Season’s End

It was almost 60 degrees the morning that the elk hunt opened, which is concerning for two reasons. First, warm weather means the elk will hold in the trees longer, and reduce the amount of time they spend feeding when there’s enough light to shoot. Second, a 60-degree day at 9,000 feet above sea level at the start of October often portends a bad winter.

The meteorologists say we’re due for a long, cold winter, with average snowfall in this part of the Rockies. But after elk season ended abruptly due to a wildfire that burned nearly 100,000 acres, deer season wasn’t much better. It was almost 80 on the afternoon of the deer opener, and this is the first season in four years that I wasn’t able to bag a deer during the general hunt. I have enough elk, local beef, and antelope to make it to next year (probably) but it’s concerning how warm the weather still is.

As for the fish—they’re usually spawning in droves this time of year, but I’ve only seen a few ragged redds, and only once saw fish actively spawning on them. One river, a local tailwater, was still running at 58 degrees just before Halloween. It feels like the entire world is holding its breath, waiting for the weather to change. It’s stubborn, though, and stays warmer and drier than I can remember.

I’m not that old, and anecdotal weather reports are as reliable as a politician’s word, but nothing about the end of fall feels normal this year. Some of the old-timers in this neck of the woods say they haven’t seen a start to winter like this, either, and they’re generally a good source of information.

I could wring my hands and have an existential crisis, and I can’t blame those who are truly worried. But so much of this is out of my hands, and that’s the curse of falling in love with something like fly fishing, or hunting. The majority of the variables are out of your control, and to be a great angler, you’ve got to be at peace with that.

I’m not saying I won’t try to do my part, or encourage others, to be better stewards of the little wilderness we have left. If often feels futile, though, because you can only control your own actions.

We can’t only focus on what might happen in the next ten years. We have to be present, too, and enjoy the moments we still have. And I generally do believe the tide is turning, and more people are aware of, and willing, to help protect the natural world. If the pandemic brought us one good thing, it’s that more people got outside and remembered how incredible this world really is.