Jeremy Clark didn’t set out to become a world-class photographer. He didn’t even set out to become a photographer, or a flyfisher. His path after high school led away from the trailer down a dirt road in rural Virginia to Parris Island and the Marine Corps, where he met a girl.

Today, he’s Jerms.

It’s hard to say when he became Jerms, but it was probably sometime after 9/11 when he deployed. Five years: Uzbekistan, Afghanistan, Kyrgystan, Djibouti, Iraq and Kuwait. He married that girl when they both got out and they found their way to Charleston, SC.  He was definitely Jerms then.

He settled down, in a Jerms kind of way. The dog, the house. A steady job, and an important one, providing support for the National Science Foundation’s United States Antarctic Program. Lots of time staring at a screen in an office, except those few months each year when his work took him to Antarctica by way of New Zealand. Anyone that spends enough time in a place like the Lowcountry or the South Island is going to pick up a fly rod. Jerms added a camera as well. It was the last missing piece…

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