Shadow Casting: The Making of '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. "

# melancholy violin

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!

Hey! What the hell is going on?

- Hey, where are you guys going?

- Chicken!

# jazz

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.

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!

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