It happens every year, with annoying regularity. It’s not that it sneaks up on me…not really. It’s just that it’s such a letdown that I think I push it down into the background of my thoughts until the countdown timer forces me to snap my head back and take a long look.
Yes…the 2018 fishing season really did end.
It’s a scheduled close, so it really can’t be said to be a surprise, but like so many other things that “aren’t a favorite,” one avoids the reality of it until the last possible moment, then at least briefly laments that this avoidance does not continue, at the brink.
In that way, it’s like filing your income taxes, getting on the scale, cholesterol and blood pressure testing, and the endless list of other distasteful aspects of having to be an adult.
That said…what a season it was.
From the first day of the official season, on the Bumping River, I knew it would be a good one.
A week later, on the American …
… and one of the smaller tributaries of the Naches…
… my hopes grew even higher.
Good water clarity, and what seemed to be a relatively mild melt rate to continue that, had offered up some excellent fishing, already.
Later visits to these same waters, throughout the summer months, would offer some excellent opportunities…
… some beautiful fish …
… and breathtaking scenery.
Sure, one could argue that the season should run later. The fish still bite, after all. Shouldn’t that be the determining factor, rather than some human-imposed, cyclical measurement of time?
In the end, the fish and the waters have earned their time to relax and recover, so next year will be as much of a gift, too. I’m sure there are more than a few fish that I would prefer forget what I, my waders, and my flies look like, and only the passage of time allows for this.
According to my phone…197 Days, 9 hours, 28 minutes, and 33 seconds until the 2019 season. Good time to tie flies and plan my strategies…