An autumn for close-to-home observation

Yes, I am a broken record, at least in the sense that I can't wait for the fall season to write about the unique attributes delivered to my front door by Mother Nature every day.

It's like a game I play with myself, since I still can't be trusted to venture out on my own following my recent surgery. I've started close to home, you see.

When I go to the front door shortly after 6 a.m. to look for the newspaper, I'll step out on to the stoop and test the conditions. The lingering darkness holds on to the evening chill. I feel as if I'm walking on hot coals when I lay one foot down on the concrete slab. I also feel the wind and air temperature and wonder if I will be fortunate enough to explore the outside world.

It's been slightly over a month since my surgery, and I'm gaining ground in the strength department every day.

And so outside I went. I spent two hours by the side of one of my favorite ponds, watching others haul in fat bluegills and crappies. I also sat on an outside walkway of an area forest preserve knowing I would soon be strong enough to handle the 4-mile jaunt through the woods.

My friend Green Acres Mike said we would do some bass fishing earlier in the week, but his schedule apparently didn't mesh with reality. So I slowly did my exploring, firmly grasping my elegant, homemade cane. Of course it was just for 50 feet and then back to the truck.

I drove to a section of the DuPage River and looked to see if anyone was “working” the current. The water course was devoid of human activity. How sad. But I really suspected this scenario long before I arrived at this spot.

In my many years and miles of travels I know in my heart that many fellow anglers in this area have already thrown in the towel and will spend the next four months singing the blues.

Of course there are others, the ones who cherish this time of the year. These are the devout chasers, the true believers who will put up with cold water lapping at their legs while their pegs are safely draped in protective wading garb.

These are the ones with real heart who know the smallmouth bass are still available and will readily snarf up a tempting, hairy black fly or large chub minnow.

And then there are the muscle men who manage with just a scant couple hours of sleep so they can be there on the far western sides of the harbors. They've waited all year for these moments, and when a brown trout or king salmon inhales the spawn baits or Cleo spoons and the line screams its protest as it races off the reel, well, those of us who tolerate the chill will call it time well spent.

I dodged the proverbial bullet, so to speak, in that my team of doctors tell me I will not need radiation or chemotherapy. But even with that outstanding report and encouragement from happy-face Dr. Randy Rich, I have yet to regain the strength needed for wrestling a jumbo king salmon.

So I'll just sit this one out and take pleasure from watching others put their skills on the line.

If everything the medicos tell me is accurate and on target, I should have quite a few more autumns in which revel in the aromas of the forest, and to describe the brilliant seasonal colors that elicit the oohs and ahhs.

Ÿ Contact Mike Jackson at angler88@comcast.net, and catch his radio show 6-7 a.m. Sundays on WSBC 1240-AM and streaming at www.mikejacksonoutdoors.com.