It's that awkward time of year for me. Summer fishing, primarily for walleye, bass, muskie and pike, is over. Chinook and coho salmon are clogging up the streams near me right now.
"Clogging!?" you gasp.
Yeah, clogging. I don't like fishing for them when they're on their doomed spawning runs. Their bodies are breaking down, they're no good for the table, they aren't actively feeding and I don't like the idea of provoking them into a strike.
So I'm waiting. Waiting for the salmon run to be over. Waiting for the first couple of hard frosts that rid the trees of those colourful leaves you can see in the post below. Waiting for the grey days of November and its cold, wind-driven rains to call my lovely steelhead from Lake Ontario to my local streams.
I'll be there, sipping on a thermos of tea and stomping my feet to keep warm, waiting to greet them.
Oh, how happy we'll be to see each other! They'll dance and cartwheel across the top of the water. My heart, despite its daily dose of slow-down medication, will pound. After our wild fandango, as we rest alongside the bank, I'll admire the sleek, silver beauty with the rose blush along her side. Then, with a quick caress and a murmurred "thank you," I'll watch her slip back into the depths. And hope we'll meet again one day.