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.
More from A River Runs Through It
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]: And I knew just as surely, just as clearly, that life is not a work of art, and that the moment could not last.
Older Norman - [narrating]:
Older Norman - [narrating]: And I knew just as surely, just as clearly, that life is not a work of art, and that the moment could not last.
Older Norman - [narrating]:
A River Runs Through It
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