The River Why

---

[birds chirping]

[running water]

[soft guitar music]

[music becomes more lively]

[whirring]

[man, narrating]

The surface of the earth...

is 30 percent land...

and 70 percent water.

A newborn baby is composed

of 70 percent water...

and 30 percent

everything else.

[shouting]

[man, narrating]

I guess this means...

that life and water

are inseparable.

A human child at birth

undergoes a ritual...

almost identical to that

inflicted upon a trout at death.

The fish is whacked

on the head...

thus putting it

out of its misery.

The infant is whacked

on the behind...

[crying]

thus initiating it

into its misery.

Upon my birth, my father

made sure that I was given...

the proud, manly name

of Augustine.

And since I was born into

the first family of angling...

it should come

as no surprise...

that I was a fishing prodigy.

I caught my first steelhead

with my mom...

on a worm when I was four.

I didn't feel any hostility

towards land dwellers.

I just had water

on the brain.

The only thing I gave

much thought to...

was bait versus fly.

On my tenth birthday...

I caught my 180th steelhead

with my dad...

on a fly.

By the time high school

rolled around...

I was great

at attracting steelhead.

Not so great

with the cheerleaders.

And when most kids

were making college plans...

I didn't bother.

[shouting]

Gross.

Figured the only

institution...

my grades would get me in...

was the Oregon State Pen.

But on water?

I understand

the way fish think.

My parents' union...

is one of stubborn,

extremely loyal...

hot-tempered,

polar opposites.

Ma is a bait fisher...

an expert plunker of worms.

My father

is a writer secondarily...

and a famous

fly fisherman primarily.

My brother Bill Bob

is different...

than the rest of us.

He was born

with a prodigious ability...

to ignore

all things aquatic...

which to a massive extent

implies his entire family.

He hates water.

Won't drink it.

[barking]

He wears galoshes and a hat...

almost every day...

just to stay clear

of the stuff.

[barking]

Not that he doesn't need

a little protection...

from other hazards

now and then.

Good thing Ma has

native intelligence.

And she always seems to be

in the right place

at the right time.

[gunshot, dog whimpering]

[applause]

[walla]

My father's battle...

with a giant steelhead

he named Nijinsky...

was the stuff of legends.

And the story of that fish

brought him fame, fortune...

and a healthy ego.

Raised by

English aristocrats...

he inherited their speech

and manners.

When he autographs a book,

he writes his entire name...

Henning Hale Orviston.

To approach every task-

[Gus, narrating]

I call him H20.

He's the one person

in the world...

who calls me by the name

on my birth certificate.

(Henning)

Augustine...

best get another box

from the car.

I just brought in three boxes.

Tell you what, Augustine.

Until you find someone else

to employ you...

you might want to do

what I request.

[thump] Yes, sir! [sarcastic]

[man chuckling softly]

Do you have children?

Oh, yeah.

[scoffing and sighing]

[man] Before I take a few questions...

let me conclude by saying...

I like to think

of this legislation...

as the Worship the Waters Act.

Yes, little lady.

(woman)

Hi. Um, curious.

How can building all those

new dams be an act of worship?

I mean, even if the wild salmon

are lucky enough to survive...

the turbines on their

pilgrimage up the river...

their smolt will be

swallowed, of course...

by the predators on their

way back to the ocean.

Maybe we should call it the

Slaughter the Salmon Act instead.

There may be some collateral

damage to the salmon...

but this will create jobs

and cut taxes, and besides...

we are making great strides

with aquaculture these days.

You'd be amazed

what we're doing...

with farmed salmon.

(policeman) There's no smoking here.

You need

to put that out.

Of course.

The environment.

Come on.

Certainly.

(policeman) Let's go. Come one.

There's no evidence...

that consuming farmed

salmon poses any threat.

Yeah, you and I

can debate that.

But we can both agree that fish

have better places to live...

than pools

of their own sh*t!

[soft guitar music]

(Henning) Where are my books, Augustine?

My name is Gus!

[reel whirring]

And none may come for days

(woman)

Sorry.

(Henning)

Sorry.

[soft guitar music]

[clicking]

My parents argued

about a lot of things.

But it was never a question of

who would have the last word...

merely who would have

the next one.

[background arguing]

How could I tell them I was

thinking about leaving home...

when I couldn't even

get a word in edgewise.

[Mom, sighing]

So, Hen...

have you ever been

to Royal Lake?

If I have...

the brain cells

recollecting it...

have been destroyed

by this merciful beverage.

So go ahead, Gusser.

Tell him

about that record bass...

you and Bill Bob pulled

out of there that time.

Ma.

Augustine, you call

yourself a fisherman?

I call myself Gus.

Well, Gus...

why were you fishing

for bass?

Dutch Hines says that-

Dutch Hines is an idiot.

What does he know? Bass.

Bass!

(Gus, off) It's been said

that a man with a Bible...

is more dangerous

than a man with a gun.

Izaak Walton's

The Compleat Angler...

was my father's Bible.

"The king of fish,

the trout. "

(Gus, off) And since the

time I was a toddler...

I heard it quoted

and misquoted daily.

"via the fly rod, the most

aesthetically perfect experience...

available to mortal-"

Don't break my book.

Don't worry about

your stupid book. Here.

"Come. Let's

kill them all.

"Then let's go find

an honest alehouse...

"where we may drink

a cup of barley wine...

and rejoice together. "

Completely mistaken.

I swear, Hen.

You've taken

his facetious humor...

and turned it into

a mortal condemnation.

(Mom) You bribed your

teacher for your diploma.

(Henning) Shows a lack

of humor. The trout-

(Mom) Ike Walton wrote all

that about fly fishing...

just so he could make

some extra pocket money.

[intense guitar music

while arguing]

Stop! Just shut up! Stop. [music stops]

What would you think of me

if I didn't fly fish?

You know what you are?

You're a fishing fascist.

You're a diarrhea-mouthed

bigot who's blind to anyone...

who doesn't drool over the

sound of your stupid, suave talk.

The only person you

love is yourself...

because you've got your head

so far up your own ass-

All right now,

Gus Orviston...

that's no way

to talk to your father.

What in hell's

gotten into you?

You're a greedy,

gloating shrew...

and you don't know sh*t

about fishing or living.

Neither one of you do

because you're just both...

dug so deep

in your ruts...

that you've got mud

in your ears.

[clattering]

[crashing]

I gotta

get out of here.

See this?

[Mom] No no no, not Nijinsky.

This is the source

of all your bullshit.

(Gus, off) Nijinsky was an

honored part of our family...

since before

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