Monday, November 30, 2009

A River Runs Through It

In our family there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing. We lived at the junction of great trout rivers in Western Montana, and our father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman who tied his own flies and taught others. He told us about Christ's disciples being fishermen, and we were left to assume, as my brother and I did, that all first-class fishermen on the Sea of Galilee were fly fishermen and that John, the favorite, was a dry-fly fisherman.

Thus begins the book that would become a blockbuster movie that would forever change the sport of fly fishing...Good or bad remains of course open for debate and a discourse I for one have a strong opinion--but since no one will listen anyway and not withstanding anything I say will not change things one iota, I will leave it go and just say that the book is among my all time favorites and if...if you haven't yet, trust me you are as they say missin' it big time. Besides a great story line the book is filled with wonderful passages:

Poets talk about spots of time but it is really the fishermen who experience eternity compressed into a moment. No can tell what a spot of time is until suddenly the whole world is a fish and the fish is gone. I shall remember that son of a bitch forever.

Eventually all things merge into one and a river runs through it. The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time. On some rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are words, and some of the words are theirs. I am haunted by waters.

See what I mean.

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