Regrettably, I have rekindled an old relationship.

The only good thing about it is that it is a long-distance one, which was the only way I would have dared go back. It officially started Saturday at the river.

I don’t usually change my alarm clock for the weekends.

If I do, it’s to get up earlier to fish. This approach of keeping a similar schedule makes Monday a lot easier to tolerate and weekends productive.

Saturday I had no need for the snooze bar. I got right up, had a couple cups of yogurt, peanut butter on toast then headed for the Stanislaus.

I had hoped there would be some fishable spots closer to home so I wouldn’t end up taking last weekend to another level and end up in Colorado or something.

I put a ton of weight on my leader to get the nymphs down and watched the indicator swim past.

It looked pretty hopeless, but I still gave it a legitimate try. After all, I was alone at a river on a warm late summer morning. Nothing about that scenario sucks.

So I couldn’t keep control of a nymph long enough to give a fish a chance to eat it, my life wasn’t dependent on netting one.

I put in another hour in still water hoping for a cruising trout. There may have been a few, but I got hungry before they did and left fish-less.

Since it was only noon, I had a good couple hours to play with before I had any plans and it’s in those moments when life’s current seems to slow, that big decisions are made.  

I rode my bike to a coffee place, and became reacquainted with the cheese Danish.

I don’t remember when I first decided I loved cheese Danishes, but I think it was about the time I discovered the big deal about my ancestry. Being a quarter Danish, I felt an obligation to like the Danish pastry more so than something like the English muffin.

And who doesn’t love what the Danish brings to the display case? That golden, flaky exterior with a sweet sugary core? Perfect for any time of day.

My parents didn’t buy a lot of sweets; Mom’s cookies were good enough, so as a result I hardly ever have dessert. The ice cream after fishing thing is a bit of a tradition, but only when I’m in Alaska showing greenhorns around. Other than that, I only get sweets when I go to certain peoples’ houses for dinner.

Anyway, it’s not a full commitment, as I have only had three in the last two and a half weeks, but you do have to be careful when embarking on what could become a habit.

I set a few ground rules. Well, one really, I decided I can only get them from the store on the other side of town, a five mile bike ride. That leaves me with five more miles after indulging.

I guess there could be argument that one cheese danish a week halfway through devouring a 10-mile ride isn’t going to kill me. But who knows? What if it leads to something crazy like drinking soda again?

That’s the thing about ex’s and why they are almost never a good idea.


To contact Jeff Lund, e-mail aklund21@gmail.com.