There’s a chile roaster in a just about every grocery store parking lot. The aspen trees are changing from green to bright yellow and orange. All of the trout have decked themselves out in their best fall colors. Mornings are brisk, usually in the 40s; afternoons are full-on summer. For me, this is the most magical time of the year and usually one of the hardest.

In years past, this is the week that Jacob and I would pack up our little Subaru, full of beer that we couldn’t find back East and goodies that we couldn’t live without, usually a collection of rocks and other treasures found along trout streams. It’s the time of year that we say “see ya’ later” to the place we love so much, but not this year.