A River Runs Through It

On my adventure into the woods the other day I took this photo of Grant Creek as it rolled over rock and stone. Last night I got to thinking of Norman Maclean's novella "A River Runs Through It," which reads a bit like poetry in many places. The photo reminded me of one of my favorite excerpts from the book, so I created this printable quote to tack on the fridge or frame up for the season. It may only be special to me, or to a few local readers who have dipped their toes in the Blackfoot River or cast a fly rod over its eddies, but if it speaks to you please feel free to download and print as well. 

Here is the full quote:

“Like many fly fishermen in western Montana where the summer days are almost Arctic in length, I often do not start fishing until the cool of the evening. Then in the Arctic half-light of the canyon, all existence fades to a being with my soul and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River and a four-count rhythm and the hope that a fish will rise.

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 of those rocks are timeless raindrops. Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.

I am haunted by waters.”

*I made mention of Norman Maclean here in an earlier post.