A River Runs Through It

Long ago, when I was a young man,...

...my father said to me "Norman, you like to write stories. "

And I said "Yes, I do. "

Then he said "Someday, when you're ready,...

...you might tell our family story. "

"Only then will you understand what happened...

...and why. "

In our family, there was no clear line between religion and fly-fishing.

We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in Missoula, Montana,...

...where Indians still appeared out of the wilderness...

...to walk the honky-tonks and brothels of Front Street.

My father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly-fisherman.

There is one yonder...

And though it is true that one day a week was given over wholly to religion,...

...even then he told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen.

And we were left to assume, as my younger brother Paul and I did,...

...that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly-fishermen...

...and that John, the favourite, was a dry fly-fisherman.

The poor without Christ are of all men the most miserable.

But the poor with Christ...

...are princes and kings of the earth.

In the afternoon, we would walk with him while he unwound between services.

He almost always chose a path along the Big Blackfoot,...

...which we considered our family river.

And it was there he felt his soul restored and his imagination stirred.

Long ago, rain fell on mud and became rock.

Half a billion years ago.

But even before that, beneath the rocks,...

...are the words of God. Listen.

And if Paul and I listened very carefully all our lives,...

...we might hear those words.

Even so, Paul and I probably received as many hours' instruction in fly-fishing...

...as we did on all other spiritual matters.

As a Presbyterian, my father believed that man by nature was a damned mess,...

...and only by picking up God's rhythms could we regain power and beauty.

Ten...

To him, all good things, trout as well as eternal salv ation, come by grace.

And grace comes by art, and art does not come easy.

Norman?

So my brother and I learned to cast Presbyterian style,...

...on a metronome.

He began each session with the same instruction.

Casting is an art...

...that is performed on a four-count rhythm between ten o'clock and two o'clock.

If he had had his way, nobody who did not know how to catch a fish...

...would be allowed to disgrace a fish by catching it.

So it was with my formal education as well.

Each weekday, while my father worked on his Sunday sermon,...

...I attended the school of the Reverend Maclean.

He taught nothing but reading and writing...

...and, being a Scot, believed that the art of writing lay in thrift.

Half as long.

So while my friends spent their days at Missoula Elementary, I stayed home...

...and learned to write the American language.

Again,...

...half as long.

Good. Now throw it away.

Norman!

Norman!

Wait for your brother!

However, there was a balance to my father's system.

Every afternoon, I was set free, untutored and untouched till supper,...

...to learn on my own the natural side of God's order.

And there could be no better place to learn than the Montana of my youth.

It was a world with dew still on it,...

...more touched by wonder and possibility than any I have since known.

Goddamn it! Open up the door!

- (boys laugh) - Hey! What the hell is going on?

- Hey, where are you guys going? - Chicken!

Go on, move over.

But it was a tough world, too.

Even as children we understood that, and admired it.

And of course, we had to test it.

I knew I was tough, because I'd been bloodied in battle.

Get him! Get him!

You sissy!

Come on!

Come on! Let's see some blood here! Go on! Lots of blood!

Go on!

Paul was different. His toughness came from some secret place inside him.

He simply knew he was tougher than anyone alive.

Grace will not be said until that bowl is clean.

Man has been eating God's oats for a thousand years.

It's not the place of an eight-year-old boy to change that tradition.

Grace.

Oh, God,...

...who art rich in forgiveness, grant that we may hold fast...

...the good things we receive from Thee.

And as often as we fall into sin,...

...be lifted by repentence through Thy grace.

Amen.

Norm, what do you wanna be when you grow up?

Minister, I guess.

Or a professional boxer.

You think you could beat Jack Johnson?

I dunno.

I think you could. I'd lay a bet on it.

What are you gonna be?

Professional fly-fisherman.

There's no such thing.

- There isn't? - No.

Hm.

I guess... a boxer.

Not a minister?

In 1917, World War One came to Missoula,...

...taking with it every able-bodied lumberjack,...

...leaving the woods to old men and boys.

So at 16, I did my duty,...

...and started working for the US Forest Service.

It was a life of timber and toil,...

...with the men as tough as their axe handles...

...and more mountains in all directions than I would ever see again.

Too young to join me, Paul took a job as lifeguard at the municipal swimming pool.

During the day, he could look over the girls,...

...and in the evenings he could pursue his other purpose in life,...

...fishing.

Be Thou my vision

Oh, Lord of my heart

Nought be all else to me save that Thou art

Thou my best thought by day or by night

Waking or sleeping Thy presence my light?

- Preacher, come on! (laughs) - Please be quiet!

- (laughs) - Shh!

Look at that baby! Preacher!

- Come on! - Shut up!

Did I tell you what a forest fire sounds like coming down a mountain at 60mph?

Shut up!

Damn it, the forest fires!

I've got a great idea. I know how we can go down in history.

How's that?

We borrow old man Seifert's rowboat and we shoot the Chutes.

- You can't shoot the Chutes, Pauley. - You can try.

You can die trying.

They'd bury you with full honours. Tell them, Norm.

- Well, we would be the kings of Missoula. - Yeah, kings! And famous!

And all of you would get your photographs in the paper.

I'm doing it.

- I am. - You'll die.

No.

Let's do it.

- Come on! - I'm with you!

- Let's go! - (they laugh and whoop)

Yeah!

All right!

Row, row, row your boat Gently down the stream?

Let's go! Whoo!

- (they laugh) - Oh!

Steady!

I'll get the oars.

Whose idea was this, anyway?

- Come on! This way! - (all cheer and shout)

Row, row, row your boat Gently down the stream?

I need a woman!

Jesus, Mary and Joseph!

OK, we'll put it upstream.

Aagh! OK.

Flip it!

OK, hop in.

Come on! We can all fit.

- I don't think so. - No, I uh...

Cluck! Cluck! Cluck!

Cluck!

All right. Just me, Norm and Chub.

Jeez, Pauley...

OK.

Then I guess it's just the Macleans.

Be careful!

They'll come ashore.

You got it! (whoops)

Let me tell you something.

See you later, boys!

On the right!

On your right! Watch right!

Aagh!

Look out!

Right!

Watch it! On the right, on the right!

Right! Right!

Hang on!

Oh, jeez.

Macleans!

Macleans!

Pauley!

Hey, Chub!

Macleans!