A river runs through it

There are a few movies that usually stop me dead in my tracks and require me to plop myself down on the sofa. The Shawshank Redemption is the first that comes to mind, and possibly Die Hard. Another is A River Runs Through It, though it hasn't come on in a while. When you think of wanting to be elsewhere, I don't think there's another movie that'll bring you to an "elsewhere"--Montana in the 20s--so different from New Jersey. It makes me want to learn how to fly fish...or at the very least visit Montana.
I watched it again last night, just so I could hear the last lines in context:

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 could get all English major-ish on you, but I won't (that would require thought). I think the writer is trying to say is that if you get hit by a big enough rock, you could lose all your memories. JK. :)