During the winter, it feels like everything slows down and becomes quiet.
Summer wanes and colors begin to change. Warm orange and yellows are blown south by the violets and blues of winter. The cool touch of flowing streams give way to capilene and fleece that constrict movement as they layer. Fingerless gloves cause fumbles of line as the adjustment to the season begins. As Nancy succumbs to dropping temps, flasks are dawned, administering antifreeze to the jovial few.
During the winter, it feels like everything slows down and becomes quiet. The air becomes dense and I feel more acute by the lessening vibrance of winter. Outdoor traffic slows to a crawl and the familiar smell of burning cedar induces trips of nostalgia. As the flows decrease so too does the sound of tumbling water, combined with the beanie over my ears it creates a relaxing mute. Casting with less fervor and interrupted by icing guides, there is calmness to angling's fourth season that is found in no other. Winter is the foreplay of fishing's seasons. It is the intoxicating anticipation of what is to come. The certainty of what is next and the joy of what is present. Enveloped in chill, the crispness of winter angling may well be the dearest to me.
