Eegads! There are only five weeks remaining of the official trout season! For those residents of this fine town, that means little, because few of you neanderthals obey the fish & game regulations anyway. But for this wanderer of stream and river, it pulls at my very soul.
Mind you, I look forward to the upcoming deer season as feverishly as any blue blooded Michigander, but there's something about the feel of fly rod in hand as the cold waters of the Grayling River rush between my legs (and, on occasion, over my shoulders). It's not just the end of summer, it marks the passing of another year of mayfly hatches, waxwings swirling on the evening breeze, fawns shedding their spots. Can any man boast of a place or time more lovely than My Michigan in all her greenery? Nay, I say, nay. He who has heard the drumming of the grouse or the trill of the red-winged blackbird can never return to some distant land and remain happy. Ah, Michigan, my Michigan, a more pleasant peninsula doth not exist!
Some say that New Year's or birthdays mark the passing of time. Bull pucky! 'Tis the last day of trout season, dear friends, that adds a wrinkle to the brow and a fresh crick to the knee. When we awaken on that crisp morning of October 1st, we will cast a glance to the time that has passed and wonder how it has slipped away. And even more so how we haven't engaged in the glories of summer with all the strength in us, taking each moment captive in the way of children.
So get out, fellow Troutonians! Bask in the red glow of each sunset and breathe in the wisps of summer that remain, for that's autumn's scent that tickles your nose. Eat, drink, and fish, for tomorrow we rake!
Buck Rubb, Editor in Chief