An angler's seasons

As I huddled into my warm, padded ski jacket and felt the cold penetrating my jeans on this morning's dog walk it seemed hard to believe that just 11 days ago I was perch fishing in shirt sleeves with the sun beating down. If it wasn't for the glorious russets and browns of the leaves and the conkers on the ground I'd have concluded that we'd jumped straight from summer to winter, missing out Autumn altogether.

 

The angler is aware of the seasons more than most.
 Not only are there the changes in the fish's feeding habits, and the traditional switching of species to target, but the angler is there in the middle of the seasonal changes, his or her senses assaulted by the visual and physical effects of the yearly calendar. From temperature discomfort (too hot or too cold, but rarely "just right!") to the smell of blossoms or wet grass or farmer's "muck spreading", to the changing visual backdrop that we insert ourselves into when we fish.

 

 

The lazy, balmy Summer days of surface caught carp,  3/4 length shorts and green, verdant bankside vegetation give way to Winter lure fishing sessions, with frozen fingers and the angler wrapped up in hats, scarves and ridiculous looking thermal suits and boots against a bleak backdrop of bare trees and icy margins.

I love the changing of the seasons, the familiar and comforting cyclical pattern of "summer and winter, seedtime and harvest", but being outside through the year's changing seasonal tapestry also points me towards bigger and greater truths; moves my attention from the beauty of what I can see, smell, feel and touch, to the logical deduction that behind this irreducibly complex natural order and awe inspiring beauty there must be the ultimate Designer and Artist.
Sometimes fishing is a sacrament.