Like the giant sand waves on Utah's San Juan River, paddling seasons come and go, often without any warning. One moment you're on top of your game, cutting back and forth as if there were no tomorrow, and the next you're hovering above a vast emptiness, wondering what to do. When the bottom drops out on a disappearing wave, it's usually no big deal--you simply cut your losses and move on to other waters. When paddling seasons disappear, however, it's another matter entirely. Unlike surfing a wave, you can't just peel out and hop on another season (unless, of course, you put career and family on hold and head elsewhere). Once the paddling season ends, most of us are faced with a void as deep as the Grand Canyon. It means resigning ourselves to the fact that it might be months until we again feel the splash of a wave or enjoy the tell-tale shoulder soreness of a long day's paddle.

Some paddlers don't suffer such withdrawals. Rodeo stars and expedition members often circle the globe come off-season without missing a beat, and those in temperate climates--or in rain-fed regions like the Northwest and Southeast--can often paddle year-round without ever leaving home. Come winter, however, us Colorado paddlers are resigned to the droid-like ritual of swapping boats, paddles and PFDs for skis, boots and poles (or snowboards, goatees and over-sized pants). On the bright side, the off-season is a time for reflection--a chance to ponder good lines gone bad and bad lines gone good. On the downside, it also is melancholic. Gear that treated us so well throughout the season gets thrown, unwashed, into the closet like a photo album from an in-law's wedding. There it stays until spring, when everything gets pulled out again and you realize the broken zippers and gaskets you swore you would fix the season before are still in the same state of disrepair.

There's a reason I'm bringing all of this up: Like clockwork, I was reminded of this cycle when it came time to create this issue's Special Pull-Out Calendar. Don't ask me why we do it--it's not as if we enjoy getting reminded it's time to hang up our paddles. By the same token, however, the Calendar, supported month-to-month by various sponsors, also serves as an important reminder that paddling is never too far away. My personal copy is hung on my office wall so I can stare at it whenever writer's block surfaces like my boat did during the paddling season. That's when I flip through all 12 months, staring intently at each image, be it a canoe on Lake Superior, a sea kayak in Baja or a white-water kayak soaring off a waterfall. And even though I'm jealous of those whose seasons oppose mine, I feel soothed in knowing I too will soon be doing the same.

So when you're through sifting through the rest of this issue (and wiping the tears out of your eyes from my soulful soliloquy), yank out the calendar, grab a thumbtack and pin it up someplace special. If you're feeling particularly sentimental, call the month's sponsor and thank him or her for keeping paddling alive year-round. Like sand waves, paddling seasons can't hold their shape forever. But when they disappear, at least we can still daydream.

--Eugene Buchanan