Original Erwin designs and… I’ll get back to you
Monthly Archives: February 2024
Original Erwins in Progress, “Swamis” Again
Now that I am committed to putting out a new round of ORIGINAL ERWIN t-shirts, I’m going through my past drawings AND doing some new ones. I scanned these two on my printer AND I have two more illustrations that I have to take to a print shop. AS ALWAYS, attempting to go simpler, I fail.
LET’S DISCUSS THE SURF SITUATION on the Olympic Peninsula and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. NOT GOOD. Now, if you’re almost anywhere SOUTH of here, you should be scoring. AND the forecast is not too… thrilling. BUT I do have my HOBIE patched up and I’ve done some work on the MANTA. I’m ready to leap into some wind chop when it… let me check the forecast. Yeah, wind chop. That’s official.
As far as “Swamis” goes, I am committed to what JUST HAS TO BE a final draft before the ridiculously scary act of trying to actually sell the novel. I moved the former first chapter to the end, and though I am dying to write about what fictionally happened to the fictional characters between 1969 and now, I’m going to NOT… not yet.
My hope is that, now that I’ve completely mind-surfed the hell out of plot and characters, I might be able to cut the length down from the current 104,000 thousand words. HERE IS the new prologue and a bit more:
“SWAMIS” A novel by Erwin A. Dence, Jr.
PROLOGUE
Some events, terror and bliss, mostly, which occurred in seconds, in moments; those almost nothing in the expanse of time; expand, over time, into placemarks; a corner turned, a road taken, a life changed. Magic.
Half a century after the events, I started writing “Swamis,” as memoir. It no longer is that. This is my fourth full rewrite, with so many discarded words, deleted chapters, all in attempting to turn notes and dreams, images and remembered dialogue, into a story. I have tried to do justice to the various people, characters here, but real people with real lives, who changed mine. There are people who have come into my life, changed it in some way, and gone out. Somewhere. For the most part I do not know where they went, but I do wonder. Wonder.
The story centers on a very specific time, 1969, in a very specific place, North San Diego County. I was turning eighteen, in love, and the world I wanted swirled and revolved around surfing, and surfing revolved around Swamis.
My apologies for my writing style. Years of writing briefs, documents. Dry, perhaps, but thorough. A friend’s review of an earlier draft concluded I went for detail and clarity rather than flash and description.
“I don’t use a lot of adjectives in regular speech,” I countered.
“But this is writing,” she said, “The prologue shouldn’t be an apology.”
“Honest.”
“Sure, and it is… your own voice. Yes, it is that, and, as your mother said, ‘the mind fills in the colors.’ Different thing, I know. Photos, stories; it still applies.”
“Not arguing.”
“Not yet. But… ambiguity and bullshit aside, you don’t exactly nail down who the killer was. Or killers were. Some detective novel, Atsushi.”
“It’s in there. And… doesn’t that explain the need for detail and clarity? And, more importantly, I never said it was that… A detective novel. Trueheart.”
“There’s no such thing as a seventeen-year-old detective. Not in real life.”
“It’s in there; that quote; in the text. And… as far as real life goes…”
“From your particular viewpoint.”
“That’s all any of us have.”
“But… Joey… you called me a friend. ‘A friend’s review.’”
“Just another draft, Julie; I can… change it.”
“To what?”
“Keep reading. It’s in there.”
CHAPTER ONE- MONDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 2023
“The allure of waves was too much, I’m told, for an almost three-year-old, running, naked into them. If I say I remember how the light shone through the shorebreak waves, the streaks of foam sucked into them; if I remember the shock of cold water and the force with which the third wave knocked me down, the pressure that held me down, my struggle for air; if I say I remember anything other than my mother clutching me out and into the glare by one arm… Well, that would be, this all happening before the accident; that would be… me… creating a story from fragments. Wouldn’t it, Doctor?”
“Memories. Dreams. We can’t know how much of life is created from… fragments. But, please, Joey; the basketball practice story; I didn’t get a chance to write it down. So, the guy…”
“Locker room. After. I’m not here because of that… offense.”
“I am aware. Just… humor me.”
“He said I had a pretty big… dick… for a Jap. I said, ‘Thank you.’ All the Varsity players came in. Most stood behind him. He said, ‘Oh, that’s right; your daddy the cop, he’s all dick.’ Big laugh.”
“Detective,” I said. “Sorry about your brother at the water fountain, but I’m on probation already… and I don’t want to cut my hand… on your front teeth.’”
“Whoa! Did that end it? Joey. Joey, are you… You’re remembering the incident.”
“I tried to walk away. He… Basketball. I never had a shot. Good passer, great hip chuck.”
“All right. So, let’s talk about the incident for which you are here.”
ALL RIGHTS to all ORIGINAL WORK by Erwin A. Dence, Jr. are reserved by the author/illustrator. THANK YOU for respecting these rights, AND, AS ALWAYS, for checking out realsurfers.net
Cut Out of “Swamis”
The novel is complete… but… HERE is something I tried to write to tie all the stuff together. After the story exposition. Perhaps. The characters have lives after the novel; I’m in the process of deciding that doesn’t have to be explained. I probably will cut Grant Murdoch out of the novel, or at least, edit him down. SIDENOTE- I really didn’t want the dialogue to sound TOO HIP. I read some of my stuff; most likely too hip. Shit!
‘Let me show you my latest acrylic.” Grant Murdoch, Jr. moved his foot against the Costco cooler bag that was leaning against the chain link fence and turned toward the shower between us and the bathroom building.
I pulled two old PeeChee folders, three notebooks in each, from the bag, coughed, and said, “I hope you’re not… perving out, Grant. I don’t want… guilt by association.”
“Because you’re a local?”
“Because it’s… yeah; the local thing. It’s…”
Grant was smiling when he turned back toward me. “So, my father said that what he learned from all the notes was…”
“The notes stolen from me.”
“I thought you said it was a relief.”
“It was. I didn’t know shit. People thought I did and told me… everything.”
“Exactly. You and Grant Fucking Murdoch, Sr. agree. But… then you did.”
“And… I am curious as to who stole my folders.”
“Attorney-client privilege?” Grant nodded. “Inherited clients?” Grant smiled.
I put the folders back into the bag, pulled out the twelve-by-eighteen stretched canvas.
A woman shuffled toward us. She was wearing a spring suit; short legs, full length arms; half-wrapped in a towel and wearing sandals. She leaned a well-used mid-length board against the fence, said, “Boys,” and moved toward Grant for a hug. Not a long one. Greeting length.
“Joey tells me you think he should cut me out of the book?” She didn’t respond. “I don’t move the plot… enough.”
“We’ll see. Joey can’t seem to let the… writing… go.”
I handed the seascape to Grant, pulled a pair of glasses from the pocket of my sweatshirt, and handed them to Julie. She looked at the painting, put one hand on Grant’s shoulder, the other on mine. “You almost caught the magic there, Grant.”
“Almost,” Grant said.
“Magic,” Julie and I said, me just a moment behind her.
COPYRIGHT Erwin A. Dence, Jr. All rights reserved. Thanks for reading. NOW, WHERE are the waves?
NEW Original Erwin T Shirts and… yeah… more
I haven’t done any t shirts in a while. There has been a lot of interest and I have done other drawings that are not included here because… I haven’t scanned them yet. I am trying to make my illustrations simpler, but, somewhere in the process, they all go a bit psychedelic.
All the shirts I’ve done and sold or given away (Trisha’s idea, to her friends, some to clients) are gone, and, as mine are, probably wearing out. If you have one, hold on to it. It’s not just my ego saying this. Okay, mostly that, but they are all truly limited editions.
Limited by my having to put out the money all at once, the return coming in… slower.
But, I do have some limited backing, have discussed some potential local outlets, and I am ready to go!
The three toward the bottom are designs I’ve done. I will probably not do the one immediately below, and, as far as color, it’s way more expensive unless I go with a sort of modern day version of iron on, and then… I’m obviously not someone who deals in percentages and wholesale/retail, nor do I really want to be. I just want to keep drawing simple little pen and ink illustrations and… I WILL HAVE a few more examples next time. WEDNESDAY.
OH, I am going to do the one below the “Locals” one first; white on black. It seems kind of, you know, graphic and only semi-psychedelic.
All images are copyright protected and are the sole property of Erwin A. Dence, Jr. All rights reserved.
MEANWHILE, I just (as in yesterday) had a bit of a fall; ladder slipped, I started falling, grabbed onto ladder with one hand, slowing my descent, hit metal railing with my back, landed on stairway and two open paint cans, totally destroying them and cutting and bruising the shit out of the back of both legs, and spilling the two colors I’m using on a Victorian I have the least of. SO, rather like any fall you see on any skateboarding video. I ALSO destroyed my work cellphone, its screen already cracked. SO, that’s not good. Trying to figure out what to do about that. SWAP sim card with new phone like they do in every spy movie? Meanwhile, the message says I’ll get back to you and… Yeah, Ibuprofen.
There are waves… somewhere. Hope you find some.
“Swamis” ‘Sexy Scene’, FrankenSUP, More from the Adam’s Family Big Island Vacation, and…
…that’s about it. Oh, yeah; HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!
I AM, AGAIN, at the end of the latest complete rewrite of “Swamis.” As in, where an author is supposed to write, in case a lack of more pages isn’t enough, “THE END.” I wrote, “NOT EVEN CLOSE TO THE END.” The current version is, after thousands of words were cut, at a little over 103,000 words. As I explained in an earlier post, I was forced to move the first chapter, which, cleverly, I thought, set in something more like the current time, answered a lot of questions I didn’t want to spell out at the end.
AFTER several attempts to write something concise AND with the all important AWESOME first line, I am pretty much just changing all the chapter numbers on my next go-through. LAST? I hope so. ONE OF THE ISSUES I wanted a new opening chapter to deal with is the writing style of the fictional narrator, JOSEPH DeFREINES, JR, aka Atsushi Defreines, aka Jody, aka Joey.
It sort of comes down to whether, as I’m hoping, the clues JOEY finds along the course of the novel are enough for a reader to draw conclusions. It’s not some conscious attempt at might-be-cool (or another failed attempt at it) AMBIGUITY, but Mr. DeFreines, who, after years as an attorney (alluded to but not overtly stated) writes in a very controlled way, clarity over flash. To that end, I wrote, and will not use, a line like, “I don’t use a lot of adjectives in my regular conversation, why should I do so because I’m writing rather than telling the story.”
WHAT’S CHANGED in my constantly working and editing and thinking about the story, “Swamis,” is that it has become much more a love story, Julie and Joey, tangled in the rush and roar of 1969. I have tried to convince the LOVE OF MY LIFE, TRISH, that it would make a great HALLMARK MOVIE. “Oh, with a guy being burned alive and all that?” “Yes I mean, it’s not gratuitous.”
I might be if Joseph DeFreines used more ADJECTIVES.
With apologies for going on about this, I wrote a sub-chapter, moved it to another place because I didn’t know where to fit it in. The place is now the depository of the latest rounds of cuts. AND, when I asked our daughter, DRUCILLA, to check out something on the laptop I am borrowing from her, she had to comment, out loud, “Oh, ‘Sexy scene,” to which Trish responded, “Really? I might have to read that.”
Sexy Scene for “Swamis”
“No, Julie, it was more you than me… The kissing. I was… more… controlled.”
It was late in the afternoon. There were still three surfers out. Julie and I were on the point end of the lifeguard tower. Our towels had slid into a single pile on the x shaped cross members. “No, Joey. You certainly were not.”
“I certainly tried to be… controlled.”
Julie reached into her big gray bag, unwrapped a top, basically something like a small apron. “Controlled. You… weren’t. But… enthusiastic. Yes.”
“More like surprised.”
“Are you going to… look away?”
“You look away; I’m the one who’s… topless.”
“Yes, you are.” Julie put the palm of her left hand on my chest. “You and your stick out nipples.”
“Nipples?” I crossed my arms over my chest. Julie untied the strap on her bikini top, her left hand holding her top to her chest. She widened her eyes. I turned, untangled my towel from hers, spun around and backed up a bit closer to her, holding the towel up and out in front of both of us. “In case those guys… in the water, have… really good eyesight.”
“Really good? Thanks.”
“Not a… I didn’t mean…”
Julie pressed her body against mine, slid her arms around me, her hands on my chest until she had my alleged stick out nipples between the first two fingers of each hand.
I tried not to inhale. Failed. A deep breath I was afraid to exhale.
“Don’t giggle, Joey.”
“You are.”
“You know it was my birthday…” Julie stopped giggling. “…over the weekend. I’m legal!”
“Congratulations. I’m not… legal… yet.”
“I’m willing to risk it.” Julie took a breath. “If you are.”
The towel dropped away as I spun, slowly, with control, Julie’s arms never fully pulling away, toward Julie, my arms squeezing her closer.
Closer.
I FEEL DUTY-BOUND to now mention that, whether or not I use this for the novel, it is still protected by copyright. Thanks for respecting that.
WIPEOUT UPDATE- This is the EMU Adam “Wipeout” James’s son, EMMETT caught off the Big Island. It was prepared by a chef in Seattle, presumably the woman in the photo. ALSO, and it may be because, like realsurfers.net, Adam and the HAMA HAMA OYSTER COMPANY have a world wide reach, my site got a higher than average number of hits since I posted the photos and story of the Adam’s family vacation. So, thanks.
FRANKENSUP UPDATE- Thanks to Joel Carbon for the apt description. Yes, that is my thumb. Yes, I did need a skil saw to cut the fin box out of the tail section of the first SUP I owned. And chisels, and knives. I filled in the big divot with foam from the same board, used some leftover cloth and some resin given me by Keith Darrock to cover the wound. Oh, and the sawhorses were from Mikel “Squintz” Comiskey, cutting down on possessions before he moved to the Big Island. I am also holding on to binoculars and a trophy he won at the Cape Kawanda Longboard contest a few years ago. I’m using the trophy, a beautiful turned bowl, for my keys, not that I still don’t still misplace them.
SPEAKING OF OLD DUDES WITH BAD MEMORIES, I’m thinking that will be my new excuse for bad lineup behavior when I get back to searching the Strait of Juan de Fuca for waves. “Backpaddling? Oh, sorry, I didn’t notice you.” Yeah, age, along with my wearing earplugs and my hearing being no better than marginal without them.
I DO PLAN on doing more board repair on the HOBIE. I guess I’ve had it for six or seven years, way longer than any other board I’ve ever owned (and thrashed), and ALL I WANT is another six or seven years out of it.
It’s still Winter. Get some waves when you can. And, again, HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY to all the lovers out there.
INSTANT COMMENTARY from (obvious alias) Frank Lee Darling: “If your taking a swipe at Biden. He doesn’t remember all the good things he’s done. Marmalade Man can’t thinnk of any. Because bone spurs never don anything that wasn’t self serving. That’s it. Connot wait til you book comes out. Probably banned and or burnt in Fla.
ADAM’S FAMILY big island VACATION
If you rely on the waves on the Strait of Juan de Fuca to provide you with all the surfing satisfaction you can reasonably handle… well… There is a reason surfers who can go elsewhere do… go elsewhere. Of the loosely bundled group that might or might not be considered the Jefferson County CREW (as differentiated from if not opposed to the Clallam County or, heavens, the crews from King or Thurston or any other county) one is in New Zealand, another in Mexico, and two local rippers are planning a brief escape to, perhaps, Panama.
So, ADAM JAMES, who does actually live in Mason County, but, by virtue of his wide travels pushing HAMA HAMA OYSTERS to the known world, and who seems to be welcomed everywhere he goes, figured out a way to get to the BIG ISLAND, AND, AND, and to include his family: Andrea and their two sons, EMMETT and CALVIN (aka BOOMER), whose names I include because I keep having to ask Adam, AND because it is important to know more about our surf friends than whether or not they are goofy foot. Adam- no; regular foot but known to use a parallel stance on occasion.
OKAY, and I know it’s annoying, here is, after some further babbling, the photo array:
YOU DON’T get the full ADAM WIPOUT storytelling advantage here. I did. It was great. Next time Adam is backpaddling you, ask him about shooting the boar, or who this guy is, or pretty much anything. IT does look like this board was pretty far along before this Big Island breakage. I don’t believe this surfer was identified by name.
That’s Mikel “SQUINTZ” Cumiskey in the second shot. He seems to move, frequently, from Florida to Port Townsend to the Big Island. Mike and Adam met up, hit some of the spots. YES, Adam dropped names (Pine Trees, Banyons, secret spots with names I already forgot), had to include that the locals welcomed him graciously, AND that, by luck, he discovered a spot by the hotel they were staying at.
NOW, I have done some work for the Hama Hama Oyster Company, so I should include that the one photo is of Nate, the hatchery manager for JAMESTOWN SEAFOOD. The hatchery is owned by the Jamestown/s’klallam tribe. Nate is holding a few thousand 2-3 mm Kumamoto Oyster seed. They are sent from the hatchery to East Sequim Bay to grow to 12mm, at which point they are shipped to farms such as the Hama Hama tideflats on the Hood Canal. Nate is based out of Kona and, with his wife, Melissa, took Adam and Emmett out on their boat.
THERE WERE other photos, more waves, but I should also mention the boar was shot, by Adam. The way Adam told me, “So, Brian tells me, ‘the boar’s gonna charge you, but he’ll stop short. When he does, you have to shoot him right between the eyes. One shot. These guys eat twenty-two bullets like candy.’ It did… stop. I shot. Boom.”
BRIAN works for HAWAIIAN SHELLFISH on the Hilo side. Hama Hama also buys seed from them.
If I got any of this wrong, sorry.
MEANWHILE, look for waves when you can, and, if you find them, surf them. I am totally planning on restoring my HOBIE, which I did purchase from Adam Wipeout, like six or seven years ago, and, no Adam, I did pay it off.
Here’s something I got as a comment from someone who identified as FRANK LEE DARLING: “Those Cristians (sic) who can’t seem to not follow the sunburned turd should realize there not part of the flock, they’re part of the mob. Hope you get what I’m saying, Dude.” Not political, Frank, not sure if you’re talking about ALEX KNOST. No need to write back to explain.
IF YOU’RE CRUISING up or down SURF ROUTE 101, you might as well check out HAMA HAMA OYSTERS. If you have access to the internet, might as well check realsurfers.net on Sundays and Wednesdays. Not, like, dawn patrol.
Why You Shouldn’t Care What Others Think About Your Surfing and Why You DO
I tried to pre-write this, but I had to edit it. WHY? Because I care.
I do care. I almost wish I didn’t… but I do. Every time I surf I try to surf as well as the waves will allow, and as well as I can.
Yes, I surf for fun, and I do have fun, but it would be even funner if I didn’t put asterisks next to my name and provide disclaimers before others get the opportunity to do so. But I do. I do this any time I describe myself (to pretty much anyone) as a surfer (“No, really, I surf, but…”), or if I recall (even to myself) my latest surf session (“Sure, I was ripping it up, but… knees, age, big ass board, paddle, years of experience, etc.”). Not excuses, explanations.
The negative self-explainers are pre-staged, baked-in as I try to gauge or grade my ability to ride waves in relation to others in the water (“Okay, five people out. I’d say I was… third best.”). Subjective. And I have asked other surfer’s opinions (“More like four; you’re getting… better.”). Subjective. The other, more important criteria was whether or not my surfing was improving (“Oh, I got in your wave? Hey, man, I’m just learning, etc.”). Excuse.
All this self-analysis goes on before (“Oh, it’s crowded, tricky, someone’s feelings are going to get hurt”), during (“Why didn’t I go for a side-slip?”), and after, all the while trying to guess what others might be saying (“Sure, he catches a lot of waves, but…), which of the available asterisks they might put beside my name, or exactly how others gauge or grade or… judge my surfing ability. I wish I didn’t care, but I do. And maybe you do.
But here’s the truth: No one is analyzing you as much as you are self-analyzing.
With exceptions. In fact, an even truer truth: Everyone judges everyone else; we attempt to put ourselves in front of or behind you in an innumerable number of categories, one of which, as surfers, is the ability to ride a wave competently. And we rate each other, definitely, on where a person fits on the kook-to-cool-to-totally arrogant dick/princess scale.
My site being ‘realsurfers’ is discriminatory. You are or you aren’t. Qualifications vary.
I recently asked a woman surfer on the beach if she judges whether a random person, before he or she actually gets in the water, is a decent surfer. “Definitely.”
“Yeah. If I saw me, I’d say (disclaimer alert) ‘that guy’s too old, too fat… not a real surfer.’” “Probably,” the woman may have said, and could have added “But…” Objective. I can… surf.
On the same outing, I asked a guy about the GoPro mounted on the front of his board. “WHY?” “Huh.” “I mean, everyone, no matter how good or bad he or she surfs, or how big the wave is, if the camera’s pointed at the surfer, it just looks… fake… Beach Party kind of fake.” “Well, I do it to work on my technique.”
At that point, because I am pretty far along on the ‘arrogant dick’ scale, I replicated the GoPro moves. I’m not sure the guy appreciated it. Still, realistic.
It should be easily believed that none of us look as cool as we think we do. A simple cell phone video from the shore or a fancy drone shot will prove this. Easily.
All surfers look awkward some of the time, some look stylish some of the time, few look either stylish or awkward all of the time. Maybe Clay Marzo can look awkward AND stylish all the time.
Forgive me, but I really don’t care how well you say you surf. Or once surfed. I’ve pretty much given up on telling people I rode six-foot boards for years, or I surfed here or there, or that I have surfed waves that were… challenging.
No. I still do that, but I wish I could… stop.
If I recount my history and list my credentials, it might not explain why I can’t surf up to my self-hype. That could be embarrassing. If I cared.
And I do.
For me, it’s all part of the FUN. Fun-funner-funnest. See you… out there.
Dear Hobie… Sponsor Me… Please
BEFORE I get into how HOBIE SHOULD SPONSOR ME (as in provide me with a replacement for the board, above), I want to apologize for not posting on Wednesday. I woke up on Thursday and thought it was Wednesday. It wasn’t. RATHER than putting out something to explain this but without any worthwhile content, I… well, I’m posting this now. Sunday. For some reason, I kept thinking yesterday was Sunday, as in, “It seems like a lot of people go to church and then… Costco,” to which my friend STEPHEN R. DAVIS, replied, “Do a lot of people go to church on Saturday?” I still didn’t catch it. “Jewish people, Seventh Day Adventists,” to which Steve could have replied, “Oh, but then do they go shopping… on the SABBATH?” Still didn’t get it.
PERHAPS MY CONFUSION had some connection to my beloved HOBIE 10’6″ SUP, admittedly well-to-overused-to-thrashed, having its fin violently ripped out, half the fin box gone, a certain amount of foam and fiberglass with it.
PERHAPS, MY ASS; it was totally that.
THE MOST TRAGIC thing about the incident is that I was in no way ready to get out of the water.
It was one of those sessions that was a combination of really fun rides and some beatdowns. NOTE, I would never trade a session like this a soft and safe one, nothing bad, nothing great. HAVING SAID THAT (and this may the first time I’e ever said ‘having said that’), I’m pretty much frothed up to overflowing anytime I see the kind of waves there is just no way I’m not going to attempt to ride.
SO, after a few behind the section wipeouts left me in the impact zone, with, of course, five or six wave sets, and after losing my paddle on another ride (and thanks to the guy who spotted it and grabbed it), I was cruising along on another insider when… FWAPPP! “What?” It felt like I’d hit a drifting log or something; the sound was like hitting a two-by-four against another one; and then… yeah, I finished the ride, flipped the board over and…
YES, I did tell others on the beach that I felt like crying. I did… feel like it, having an opportunity to watch others surf waves, some of which I might have been on. I DIDN’T. I still might. I love that board. ODDLY, my unused froth seemed to be channelled into being nice to pretty much everyone I ran into. “Have a nice day,” stuff like that, though, on the way home, at the exact moment another rig with surfboards on the racks passed me, they going out, me going home, I whispered something like “Good luck,” something I in no way meant. Sincerely.
So, dear HOBIE, HERE’S MY PITCH:
The first surfboard I ever rode, in 1965, was my sister SUELLEN’S 9’4″ stock model HOBIE; wide, thick, rounded nose, adequate kick, big ass fin. I loved that board. SO MUCH so that our parents had to get me a board of my own. NO, not, sadly, a Hobie.
ADMITTEDLY, I have loved other boards. SURFBOARDS HAWAII; still have fond memories of my 9’10” noserider, my 9’6″ pintail, my 6’something” twin fin (TRISH bought this for me- custom). And I have had dalliances with backyard/soul/homemade boards I put together from stripped-down longboards or blanks (seconds) purchased from the GORDON AND SMITH factory. I have surfed on at least one board (a popout) my father purchased from those confiscated at Trestles.
If most surfers suffer from BOARD ENVY, or even BOARD LUST, and I cannot truly say that I do not look at the fancy boards (and I’m imagining a 6 foot JJF FISH I saw in this guy’s tricked-out Sprinter van) owned by surfboarders who in no way can do the board justice, or ride it properly (and realizing, sadly, that I haven’t been capable for riding sub-nine-foot boards for many years) with some of that lust in my heart.
I also realize it means little to say I never owned, or wanted to own a board by HANSEN or GORDON AND SMITH; as if I had some sort of loyalty. It may say something about something if I admit I shared a sort of prejudice, when I lived in San Diego County, against any board manufactured north of DANA POINT, and now that BING is, evidently located there, though I am 1,200 mile away, I kind of think Bing board might be okay. AND, since I’m confessing stuff here, I should mention that I had a local shop, when I lived in Pacific Beach, pirate a shape (WATERSKATE) designed by Morey/Pope and test ridden by PB legend SKIP FRYE.
STILL, after riding a longboard made by an OLYMPIC PENINSULA shaper, which I didn’t love, but got at a decent price, and procuring an 11’6″ SUP made in China by trading out worked for it (didn’t hate the board, and did thrash the shit out of it, hitting pretty much every rock of consequence on the Strait of Juan de Fuca and elsewhere) I got my HOBIE, on payments, from ADAM ‘WIPEOUT’ JAMES.
I am not even sure how long I’ve had it, but, at 72 years old, I had planned on it being the last board I will own. BUT, SHIT, MAN, I am not ready to quit, and though one of my friends has offered to loan and/or sell me another SUP, and another, who loaned me one once, has declined to do it again, I EITHER need to fix the HOBIE or get another board. It’s not like I’m poor, BUT…
I was going to say that I might be a perfect representative for all things HOBIE. Yes, Trish keeps me stocked in Hobie gear (after my board destruction, for example, moaning and whimpering, but not crying, I wandered the beach in my new Hobie hoodie); BUT, because my REPUTATION (and I am told I have one) is not as 100% saintly, AND because I’ve spent a lot of verbiage on this subject, I will save it for WEDNESDAY.
MAYBE I WILL write it today, just to make sure I don’t get confused about the days.
ART NEWS ART NEWS ARTNEWS ARTNEWS ARTNEWSARTNEWS ART… NEWS
Original paintings, cards, and prints by ARTIST/SURFER/KITESURFER/SKATER/HOCKEY PLAYER/ETC. STEPHEN R. DAVIS are currently being displayed and available for purchase at MARROWSTONE VINYARDS, Norfland, Washington. If you’re out cruising the Peninsula, or perhaps got skunked trying to surf, or disappointed trying to find snow, check out his stuff.
AGAIN, I should have taken photos when I was, POST DISASTER, hanging out the North by Northwest Surf Shop in Port Angeles. Formerly owned by FRANK CRIPPEN, the shop is now owned by TATE (should learn people’s last names, also) and his wife. With stuff for snow, skate, and surf, there is also work by local artists. Already familiar with work by Nam Siu, Todd Fischer, Reggie Smart, I was VERY IMPRESSED with (original) watercolors by AMY (again, last names). I’ve seen Amy surfing on the Strait for quite a while, do doubt burned her a few times, but, through STU (not to be confused with Mike), I discovered Amy who was watching their child, or child while her husband surfed (with four children running around, it was not clear which one or two was or were theirs) did art. SO, since I couldn’t surf, I went over to talk to her about doing, and SELLING art. My thought was she should also do prints and cards, more opportunity to get surfing related art to the masses.
MORE on all of this next time. THANKS, AS ALWAYS, for reading.
Real Surfers 