The day was planned, the spirits high.
Grindstone Falls are awaiting.
The canoes are manned 'neath weeping sky.
Can they hear the grinder grating?
The Nashwaak Paddler enters brave,
The seething froth, the boiling swell.
The canoe fills with the first big wave,
And poor Nanook goes straight to Hell.
Hal readies with the rescue rope,
Braced steady on the shore.
A slender thread of tiny hope,
A single chance, no more.
A floating yardsale, a sunken boat
The river gods all the richer.
The man on shore hears the shout:
Forget the rope and take a picture!
by Hal the Gullboy
Read the Original Ballad