I have been waiting for this season for awhile. It is a new year with lots of fishing time ahead, but first I need to put a whole lot of flies in our fly boxes. My enthusiasm for this particular time involves my peculiar predilection for tying flies while binging on reality tv. As a new crop of would be idols hatches and vicious tears fall down bachelorette cheeks as they stalk poor Ben, I’ll have my hooks set on the clamp at the tying desk. This is prime time for bug making!
While I spin thread and local grouse feathers around my hooks I can’t help but wonder if the gurus at Bachelor don’t need to consider a true reality tv version. Maybe find a Western Slope hunk and have the ladies fight for a mountain existence. They are forbidden from going to Telluride as it is a little too posh for what I have in mind. This would most definitely need to involve fly tying and fishing, and the fantasy suite definitely needs to involve self-inflating sleeping pads and headlamps. Pretty sure even the Denver girls in this season’s crop would struggle with what I have in mind. Even better would be to have a mountain girl try to find her soulmate from a flock of dudes. No more helicopter picnics and hot tubs in bizarre remote locations. This chick wants a guy that can hike in to a natural hot spring, then catch a few trout and cook them over a campfire.
Idol auditions have ended and a local girl is on her way to Hollywood. I’ll root her on while I wind peacock hurl for flair on my otherwise simple kebaris. She lives up the North Fork of the Gunnison where apple orchards and cherry trees cover the hillsides. I want the flash of peacock to catch the eye of a judgmental trout. She needs the judges to see the sweet simplicity of a pure voice and sassy country soul. I hope we both succeed.
Tying flies is enjoyable busy work on any given evening, but it seems especially productive when juxtaposed with these shows. It’s the anti-fluff, rationalization, justification–I pay my penance for watching by getting at least a half dozen new creatures in the box. And by the time the last idol is crowned, I’ll be out fishing with the peacock bedazzled kebari.