It happened just the other day. I stepped out the backdoor of my home, and discovered that the air was a little bit different than it had been the day prior. The blue of the morning sky was just that much deeper, and the breeze carried an indescribable yet wholly familiar scent. Unmistakable and most welcome. Summer made its turn toward autumn.
If spring is my favorite season of the year then the fall is a close second. I suppose I enjoy it for all the cliched reasons one might expect: the brilliant reds and yellows that drape the mountainsides, the crisp snap of an apple fresh picked from its tree, temperate air, cooler water, willing trout.
After making the drive to the river, I was pleased to discover that the water temperature had dropped precipitously from its mid August high. Following a summer spent chasing bass, carp, bluegill, bowfin and gar - and thoroughly enjoying every moment of the endeavor - I was finally able to return to trout. I suppose it must be true that absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Soon enough, I'll be chasing lake run browns, salmon, and steelhead. Soon enough, 5X tippet and diminutive dry flies will give way to switch rods, sink tips and Intruders. Soon enough, I'll be wrapping myself in layers of Gortex and Techwick, and struggling to keep out the lake-effect chill. In the weeks between then and now, however, I'll have the river's trout.