' curse

On the thirteenth day did the wide Liard
Hove into Stan's dim view
Why the price of gas had come down one cent
And they had a hotsprings too!

Then ruffling through his duffle bag
Old Stan found his birthday suit
With a running jump, he hit the springs
But his judgement weren't astute

For the next three hours he racked his brain
As he shook and bounced his way
Now then, back there at the hotsprings
Just what did that woman say?

As he wound his way 'long the wide Liard
When he'd got his mind in order
And he'd started to think 'what a brain-dead din-er-fool
Why he hit the Yukon border

And just as he thought-"hey it's alright here
Why this land's just made to order"
Well that stupid road, like a drunken toad
Headed back across the border

Now it wasn't like old Stan too much
To let anyone see him frown
But his lip stuck out-with the biggest pout
Since he'd left old Condor town

And just as he began to think
"Why this here's too darned much pain"
Well, that flying Ford-it just belched and roared
Into God's land once again

Having finally reached this 'Promised Land'
Stan pulled off the road to sleep
When the local Mounties on patrol
Spied the rusted-dented heap

And as they opened up the door
Stan said " be gone wayward waif
Since I left my home down in Condor town
It's the first time I've felt safe"!

Oh there's strange things done north of Highway One
Where men still search for gold
These northward trails have their own weird tales
That take place in the heat and cold

In the truck headlights I have seen strange sights
But the strangest I ever did see
Was the night on the marge of Lake Laberge
I created 'Stan McCree'!!