I wandered out of bed this morning, peeking at the thermostat before I rounded into the kitchen, it read 5 degrees. Three hours and two pots of coffee later, we've hit a balmy 15 degrees. The fireplace is lit, the dogs are huddled around it, and even inside I'm wearing my heaviest sweater.

Jacob and I have been kicking about the idea of going fishing tomorrow; where to go, what time to head out, and if it'll even be worth it.

Winter fishing is its own beast, and not for the faint of heart. You must wear so many layers that just the act of "wadering-up" becomes a HIT workout. It's not going to be easy to tie on that size 25 midge with your 8x tippet. Coffee will be your lifeblood, possibly loaded with a good, strong bourbon.

And so, do you simply not fish? Maybe. For you, this is the season of tying or rod building, and there's nothing wrong with that. You've simply altered your expectations.

Then again, perhaps you do go. You bundle up, struggle with flies, forget that you've actually got a nose attached to your face and that your fingers ever had feeling in them. But, you're out there! It's not as exciting as a June dry-fly hatch; no, you'll be lucky to catch just one.

Or, you might be the third, like me. Some days are going to be tying and sewing days, spent looking at photos of all the amazing fish you caught during the warm months; but, some days you've also got just enough insanity and cabin fever to spend your day out in the cold, waving a stick, hoping to trick that one rainbow.

So are the seasons of the angler, always changing and constantly altering your expectations.