SEVERAL FRIENDS hepped me to this; it’s a screen grab from this guy, R. Jesus Delacruz (translates to ‘of the cruz’), evidently talking some shit about Port Townsend folks. Not that I don’t. Nothing too serious from me. But, yes, folks selling a mid-priced hone in CA and buying a McMansion here is kind of erksome.
Not sure if he focused on me, or if I was just part of a pan, left or right, but…this was taken at the SAVE THE WAVES event in which a short film, “ERWIN” (available for viewing on the ‘about’ page), was being aired as part of a worldwide tour.
Doesn’t mean I am not from California. I AM A REFUGEE. Of sorts. Sold a house in San Diego in 1978, moved to Quilcene. Two of my three children were born in Port Townsend. Not sure when or where Mr. Delacruz was born, and don’t care.
ALSO, while trying to shed any vestiges of my California-ness, I’m not trying to get him more coverage.
Got to go. Work to do in Port Townsend for folks who are from somewhere else, but not from California. No, no; again; don’t care.
Reality versus perception. Whether one focuses on some dreamy, blissful time bobbing in the beauty of the ocean; or imagines entering the high intensity, frightening, high risk, big wave scenario; or one longs to be part of the scene on the beach; anger and frustration are not a large part of the construct.
But crowds and near impossible paddle outs, closeouts and drop in change the image, push one toward reality: Surfing well is not easy.
One could get angry. One could lash out. Surf Rage, something beyond A sense of resentment toward those scoring bombs and non-bomb set waves could become the reality.
Or one, and count me as one, could work out the pre surf anticipation and adrenaline peak by picking up a few scraps. Basically, by chilling the fuck out!
Photo by Keith Darrock
Meanwhile, with a lot going on in my life, I tell myself that the next opportunity for me to surf will have me taking my time, patiently waiting, perfectly willing to let a wave go to another, congratulating others on mediocre rides, sharing my gratitude for just being in the water.
That is the plan. The reality is this: I rarely surf angry. I always surf hard. The pent up feelings that have me thinking about surfing, next time, ruthlessly, don’t typically play out. Froth and rage are related, not twin emotions.
But, next time isn’t here yet. Yet.
I am writing this on my tablet. There’s A connection issue with my big boy computer. Frustrating. Yet, I am so so so chill.
I have been too busy to do work on my latest (theoretically/optimisticly finished) rewrite of my novel. OR it has been low on my priority list. HOWEVER AND ALWAYS, thoughts about it pop up. This needs more, this less. One thought that recurs is that my first chapter is, possibly, too cool. I claim to hate cuteness and too-cuteness; but there it is. Dialogue without stage direction I insist is enough.
SO, I may cut it out entirely. NO, NO, not that; I will move it to CHAPTER IV as an alternative.
Check it out. Thanks. Is today, or is every day INTERNATIONAL SURFING DAY?
July 28- PAGE VI NOW includes illustrations from 2016. Check it!
July 27- There are new posts on PAGE III, ‘serious writings,’ and PAGE VII, ‘Erwin talks to strangers.’
SKIP FRYE, PB POINT, AND PIRACY
Trish and I got married in November 1971 (she just 19, me a mature 20). We moved to Pacific Beach (PB), first to a one bedroom on Felspar, two blocks from Crystal Pier, then to the La Jolla Bella apartments, just up the hill from Tourmaline. $185/month for two bedrooms, two bathrooms.
And, for the first time since I was a baby, in Surf City, North Carolina, I was a local! Yee-haw (only carryover from babyhood)! I could skateboard or bike down to the pier, or hit the canyon, always hoping PB Point would break or there would be a connecting wall. Rare, but appreciated.
It’s not as if I made friends. There was a sort of ghetto mentality. Head down, no real eye contact. But, I did become known in the lineup and did become familiar with local standouts. I was aggressive, but teenage “pier rats,” led by Joe Roper, were always there, kicking boards at non-stop locals from, like, Claremont.
I had some run ins, but not really with the young guys. This is me, working man, before or after work and weekends. Here is where Skip Frye comes in. He would be out, somewhere on the stretch, navigating the crowd. I was most impressed at how he found waves between set waves, and casually found smooth lines while others were dropping in, bailing if the wave closed out (I meant when) relying on kook cords to save them from swimming. This with, possibly, me behind them, maybe someone within the length of the leash.
As always, I was thrashing and repairing (mostly thrashing) boards. I would go to the Gordon & Smith factory for materials. I often saw Skip Frye. Working. My image is of him, beside a dumpster, possibly trying to figure out if he recognized me. I don’t believe we ever spoke.
NoAt that I didn’t want to.
Somewhere before Trish an I bought a condo in University City (east of I-5…ahhh) Morey-Pope introduced the Waterskate. Thick down rails coming up to a raised line, that dropping to a flat deck. The boards were being produced by G&S.
I wanted one. I had pretty much totaled the cutting edge Surfboards Hawaii twin fin Trish had custom ordered for me. I had a tentative relationship with the PB Surf Shop, having done some graphics and having done menus and such for a hamburger/sandwich shop that shared the space.
Some guys with some connection were trying to sell custom garage soul boards out of the shop. They pirated the waterskate, shaped it, I painted the blank, they glassed it.
I cruise down to Tourmaline, after work, to try it out. There, on the beach, looking at me as if he might recognize me… Skip Frye.
We didn’t speak. Still, I felt a Pirate’s guilt.
The problem with the design was that stress cracks came on quickly, following the ridges. I ended up ripping off the deck’s glass, sanding out the ridges, reglassing. .
I probably bought materials at G&S. That may be where one of my lasting image of Skip Frye comes from.
Last thing: In his segment on “Pinch my Salt, ” Skip mentioned an encounter with a seal ” Out by the boil” at PB Point. One of my fondest memories is of surfing a perfect little peak alone. I took off deeper on each wave. I tried to backdoor the wave, my fin skidded out, my brand new leash dragged me across the reef. I came up with seagrass in my fingernails. And so so stoked!
I should mention thankful. Skip would. Thank you!
I am doing this on my tablet. I have some new stuff on other pages. I will update… Later.
Yeah, I am still working on it. Possibly the only advantage of taking so damn long on the novel is that new things come to me, little details I can inject into the story. Here’s one I haven’t added. Yet: A somewhat crazed guy hanging out every evening at sunset talks to Joey with some wild and poetic descriptions. If Joey seems insufficiently impressed, it might be a worthwhile addition to have him mention this.
I will get back to this when I get the image (copyright protected) reversed, black to white. This doesn’t mean I won’t make other changes. In fact, that’s guaranteed. See you!
UPDATES- NONE at the moment- Saturday, July 18.BUT…
Skip Frye and I, Skip Frye and Me- Several Anecdotes
INTRO-
A sudden, not-going-to-last obsession with classic surfer Skip Frye was triggered by an episode of “Pinch my Salt” showing up on YouTube. I’m fine watching a snippet of the pretty smarmy Sterling Spencer, but I’m never ready to spend an hour plus watching… anyone. This is what fast forward is for.
This episode promised an interview with Skip; but it did start without him. So, fast forward; though I had to watch a portion where Sterling claimed someone ‘picked his pocket.’ It turned out to be a not unusual ‘chat and steal.’ One of my standard moves. Or so I’ve been told.
Then, on to the interview. If someone personifies an eighty-three-year-old lifetime (not Skip’s, probably yours) San Diego surfer, no one better fills the role than Mr. Frye. The hosts were respectful, though Skip was pushed to say something negative about soft tops (he said someone gave him one, but he’d never ride it), surfers who put their names on popouts (almost did because Donald Takayama wanted him to make some real money, but died before it might, or might not have happened), and modern surfing competition, the toughest and truest thing he would say, though he did contests, is that the one winner ruthlessness takes something away from what is often referred to as soul surfing.
Skip, who tries to turn out six boards a week, none cheap, all highly sought after, is still the epitome of soul. Surfing or otherwise.
The other guy on the podcast, Sterling’s cousin Ryan Spencer, asked the viewers to pleas be nice to Skip in the comments. I checked. Not a negative comment in the bunch, and, when Skip pulled out a harmonica at the end and played a mellow version of, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” well, people broke into tears. Or so they said.
TAMARACK, 1965-
My family (seven kids, our mom) was parked in the lower lot, as always. I was a total beginner/kook, just switching over from mat to board. I was probably still sharing my older sister’s (Suellen’s) 9’4” stock Hobie. There had been some sort of contest. Surfers and their entourages were loading up, ready to head home. “Skip was robbed!” “Skip should’ve won!”
I have this image, real or not, in my permanent files: A blond-haired guy shrugging off the comments meant to reassure him.
PACIFIC BEACH, SAN DIEGO- 1971-1973- Later. I gotta go. But, coming… STEALING a design from TOM MOREY, surfing from Tourmaline to Crystal Pier ala Skip, finding nuggets in a crowded lineup, soul arching, ala Skip, just for the fun of it.
The Morey-Pope WATERSKATE, produced by Gordon & Smith; probably shaped by SKIP FRYE.
ULTRA CLASSIC TRIO- Photo by RON STONER, MICHAEL HYNSON paddling out, and SKIP (never not in trim) SKIP FRYE soul arching at THE RANCH.
I want to stress that I have been doing some research on this stuff. I have always been intrigued by the Hynson/Frye friendship, partially because they seem like such different individuals. If I give Hynson a lot of credit for downrail surfboards, prove me wrong. It was interesting to learn, from the podcast, that they were riding boards Michael had shaped for the 1966 Duke Kahanamoku contest. Cool.
I have some new stuff on PAGE VII, ‘”Erwin Talks to Strangers,” and on PAGE VIII, “Love Songs for Cynics.” I’m doing this as a new post, but will probably move these drawings to Page VIII later.
If I stop writing new material and re-re-re-editing older pieces, I have enough for a book. I need to look through my collection (not that there’s any real organization) of illustrations to find work that goes along with the songs and essays and… And, problem is so much is surf related and/or landscape rather than portrait, format-wise.
MEANWHILE, I ENJOY doing these border things and… I enjoy drawing. YEAH.
AND, more meanwhile, life continues to provide more material. Jeez, an annoying splotch on my. scanner. That isn’t a metaphor. No, ‘course it is. Get some surf. Keep your secret spots secret. Thanks for checking out my site.
The photographer, abovve, some of her work, below.
I am writing something about how addictive INSTAGRAM is, but, while scrolling (and, can’t help it), and (occasionally) commenting, I came across some incredible photographs of the open ocean; the chaos and the power and the beauty, taken by Rachael Talibart. I HAD to comment. The first comment on a collection of black and white images, which I self-borrowed from a possibly edited-out quote from Ruth DeFreines in my novel, “SWAMIS,” (note the self promotion here- not there) was, “Our minds fill in the colors.” It got a like/heart (part of the addictiveness).
I, of course, had already hit ‘Follow,’ so I got more posts from @rachaeltalibart. I sent a comment saying I would love to include some of her work on my HUMBLE (not by design) blog, and she ‘replied’ it was fine if I include a working link to her website.
This linking is tough for me. I will get my daughter, Dru, to assist.
What interests me is figuring out what kind of person chases storms to capture the previously mentioned power and chaos and beauty, the source of what surfers seek, groomed-out and organized, of course. NOT a lot of bio stuff readily available. Rachael lives in the south of England, gets seasick, and takes on extreme weather so folks can look at the images (she has a book, “Sirens) in comfort, perhaps with one of them as a sort of window, framed and hanging in a formal room.
Anyway, thank you, Rachael. Heart/like.
Meanwhile, I’m getting my works together and planning on having Dru help with the formatting, pre-publishing stuff for my upcoming (I promise) collection, “Love Songs for Cynics.”
I do have some newly added Original Erwin additions on my other pages (nothing on the political or religious front at the moment), so check that out if you get a chance. Contact- erwin@realsurfers.net, Instagram- realsurfersdotnet. AND thanks, as always, for spending. a little time at my humble (not by design) site. GET SOME WAVES!
UPDATE- July 6- ANNOUNCEMENT! PAGE VII has been added. It is focused on my upcoming collection, “LOVE SONGS FOR CYNICS.” Check it out.
UPDATE- July 4, 2026- 2:12 PACIFIC DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME
I just posted something on PAGE III. Check it out if you get a chance. This image is a clue.
I have, according to my phone used up all the storage for the ‘gallery.’ What this seems to mean is that I cannot film myself playing harmonica and singing original songs. SO, there goes my Instagram career hopes. I recorded two versions of my song, “Soft Persuasion,” which has a particular relevance on the day before the Fourth of July. In one, the harmonica sounds screechy and my voice sounds… kind of like it usually does; nasal-ly, flat…whatever. The second one, recorded by a local lake with the phone in the back of the Toyota, has me and the harmonica sounding okay, but, possibly because of the angle (SURE), I look, in an oversized white t shirt, well, fat. Not that I’m not. And my hair… awful.
So, I deleted all of the videos on my. phone, but, maybe because the trash section is full, no storage.
Anyway, I have been working on formatting a collection of poems and essays and songs. I do enjoy this. I’m pretty close to having “Love Songs for Cynics” ready. Because poetry is so… fancy, I plan a separate and definitely not equal section for ‘Down and Dirty Blues’ songs. This is more a ballad. Fiction, actually, with an opportunity to throw out some non-political Independence Day references. Here goes:
You offered me such SOFT PERSUASION, on the night before the fourth of July, Began as such a festive occasion, you held me close, I never asked you why,
I went off just like a Roman candle, I’m sure the light lit up half of the night, But love, that’s something we could never handle, True love’s one thing that we can’t get quite right.
(Chorus). Misunderstanding, misunderstood; I thought that we could make it happen, Now I see it ain’t no good; Misunderstanding, I got it wrong; You took the words that I has written, and wrote yourself another song.
You said it’s just a misunderstanding, said you’d never meant to lead me along; You hoped I’d have a really soft landing; You wrote down all the words to my last song.
All in all, you treated me quite kindly, You said there were some things you should explain; I had rushed in way way way too blindly; And love’s that blind can only bring one pain.
Chorus
“Some things,” you said, “Are best left unspoken,” Some things I said I never should have said; Some spells, once cast, should never be broken; some love’s not in your heart, it’s in your head.
But you’d already. heard my. confession, There is no other woman I think of; “Sometimes,” you said, “love’s really obsession;” Well, sometimes, what we think is love is love.
Chorus
I walked into the teeth of the morning; Where firecrackers popped and fuses burned; I had been knocked down without a warning; I couldn’t put in words what I had learned.
All I knew is I had never known you; And everything I thought was right was wrong; Didn’t know, from there, where I could go to; Couldn’t find a tune for my new song.
Misunderstanding, misunderstood; I thought that we could make it happen; Now I see it ain’t no good; Misunderstanding, you got it wrong; You took the words that I had written, but now I have another song.
I have been updating my artwork; check out. PAGE VII.
ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED ON ALL ORIGINAL writing and artwork on this site by Erwin A. Dence, jr. Thanks for honoring my copyrights.
AS ALWAYS, THANKS for checking in and checking my humble blog out, GET SOME WAVES, AND, PLEASE, CELEBRATE! Happy Birthday, America, and good luck to us all!
Tuesday, June 30- TRISH IS CANCER FREE! She saw the Oncologist yesterday. The numbers are all good. Thank one and all for your concern, prayers. SHE IS NOT OUT OF THE WOODS AND BACK ON THE BEACH YET. Progress is being made. Trish is trying to regain lost strength. I have a new appreciation for the hardships endured by those stricken by cancer. As always, FUCK CANCER!
ALSO, there is a new post on. PAGE VII, ERWIN TALKS TO STRANGERS. Check it out.
– PAGE VI, Original Erwin art, as of Saturday, June 27, is up to all of 2015. Give it a scroll if you get the chance.
…some stuff on what I devised for the mural project at Port Townsend’s Seamus Skate Park, an upcoming Original Erwin Coloring Book, an upcoming album of poetry and essays and blues songs, “Love Songs for Cynics,” and a possible start for a poster for the next Occasional Surf Culture on the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Salish Sea Event. AND, promising not to whine because I was not selected for the top three contestants/applicants for the Skate Park Project.
PEOPLE often stop in Port Gamble, close to where my daughter Dru (and Trish, still recovering from Cancer and Chemo) lives. The sunsets tend to be spectacular; often with that orange popsicle color. In Quilcene, the Eastern foothills of the Olympics dominate the view; that and all the trees.
SKATE PARK- I did get all jazzed up at the prospect of making big money for artistic… stuff; and got into doing some sketches. I did wait until the finalists were announced (whimper) before posting any.
I thought it would bee dramatic to have an action image on an inside corner of the low walls. I wasn’t sure how this would work, so I did a sketch, and bent it. Okay, that’s how it would work!
ORIGINAL ERWIN COLORING BOOK-
I am going through and placing artworks on a separate page. I have completed 2013, the first year of realsurfersnet, and 2014. I plan on selecting images and producing another limited edition. Soon.
“LOVE SONGS FOR CYNICS”-
My current plan is to have something that mimics a record album. I am in the process of formatting, all with an increasing awareness of the expense involved in getting an actual book together. For all the projects I have done in the past, including ORIGINAL ERWIN T SHIRTS, the artist got screwed and the publisher/manufacturer/whatever made (some) money. NOTE- Exclusivity has value. Hopefully.
SURF MUSIC AND…
If you are an actual musician, you know this isn’t actual music.
THANKS FOR CHECKING OUT my humble blog. Side note: I was kind of called out for ‘going political.’ Sorry. Couldn’t help it. I have a bit of a platform, I have fears and opinions, and, for now, freedom of speech. And you are free to not read… anything.
HIT some waves when you get the chance!
OH, and all original works by Erwin A. Dence, Jr. are copyright protected, all rights reserved. AND, no AI involved. Thanks.
Real Surfers 