The Loop Army.

Legend tells of a chance encounter in Russia between two groups of fly fishermen. Two Americans run into a special forces unit on a helicopter ride over the Kola Peninsula. The unit, armed to the teeth, not with military weapons but with cutting edge and bad ass fly fishing gear, jokingly referred to themselves as the "Loop Army". The name stuck and since then, the Swedish Fly Fishing Company: Loop has been gathering a North American army of followers, including this writer. As I released my baby tarpon in a mangrove on the island of Tortola, the last thing on my mind was a chance encounter with some Generals of the Loop Army.

As the baby tarpon returned back to the emerald green water, I surveyed my leader for abrasions and quickly retied on a fresh toad. I began surveying the water for a fresh cruiser when a large SUV stopped on the bridge to my left. Normally, I couldn't care less about observers. I was hounded all week by cruise ship tourists asking me if I caught anything, or how the fishing was. These observers were not your typical tourists. The first thing I noticed was the large pontoon boat strapped to the top of the SUV. Mind you, we are in the British Virgin Islands, not on a flowing river. These were fly fishermen, no doubt. Serious fly fishermen to be hauling a pontoon boat around the world to be used on saltwater flats and in the ocean surf. The second thing I laid eyes on was the hat of the man in the driver side window. I own that hat. The Loop logo of the anthracite hat was unmistakable. They drove off the bridge, parked the SUV, and three men came out to the bridge.

As they came and rested on the rails of the bridge, I recognized two of the guys. I guess Facebook networking was about to pay off. Matt and I exited the water and became the annoying tourists about to ask some stupid questions. I was hesitant at first due to my beginning years as a young fly fisherman looking for answers. I usually was disregarded, laughed at, or ignored. As we approached, I realized that my instincts were correct. It was the Loop Pro Team, evidenced by their emblazoned logo's on their fly fishing shirts. Soon, Matt and I were shooting the shit with Stefan and Alex Haider of Austrian Outdoor Sports and their friend, also named Alex. We talked about our successes, local hot spots, and the terrible conditions with the constant storms and rain. We exchanged numbers and off they went, looking for "the fish".

Matt and I packed up and headed back to his place to plan our New Years Eve festivities. As they planned and made phone calls inside the house, I was out fishing the front yard. Later, I packed it in and set up shop on the sea wall looking for tail or any sign of movement. Then, another chance encounter happened as the SUV and pontoon boat came down the road and I found myself once again talking to the Loop guys. They parked and came up to meet my sister and Stacy and we discussed their success on a local flat landing two bonefish and a shark. We invited them over for a afternoon BBQ and some drinks and they obliged.

That night at my brother's place was an epic New Years Eve. A variety of food and drink was enjoyed by all. It was awesome to talk about fly fishing and conservation efforts in America and in Europe and how unregulated our waterways are in the U.S. compared to overseas. We talked about the Pebble Mine and the grave danger Salmonids face in a lot of our waterways on both coasts as well as in the Great Lakes. We talked about the state of the British Virgin Islands and other Caribbean islands and how development and overfishing effect fish populations. We also compared pictures and videos from the past week and their previous excursions to Venezuela catching tarpon and bonefish.

We also discussed Loop tackle and the growing status of the Loop Army. Loop has always been on the front lines of innovation in the industry starting with the large arbor reels and now once again with composite cork and their new x-grip. While other companies remain stagnant they produce innovative new products that cater towards passionate anglers, especially young anglers that are the future of the sport. The new rods and reels and especially the clothing coming out in 2010 meets the needs of form, function, and style. Two new lower priced rod series in the Xact and Evotec (Once Epic) and a transformation of their wading jackets with a new 4-way stretch fabric similar to that found on Patagonia's SST. The guy's were pumped to talk about this stuff and it sounded like a new fleet of destroyers will be coming out soon. I received my first Loop rod two years ago and have since bought two more. They perform flawlessly and I am constantly surprised at how well they fish and cast. Check them out the next time you buy a rod.

New Loop 2010 gear here & here.

Stefan and Alex Working a Flat in the Distance.

Lexi's First Time Out in Saltwater.

After our BBQ, we headed to Jolly Rodgers, a bar and restaurant situated along the water where you can see tarpon and jack weaving in and out of the lights alongside dinner tables. We met up with two local fly fisherman, a father and son duo that also knew the Loop guys and for New Years Eve the only fly fishermen on the 12 mile island celebrated New Years together. It was an old crowd but fun nevertheless. My sister tangoed with an old fella that looked and danced like a zombie. It was hilarious.

Matt, Lexi, & I Celebrating New Years.

Myself, Alex Haider, Alex, Stefan Haider, & Matt.

The Crew Formed a New Years Train.

On the final day of the trip, I worked a local flat, hoping for one last chance at a bonefish. I was later joined by Stefan, Alex, and Alex and we worked our way down the flat. I spotted one large bonefish that came straight at me but he easily spooked. I resigned to blind casting with a small shrimp pattern working the ledge along the flat. I was rewarded with a long distance hookup and run. The fish ran hard twice and I was ecstatic thinking I was on my first bonefish. It turned out to be a good sized Blue Runner. My dying "waterproof" camera (a victim of the salt) took its last image ever as I released the snapper. We all went out to a local bar for some appetizers and more drinks before saying our goodbyes. I was heading back to the freezing cold of the Northeast while the Loop Guys and my brother and sister remained on the island.

Stefan Haider Working a Small Corridor.

I Wonder Why They Call It a Blue Runner.

Goodbyes.

It was awesome to run into a group of professional fly fisherman and have the chance to fish and hang out with them for several days. It's amazing how a sport such as fly fishing can unite anglers from around the globe and how we can all share the same passion towards fishing and conservation. It was also cool to pick the brains of two guys that are directly involved in the development process of one of my favorite companies.

Buck Fever.

After a short tour of the island, I brought Mark and Lex back to my apartment for lunch. Mark crossed the street and stepped onto the stone wall to peer at the rubble-bottomed flat opposite our porch. Dotted with coral heads and channels between, I've seen tarpon rolling, permit tailing, baitballs getting mauled and sharks cruising at various hours of the day and night.

Eyeing the channels.

...and way over yonder...

Seeing the bluish water up close for the first time, albeit somewhat stirred up from the offshore storms pushing in a swell, Mark peered at me through his polarized glasses and a smirk spread across his face. He hopped down off the wall and unpacked his ten weight in record time.

On the porch table he assembled his leader with shaking fingers. Asking my advice about flies as if I know what I'm talking about, he settled on a needlefish imitation in an attempt to entice a stout 'cuda we may have spied between some coral heads.

Stacy made some sandwiches and mark took a momentary break to wolf his down. He forgot to chew and choked on a bite, coughing and sputtering a question about wire tippet as he regained his composure.

'Calm down, bro, you've got a week,' I said, shaking my head as he finished his sandwich in three gulps.

He picked up his gear, crossed the street, hopped the wall and was in the water before the meal reached his stomach.

As the week progressed, I noticed Mark occasionally possessed by a plague that all fishermen have succumbed to when an opportunity to cast to a big fish presents itself. The symptoms include, but are not limited to: blown casts, weak or premature sets, lined fish, tangled reels, line snarled around arms and legs, trips, falls, slips, stumbles and the occasional epithet hurled at a departing wake. It is all to be expected the first time you're fishing the salt and get a shot at some of the fish we had shots at this past week.

The only treatment, the only way to relieve the pressure, is to land something...

That evening, we headed to the local beach where I have landed three tarpon in the past few months. We casted off both jetties until darkness overtook us, and headed home without a strike.

Near dark at the Sugar Mill.

Inconsistent tarpon at the Sugar Mill.

After dinner, we drove to Cane Garden Bay for a chance at some tarpon who usually cruise around a lighted boat dock. We spotted their shapes before the car was in park. We rigged up and began fishing. About 20 minutes in, Mark let out a primal yelp as a nice tarpon cleared the water, heading directly at him. He lifted the rod high over his head and striped is as much line as possible, but it was too late. The fish had expertly ducked underneath the dock, rounded a post and shook the hook while somehow imbedding it in the barnacle-encrusted dock pillar. Mark's first tarpon encounter.

He's gone under the dock!

Humbled after getting his ass kicked by his first tarpon.

That 80lb tippet isn't going to snap any time soon.

As the night grew later, I tried to coach Mark toward a solid hookup. He painfully learned the value of waiting for the fish to turn before setting the hook with a violent strip set as he pulled fly after fly right out of the hinged jaws of three tarpon. The coup de grace came with the largest tarpon seen so far, gleaming in the dock lights as it rounded a corner and headed for us. Mark perfectly presented the fly and the giant ambled over for a closer look. After a breathless eternity of being nose to nose with the purple toad, the tarpon made up it's mind and gently sipped the fly. No sooner had the tarpon engulfed the fly did Mark yank it right out of it's mouth by lifting the rod as if a rainbow had taken his Adams.

I hung my arms limply and slumped in my stance as Mark stood up straight and took his first breath since seeing the great fish. I could literally see his heart pounding in his chest at the excitement.

After their red-eye flight and 48 hours of no sleep, buck fever was all that was keeping him going. A landed tarpon on his first saltwater day was not to be. However, lessons learned on the first night would reap rewards in days to come.

Patrolling the wall.

Always on the lookout.

Searching for tail.

The day draws to a close, and still he waits.

Arrival.

There I was, standing alone in my bedroom packing a swimsuit and flip flops on Christmas Day. The weather outside is frightful but I am taking delight in the fact that I have a place to go. For the first time I am heading to the saltwater flats of the Caribbean to try my luck at the variety of saltwater species that make the place home. The following afternoon, in driving sheets of freezing rain, my sister and I depart for the Newark, NJ airport for a four hour flight to San Juan, Puerto Rico. As we make our way onto our first flight, my sister turned and reminded me that the last time we were on a plane, we jumped out of it.

The View From My Seat on the Cessna.

Lagoons That Hold Puerto Rican Tarpon.

We arrive late, and have an eight hour layover in the airport. I spend the time reading about the mangrove lagoon surrounding the airport and how it is one of the premier tarpon destinations in Puerto Rico. I occasionally glance at the ten weight and the freshly tied tarpon toads in my carry on. I am debating whether or not to sneak out of the airport and try and find a dock with some lights. I resist the urge to leave my sister behind and instead begin to contemplate the challenges that are sure to await me on the island of Tortola, of the British Virgin Islands.

Surf in Puerto Rico.

Flying Into A Rain Storm.

A Beautiful Tortola Bay.

I am considering calling this the first time I am ever fly fishing in saltwater. Yes, I have fiddled around for a few days in the backwater bays of the Outer Banks, but this is an entirely different ball game. Crystal clear water, shallow long flats, and extremely wary fish that are some of the most sought after species in the world await me and my decade plus of trout fishing experience. Will I be up for par? Will I be able to handle the power of a tarpon or the cunning of a permit? Will I even have a shot at these species? The thoughts are flowing at a mile a minute and I am left sleepless as I pull an all nighter in the deserted airport. Finally, it is my turn to depart and I make my way over to the small prop plane that is going to take me on the last leg of my journey.

Bro's Apartment.

The View From My Brother's Front Porch.

Lucky Bastard.

I take a seat directly behind the pilot and am treated to an aerial tour of the Caribbean as we make our way eastward over the Atlantic Ocean and the Caribbean Sea. Below boats of all sizes dot the open sea and resemble small ants making trails in the sand. We make our way over many islands all resembling something out of the helicopter ride in Jurassic Park. I make a mental note about how developed the US Virgin Islands are compared to the underdeveloped British Virgin Islands. Finally, after a brief forty minute trip the pilot veers and conducts a turn downwards into the runway. It was quite thrilling looking directly out of the cockpit as we swooped down for the landing. When the airline attendant finally opened the small door he had some kind words for our arrival, "Welcome to Paradise."

Moray Eel From a Small Lagoon.

First Day Weather. 

Would Be A Re-Occurring Theme.

Super Pumped.

Weird BVI Beer. Power Stout.

Strong Mocha Flavor With Some HGH Mixed In.

Awaiting me at the Airport gates are my brother and sister, ready to take me on a brief tour of the small 12 mile island. We zoom around the main highway that encircles the island and I take in the sites and sounds of Tortola. My neck (as it did for most of the trip) began to stiffen from all the time I spent scanning the water. Everything looked ideal to me and I kept asking my brother about the various spots. I had not slept for 36 hours but I was super excited to start fishing. My mind continued to race just like in Puerto Rico and when we finally stopped at his place, I immediately began thinking fish. For the majority of the trip I suffered not from Island fever but from something a lot worse. A fly fishing sickness that can wreck havoc on usually calm nerves. I was suffering from a strong case of buck fever.