The making of a fly fishing film
The morning chill crept in as I stepped out of my truck and into the dew filled grass. My hands, stuck in habit, started to pull at the canvas that cased my fly rod. Etienne, the camera man, halted my addiction and I was reminded why I was really here. This was one day of many, lost on the river attempting to film the art and the “why”behind fly fishing. We crashed through the brush and meandered our way to the river, graced by a spring morning in Montana. Our production crew consisted of Etienne and his camera and me and my fly rod. I knew this story was one the river was able to tell on its own, and I was happy to be there to listen.
A recent article about the connection between people who fly fish and people who write surfaced in my mind. Thinking about my favorite fly fisherman, I thought about the span of their thoughts and how in one way or another, everything came back to fly fishing. As I sat on a stump engrossed by the river, the parallel between life and fly fish floated through my mind. “Rivers in Time” was simple, but highlighted the side of fly fishing that most don’t see when they first start. I sat there and felt the sun on my face and wondered what the camera saw. Would the audience get bored, or distracted by the scenery, or confused as to what I was even talking about. I knew since the start of the film, I wanted to convey the side of fly fishing that goes far beyond the scope of fish, and in someway show how fly fishing isn’t at all what we first think it to be. It’s been my experience that most people only ever want to talk about is fish, and the poetry and art that is western fly fishing only causes confusion and disassociation. I wondered how the new wave of nerdy fishing geeks would process a film that didn’t come with reggae music. I felt the cork on my fly rod and the start of a tear, and I slid my hand back into its desired place. It fit better than anything else in my life, as if a fly rod was apart of me. I knew in that moment that the people behind the camera may not know at first what I was talking about, but maybe we would leave them to wonder. I would spend the rest of the morning casting in rhythm and wandering around each bend, sometimes forgetting a camera was watching me.
That night, my homework was the best kind. As I glared at the blank page in front of me, tears trickled down my cheeks. The words slipped out like they had already been written. They came from a place not looking forward but back, being spoken from experience and journey. As I wrote the voice over for the film, I imagined what the camera saw, wet feet and all. Would I be able to describe in detail for people to fully understand what I was hoping to convey? Could people really see that fly fishing has more to do with ourselves, and less to do with fish? A journey of ten years now summarized to a page stared back at me, and for the first time it all made sense. This film was not one for the front row, or the new generation of hooded fly fishing bandits. It was a film for the 14 year old me, wading in the river filled with confusion, not just about flies, but about life. My struggle to understand how to fly fish coincided with my struggle to understand life, and the two became one. This film is light in a dark room that is a beacon of clarity and freshness. It might leave you asking yourself why you should get your feet wet, and that in itself is enough for me. But it also might leave you wondering why you fly fish and if you can summarize your purpose to one individual sentence. And after a long journey, you might realize that the purpose for why we fly fish and why we get our feet wet end up being the same answer.
If you are interested in watching the film “Rivers in Time” by McKenna Hulslander and Etienne Surrette it will be joining the Trout Film Festival by Orvis and Fly Fusion Magazine this fall. Follow on social for info on select showings.
