I was born on good old Gaspé

Where I lived for many a year

I roamed the rivers and forests

And thrived on fish and deer


I never was a lonely man

My life was plain but free

And in that country of Gaspé

The sights were fair to see


With it’s rolling hills and valleys

It’s lakes and sparkling streams

And the wildlife in the forests

A conservation officer’s dream


The hardships and the sorrows

I made those all alone

When I failed to see and stopped to think

“Twas myself that did atone


But now that I am up in years

Those memories linger on

My mind goes back to yesterday

When I watched the coming dawn


I would walk the lovely forest trails

See the sun rise on lake and brook

When the sun went down I’d pitch my tent

To rest, to sleep and cook


But winter time was different

With a camp so warm and snug

With a plentiful supply laid in

Happy as a bug in a rug


Spring time was a draw back

the waters roaring high

I had to keep my wits about

The trails that I passed by


I’d laze around and cut my wood

Clean the camp and fix up trails

While the snow and water wore away

By the force of the lion gales


And when the trees were turning green

With a packsack on my back

And a good sharp trail axe in my hand

I was happy to be going back


I loved the autumn best of all

When the woods were turning gold

With the challenge of the mighty moose

That would make your blood run cold


I saw big men take “Buck Fever”

And saw them faint away

When the moose charged out with a roar

Take a look and trot away


And now it’s time to stop this poem

My mind is not too clear

Of those wonderful years that I have spent

I thank God I am here


So I’ll sit and dream in my old arm chair

Of the days when I was young

When I roamed the Gaspe forests

And say ”thy will be done”


So here’s to the good old Gaspe shores

Where the waves roll and pitch

In summer a beautiful place to be

In winter a son-of-a-bitch


Written by an old river guardian from Gaspe

Craig Baird

Cambridge, Ontario