I found two sets of words for "Keweenaw Light" on the internet (one here), and listened to two recordings (White Water & Raisin Pickers). Among them I found at least thirty places where there were differences, most of them small.
Since I couldn't find an "official" version, I set out to find Craig Johnson. It said here that he moved to Alexandria VA years ago. I found one Craig Johnson listed in Alexandria, but that number had been discontinued.
It also said he had played in the Double Decker String Band, so I figured if I found ANY of those people (whether or not the group was still together), they would know where he was. The band IS still playing, and Craig Johnson is in it. Their website led me to Bruce Hutton (one of the musicians), and he gave me Craig's phone number. He now lives in North Carolina.
So I was delighted to actually talk to Craig, and was surprised to find he used to live in Ann Arbor (where I live, when I'm not in Eagle Harbor watching one of the Keweenaw lights), and he had never lived in the U.P.!
He wasn't particularly concerned whether there was an "official" version, but he went through all thirty+ differences with me, and told me how HE sings them. Though on a few, he said he has sometimes sung them the other way. So I intend to use the following as my official version, and you can too if you choose.
KEWEENAW LIGHT (Craig Johnson)
I've traveled that country from the Keweenaw headlands, where the wild gulls do cry from the rocks to the sea, o'er the cold inland ocean to the Manitou Island, far away from my home, strange places to see.
And the stars will shine bright on the south shore tonight, and the Keweenaw Light swings over the bay. And if dreams could come true, I'd still be there with you, on the banks of cold water at the close of the day.
I've drifted through the boom towns, a century dying, past the ruins of the smelters and the rusted head frames. Through Mohawk and Ahmeek, Centennial and Laurium, and other sad places that pass without names.
I've counted the crossties, dry bones of the railroad, that stretch from the sunrise to the close of the day. And I've counted the miles between me and my true love, the lies and the highways that carried me away.
All the leaves have turned gold, summer's nigh over, the wild geese sweep low over Lake Manganese. In that far away country, you walk by slow rivers, alongside cold waters 'neath the whispering trees.
Two things more. When I asked him if he wrote the song in 1980, he said no, more like '74-'75, but didn't copyright it until 1980. But, I asked, did you sing it in public before 1980. Oh, I probably sang it at the Ark (our local folk song venue). That's pretty public.
And I asked if he had any particular lighthouse in mind (hoping it would be Eagle Harbor). He said it was the Copper Harbor Lighthouse, because he generally camped near there when he came to the area.