We Still Live Where the River Runs Through It
We Still Live Where the River Runs Through It
By Douglas Erickson and Bradlee Erickson | DriftRig
Most people watch A River Runs Through It and think it’s just a movie. A slow, poetic tale about fly fishing, faith, and family in the wilds of Montana. But for me and my older brother Bradlee, it’s not a story we just watch — it’s a life we live every damn day.
We grew up in Helena, where the mountains loom big and the rivers run cold. We didn’t have much, but we had fly rods and each other. And when we hit the water — whether it’s the Missouri near Craig or a tucked-away freestone stream that’s too special to name — it’s like time folds back in on itself. We become those boys in the movie. Norman and Paul. The quiet one and the wild one. (Bradlee’s definitely the Paul — the rebel with the perfect cast.)
Fly fishing’s more than a hobby here. It’s how we talk without saying much. It’s how we heal after long weeks and harder seasons. It’s where we remember we’re still those barefoot kids exploring the banks, only now we’ve got bills, scars, and truck payments.
Every cast is a memory. Every drift is a prayer. Sometimes we fish for hours and barely speak. Just two silhouettes against the sunset, tying knots and chasing trout and pretending like the world makes sense.
People ask what it’s like living in Montana. I tell them it’s like being in a constant postcard — except the fish don’t always bite, and the wind will test your patience and your soul. But on the right day, when the light hits just right and your fly lands soft, it feels like God is paying attention.
And maybe He is.