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It all started when I decided that I'd
publish my first book, and Native
Waters became available back in
March.
I figured, oh, if I'm lucky, I'll sell a
hundred or so copies to family, friends and
unsuspecting foreign tourists and that would
be the extent of my career as a published
author. Never could I have guessed that my
life as a reclusive hermit was ending quickly.
Now, I didn't want to make too much of this,
because I am always of the opinion, "I'll believe
it when I see it," a philosophy that comes quite
easily to a person who has chased many a rainbow
down more than one dead-end street. My first book
signing was a grand success, though, thanks to you
good folks. "That's it, nice ride, time to get back
down to earth." That's what I thought.
In late March I was contacted by a gentleman
from the television program Fly Fishing
America, which runs on the Outdoor Life
Network (OLN), who said they'd like to do an episode
about me, my heritage, my fishing and my native
waters.
"Moi?" I thought, astounded. "Lil' old me?"
Well, it's a good thing he contacted me by email,
otherwise I would have accused him of being any
one of several friends whom I thought were playing
a practical joke on me. I admit I did go on the
Internet to find out if there really were such a
production company and a man by his name who worked
for them, I agreed reluctantly.
Yes, I said reluctantly. Remember, I wanted to
be a reclusive hermit author, shunning all fame
and publicity, like Harper Lee. Now I got these
folks wanting to come make film of me fishing,
for Pete's sake.
But you know, it occurred to me that all my
life I have been complaining that, "If I
could only get a break," I'd make something
of my writing. I mean, I tried publishing for
years. I would send out manuscripts, wait
eight months and get them back with rejection
slips. I started taking a razor knife to cut
a tiny sliver of clear tape that I put along
the edge of the sheets of my manuscripts, mailed
them, waited eight months, got it back with
the usual rejection slip and, sure enough,
there was my sliver of clear tape, undisturbed.
They had not even looked at my work. That's
when I realized it really didn't matter if I
had any talent as a writer at all - getting
published is all a crap shoot. A roll of the
dice. So I bit the bullet, grumbled about vanity,
and published Native Waters myself.
So here are these people offering me a chance
to be on national television. Here's the "break"
I've always whined for, staring me in the eye
and challenging me to be man enough to take it.
I took it. They'll be here in October for the
shoot.
Fly Fishing America is not a "how-to"
type of show so much as it is a "character-driven"
show about people who fly fish.
I'm a "character" now. Jeesh.
What would my father say? I come from a long
line of characters, you know. My grandfather
was quite a character. My father was a rather
famous character. Reporters, television
documentarians, anthropologists and historians
came from all over the nation and world to meet
him, that's how much of a character my dad was.
I guess I'm expected to be a character too. It's
my torch to bear. I just haven't had a lot of
practice at it.
Then a couple months later, the film company
called back. I really expected him to say that
they had discovered, despite my best efforts
to conceal the truth, that I was in fact a
catfishin', bait castin' Neanderthal and that
the show would not happen, leaving me with no
star at Grauman's Chinese Theater in Hollywood
and more than a little egg on my face for having
told my friends about my upcoming spotlight.
But it turns out they are doing a show on the
Blackfeet reservation with an Indian there
who's a professional trout fishing guide. I
thought, "Well, that's it, they found some
other Indian to do a show on!" But no. They
decided it would be kinda cool if I fished
with him, and he came down here and fished
with me when it was my turn, and they'd do
two shows on Indians fly fishing on their
native waters.
I hate flying. Terrified of it, completely
schizoid about it. I have flown six times
in my life, therefore I am not imagining
anything and my fears are not groundless
(pardon the pun.) I know I am terrified of
flying because I did it six times.
But I survived and I ended up in Montana!
Montana is the Shangri-La of fly fishermen,
you know. It's where A River Runs Through
It was set and filmed. It's like, fly
fishing nirvana. Fishing on the Blackfeet
reservation for trout. Trout! Trout that
are not speckled and do not live in salt water,
thank you very much. We're talking real trout
here, also something regarded as a fictional
beast down here in the south. Dragons, unicorns,
jackalopes and freshwater trout, all make believe
animals.
I even wrote a little diddy about my adventure,
to the tune of "Oh, Susanna!" and it goes like this:
I come from Looziana
With my fly rod on my knee;
I'm goin' to Montana
Where the trout-fish wait for me.
I cried all night the day I left,
the airplane went so high;
I'm scared I'll fall right to my death,
Montana don't you cry.
Oh! Montana, don't you cry for me;
Cuz' I come from Looziana,
with my fly rod on my knee.
I had a dream the other night,
When everything was still;
I thought I was in Montana, dear,
I was fishing just o'er that hill.
The little fly was in his mouth,
That trout-fish caught my eye,
Said I, I'm coming from deep down south,
Where the cat-fish we do fry.
Oh! Montana, don't you cry for me;
I come from Looziana,
with my fly rod on my knee.
I'll then touch down in Lah-fah-yette,
And then I'll look all 'round,
And when I find my Chevy truck,
I'll drop and kiss the ground.
But if I do not find it,
This Injun'll surely die,
And on Surrey Street I'll be buried,
Montana don't you cry.
Oh! Montana, don't you cry for me;
I come from Looziana,
with my fly rod on my knee.
Okay, so it needs a little work. Gimme a break,
I'm a columnist, not Rodgers and Hammerstein.
So stick with me over the next few weeks and
I'll tell you about trout fishing in Montana,
grizzly bears, Blackfeet cousins and air travel
misery.
I still think Harper Lee had the right idea.
~ Roger
It's out! And available now! You can be one of the
first to own a copy of Roger's book. Native Waters: A
Few Moments in a Small Wooden Boat
Order it now from
www.iuniverse.com, Amazon.com,
or Barnes & Noble.com.
Roger will also be giving away three autographed copies to
readers. Stay tuned, for an announcement on the Bulletin
Board on that soon.
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