Washington angler Mike Ward surpasses Del Brown’s legendary permit mark, and his compulsion for the next one won’t let him stop.

By Trey Reid

Nothing was going right for Mike Ward. He’d had more than two dozen shots at permit but couldn’t put a fly anywhere close to one. “I don’t know if I had a different fly line or what,” Ward says, “but something was majorly off.” Time was slipping away on the third day of the 2016 March Merkin permit tournament in the Florida Keys. A few minutes before lines-out, Ward and guide Don Gable spotted a large permit tailing away from them.

His first cast fell wide. The next wasn’t much better. The third shot also missed. “I was not in a good head space,” Ward recalls. But on the next attempt, he dropped the fly in front of the fish. It ate it and sped away—around a buoy on a crab pot. The water was too shallow for the motor, so Gable had to pole the skiff over to the buoy for Ward to clear the line. Their timer buzzed to signal lines-out as the permit raced off the flat toward a channel, but tournament rules allowed fish hooked before the cutoff to be landed.

“And then this fish just starts circling,” Ward says. “Big circles.” The permit came to the surface with a big hammerhead shark in pursuit. “So we start the motor and take two big circles around him,” Ward says. “The shark leaves. The fish gets to the other side of the channel and takes this blistering run, and it’s just kicking up water. This big hammerhead goes right behind him, up onto the flat.”

They ran toward the shark again to get between it and the permit. “We basically, like, bump the shark with the boat,” Ward says. Almost all of his backing was out, under the boat, and Ward frantically stripped yards and yards of it into a pile at his feet. When the line went tight, the fish was still on. Ward cleared the backing, but as soon as the fish was on the reel, the backing wrapped around his reel handle.

It had happened before, so Ward knew just what to do. “My move is just to run off the boat toward the fish, and while I’m in the air, I take my left hand and push the line over the reel handle to get it off. It worked, and I’m super stoked. But when I saw Don, his eyes looked like dinner plates. He was screaming, What are you doing? Get in the boat!

“I’ve totally lost track that we just had a hammerhead all over us.”

Ward escaped violent death, landed the fish, and made it to check-in on time. But his hands were still shaking when he turned in his scorecard and photo for the 30-inch permit, which turned out to be the tournament’s biggest fish.

Ward’s obsession with permit is legendary. He has caught more than 500 with a fly rod and, in February, surpassed the 513 permit amassed by the late fly-fishing legend Del Brown. Although there’s no actual “record” for permit caught in the way that tippet, line-class, and length records are kept, Brown’s feat of 513 permit on fly is held in the highest regard among saltwater fly anglers. It’s generally recognized that only one other angler, Alejandro “Sandflea” Vega of Holbox, Mexico, who Ward calls a friend, has caught more permit on fly. Vega lays claim to more than 600.

Ward isn’t in a permit-catching contest with Del Brown, Sandflea, or anybody else, but he aims to catch many more. Years ago, he made up his mind that he wanted to catch 1,000. He’s done the math. It’s possible. But it will require no small amount of time, energy, money, luck, good tides and moons, family support, and more—all for a fish that’s famously uncooperative.

LONG SHOTS

The essence of fishing lies in the pursuit of the possible. Using hook and line to connect to a creature from a different realm is sometimes probable, rarely certain, but always possible. “Elusive but attainable,” as John Buchan put it. There’s probably no greater proof of this concept than fly fishing for permit.

Permit lack the size and strength of tarpon and pelagic species and don’t make the electrifying runs of bonefish. Yet, saltwater fly anglers consider them one of the sport’s greatest challenges. Most anglers passionate about permit can tell you precisely how many they’ve brought to hand—and can recite the memorable and more common defeats with even greater fervor. Reverence comes from their elusiveness.

They are circumspect, equivocal, and mostly ignore artificial flies— “like trying to bait a tiger with watermelons,” wrote Thomas McGuane. But when one of the fickle bastards finally sucks in the fake, it’s a king-hell rush of fantastic energy.

“It’s trying to pick up a girl that’s out of your league,” says Captain Brandon Cyr, a Key West guide who’s been fishing permit tournaments with Ward since 2022. “Nine times out of ten, you’re going to strike out. But that one time is one of the greatest nights of your life.”

Encounters with permit are so uncommon that they touch something intangible, transcendent, and otherworldly. They are the Holy Ghost of the Grand Slam trilogy.

“It’s the constant challenge that keeps you wanting more,” Ward says. “For somebody who loves the creative process of problem-solving, there are so many rabbit holes you can go down with permit to try and figure it out that it’s a never-ending quest.”

Ward, 43, grew up in Mount Vernon, Washington, near Seattle, and now lives in Spokane. His first permit came on his first saltwater fly-fishing trip less than 20 years ago. A Montana fly-fishing guide at the time, he traveled to Mexico and caught a permit on his second day at Ascension Bay. “I could see the tail out there,” he recalls. “It was probably 90 feet, and at the time, I did not have a 90-foot cast in my arsenal. Somehow, I get all the momentum going, and the line shoots and keeps going, and the fly lands two feet in front of the fish. And I’m like, ‘Oh, shit!’ I was amazed, just shocked.”

The guide called for pulsing strips, and the permit coursed towards the boat just below the surface. When the guide called “stop,” Ward stopped the fly. It sank, and Ward watched the permit inhale the fly. “At that moment,” he says, “I was hooked for the rest of my life.”

Ascension Bay’s permit weren’t as cooperative the rest of the trip. “I probably had 150 shots, and I couldn’t make it happen,” Ward says. “I was like, ‘Oh, okay, now I get it.’ I think that’s what made me want it more. It was like getting high and then realizing you don’t have any more weed.”

Ward’s permit quests had a relatively slow start. He took a trip a year for the first few years, catching one here or there. He estimates catching a permit every 12 to 15 days on the water. The only thing holding him back was the cost of his pursuit. Over the years, he’s had success with his business, Adipose Boatworks, and other investments. Ultimately, he admits, catching permit “just fully consumed me.”

Ward calls his pursuit a “journey,” with the spiritual connotation carrying more weight than the act of travel. Not that Ward hasn’t piled up the frequent-flier miles. He’s caught multiple permit species in 11 countries, including Australia, Seychelles, Mauritius, Oman, and the usual permit spots around the Caribbean. “I’ve gone to a lot of other places and not been successful,” he adds.  But Ward’s definition of the journey centers on a different kind of quest: understanding an enigma.

“It took Jon Olch seven years to write A Passion for Permit,” Ward says. “The amount of information is just ridiculous. It’s never-ending.”

His permit fascination traces back to a general passion for fish that started in early childhood. When he tied Del Brown’s mark, his mother sent him a text message reminding him that, at three years old, the first thing he said upon waking up most mornings was, “Can we go fishing today?” And his final words before sleep most nights were, “Can we go fishing tomorrow?”

“I know I’ve always had a huge passion for fishing in all forms,” Ward says. “It’s a little surprising that it was this fish. I did a lot of bass fishing growing up, so I’d have thought it would’ve been tarpon or snook. And I had no idea about the permit, but there’s no other fish like them. They’re so their own thing.”

Ward’s fixation extends to the Florida Keys permit tournaments, where he has dominated the big events over the past three years. After teaming up with Cyr in 2022, Ward started an incredible run of seven wins in nine tournaments they fished together.

For Cyr, it all comes down to focus. “A lot of it is staying in the right mindset,” Cyr says. “Mike has a very positive mindset. I think that’s a key thing for him. He’s happy, and he truly loves it. You pretty much know that you will be accepting defeat almost every day. It takes a special kind of person to drive past that and dissect it and figure it out.” Cyr has heard it all when it comes to describing hardcore permit anglers. “But the first thing that comes to mind for Mike,” he says, “is ‘open-minded.’”

Cyr says guides frequently see two types of anglers: those who want or need to be entirely directed by the guide and those who know everything and don’t listen. While execution and delivery are essential, so is listening to the guide. Ward can drop a fly within a foot or two of a spot, without looking or knowing the fish’s location, simply from Cyr’s commands on direction and distance. “He knows exactly my three o’clock, 30 feet,” Cyr says.

He illustrates the point with a story about his favorite permit that Ward has caught in their tournaments together. Pushing across the first flat one morning, Cyr spotted a fish directly behind the boat, swimming into the sun—a worst-case scenario. He instructed Ward to cast 20 feet past the stern at three o’clock. Unable to see the fish, Ward flung the line above Cyr, who ducked down on the poling platform and then translated and directed the action. After a couple of strips and a pause, the fish went down on the fly. Ward stripped and came tight, forcing Cyr into wild contortions to avoid contact with the fly line—a disqualifying action in the tournaments—that was dancing alongside the platform. They landed the fish and went on to win the tournament.

“People don’t listen,” says Cyr, who guides 280 days a year. “People never listen when I tell them what to do. That’s just part of my occupation, and I’ve accepted that. And it’s so cool to have somebody who puts blind faith in me 100 percent, trusts me, and listens. That’s a rare thing for an angler to do with a guide.”

It’s not the only thing uncommon about Ward. He may be one of the most wildly successful permit anglers in fly-fishing history, but if you met him at a fly shop or fishing show, you’d never know it unless someone else told you. If you’re expecting an insufferable prick, you’re reading the wrong story because it’s hard not to like Mike Ward.

“LIVING OFF THE VIBES”

There’s no shortage of anglers crowing about their success on social media, but Ward’s Instagram profile isn’t a place to find shameless self-promotion. He posts as much about his wife, kids, and pets as he does his permit trips. His announcement about tying Brown’s record was humble and gracious. He called it “a special day” and thanked God, his family, the guides, the many people he’d met, and the friends he’d made along the way. He took special care to call out Brown and his pioneering contributions.

Ward also paid tribute to Brown by using a Seamaster Mark III reel for the record-tying permit. It’s the same model Brown used for his International Game Fish Association world-record 41-pound, 8-ounce permit on 8-pound tippet, still the largest permit in the IGFA’s tippet-class fly tackle records. “I give him a lot of credit,” Ward says. “The arbor on that thing is so tiny. That fish was half of what Del’s was, and my hand was cramped so bad at the end.” Ward also honored tradition and leveled the playing field by using a custom bamboo rod for the historic catch.

Ward speaks at a measured, introspective pace, easy to follow, like the long, steady strip of a fly line. He seems almost uncomfortable talking about himself, although he becomes more animated and energetic when the conversation turns to the fish. He’s a fan of Barry Sanders, the NFL Hall of Fame running back known for his humility.

“He is such a down-to-earth person,” Cyr says. “His entire motto in life is living off of good vibes and getting the bad out. I’ve been around a lot of people, and Mike is one of the most genuine, loving, good dudes that I’ve ever spent some time with.”

Although Ward had fished tournaments such as the Del Brown, March Merkin, and IGFA Invitational for a decade, it wasn’t until he connected with Cyr that he started to have consistent success. They had met years earlier at Cyr’s first tournament. The young guide was in his early 20s at the time and was nervous and anxious. Other guides had cautioned him to keep his head down and stay quiet. Cyr was sitting alone at a pre-tournament meeting and dinner when Ward walked over and introduced himself. “He was the only person who talked to me,” Cyr recalls. “And it wasn’t just small talk. He wanted to know about me, about my life.”

They crossed paths over the years but didn’t get to know each other until Ward reached out to Cyr about teaming up for tournaments in 2022. Cyr wasn’t sold on the idea. The relationship between guides and anglers is a complicated alchemy. Cyr wasn’t interested in spending time with an angler he didn’t mesh with. “I was honest,” Cyr says. “I said we need to have a tryout because we might not vibe in the boat.” Cyr’s concerns were soon quelled. “We got on the boat, and the first time out, we got a permit, and we laughed the whole day,” Cyr says. They have the same taste in music—whenever Ward hooks up with a permit, Cyr turns on reggae for a relaxing vibe during the fight. “I really respect Mike a lot in that he views it as a team,” Cyr says. “It’s not just him.”

FAMILY MATTERS

There’s another kind of teamwork critical to Ward’s success. He and his wife, Kelsey, have been married for almost 22 years. With three children, his fishing trips mean Kelsey often carries a heavier load. “My wife is an absolute rock star,” Ward says. “She picks up the slack from the things I can’t do when I’m gone. And she doesn’t complain, doesn’t hold a grudge.”

Ward says fishing is in his DNA, and Kelsey knew she was marrying a fisherman. “I didn’t have much money,” Ward says, “but I told her my prenup is the fact that I fish.” But it’s a big leap from avid fisherman to the extreme commitment of time and resources needed to catch hundreds of the planet’s most elusive fish. When Ward’s pursuit of permit became “a thing,” he says, he sat down with Kelsey and explained the situation. Fly fishing for permit is physically taxing. Boat rides aren’t easy. As anglers age, balance and eyesight erode. If Ward was going to catch an unfathomable number of permit, he needed to get busy while he could. “I had to convey how passionate I am about this,” he says. “Thankfully, she’s been super supportive.”

His brother, Andy, helped him find perspective and balance. “He told me that he didn’t want my kids to think I love fishing more than I love them,” Mike says. “I heard that. I totally agree that I need to make it apparent to my kids, not just through words but through actions, that they mean more to me than anything else.”

Cyr says that perspective is abundantly apparent in the Ward household. With a solid management team in place at Adipose, Ward can devote himself to the family when he’s at home. He coaches the teams and goes to the plays. Even when he’s traveling, he stays connected. He and Cyr will call Kelsey and the kids during fishing tournaments. “She’s our good luck charm,” Cyr says. “And his kids. We’ll call his kids on the way to school and say, ‘Hey, we’re on a flat. We haven’t seen much. We could really use some luck right now.’ And they have a little saying that they’ll say. Or he’ll catch one, and the first thing he does is like, ‘I gotta call Kelsey.’ He is such a family dude.”

Grounded by his family and their support, and with a positive outlook on both fishing and life, Ward hasn’t allowed the rarified air to fuel the fires of ego. If he needs more humility, the permit provide it.

“The fish constantly humbles you,” he says. “As soon as you think you’re amazing, they will show you you’re not.”

Permit fishing is a constantly changing puzzle. When you think you’ve figured it out, the pieces shape-shift in your hands. You find a tide and moon that produces on a certain flat—until it doesn’t anymore. The magic fly never works again. And then you start over.

“That’s what’s awesome, right?” Cyr says. “It keeps it exciting. The hunt never stops. It’s something we’ll never be able to master in our lives because the fishery is changing and the fish are changing. And it’s just spectacular. I don’t know what more you could possibly ask for in a gamefish than that.” The pieces so rarely fit together that, when they do, the resulting sensation is deep and primal.

“There is a certain feeling you get when you catch a permit, and once it passes, all I want to do is catch another one,” Ward says. “I’m not caught up in catching a thousand. But every time, I want the next one. I just want one. I just want it all the time. It never goes away.”

Permit guilt, creeping conflict, and fly fishing ecstasy in Belize

Wading The Flats for Permit

Last Frontiers: Exploring Scorpion Atoll, Mexico for bonefish and permit

A Passion for Permit by Jonathan Olch

The post One More! first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

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Bob Popovics Tribute

By Nick Curcione

In testimonials, the word “legend” has become a bit commonplace. But when reflecting on my dear friend Bob Popovics and the lives he touched through his talents and his unabashed enthusiasm to share his passions with others, I am hard-pressed to find a suitable substitute. When he passed early in the morning on November 1, the fly-fishing community indeed lost a legend.

Bob was one of those rare individuals who mastered whatever he set his mind to. In the fly-fishing world, his accomplishments earned him superstar status. He pioneered and popularized materials and techniques in fly tying that are world-renowned, and it is no exaggeration to regard him as the premier innovator among leading saltwater fly tiers. When he left his beloved fly-tying room in the attic and hit the beach to test a new pattern, his prowess at flinging flies in the high surf turned heads, even among experienced anglers. He was the embodiment of the complete angler.

Less known, perhaps, are his passions outside the fly-fishing world, such as his botany-inspired rose garden, which he tended like a mother with a newborn, and the gourmet-class restaurant he ran with the love of his life, his wife Alexis. Bob took as much joy in these pursuits as he did with fly tying and fishing.

I could go on reciting a multitude of similar accolades, and no doubt, as time goes by, more will be forthcoming. A man like this has a ledger book’s worth of friends and admirers. Instead, I’ll end by relating an incident years ago at the Minneapolis–Saint Paul airport that gives a strong sense of what this man was like.

Bob, Ed Jaworowski, and I were returning from a pike fishing trip in Saskatchewan. Our flight was delayed, and we were tired as we headed for some empty seats to wait it out. A few minutes slipped by when a very distraught woman with a small child in tow stopped a few yards from us, panicked and sobbing uncontrollably. From her dress, we surmised she was from somewhere in the Middle East, and it was obvious she neither spoke nor understood English. Bob went right over to her and tried comforting her and the frightened child. He walked them over to the concession stand and bought the little boy a soft drink. The woman managed a brief smile but was still visibly upset. He took them to an airline agent to try to resolve her problem. Finally, in a stroke of luck, a departing passenger noticed the woman, approached her, and began speaking her language. Apparently, she had missed her flight, didn’t have a phone, and had no idea of how to proceed. Fortunately, the agent was able to rebook her. As Bob started walking back to Ed and me, the woman ran to him and gave him a hug that rocked him back on his heels. She was so appreciative of his efforts to help her.

Like many of his close friends, I feel an emptiness that can’t be filled. But wherever you are, Bob, know that you are a legend. You imprinted many with your talents, gifts, and generosity, and you will be missed.

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#tuesdaynightatbobs

The post Bob Popovics Tribute – Nick Curcione first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

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The post Martin Arostegui: Doctor of Record first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

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Captain Earl Waters stripped off 60 feet of line from the reel and handed me the thick, one-piece composite rod. “Here,” he said curtly. “Cast.”

I unfurled the length of the line after a couple of back casts, shooting the fly straight to nowhere in particular.

“Hand the rod to your buddy,” he said, directing Charlie Madden to do the same drill.

Waters had stopped his pristine, teal-green Silver King skiff, with a coral-colored cap, about a half-mile out in the Gulf, just outside of the Homosassa River channel. We were apparently being interviewed realtime for a skills check. 

Madden made his cast. Seemingly satisfied with the results, Waters fired up the outboard and zoomed south toward the flotilla of boats spread across the expanse of shallows outside of Chassahowitzka Channel.

It was May 15, 1993. Madden and I were, at last, tarpon fishing the equivalent of golf’s Augusta National. We were rubes, with about a year of saltwater fly fishing under our belts, and had thin wallets with just enough credit between us to split two guided days at Homosassa and two nights at the storied Riverside Inn.

Booking it had not been easy; we couldn’t find a guide who’d take us. Without a history and a bankroll to fund at least a week or more on the water, Homosassa guides were not particularly interested in taking on new clients, especially neophytes. 

We reached out to David Olsen, former manager of the now-defunct Fly Fisherman in Orlando, Florida, for help. A few days later, Olsen called back: “If you guys can fish May 15 and 16, I have a guide who’ll take you. Name’s Earl Waters. I vouched for you guys—told Earl you could cast and see fish.”   

Thus, the on-the-water interview, which had really begun at the Homosassa launch ramp.

Our initial introduction at the ramp wasn’t much more than a head nod of acknowledgement that we were Waters’ clients. After readying his skiff, he examined the four-piece graphite rod and Islander reel that Madden and I planned to share. 

“You can put that rod back in your car,” Waters directed. 

Reading the perplexed look on my face, he answered my unspoken question. 

“That rod is too small for these fish.”

I was bummed. The four-piece, 12-weight Loomis IMX, stamped “DEMO” just above the single cork handle, was my prized tarpon possession. I’d found it in a bin marked “half-price” in a sporting goods store in Denver on a recent business trip. That it was now being relegated to the hotel room, along with the dozen IGFA-leadered flies, neatly fixed in a new leader stretcher rigged specifically for this trip, was painful.

In retrospect, I fully appreciate the atmosphere of that morning. Waters expected much, considering his clients and friends included the likes of Al Pflueger and John Emory. Indeed, in Monte Burke’s Lords of the Fly (an extraordinary, must-read compendium on the 50-year history of fly fishing for tarpon—specifically for record fish at Homosassa), the arcing intersection of legendary guides and anglers, chasing tarpon for the better part of half a century, explains it all. 

Over our two days, Waters became genuinely sociable, and generous with information on all manner of tarpon fishing, even though finding the tarpon proved elusive. Shots were few and far between, but Madden did manage one bite and landed a classically average Homosassa tarpon.

Despite the slow action, Homosassa was mesmerizing. It possessed a magnetic draw for Madden and me that could not—and would not—be ignored.

In the Beginning

Homosassa, situated on Florida’s Gulf Coast about 70 miles north of Tampa, is legendary. Its legacy of tarpon fishing began about 1970. 

“When Lefty Kreh wrote about a trip he’d made to Homosassa in The Tampa Tribune, fishing with ‘the MirrOlure guys,’ Harold LaMaster and Kirk Smith, the word got out,” Captain Dan Malzone said in a recent interview. “LaMaster and Smith invited Kreh to fish with them as they chunked lures into the hole around Black Rock, which was stacked thick with big tarpon. I owned three sporting good stores at the time, so naturally, I’d heard about it.

“In 1972, Keys anglers Normand Duncan and Gary Marconi caught wind of Homosassa’s giant tarpon that nobody fished and started fly fishing there. They invited me to fish with them in 1974.  In the mid 70s, we were the only guys on the water.”

Subsequently, Malzone would fish Homosassa three days each week, Friday through Sunday, the only days his businesses would allow him, for the next several years.

In 1976, Florida Keys guide Steve Huff and angler Tom Evans, who would book Huff for 45 straight days, had had a rough spring, nasty weather keeping them dockside more often than not. One windy morning, with a low-pressure system settling on the Keys, they had breakfast with Duncan at a local diner. He suggested they drive up and fish Homosassa, where the weather might be better. “Where the hell is that?” asked Evans.

“We drove up to Homosassa,” Huff said in a recent interview, “launched the skiff … and never saw a fish all that first day. So the next day we hired a plane from a local airport to fly over the area to look for fish. And we found them … tarpon were everywhere.” 

Huff and Evans hit the water soon after they landed. “Tom hooked up on a big fish,” Huff recalled.  “He immediately became smitten with the big fish at Homosassa and wanted to come back.”

The following year, Huff and Evans spent three consecutive weeks fishing Homosassa. The flats were still mostly absent other anglers and skiffs, but record chaser Billy Pate had gotten word of Homosassa’s giant tarpon. Like Evans, Pate had the financial wherewithal to pursue big fish for weeks at a time, and he spent the entire tarpon season chasing records at Homosassa.

“On Memorial Day 1977, Pate and his guide (Hal Chittum) were the only ones on the water besides Tom and me,” Huff said. “About three in the afternoon, fish began pouring in from the west by the thousands. Tom caught seven tarpon that afternoon, all over 150 pounds. His seventh fish was 177 pounds.”

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The post Homosassa:  A Reminiscence of The Greatest Tarpon Fishery first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

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Ten years ago I began an annual tradition to fly fish with an old friend each October to catch schoolie striped bass. My friend enjoys a slower pace of life, has an easygoing personality, and fishing with him is a welcome change from the fast-paced world of modern fly fishing. We enjoy ourselves casting in the backwaters of Barnegat Bay, reminiscing of the “good ol’ days” 45 years ago when my buddy was a brand-new Fenwick FF107. The rod is a pleasure to cast, and if I listen carefully I can almost hear the Eagles harmonizing, “I get a peaceful, easy feeling….”

Last year a Garcia Conolon 2536 fiberglass fly rod joined the party. Built in 1970 and rated for a 6-weight line, it was my favorite rod for spring stripers in Croton Bay on the Hudson River, and for 2-pound summer bluefish around the Norwalk Islands. Forty-nine years later, it’s now catching Florida snook and sea trout and occasionally shaking hands with largemouth bass in local ponds. This little beauty rekindled my interest in fiberglass fly rods.

Joe Brooks casting an early 1950s-era fiberglass rod. Note the bend deep into the grip. Today’s glass rods still load deeply, but they have improved tapers for better casting and improved fish-fighting qualities.

The resurgent interest in glass fly rods has grown considerably in the last several years, chronicled and supported by online blogs like The Fiberglass Flyrodders (fiberglassflyrodders.com) and The Fiberglass Manifesto (thefiberglassmanifesto.blogspot.com). Fiberglass fly rods that were relegated to the junk closet are now valuable collectibles. Old-timers in this sport will no doubt recall Berkley’s Parametric series of fly rods and other delights from Browning, Fenwick, Garcia Conolon, Heddon, Orvis, Phillipson, Wright & McGill, Shakespeare, and South Bend. 

Why the renewed enthusiasm in glass? Some of it is probably based on Baby Boomers with more time to fish and a keen desire to relive cherished memories. Just for grins they pull old friends out of retirement and after a few casts fall in love again. They appreciate the action, the way a glass rod bends and loads more fully, and the extra sensitivity during the cast. Fiberglass aficionados talk of the “feel” of the rod, its smoothness, and the way the casting motion is more relaxed and enjoyable. Tim Rajeff of Echo Fly Rods explains it this way: “Casting a modern fast-action graphite rod is like driving a very cool sports car, but you have to pay extreme attention or your casting will suffer. Fiberglass rods are like driving an old Chevy; a bit more comfortable and relaxing.”

Part of the enthusiasm comes from technological improvements, improved resin formulas and advanced weaving patterns of the glass fibers that give rod designers the materials to develop fly rods with superior casting and fish-fighting performance. Advances in fiberglass composition, coupled with refreshing new thinking on rod tapers, gives today’s rods superior actions compared with glass rods of 50 years ago.

The fiberglass fly rod story began in 1944 when Dr. Arthur Howald used an Owens-Corning fiber called Plaskon to build a new tip for his broken bamboo rod. His technique became known as the Howald Process and was marketed by Shakespeare to make hollow glass rods. In 1943, Dr. C.G. Havens developed a glass fiber called Conolon, and by 1946 it was used to make tubular fiberglass rods under the name NARMCO, which eventually became Garcia Conolon.

In 1952, the rod company Fenwick was born and by the 1960s had teamed with Phil Clock and Don Green to develop the unique Feralite design, a tip-over-butt fiberglass ferrule that is used in most every fly rod to this day. In addition, Fenwick pioneered fly rods known for their light weight, incredible strength, and delightful casting qualities.

One of the most significant of the 1960s-era fiberglass fly rod catches was Mark Sosin’s 53-pound, 6-ounce world-record yellowfin tuna caught on a Fenwick FF114 rod. It was the first rod with a fish-fighting fore grip. Photo courtesy of Gail Morchower of the International Game Fish Association Library.

Fiberglass rods punched the bamboo market in the eye, and within a decade bamboo slipped from favor except with diehard traditionalists. Glass fly rods were easy to mass produce, could be tapered to any action desired, weighed less than bamboo, and were inexpensive. The worm turned in the 1970s as graphite (aka carbon fiber) rods became the popular kid on the block. Graphite fly rods were lighter than fiberglass and had crisper actions. Although carbon fiber is still king of the hill, many fly anglers today are taking a new look at fiberglass.

Fiberglass was developed in the 1930s as an electrical insulation material, hence the name E-Glass. In later years, S-Glass was developed for military structural use, hence the name. It’s widely used for helicopter blades and military aircraft. Stronger than the original E-glass and a tad lighter, S-glass is about 15 percent stiffer.

Fiberglass fibers are woven into sheets and impregnated with resin, wrapped onto a tapered steel mandrel, wrapped in cellophane tape and then heat-cured. Early weaves had as many fibers running crosswise as ran lengthwise–perfect for surfboards, boats, and canoes, but gosh-awful heavy and slow in fly rods. Manufacturers now employ proprietary custom weaves and some place most glass fibers running longitudinally and fewer running around the blank. Called unidirectional S-2 glass, this material boasts exceptional strength, significantly lighter weight and superior faster recovery speeds.

The renewed interest in fiberglass has not gone unnoticed by premier rod manufacturers. Scott, Thomas & Thomas, and Winston have reintroduced favorite fiberglass glass freshwater rods, and there are many reasonably priced glass rods on the market such as the Cabela CGR, the Echo River Glass, the Eagle Claw Featherweight, the Fenwick Fenglass, and the Orvis Superfine.

Tim Rajeff, design guru and casting champion at Echo Fly Fishing, realized saltwater anglers wanted to share the fun, too.

 

Tim is pushing the fiberglass envelop to new limits with Echo’s 8-foot Bad Ass Glass (B.A.G.) Quickshot, a superb series of glass rods designed for making quick casts to tarpon, bonefish, snook and reds. The B.A.G. boasts plenty of power to throw big flies and box in the ring with gorilla-size striped bass, bluefish, and school tuna. There are five rods in the series rated for 6- to 10-weight lines. They’re great choices when casting from kayaks or in tight spots like canals, creeks, docks and around bridges, and for relaxed blind casting in salt marshes, coastal rivers and grass flats. The two “muscle” rods in the series, the 9- and 10-weights, are capable of some extreme offshore tuna heavy lifting, or for turning tarpon and for surf fly fishing.

Moonlit Fly Fishing recently introduced a classy, nicely priced new-age glass collection in their Lunar S-Glass series. In addition to its freshwater models, the Lunar-S Glass includes 6-, 7-, and 8-weight beauties that are excellent for back-bay, mangrove, and flats fishing. They have that special old-glass feel, but with a bit faster action, quick tip recovery, and a smooth progressive taper.

For some fly fishers, carbon’s stiffness and fast recovery hides the “feel” of the rod during the casting motions. Old glass rods like traditional Fenwicks and state-of-the-art Echo Quickshots load all the way down to the grip. It’s this flex that is so enjoyable to experience along with reduced angler fatigue. My longtime friend Armand Courchaine of the Rhody Flyrodders commented: “Fly casters experience less physical problems with glass. In over 65 years of fly fishing, I’ve seen a lot, and people who fished with glass in the old days had fewer problems with back, shoulder, and elbow pains.”

Fishing an old-time fiberglass fly rod is a delightful way to have some fun with schoolie stripers in a coastal salt marsh.

Don Avondolio of the Saltwater Fly Anglers of Delaware fondly remembers another advantage of fiberglass fly rods. “Although heavier than graphite, my fiberglass Shakespeare Wonderod cast well and fought fish with less stress on the angler.” In this age of carbon rods it’s easy to forget that you’re supposed to feel the line tugging at the end of the back cast, and that the rod is supposed to do the casting and fish-fighting–not the angler.

Some fiberglass fans are hot-rodding their old glass sticks. Rick Ferrin of Long Island found a new appreciation for fiberglass after a trout fishing trip, and he decided to rebuild a glass rod for stripers and weakfish. “I stripped an old Fenwick FF909 down to the blank, applied a clear epoxy finish, replaced the old reel seat with an REC Components up-locking reel seat, added a 2-inch butt extension and a set of Recoil titanium stripping and snake guides. It looks great and casts like a dream.”

Many fly anglers who like graphite for its light weight are surprised to discover that the weight difference as compared with fiberglass is not so significant. Echo’s four-piece B.A.G. rods tip the scales at mere fractions of an ounce more than their graphite counterparts, and the 8-foot length contributes to the overall lightweight feel.

Another major advantage of fiberglass’ softer action is its ability to protect tippets from breaking. When I first got back into glass fly rods in the salt, it was primarily while kayak fishing or wading shallow flats. I quickly noticed that the softer action and extra flex of the fiberglass kept many a snook from popping off as they zipped toward dock pilings. It’s times like these when a glass rod’s combo of power and resiliency really shines.

As the 1960s unfolded, fiberglass proved it could beat big fish. Some early catches of note included Joe Brooks’ 148-1/2-pound tarpon in 1961 on a Spinmaster glass rod. The following year, Garcia Fishing Corporation’s Dick Wolff beat a 127-pound tarpon on an inexpensive Conolon glass rod while filming Flyrodding Big Tarpon with Lee Wulff. Stu Apte guided both men. Another unique offshore catch was Lee Wulff’s 148-pound striped marlin caught off Ecuador in 1967 on a 12-pound tippet (which stood as the IGFA tippet-class record until 2004).

Fiberglass fly rods like these ageless beauties from Fenwick and Garcia Conolon have become fashionable again, and new glass rods like Echo’s Bad Ass Glass (B.A.G.) Quickshot series use modern technology to achieve more strength, more line speed, and more distance with less weight.

In July of 1969, while fishing off Bermuda, noted outdoor journalist Mark Sosin boated the first Allison (yellowfin) tuna ever caught on a fly. He fished a Fenwick FF114, a potent fiberglass rod rated for an 11-weight line, to beat the 53-pound, 6-ounce fish after a 40-minute fight. Sosin’s expert rod-handling and fish-fighting skills helped prove that glass rods could withstand the enormous stress of deep-diving tuna while the rod’s relaxed action cushioned the fragile 12-pound tippet.

Today’s fly casters place enormous value on distance casting, and may wonder how a rod that feels so soft can deliver a fly a reasonable distance; however, in 1951, Joan Salvato (later Wulff) achieved an amazing 161-foot cast in a tournament. Ten years later, casting champion Johnny Diekman threw an astonishing 193-foot cast with a fiberglass fly rod. Imagine what they could have achieved with today’s advanced glass technology.

Fiberglass was still in its prime in the 1970s, when Ed Graser caught this 80-pound tarpon near Islamorada on a Fenwick FF9012.

It’s important to keep in mind that the desire for distance needs to be counterbalanced with the realities of everyday fishing. For most flats fishing and coastal saltmarsh fishing, a cast of 50 to 80 feet is just fine, and in some really tight places a 40-foot presentation is perfect. This is where fiberglass fly rods excel–perhaps better than carbon rods.

But the question isn’t really which rod – glass or carbon – is better. Just as a skilled golfer has many clubs in his bag and a mechanic many wrenches, a fly angler can play a better game with a variety of rods for specific purposes. Adding a fiberglass fly rod to your bag of tricks can be an essential game-changer for better fishing and a lot more fun.

Catch ‘em up!

Tim Rajeff designed the Echo B.A.G. Quickshot to throw big flies to big fish, and the 8-foot rod lengths are perfect for stalking grass flats, mangrove back bays, and coastal rivers and creeks.

 

By Pete Barrett

Bio: Pete Barrett has been fly fishing in salt water since the 1960s. He was a charter boat skipper for 30 years, and he was on The Fisherman magazine’s editorial staff from 1973 until his retirement. Pete has published over 1100 magazine articles and is the author of five popular books on angling. Pete is a Florida representative for the International Game Fish Association, and he’s currently an active member of the Atlantic Salt Water Flyrodders and the West Palm Beach Fishing Club. Pete lives in Jupiter, Florida.

 

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Instructional Video for Casting Shooting Heads in the Salt

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The post Fiberglass Rods for Saltwater Fly Fishing first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Fiberglass Rods for Saltwater Fly Fishing appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

In 1991 I was invited to dinner by one of my longtime clients, Mitch Howell. Mitch was by far one of the best bonefish anglers I had ever fished with. This was confirmed by his multiple tournament victories in the 1980s and ‘90s.  He was the only client who told me to come down from the platform to cast while he was hooked up, which enabled the only guide/client bonefish double in my career thus far. Mitch was the financial advisor to Lefty Kreh, Flip Pallot, and a bunch of other people.  He knew Lefty, and he knew that Lefty would be in town for a casting demonstration. Mitch also knew that I would be a nervous wreck, so he didn’t initially tell me that the dinner plans included Lefty Kreh.

Mitch planned a meeting at Burt & Jacks, Burt Reynold’s fancy steakhouse in Fort Lauderdale, which was already a problem for me.  You see, I like my steak well done, and when you order a well done steak at a place like this, you get that annoyed look from the waiter; the chef looks out from the kitchen to see who is ruining this piece of meat.  It’s pretty uncomfortable.

To make matters even worse, Mitch leaned over as we were getting out of the car and said to me in a stern voice, “Just don’t embarrass me by ordering your steak well done.”

So there I was at a table in a fancy steak house with Lefty and Mitch.

My palms were sweating before the waiter even approached, and now he was at the table asking to take our orders.  He started with Mitch, who ordered his steak black and blue, which is burned on the outside and bloody on the inside The waiter turned to Lefty and asked, “And you, sir?”

Lefty quipped, “I want my steak the color of your apron.”

The waiter, wearing a black apron asked, “Well done?”

“Not just well done,” Lefty replied, “extra well done.”

I instantly felt my body relax as my palms dried up.

Mitch had known all of this and just let the drama play out, but the result of his fun was my introduction to the legendary Lefty Kreh.

Once the steaks arrived, both Lefty and I sent them back for addition cooking—and once more after that. While waiting for our entrees, Lefty and I ate onion rings and shared fishing stories. Mitch quietly and competently finished off his meal, content that his introduction was successful. With our mutual agreement that overcooked meat was better, Lefty and I were kindred spirits.

On the Skiff

After dinner, Lefty said he would be back in Florida soon and would be in touch. He wasn’t lying, it was only matter of months before he contacted me with his arrival information.

I first guided Lefty in 1992. We fished regularly when he came to Florida both in Miami (Biscayne Bay) and, after my wife and I moved our residence, in Islamorada. I picked him up and dropped him off at the airport, and he stayed at my place when he was in town. It was always a pleasure to host Lefty, and we developed a friendship that would last for decades. I don’t know about all of his fishing trips, but we fished a lot over the 25-plus years that we were friends.  His big trip, however, was his annual trip with Flip Pallot in the Everglades. They would fish with permit king Del Brown and legendary Key West guide Steve Huff, so you could just image the conversations of these heavyweights.

I assumed Lefty liked fishing with me because it enabled him to get out of the spotlight to catch his favorite fish: bonefish. Back then, the Keys were loaded with big bonefish, and catching a double-digit bone was common. Who wouldn’t enjoy that?

No Tournaments

Lefty didn’t like tournaments.  He never participated in any of them.

He frequently spoke of tournaments, but never in a good way. He thought that they brought out the worst in anglers and created stress in what should be a stress-free environment.  There was one tournament that was new and different from the others, the Redbone Tournament.  It was more of a celebrity/pseudo-celebrity contest with a very noble cause. The proceeds went to help with the healthcare expenses of a guide whose daughter had cystic fibrosis.  As you may know, many Florida fishing guides don’t have health insurance, so this disease was a real financial burden for the family. I told Lefty about it one day when we were fishing and he said no tournaments–but it wasn’t a firm no. 

I was friends with Miguel Sosa, a financial advisor and avid angler from Coral Gables, who was also a proponent of the tournament. I convinced Lefty to participate in the Redbone tournament and paired him with Miguel. It changed his mind about tournaments, and we ended up fishing three of them together over the next few years. I believe these were the only the tournaments Lefty ever fished. (I’d like to remind everyone that the Redbone continues today, and proceeds still go to helping families with cystic fibrosis.)

Sidebar: I have no pictures because the only photos of Lefty and me together were taken by D.L. Goddard and they were all out of focus.  Goddard was a great fly tier but a lousy photographer.

Reality Check

One day we were driving down to Loggerhead Basin, a well-known tarpon spot in the Lower Keys, with Randi Swisher (from Sage Fly Rods, at the time). Lefty always slept in the back of the truck on the way down. He liked his naps.

It was a little windy, but we got the boat in the water and Lefty was first on the bow. There was a nice tarpon laid up right in front of him.  Lefty, surprised by the easy shot before him, got flustered. He got his line tangled up and in the process of getting untangled he created a rat’s nest.  We were all laughing as he stepped down to give Randi the shot. Randi stuck the tarpon and I joked with him, saying, “Lefty Kreh has problems casting in the wind–who knew?”

Lefty responded with: “I can cast in a controlled environment like an auditorium all day. I can put a fly through a hula hoop from 100 feet, but with one of them looking at you I’m just like everyone else.” I must have looked disappointed, because he added: “I did that on purpose so I didn’t have to deal with that thing. When he’s done with that, let’s go find some bonefish.”

Lefty was a real person, as flawed and vulnerable to mistakes as everyone else. He would rather fish for bonefish than tarpon any day of the week.

I miss that guy.

Well Done
By Greg Poland (gregpoland@icloud.com) was published in Tail Fly Fishing Magazine in early 2020.  To read more great stories from fly fishing legends and greats like this, subscribe to TFFM today. SUBSCRIBE 

The post Lefty Kreh – Well Done first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Lefty Kreh – Well Done appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

It is commonly translated as the Money Toad because it represents a popular Feng Shui charm used to encourage prosperity in many Chinese homes and businesses. This mythical creature is said to appear during the full moon, near houses (or businesses) that will soon receive good news. The nature of this good news is universally understood to be wealth. In the Florida Keys, wealth is measured in silver.

I’m quite sure that an avid angler from Georgia didn’t realize a connection to this ancient Chinese folklore, but his Golden Toad has many similarities.  It, too, brings great prosperity around the full moons of spring in the Florida Keys. One of the beneficiaries of the Toad was his friend and fellow fly angler Andy Mill, who used it as his secret weapon, winning at least five tournaments with it in the mid-1990s.

How and when did this lucky charm come to be? Who would know better than the man who created it, Gary Merriman…?

Asking what year the Tarpon Toad was created should have been a soft lob to break the ice with the creator, but Merriman responded with, “I can tell you where, how, and why it was made, but I just don’t remember what year it was–not with certainty, anyway.”

Merriman punted on the very first question, indicating this was going to be a long day. But after a quick call to his friend Ron Winters, he confirmed that the Tarpon Toad was created in Loggerhead Basin in the Florida Keys during the spring of 1993.

It’s well-known that Loggerhead Basin tarpon can be fickle. I believe he called them assholes, but after fishing them for over 30 years, he knows them well and is entitled to do so.

Merriman and Winters were trying some new patterns to entice this particularly difficult assembly to eat. One of the things that Merriman noticed was that patterns of the day would sometimes spin or rise and fall with a strip and stop.  While the rise and fall can be very productive, with these tarpon it simply wasn’t.

Merriman was trying to make a fly that would have neutral buoyancy and would hover below the water’s surface and move in a straight line when stripped. After studying a few patterns, he noticed what he called “wings” on a Harry Spears pattern called the Tasty Toad.  This pattern had splayed hackle and a bushy, rounded body.

Merriman adopted this concept for his “wings” and created a flat-headed pattern with a bunny tail and marabou collar. He and Winters tested it the next day.

Despite Merriman’s blowing his first presentation by about 10 feet, he did get the eat. The tarpon raced to this fly as he had never seen before. Not just this fish, but nearly every fish he presented to ate this fly.  It wasn’t just a magical moment or a magical day, either. This anomaly went on for days, weeks, and months and became typical behavior in lieu of their former asshole status.  Merriman’s Tarpon Toad was surely destined for greatness.

After being successful with the Toad in Loggerhead Basin during that week in 1993, Merriman attempted to share the fly with guide Tim Hoover, who said, “I don’t know what that is but you’re not fishing it on my boat.”

It would be years before Hoover tried the fly, and only then because he heard an over-zealous Winters screaming “Toad rules!” every time he hooked up.

“What does that mean?” he asked Winters, who eventually shared that this pattern, which Hoover had rejected years before, was the secret sauce for both backcountry and oceanside tarpon in the Keys.

There are two basic variations of the Toad–one with a marabou tail and one with a bunny tail–in many color variations. The original was tied with a chartreuse bunny tail upside down on the hook. It had a chartreuse marabou collar and a yellow/cream head made from floating poly yarn.  He tied it with plastic eyes and also weighted eyes, both of which worked depending on the water depth. All color combinations are commercially available today, the most popular being chartreuse/yellow/cream, black/purple, and black/red.  Merriman also speaks fondly of a peach version: a peach bunny tail with a lighter peach collar and a yellow/cream head. 

The marabou version was first tied by Tim Hoover; Merriman confesses this is his go-to fly for oceanside tarpon. Because of the natural undulation of the marabou, this version works better, he says, with less movement than you would impart to the fly when fishing it in the backcountry. This one has the same marabou collar and floating poly yarn head.

Merriman states that the marabou version was an experiment by Hoover after he had run out of rabbit strips and didn’t want to drive to the fly shop. Fortunately, it was equally productive as the bunny strip version.

According to Merriman, the commercially available version are usually tied correctly; however, he notes that the original proportions are key to the pattern’s success. In some commercial ties, the head is too thick and bushy, which minimizes functionality.  The foam-headed versions have never been productive for Merriman and he does not recommend them.

The original Tarpon Toad was 2.25 to 2.5 inches in length total.

The head portion is roughly 1/3 of the total length and usually consists of five poly yarn sections and includes the plastic eyes.

The tail section is about 1.25 to 1.5 inches from the base of the head and includes the collar and tail.  The tail is measured from the extension of the rabbit fur and not where the cut is on the actual strip.

No foul guard is necessary if you follow the recipe because the dimensions used in this original recipe will not foul as much (this also depends on the quality of the cast).

Despite Merriman’s not remembering the actual year the Tarpon Toad was created, he seems to have remembered everything else and was kind enough to share his original recipe with us—something Colonel Sanders has yet to do.

Gary Merriman has been a committed fly anlger for most of his life.  He owns the Fish Hawk, Atlanta’s premier fly shop, where he still provides expert advice to his customers. When he’s not fishing for tarpon, you can find him trout fishing on local streams or at the vise in his office tying up a Toad or two.

by Joseph Ballarini

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More posts on tarpon:

First Tarpon on the Fly

Flying High (For A Tarpon)

Tarpon Town

TARPON!

The post Gary Merriman’s Tarpon Toad – “Toad Rules” first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Gary Merriman’s Tarpon Toad – “Toad Rules” appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

Independence Day

by Ed Mitchell

In those days, Florida was an untamed wilderness, its coastline populated with exotic fish, birds, snakes, and panthers. With his wish to give the reader a sense of the Gulf Coast and his many tales to tell, Dimock devoted little space to his philosophy of saltwater fly fishing. Fortunately for us, he had already done so several years prior.

In January of 1908, the magazine Country Life in America had published an article by Dimock titled “Salt-Water Fly-Fishing.” To my knowledge, this is the first magazine article written on the subject. (Later that year, Dimock would include an expanded version of this piece in his book Florida Enchantments.)

What the article lacks in length it makes up for by giving us insight into Dimock’s feelings about fly fishing in the salt. In the opening paragraphs, Dimock makes a heartfelt confession, one that forces him to reevaluate his connection to the sport.

“Fly-fishing has linked itself with the mountain torrents, swift rivers, and rock-bound lakes of my own North Countrie by ties so sacred that it seems immoral to attempt it in the bays, rivers and passes of the South. Before I could really essay it I had to retire to my room and read aloud the Declaration of Independence. I rejoice now in my victory over superstition, for I find myself a missionary in a benighted land.”

Clearly, Dimock is at war with himself, torn between his affection for freshwater fly fishing and his newfound experiences in the salt. Was fly fishing’s essence so tightly entwined with trout, so “sacred,” that to fly fish in salt water amounted to a sin? It’s a question of enormous gravity, one that would delay the growth of saltwater fly fishing for many years.

The “North Countrie” to which Dimock refers are his home waters of the Catskills, the birthplace of fly fishing for trout in America. There, along with fellow anglers, he established the Peekamoose Fishing Club on the Rondout River in 1880. Dimock doubtless spent many a joyful hour in that clubhouse with his friends, sitting by the fireplace, discussing their love of trout. This helps us to understand Dimock’s dedication to freshwater fly fishing: It undoubtedly was an important part of his life. We also should keep in mind that Dimock was a man of his times. Dimock was highly educated. He attended Phillips Academy in Massachusetts and was a graduate of what is now George Washington University. He was accepted as a member of the Stock Exchange before age 21, and within a few years he controlled the gold market on Wall Street. Dimock was well-read on many subjects, including fly fishing.

Across the Great Pond, Frederick M. Halford, the most well-known fly fishing author of the day, was defining the game for the fly anglers of that era—in the most dogmatic terms. In three books–Floating Flies and How to Dress Them (1886), Dry Fly Fishing in Theory and Practice (1889), and The Dry-Fly Man’s Handbook (1913)–Halford staunchly proclaimed that fly fishing was the art of using dry flies cast upstream. Casting downstream or using wet flies or nymphs was not acceptable sport.

This is not to say Dimock would have found no support for saltwater fly fishing among his contemporaries. James Henshall, who was perhaps the best-known American angler of his time, shared a good bit in common with Dimock. Like Dimock, Henshall had fished in Florida, and he had taken tarpon on a fly several years prior to Dimock. (Henshall recorded his adventures in his book Camping and Cruising in Florida, published in 1884.) Clearly, these two writers, had they met, would have swapped some tall tales. [Did Dimock and Henshall ever meet?]

Apart from Henshall, Dimock might have found a few other members of the fly fishing community who would have offered encouragement–one of whom might have been Theodore Gordon. How is that possible? After all, isn’t Gordon considered the father of dry fly fishing in America? And wasn’t he friends with Halford, having exchanged letters with him over the years? The answer to both questions is yes. However, it would be wrong to pigeonhole Gordon as strictly a trout angler. In truth, Gordon was a generalist at heart, willing to chuck a fly at anything that swam, including bluegills, pickerel, perch, and pike. Gordon had even created a streamer fly he used for striped bass, so he wouldn’t have been dismayed by Dimock’s call to the coast.

Did Dimock and Gordon know of each other? It’s entirely possible. In 1908, when Dimock’s saltwater fly fishing article appeared, Theodore Gordon lived nearby in the Catskills. At that time, Gordon was writing for magazines such as Forest and Stream, which Dimock was apt to have read. It’s also possible that Gordon would have read Country Life in America. Gordon spent a great deal of time fishing the Neversink River, which lies just west of Dimock’s home waters on the Rondout River. Therefore, it’s no great leap to speculate that the two were at least aware of each other (though Gordan’s reclusive nature diminishes the chance that they ever met).

Despite a lack of encouragement, Dimock declares his own Independence Day, concluding unequivocally that the notion of restricting fly fishing to fresh water is nothing more than “superstition,” and that saltwater fly fishing is among his unalienable rights. There is no turning back. In fact, Dimock tells us he is now a “missionary,” ready to tell the world of the glories of saltwater fly fishing.

Unfortunately, Dimock never lived to see the saltwater game take off. In 1908, he had only ten more years to live, and it would be nearly three decades after his passing, with the arrival of such anglers as George Bonbright, George LaBranch, and Joe Brooks, that the game gained even the slightest momentum.

Some will blame the lack of adequate tackle. Clearly that played some role in hindering the development of saltwater fly fishing. When Dimock snapped his fly rod in Florida, his guide had to repair it with a hickory hoe handle. It wouldn’t be until the mid-1930s that decent bamboo rods became widely available, with companies such as Montague, Leonard, and Payne offering models intended for salmon and freshwater bass that could be pressed into service in the salt. Ten years later, Edward vom Hofe & Company advertised a special “De luxe” [check this spelling] Tarpon Fly Rod to celebrate Bonbright’s 136-pound silver king caught in 1933. But the first commercial fly rod designed specifically for salt water wouldn’t arrive until nearly the end of World War II, when Orvis built saltwater fly rods at the urging of Rhode Island angler Harold Gibbs.

The scarcity of saltwater fly fishing literature was also a problem. The first book on the subject didn’t arrive until Joe Brooks’ 1950 Salt Water Fly Fishing. It sold few copies and never went into a second printing. For the first successful saltwater title we would wait more than 20 years for Lefty Kreh’s Fly Fishing in Salt Water.

Magazines did little better. Field & Stream and others were publishing the occasional saltwater article as far back as the ’30s, yet it would be nearly 75 years after Dimock’s death before saltwater fly fishing had its own magazine. That was a critical factor delaying the advancement of the sport. Unlike books, magazines turn out fresh facts and innovative thinking on a monthly basis, and periodicals typically reach a far greater readership.

More than anything else, however, the delay in tackle and literature was due to lack of demand. Despite the urging of forward-thinking men like Dimock and Brooks, the idea of salt water fly fishing sparked no immediate gold rush, no instant congregation of anglers marching seaward. Instead, with few exceptions, fly anglers stayed streamside with their beloved trout.

This reluctance to heed the call to the coast is not that difficult to understand. And it brings us full circle, back to Dimock’s quandary of 1908. Can you accept salt water as a legitimate part of the sport? Fly fishing is steeped in the past, richly laced with customs and ideas so deeply rooted they have become bible. This why fly fishing has always spawned more than its share of purists, anglers who insist on believing that the sport has only one true path.

Today, that question is behind us, long ago put to rest. Salt water is a highly respected and fascinating part of the fly fishing game, offering anglers around the world tremendous sport. If Dimock were alive to see it, he would be ecstatic, proud that salt water has finally gotten the attention it deserves. He would want to examine our wonderful tackle, cast our rods, see our flies, read our books and periodicals, and hear our tales. And yet, even so, Dimock might look around and whisper an aside, telling us his mission may not be over: There are likely anglers still walking among us who have yet to celebrate their own Independence Day.

The End

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The post First Tarpon on the Fly first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post First Tarpon on the Fly appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

by Pete Barrett

Florida Keys guide and fly fishing pioneer Bill Smith is popularly credited with catching the first bonefish on a fly in 1939. There’s a photograph and witnesses to prove it. I’ll tell you the full story of Bill’s catch in a moment, but first we need to acknowledge several other fly anglers who accidentally beat Bill to the punch—but because they weren’t specifically targeting bonefish, their catches didn’t qualify as numero uno.

It seems all of the earliest on-the-fly bonefish catches were made by accident when anglers were fishing for snapper, snook, or baby tarpon. Because of their low-slung mouths, fly fishers of the 1920s and 1930s thought of bonefish as bottom feeders (true) that would only respond to bait (untrue), and so no fly anglers fished specifically for bonefish. It took about 20 years for the bonefish’s keen eyesight to be recognized and appreciated.

“LaBranche looked
incredulously at the
pork rind fly and
went into a tirade…”

According to George X. Sand in his book Salt-Water Fly Fishing, Holmes Allen of Miami caught a bonefish on the fly in 1924 in Card Sound, Key Largo. Allen said he was wading with a friend for snook about 100 yards from shore when “…this crazy fish shot out of nowhere, grabbed my fly and took off!” The fly was a crippled minnow feather streamer with a white head and red hackles, tied on a size-2 hook. Allen caught another bonefish in 1926. 

George Reiger in [italics] The Bonefish, [italics] his wonderful historical tribute to the gray ghost, documents that in 1926, Colonel L.S. Thompson of Red Bank, New Jersey, caught bonefish while casting a Royal Coachman streamer for baby tarpon on the flats near the Long Key Fishing Club. Other club members apparently did, too, but always as an incidental catch. 

Noted naturalist and South Florida fly fishing trailblazer Homer Rhode Jr. wrote to angling author J. Edson Leonard in 1949 that he had been catching bonefish for 15 years. That would put Rhode’s first fly-caught bonefish at about 1935. Rhode even created a special fly about which Lee Wulff would write, “The best fly I know for bonefish is the Homer Rhode Shrimp Fly.” It’s not known whether Rhode was sight-casting to bonefish or simply catching them by accident while he cast to other fish. 

Let’s get back to Bill Smith’s bonefish and a humorous confrontation with George LaBranche, one of the premier anglers of the 1930s and a resident of Islamorada. In 1938, while guiding George Crawford, an accomplished fly angler from Alaska, Smith struck out on baby tarpon. Feeling bad for his client, Smith asked a fellow guide, Leo Johnson, what he used to catch tarpon. Johnson’s “flies” were nothing more than a strip of pork rind wired to a hook, but this got Bill Smith to thinking. That night, in preparation for the next morning’s charter, Smith tied a simple white bucktail with a piece of wire attached to the hook to hold the pork strip. Hoping to catch a tarpon, George Crawford cast Smith’s fly, with a trace of pork added, and proceeded to catch two bonefish! 

The elated men placed the bonefish in a gunny sack and weighed them at the local Islamorada grocery store; the fish weighed 5 and 6 pounds. While the men were congratulating themselves, George LaBranche entered the store and asked about the fish in the sack. Smith proudly told him that they had caught a pair of bonefish on flies. LaBranche inspected the fish and then asked to see the fly, which Smith promptly showed him. LaBranche looked incredulously at the pork rind fly and went into a tirade, thoroughly upbraiding Smith because it wasn’t a “real” fly of hair and feathers.

Bill Smith’s legendary catch proved that bonefish could be cast-to and caught with the proper fly and retrieve—not simply by accident as was previously believed through the 1920s and ‘30s. Notice his fly, tackle, and boat—a far cry from what’s popular today. Thanks to Gail Morchower at the International Game Fish Association library for providing the photo.

Several months went by. Smith, still stinging from LaBranche’s reprimand, proceeded to tie some flies and went out alone in his outboard skiff to a favorite spot known as Little Basin, behind Islamorada. He cast to several fish, hooked one, played and netted it just as another guide, Bert Pinder, was heading to a nearby dock. Anxious to have someone witness the catch, Smith quickly followed Pinder to the dock to have him inspect the still-breathing bonefish and the regulation fly as evidence. A photo was taken of Smith holding the 8-pound bonefish, along with the fly rod and single-action fly reel he had used. Days later the photo appeared in a Miami newspaper, and this fish became acknowledged as the first bonefish specifically caught on a fly—not by accident, but by casting directly to the fish.

Years later, in an interview with Bill Sargent, a noted Florida outdoor writer, Smith said he “…remembers that the fly had a yellow hackle, was tied on about a 1-0 hook.”  He named it the fly Salt-Us after one of his regular clients, a Mr. Saltus. The tying recipe included white bucktail and brown squirrel tail for the wing and a palmered yellow saddle hackle secured with red thread. Smith’s tackle was an 8-1/2-foot Orvis Battenkill rod, a Shakespeare model 1891 Russell reel, and an Ashaway GAF tapered fly line. 

Sand’s Salt-Water Fly Fishing relates another interesting fly-caught- bonefish story that took place in 1942, just after the attack on Pearl Harbor. Clarence “Barrel” Bowen, a good friend of Bill Smith’s, was about to be shipped overseas, and he asked Bonnie Smith, Bill’s wife, if she’d take him out to catch a bonefish on a fly, as Bill had. Bonnie had assumed her husband’s guiding duties while he was away supporting the war effort, and she took Bowen to a good bonefish spot. She later recalled, “We were back at the dock within two hours and Barrel Bowen had taken his first bonefish with a fly rod.” 

“We were back at the dock
within two hours and Barrel Bowen
had taken his first bonefish
with a fly rod.”

During the war, Bonnie Smith guided another young soldier, Jimmie Albright, and made it possible for him, too, to catch his first bonefish. Bonnie introduced Jimmie to her sister, Frankee, whom he married. With Bill Smith’s help, Jimmie became a legendary Florida Keys guide, and it was Albright who guided Joe Brooks to what is believed to be the first fly-caught tailing bonefish. That was in 1949. The following year, while fishing with Frankee Albright, the great George LaBranche chalked up his first official fly-caught bonefish (with Joe Brooks in the skiff as a witness). In 1950, Bonnie Smith guided Joe Brooks to his first permit on the fly.

Accidentally or on purpose, these early bonefish catches are all remarkable, and they helped to usher in the ‘bonefish age” of the Florida Keys. By 1950, new faces like Ted Williams, Stu Apte, George Hommel, and J. Lee Cuddy brought increasing fame to this astonishing gamefish, which continues to this day. 

Writer’s Bio:

Pete Barrett has been fly fishing in salt water since the 1960s. He was a charter boat skipper for 30 years, and he was on The Fisherman magazine’s editorial staff from 1973 until his retirement. Pete has published over 1100 magazine articles and is the author of five popular books on angling. Pete is a Florida representative for the International Game Fish Association, and he’s currently an active member of the Atlantic Salt Water Flyrodders and the West Palm Beach Fishing Club. Pete lives in Jupiter, Florida.

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The post Who Caught the First Bonefish on a Fly? first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

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Here’s an article from our visit to the Thomas & Thomas factory in Massachusetts (followed by the T&T press release)
Originally appeared in Tail #36 – July/August 2018

If you don’t know what you’re looking for, you might not notice the Thomas & Thomas factory. Set where it is, on a backroad in rural western Massachusetts near the convergence of three major rivers, you might mistake it for a remnant of the paper industry.

“I tried to buy the business without buying the building,” explains Neville Orsmond, T&T’s CEO since 2014, on the rainy January day we visit, “—but that wasn’t possible. As it’s laid out, the factory is simply inefficient for producing fly rods.”

Neville Orsmond knows something about efficiency. Before taking over Thomas & Thomas, he worked for a company that installed automated parking systems in New York City. A fly angler since childhood in his native South Africa, and a fan of Thomas & Thomas fly rods for nearly as long, Neville’s position with the parking-system company gave him access to the region’s storied trout waters, as well as airline access to exotic saltwater destinations. It also put him a couple of hours by car from the town of Greenfield and T&T’s offices. When he got word that the business might be up for sale, he made the drive—the first leg in the journey that would change his life.

“Let’s save the bamboo room for last,”
advises John Carpenter, T&T’s
Operations Manager, who serves as our
tour guide. “If we begin there, we find
that everyone usually gets stuck.”

Thomas & Thomas was founded in 1969 by brothers in law Thomas Dorsey and Thomas Maxwell. The business originally began in Pennsylvania, in a rented cabin on the banks of a limestone stream. But when they bought at auction the extensive machinery from Massachusetts rod maker Sewell N. Dunton & Sons, whose company origins dated from the 1850s and whose inventory included the original milling machines acquired from the Montague Rod Company, they found they didn’t have the finances to transport the equipment to Pennsylvania. So instead, they relocated to Turners Falls, Massachusetts, on the Connecticut River. In 2001 the company moved across the river to Greenfield, where it has called home ever since.

While their sole focus in the beginning was high-quality split-cane rods (for which all would-be clients had to join a waiting list), by the mid-1970s they had become pioneers in the use of carbon fiber.

Its reputation bolstered by such high-profile customers as Ernest Schwiebert and Ted Williams, the company grew quickly. By the early 1990s, Thomas & Thomas had 30-plus full-time employees who turned out more than 10,000 rods per year for the world market, including graphite rocket launchers for the burgeoning saltwater game.

The Thomas & Thomas that Neville Orsmond found when he arrived in Greenfield in 2013 had declined considerably since its glory days. The iconic brand had suffered through a number of ownerships and poor business decisions, the credit crisis of 2008, and bad management. Then-owner Mark Richens had narrowly rescued the company from receivership.

Neville wasn’t deterred. The kid who loved fly fishing was now a business-savvy adult who had the resources to turn things around. He also had the encouragement of his wife. Eight months later, he had the keys to the place.

So began Neville Orsmond’s apprenticeship in fly rod production. Each Sunday evening he made the drive from his home in Connecticut and checked into a local hotel, hitting the factory floor by seven each morning during the workweek to learn from the ground up each phase of production—as well as service, sales, and marketing. (He lived out of that hotel room for a year before moving his family to Massachusetts.)

“The first thing I had to do was to address repairs,” Neville says: “They were backlogged six months. To claim you make the world’s finest fly rod is no small thing. You can’t have a customer waiting six months to get his rod fixed.”

This focus on the customer extends to all aspects of the business. There is no automated phone system. Everyone answers the phone, including Neville. “I don’t want to hear it ring four times,” he says. In addition, all customer emails get answered promptly.

Neville’s next order of business, he says, was to modernize production, which required a sizable investment in new equipment. Replacing the outdated rolling table, convection oven, and cellophane-wrapping machine with computer-controlled versions afforded much more precision when working with the latest graphite composites.

“Let’s save the bamboo room for last,” advises John Carpenter, T&T’s Operations Manager, who serves as our tour guide. “If we begin there, we find that everyone usually gets stuck.”

We begin at a row of industrial-size chest freezers. The primary material of T&T’s rod blanks, graphite composite sheets (carbon fibers impregnated with thermosetting resin) arrive at the factory packed in dry ice. Because their shelf life is based on temperature, the sheets are kept frozen until ready to use. This extends shelf life for up to a year.

Despite Neville’s talk of modernizing production, it quickly becomes clear that building graphite fly rods is still very much an artisan endeavor. We look on as pattern-cutter Mike Jenest uses templates and a razor knife to hand-cut blank sections from the composite sheets.

The cut sections of graphite composite (known in the industry as flags for their pennant shape) are then fastened to precisely tapered steel mandrels using a tacking agent and are placed on a rolling table, which vaguely resembles two ironing boards placed one atop another. The top board rolls the graphite composite around the mandrel using a steady, even pressure, ensuring there are no wrinkles. A tape-wrapping machine spiral-wraps a strip of heat-resistant cellophane tape the entire length of the blank section.

The tape-wrapped blank sections are now ready for curing. To achieve consistency in the finished product, a computer-controlled convection oven heats the blank sections in a series of steps—that is, various temperatures for precise lengths of time. One key step is known as the gel phase, in which the resin melts and the cellophane tape shrinks, squeezing the liquified resin amongst the graphite fibers, bonding everything together. Many of the advancements in resin technology, John Carpenter points out, involve getting the graphite fibers to bond together better. Working in conjunction with its suppliers, Thomas & Thomas has recently helped develop a nano-particle resin that fills microscopic voids in the graphite, adding strength to the blank while reducing its weight. This can be experienced in their newest saltwater series, the Exocett, a powerful rod that’s very light in hand.

After the blank sections have finished baking, the cellophane tape is stripped off and the sections are removed from the mandrels. Depending on the model of rod being built, the sections are sanded to remove the spiral ridges left by the cellophane. The sections are then painted, most with T&T’s trademark blue finish—either glossy or matte. Once the coatings have dried, the final step in blank production is to cut and hand-fit each male and female section—that is, the sleeve ferrules—to complete the individual blank.

Each blank is splined—that is, the backbone of the rod is located and marked—and guide placement is marked in line with the spline and spaced according to a predetermined formula. Now the blank is ready to have the guides wrapped on. We watch Sheila LaShier, an employee of 25 years, wrap a rod old-school—that is, no wrapping stand. The company presently contracts with a number home wrappers, members of the community who are trained at the factory and take bundles of rods home to wrap piecework.

Each section of every rod is inscribed with the rod’s unique serial number. This facilitates any future repairs, and it prevents the owner from mixing up sections from two different rods—even on identical models. As John Carpenter explains, blank sections of identical rods are not interchangeable: Each piece is hand-fitted to its adjoining section. This makes each T&T fly rod a unique instrument.

Thread wraps are coated in a special environment-controlled room devoid of dust particles. Three coats of epoxy are applied over as many days. Coating the wraps in stages prevents excessive weight along the blank and contributes to the rod’s elegance.

The butt section of the Exocett is fitted with a light gray anodized aluminum reel seat containing two large locking rings. This is complemented by a full wells grip (comfortable in hand and not overly large) and fighting butt turned from premium cork.

The company’s roster of advisors and pro staff use and abuse both production rods as well as prototypes in every fishery imaginable—trout to trevally, bluegill to blue marlin—and provide feedback that informs production and design.

Painstaking though the process is—and you’re getting the abridged version—this is what’s required to produce superior graphite fly rods for the demanding modern market.

If the graphite end of the factory appeals to the engineer-minded practitioners of the game, the bamboo room appeals to the poets. At once you’re enveloped in a completely different energy, as if transported through time. It is here, amid handsaws and block planes, the smell of burlap and wood varnish, that Troy Jacques transforms raw bamboo culms into the exquisite fly rods that established the Thomas & Thomas name.

Troy learned his craft first under the guidance of company cofounder Tom Dorsey, and later under the mentorship of the late British rod-making legend Tom Moran, who, according to Dorsey, “stood above and beyond any I have met.” When Moran returned to England in 1995, all bamboo rod production passed to Troy.

“I remember the month before Tom left,” recalls Troy. “I followed him around with a notebook, writing down everything he said. I knew I had to be 110 percent in this. If I was only 90 percent, Tom Dorsey never would have kept me on.”

Troy fills us in on the background. Of the thousand-plus species of bamboo, which actually belong to the family of grasses, Tonkin cane (Arundinaria amabilis McClure) possesses the greatest structural strength, with a tensile strength greater than steel. Tonkin cane grows only in a relatively small area of South China’s Guangdong Province (an area about the size of the county in which Greenfield resides). Contrary to what you might think, the finest Tonkin cane is not particularly rare or expensive; enough of the raw material to produce a rod might cost as little as $15. Your investment in a bamboo rod is in the building.

Troy shows us a bamboo culm in cross-section, pointing out the power fibers, which lie at the outer edge of the ring, and the inner white pith, which offers nothing to the rod in terms of flex. The lengths of bamboo that have the greatest percentage of power fibers to pith are those that are closest to the ground.

The culms are split and planed into equilateral triangular sections, tapered along their length to tolerances within a thousandth of an inch (finer than the finest human hair, to give you a point of reference) and glued and wrapped together to form a hexagonal shaft. “A bamboo trout rod,” says Troy, “can have a bit of pith. But a 10-weight rod should consist entirely of power fibers.”

This segues into the most intriguing leg of the tour for us—T&T’s latest models of bamboo: their saltwater series of rods.

This is a project Troy has wanted to undertake since the beginning. Inspired by vintage images from the early days of the game—“I’d like to fill that entire wall with black-and-white photos”—he began to design and build his first saltwater rod, an 8-foot, 3-inch rod for 9-weight line.

John Carpenter recalls when he and Troy took the prototype to Martha’s Vineyard to sight fish for striped bass, guided by Captain Jaime Boyle. “We took along a 9-weight graphite rod as well, and we thought the bamboo would be a novelty. We thought we’d each catch a fish with it and put it away. But it was so much fun that we didn’t pick up the graphite rod the entire day.”

As striped bass are difficult to come by in western Massachusetts in January, we had to content ourselves with taking the rod out on the lawn for a test drive. For those who question whether the noble grass is up to the job of making the long, powerful casts required for success in salt water, be advised: This ain’t your grandaddy’s bamboo.

“Although I love graphite for the phenomenal casting tool it is,” Troy says, “there are things I actually like better about bamboo. It has more feel, and it can water-load a longer line than graphite can.”

These rods aren’t just pretty casting tools, however. To date, the largest rod Troy has built, a 12-weight, has subdued giant trevally, tuna in the 100-pound range, a tarpon of 160 pounds, as well as large sailfish and marlin.

“The advisors have been pushing the prototype 12-weights beyond what I had intended. I actually appreciate this, because if I can get a rod back and look at it and see where the extreme has caused it to fail, then I can take that as constructive criticism to build a 14- or 16-weight.”

Troy doesn’t know how many of these rods Thomas & Thomas will sell (at this writing, there’s about a nine month wait for custom bamboo). “They’re not for everybody,” he concedes. “They’re for the angler who’s on the water a lot, has done a lot of sight fishing, and they’re looking for that next challenge. Kind of like the hunter who starts hunting with a longbow. That’s what got me into fly fishing to begin with—the challenge. That’s what keeps me interested. That’s what keeps me a kid.”

We conclude our tour in Neville’s office, with a cup of coffee he prepares for us. Neville asks us about our fishing and talks enthusiastically of his own. It’s clear that this is exactly where he wants to be in life, doing the job that he was born to do.

Neville talks about his plans for the future of the company—a new factory that doubles as a visitors’ center to promote the region’s natural resources. “The Commonwealth has been fantastic to work with,” Neville says. “They’ve been very supportive of what we’re doing for the economy here, and they’ve given us a lot of encouragement to move forward.” Neville’s affable smile conveys a can-do attitude that leaves no doubt he’ll make it happen.

You don’t need to wait for the visitor’s center to open, however. Neville encourages anyone to stop by for a visit now. If you do, you’ll find an upscale fly rod factory to be sure, but you’ll find much more than that.

PRESS RELEASE FROM THOMAS & THOMAS:

THOMAS & THOMAS CELEBRATES 50 YEARS OF INNOVATIVE CRAFTSMANSHIP
May 30, 2019

When graduate student Tom Dorsey set out to build his own bamboo fly rod in the late 60s, little did he know his experimentation would lead to the founding of a rod making company that would endure the coming decades. In 2019, Thomas & Thomas Fly Rods (T&T) celebrates its 50th year of crafting fly rods in the United States, and with that, reflects on what it’s taken to make, “The rod you will eventually own.”

Consumed by a passion for fly fishing, but unable to afford the equipment, Dorsey and his brother-inlaw Tom Maxwell (the two married sisters) set out to build their own bamboo rods. Trained by a relative, the two soon became full-time rod builders. Thomas & Thomas was founded in Chambersburg, PA in 1969. While the American fly-angling scene became saturated with and fixated on the advances of mass-produced fiberglass rods, the Toms stayed the course of American craftsmanship in their small cabin workshop which sat on the banks of a limestone stream. They rejected the cookie-cutter techniques becoming all the rage and adhered to American traditions of high craftsmanship and heirloom quality. That quality garnered the attention of angling legends Vince Marinaro, Ernest Schwiebert and others who proclaimed T&T rods unrivaled in performance and craftsmanship.

Not long after founding T&T, the Toms were presented with the opportunity to purchase rod making equipment and the largest cache of Tonkin bamboo in North America in Turner Falls, MA. The company relocated there in 1974 and continued operations.

Around this time, graphite entered the market. While the Toms rejected fiberglass through the 60s, they felt their values could transfer to graphite (Though, T&T would make fiberglass rods as a retro nod some decades later.). In 1977 they created their first T&T graphite rods, stamped with distinct touches, such as stunning rosewood inserts. As always, they maintained a mantra of “form follows function,” using the same rules applied to bamboo rod making.

Whether crafting graphite, fiberglass or bamboo rods, Dorsey emphasized that the T&T process does not adhere to strict formulas produced by engineering software, but rather, good old fashioned casting and hand-craftsmanship, “a tedious, but rewarding task, which I view as an empirical process, more akin to the culinary arts than science. Try and then tweak, change, try again and change some more. This not only requires good casting skills and technique, but diagnostic insight and an ability to evaluate results—what to change, where to change, to what degree and what those changes should accomplish.”

John Carpenter, a custom woodworker who joined T&T in the late 90s, noted, “The two Toms tried to preserve the idea of a finely crafted handmade bamboo rods no matter what material they were using. They continued to reject the standards of modern mass-produced, machine-made items in favor of thoughtfully handmade items that would last through generations. That spoke to me because it fit into my idea as a woodworker of how we should make finely designed and crafted things that are designed to last and be appreciated.”

Each and every rod was tested and the smallest adjustments made by hand to correct any imperfections, standards still in practice by T&T rod makers today. Because Dorsey was an early adopter of two-handed casting, T&T built some of the first graphite spey rods on the American market. It wasn’t until the 90s that the company’s graphite rods were painted T&T blue to make the product stand out in stores. The color has remained a staple since.

Tom Dorsey sold T&T in the 80s (Maxwell left in the 70s.), whereby the company underwent a cycle of ups and downs. Rod sales were boosted by increases in the average American’s leisure time in the 90s, as well as the release of the industry-altering A River Runs Through It (1992). In 2001, the company moved across the Connecticut River to Greenfield, MA and floundered during the financial crash of 2007, where it remained in a delicate state for some years.

In 2013, South African businessman and angler Neville Orsmond visited the T&T plant out of sheer curiosity to see where his favorite rods were made. There, he realized the need and opportunity to rescue the storied brand. In 2014, the chance to take the helm at T&T set the stage for the realization of a lifelong dream – to work alongside Tom Dorsey, creating the world’s finest fly rods. Orsmond’s aim was to infuse the company with new enthusiasm and ambition around the company’s goals and marketing. Those combined factors have come together to grow the brand and the sales volume reflects those efforts. Maintaining a strong commitment to an American-made product was also of utmost importance.

“It’s been a collaborative process to rebuild the brand,” said Orsmond. “We’ve kept true to who we are by employing people who have been with T&T for 20 to 30 years. That adds up to more than 100 years of experience building rods. People believe in identity and passion. It’s our job to continue to evolve and improve, to build up and care for our anglers and fishery resources through conservation. Fly fisherman believe not only in products but in preserving the outdoors, which makes us lucky to work in this Industry.”

Over the years, T&T has developed a reputation as the Rolls-Royce of fly rods. In 1981 President Reagan commissioned salmon rods as a wedding gift for Lady Diana and Prince Charles. Celebrity anglers around the globe have been spotted with T&T rods in hand, among them, Eric Clapton, Dale Earnhardt, Joe Montana, James Seals (of Seals and Croft) and others. As the company evolves, it’s appealing to an entirely new kind of destination angler.

A new generation of fly anglers is pushing T&T rod design to the next frontier. Some of the premier professional anglers on the planet are T&T advisors and ambassadors, including Keith Rose-Innes, Christiaan Pretorius, Camille Egdorf, Richard Strolis and many others. These pros are testing techniques and equipment in entirely new settings and conditions on new species. Using decades of angling knowledge and experience in waters all over the world, these field experts consult T&T rod builders on every design.

“Thomas & Thomas is not just a brand, it’s a culture,” said T&T advisor Keith Rose-Innes. “Their passionate team takes the time to care for the sport in equal proportion to their drive to lead performance through innovation. I purchased my first T&T Horizon series in 1998 and have enjoyed 20 years of a culture that has made me proud to be part of the T&T team.”

Along with angler expertise, T&T’s in-house craftsmen rely on top training. Old master knowledge paired with a new, trained generation of master rod makers is the foundation of the T&T product line. Graphite rod designer Joe Godspeed learned the trade from Dorsey. And T&T bamboo rod maker Troy Jacques learned from Dorsey and Tom Moran.

“We design by feel and not by math and metrics. There’s always been a lot of stock placed in the physical feel of our designs. That’s what I took away from Tom Dorsey,” said Godspeed. “We’re increasingly shifting toward specialty products. Going toward the future, that’s setting us apart and contributing to our growth. That’s going to be a trend with the company—creating things that are on the cutting edge of what people are using for specialty tactics in the fly fishing world.”

T&T’s focus on construction, design, durability and refinement have won the company new product awards for its graphite rods at the International Fly Tackle Dealer show on two occasions. In 1996 the T&T Horizon series won Best Fly Rod – Saltwater and in 2018, the new T&T Zone 9ʹ 9wt, 4pc took the same category. The company’s outstanding rods rest on the knowledge bank of Tom Dorsey and all the master rod makers who have come through the company’s doors, combined with the latest materials and the innovative T&T design process.

Bamboo remains a strong component of the T&T product line. T&T master bamboo rod maker Troy Jacques has been with the company since 1991 and stuck through the good years as well as the challenging. He initially came on as a graphite rod builder, but when famed rod maker Bob Taylor left T&T, Troy became an apprentice. He was trained by Dorsey and by Tom Moran of Hardy’s fame, who in 1993, came from the UK and remained for some years to observe Dorsey’s techniques.

Troy keeps reminders of his mentors in the bamboo shop: “To this day, I still use a lot of Tom Moran’s techniques. I still have and use Tom Moran’s and Tom Dorsey’s tools. Gluing back then took three people. Tom Dorsey ran the binder, I dipped the parts in glue, Tom Moran rolled the parts to set all 4 the strips and lock them in. To this day, I have Tom Moran’s glue shoes [Glue drips off the table and makes quite a mess.]. I have Tom Dorsey’s too. Their shoes stand by the rod rack.”

In recent years, Troy’s taken his designs to the next evolutionary stage with the T&T Sextant saltwater bamboo rods, looking to the practices of Dorsey and Moran, but listening to the demands of anglers. “Today we have this whole cadre of young guys who are into saltwater. Bamboo has been left out of the warm and saltwater species for the last few decades. But back in the day, these species were only caught with bamboo. I always wanted to make a saltwater rod but didn’t have time. Its’ hard to find time to experiment because everything moves at a snail’s pace with bamboo. When Neville bought T&T and I spoke to him about it, he, Keith Rose-Innes, the anglers from Alphonse Island (Seychelles) and Nick Bowles (of Dubai) gave me a lot of input. I said, ‘I’m not just going to do this for a few guys.’ But with their following, it made it viable,” said Jacques.

Jacques set out to build a rod on which he could fish a 200-grain sink tip for streamer fishing. He then progressed to a prototype 9-wt, 8’ 3”, two-piece rod. Jacques experimented fishing for stripers off Nantucket using a textured fly line. The rod performed so well that his party took turns fishing the rod the entire day. From there, he developed the tarpon rod, an 8’ 5” 12-wt., two-piece designed to push through wind, hold a long line in the air and fight tarpon and other species. Keith Rose-Innes used this model to fish for tarpon in Apalachicola, a rod which was unveiled at IFTD in 2016 to great acclaim. There is now a full series available from 6-12 weight and Jacques is now developing a blue-water 13-14-wt. bamboo rod.

“I’ve had rave reviews from anglers trying these rods. We have a new audience today, new anglers. We have to listen to them and help them get to the next frontier of where they want to go. All the jungle angling and all the focus on landing big saltwater species like GTs, the size of the flies, everything is so new for fly fishing. That’s the way it should be,” said Jacques. “You should listen and support anglers to help them go where they want to go. I’ve taken Dorsey’s tapers and done small things to it to support someone coming from graphite over bamboo so they can give this a try.”

To celebrate T&T’s 50th, a commemorative bamboo rod will be on show at the 2019 IFTD show in Denver and available for consumer purchase shortly thereafter. In the meantime, T&T brand users can celebrate with 50th anniversary t-shirts, hats and other merchandise.

“To me, the company’s history is a reminder that relentless innovation and uncompromising performance in pursuit of perfection is always a worthwhile goal,” said Orsmond. “We can’t wait to celebrate the next 50 years.

The post Celebrating Fifty Years of Thomas & Thomas Fly Rods first appeared on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.

The post Celebrating Fifty Years of Thomas & Thomas Fly Rods appeared first on Tail Fly Fishing Magazine.