Autumn is by far my favourite season. Not that I don’t like every season that passes though my southern Scandinavian homeland. I sure do. It’s just… well the atmosphere in autumn is special to me.
It may be the turning of the leaves from lush green to all different shades of yellow, orange, red and brown. In all its glorious beauty it reminds me of the circle of the year. The harvest. Fruits, berries and nuts for every hungry bird and squirrel to feast on before winter sets in, and do its own harvest: culling out the weak and wounded. Kind of setting the record straight before a new season.
I love the smell of autumn in the woods. Whether I am walking along a stream or a woodland lake, they all contribute to the fall experience. October is the time of year, when you feel you can inhale the earth itself in one single breath. The ripe and rich nuances of decay perfectly match the golden landscape. Like well aged scotch… every breath contains a myriad of exciting and rewarding nuances of information. To enjoy both of these things – around a campfire in the company of good friends, while darkness approach – isn’t too bad either. Concentrated fuel for the mind during a long cold winter.
I guess in spring I’m too busy for leisurely contemplation of the scenery. There’s just too much happening in a few short weeks. The fall offers calm, quiet – and amble room for just that inn depth experience.
The nights are getting chilly. The first storms can be expected. Frosty nights make the leaves blush even more. The waters cool and get reinvigorated – bringing new oxygen to fish and their prey.
And, most importantly, there is the brown trout itself. Some of them sea run or lake tributary runners – giving up their silvery armour in favour of the golden colours of the woodland. Soon large fish will enter the upper parts of our small streams to breed – to continue their own circle of life.
But there is still some trout to be caught. And you wont find a more beautiful setting for days well spent.
Beautiful, rich… but with that undertone of decay and death that balances the act: Autumn holds the cream of my season.
