The End of the Season

As I drove back from the Deschutes on Monday it hit me about the time the snow started hitting my windshield as we drove over Blue Box Pass.
This was probably my last trip over here this year. I cannot say for sure that I won't make another trip but it's doubtful.
In years past I loved the fall and in many ways I still do but why do the things I love all end at the same time?
The season for cutthroat trout ends on Saturday...trick or treat. This was the first year I saw people killing these wild fish. This was the first season that I actually had to compete with people plunking bait.One favorite riffle, where I spent many a care free summer evening, I saw a huge wild cutthroat trout in a bait plunkers ice chest and it ruined my day.I seriously pondered giving up the pursuit of these fish but that was just a fleeting notion.
Do we get emotionally attached to such things as trout? I know I do and seeing that big dead fish just confirmed my affection for them.
The trip to the Deschutes was different as it usually is in the fall. Very little insect action going on and the ever present wind had the slightest hint of winter. As I waded through the familiar rocks and ledges I just felt a little colder and a little sadder. The Deschutes is such a different place in the colder weather of fall and winter.
Those inviting riffles and pools look so grey and indifferent now.It was just a few weeks ago that they were warm and inviting. Such a stark contrast to the warm spring and early summer evenings of salmon flies and slurping trout. Now it just looks cold and lonely.
Then finally the days of late October brings the end of the baseball season. No more casual glances at last nights box score. No pennant races and for my beloved Dodgers, no World Series.
Since I have no stomach or patience to pursue salmon with some of the dregs of society I will wait for the arrival of winter steelhead and watch with concerned fascination as the rain swelled coastal streams ravage themselves as they do on an annual basis.
As I get older it gets tougher to cope with the fall. There is so much I promised myself I would do this summer but I never seemed to get around to doing it. Now I face another season of dreaming and planning for the fantasy fishing trips of next year. Kind of like that old cry of the die hard baseball fan "Wait 'til next year"