North Thompson River, born high up in the hills,
Clear mountain water, feeds your rapids and rills.
Cold as a winter sunrise, you’re rolling and drifting along.
I’ll set down beside you, and listen to your song.
For untold generations you’ve been a part of this land,
Your waters have brought life and peace, to all within their span.
The salmon in his season, the wild geese, spring and fall,
The deer, the moose, the beaver; you made room for them all.
But now I hear that there are those who would test a mining claim,
On a mountain beyond Birch Island, old Foghorn is its name.
Thirty years ago they tried, but their efforts were in vain,
And the people saved their river from uranium’s deadly, leaching stain.
Now they say that things have changed, its an energy source we need.
To us its just a money grab, pure and simple greed!
To destroy a pristine river, the stakes are far too high;
To inherit a legacy of death, and watch your children die.
So to those with visions of fortunes, who are primed to work this claim,
Take your diamond drills and siren songs, and go back from where you came.
Nothing really personal, for nothings really changed,
Thirty years ago we told you “NO”, and the answers still the SAME!
~ Bob Mumford, Little Fort, B.C.