I walked on water.
Okay, so maybe I had a little help. The majority of the small and medium sized lakes in the region locked up with ice over the past week. Blanketed with recent snowfall, the frost line is as deep as six inches in some areas already. Coupled with low river flows, I can pretty much count the season as over. Even as a die hard angler, I am not reluctant to call it over, as fish were few and far between in early September, seeking the refuge of deeper water. Any efforts at this time spent searching for fish worthy of a drift seem futile, and more like a fool's quest.
Seems only reasonable that my days now be spent behind the vise, on icy treks across frozen lakes in search of fish through a freshly augered hole, celebrating the ups and downs of college hockey, traversing billowy drifts of fresh powder underneath my snowmobile, and warm comfortable evenings at home with the family, waiting, waiting, waiting, for that first sign of spring when I can once again drift a nymph.