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."
We shift to a montage of old photographs, first of young Paul and Norman, then the entire family, and finally of Missoula, Montana:
Older Norman - [narrating]:
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In my 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. Older Norman - [narrating]: As a Presbyterian, my father believed that man by nature was a damn mess. And that only by picking up God's rhythms, were we able to regain power and beauty. To him, all good things, trout as well as eternal salvation come by Grace. And Grace comes by art. And art does not come easy.
Older Norman - [narrating]:
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. Older Norman - [narrating]: As a Presbyterian, my father believed that man by nature was a damn mess. And that only by picking up God's rhythms, were we able to regain power and beauty. To him, all good things, trout as well as eternal salvation come by Grace. And Grace comes by art. And art does not come easy.
Older Norman - [narrating]:
A River Runs Through It
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