Alex Clark
Registered User
Life Long Alaskan
Spam Can over Canada
It was late in the winter of Two Thousand and Three.
I was flyin a Spam Can back home to Alaska, the land of the free.
From Nevada to California, I made the first day.
Then north to Washington, where for a night I did stay.
So far was so good, so I pushed even harder than I should.
In Kamloops I filed direct to Fort Saint John, and the planner said ?sure? that I could.
So off we went, my little Spam Can loaded with bush gear and gas.
We turned towards the north, a tail wind blowing us through a snowy mountain pass.
About a hundred and fifty miles out and the same miles to go.
I flipped over my chart and my cussing was soon heard in wilderness down below.
In the town of Omak Washington, I?d bought the last Canadian chart.
It looked like two old ones taped together by some grizzled old fart.
So here over the Rockies, I came to discover,
He had taped the same damned chart, from one end to another.
So we flew off the map, over mountains, rocks and ice.
I prayed for a logging road , yeah that would be nice.
Up one valley to another, they all looked the same.
The clouds and snow moving downward, while the wind smashed at my plane.
We were inverted and sideways from minute to minute.
I needed a place to crash land, but it just wasn?t in it?.
My headset flew off, so I pulled them back on again.
Then suddenly on the radio I heard the voice of a Canadian named Tim.
He was at the strip in Williams Lake, just a little to the West and the South.
He thought he knew where I was and would direct me by mouth.
Tim gave me directions, over the peaks and valley intersections.
If he would move to Alaska, I?d vote for him in any election.
So finally we landed, as the light was fast fading.
On a strip covered with ice, that needed some grading.
Then I spent a night and a day for some much needed rest and re-fuelin.
If it weren?t for Tim at Williams Lake, around the Pearly Gates I?d still be toolin?.
It was late in the winter of Two Thousand and Three.
I was flyin a Spam Can back home to Alaska, the land of the free.
From Nevada to California, I made the first day.
Then north to Washington, where for a night I did stay.
So far was so good, so I pushed even harder than I should.
In Kamloops I filed direct to Fort Saint John, and the planner said ?sure? that I could.
So off we went, my little Spam Can loaded with bush gear and gas.
We turned towards the north, a tail wind blowing us through a snowy mountain pass.
About a hundred and fifty miles out and the same miles to go.
I flipped over my chart and my cussing was soon heard in wilderness down below.
In the town of Omak Washington, I?d bought the last Canadian chart.
It looked like two old ones taped together by some grizzled old fart.
So here over the Rockies, I came to discover,
He had taped the same damned chart, from one end to another.
So we flew off the map, over mountains, rocks and ice.
I prayed for a logging road , yeah that would be nice.
Up one valley to another, they all looked the same.
The clouds and snow moving downward, while the wind smashed at my plane.
We were inverted and sideways from minute to minute.
I needed a place to crash land, but it just wasn?t in it?.
My headset flew off, so I pulled them back on again.
Then suddenly on the radio I heard the voice of a Canadian named Tim.
He was at the strip in Williams Lake, just a little to the West and the South.
He thought he knew where I was and would direct me by mouth.
Tim gave me directions, over the peaks and valley intersections.
If he would move to Alaska, I?d vote for him in any election.
So finally we landed, as the light was fast fading.
On a strip covered with ice, that needed some grading.
Then I spent a night and a day for some much needed rest and re-fuelin.
If it weren?t for Tim at Williams Lake, around the Pearly Gates I?d still be toolin?.
