The Wreck of the Miss Ally

This song can be heard on youtube:

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Lyrics

Living on the east coast
You just gotta figure out
How to pay that banker man
And keep that boat afloat
They’re all trying to make a dollar
Barely clear a buck
They all get payments
On them pickup trucks.

Record catch last season
Makes no sense at all
Three fifty a pound for a lobster
And it was barely worth the haul
Funny how them middle men
Will take most of the profit
Working hands on the deck
They don’t see too much of it

Price of halibut
Was up to 10 bucks a pound
That’s like finding gold nuggets
While your pounds sour drowned (??)
They sailed out of Woods Harbour
Not thinking about themselves
Five kids in their prime of life
Headed to the continental shelf

Well, the boys didn’t come home today

There was a storm on the radar
Which seemed to give them fair warning
Roll the dice with your life
And you just might see the morning
Two weeks on the water
And things were going great
Skipper said to the other boys,
“Hope we didn’t stay too late.”

These lads sailed on the water
Before they could talk
They had their sea legs on all of them
By they time they could walk
Fishing off them boats
Was just a passed-down right
But the sea’s moody as it’s calm
On any given night

The other boats went to shore
And they tied up in Main-a-Dieu
The crew now knows they made a mistake
And should’ve been up there too
Being young is a factor
No fear, no regrets
Never knows, the more you win,
The more you will bet

Now the boys didn’t come home today

When you’re in the eye of the storm
It’s calm as can be
Last contact with land
They said, “don’t worry about me”
I think they knew they were in for
The fight of their lives
When two weather fronts ganged up on them
Later that night

The sea picked up dearly
Heaving them around
This weather bomb was tossed at them
Along fishing ground
Lobster boat full of halibut
Should be a fairly stable rig
But 30 foot North Atlantic swells
Proved to be too big

So with their beacon signals sent out
All they could do was hold on
This beast shook Miss Ally
Six hours before dawn
Cormorants tried from the air
And were turned back by the force
Trying to navigate that storm
Hell nothing could stay on course

Oh the boys didn’t come home today

It’s a sickening feeling
When you’re waiting on a call
Just put your faith in God
And pray for them all
Facing your child’s mortality
You’d give your own life
If they could only be at home
Safe and sound at night

I know it’s easy to pass judgment
When you’re in here on land
But why they stopped that search so soon
I’ll never understand
Everyone was astonished
As the RCMP were phoned
Guess politics trumps common sense
So we’ll go it on our own

So the slave driver left Pubnico
Full speed all the way
On board were four divers
We’ll get her through the day
Up and down the coast
These little fishing boats set out
Looking for closure
Few by hope (?).

Cause their boys didn’t come home today

Nineteen hours out
The slave driver arrives
Miss Ally lay upside down
Her keel to the skies
Chills went up their spines
As Larson circled three times
The wheelhouse was missing
There’d be no miracle to find

Our hearts sure weigh heavy
For lives lost that night
All our thoughts and prayers
Just couldn’t make things right
But as true Maritimers
We’re with you all the way
Through your tragedies like Sir Echo
And Colville Bay

Just like metal drawn to a magnet
The tradition was on (?)
All they’ll need is time to grieve
To realize they’re gone
But the next time you’re eating a lobster
Or a big fish dinner
Say praise for these boys
Who died fishing in the winter

Cause the boys didn’t come home today
The boys didn’t come home today
The boys just didn’t come home
Today

Lyrics transcribed by Heather Sparling from the youtube video


2 Responses to “The Wreck of the Miss Ally”

  1. dan says:

    who wrote it?

  2. Heather Sparling says:

    Your guess is as good as mine. The youtube video information says “Artists- Dale Munro Ft. Dennis Hare.” I’ve guessed that Dale Munro is the songwriter and singer, but it’s just a guess.

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