we’d pack our bags and travel light

we’d drive for hours in break of light

we’d pitch are tents and rig our gear

we’d made it here for one more year

we’d fish the seas and flowing streams

for that one big salmon of our dreams

I’d sit and watch my father cast

as once he done with his father past

we’d fish for miles and hours on end

in calm pools were fast rapids end

we’d cast our lines in swollen streams

to catch that salmon of our dreams

we’d pack are gear and light the fire

and talk of fish we so desire

we would wake at crack of dawn

and stumble down were salmon spawn

we’d leave  this place and it’s streams

and still no salmon of our dreams

when we come back that following year

we will pitch our tents and rig our gear