Monthly Archives: June 2024

BACK to “Swamis,” Surf Culture Event, More

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THE FOURTH OCCASIONAL SURF CULTURE ON THE STRAIT OF JUAN DE FUCA AND THE SALISH SEA EVENT is scheduled for Wednesday, July 17, 6 to 8 pm, Port Townsend Public Library. The emphasis is on “Talking Story,” with distinguished story talkers and… regular-but-real surfers, AND there will be surf focused art by Olympic Peninsula artists, AND there will be outtakes or a gag reel, at least, or the actual world premier of a short documentary on a longtime surf villian blowing up at (or just blowing up) a local not-secret-enough spot.

I’m not sure how to link stuff, but more information on the participants, and updates are available at https://ptpubliclibrary.org/library/page/fourth-occasional-surfing-art-culture-salish-sea

Or, of course, I will post whatever I know. AND, I am making efforts to have some ORIGINAL ERWIN T SHIRTS available. New ones.

I have several other illustrations that haven’t been scanned. So… decisions.

“SWAMIS” UPDATE- With my fourth oir fifth total edit/rewrite was stuck at over 105,000 words, I have been dealing with the knowledge that I would have to further cut back on the timeline. Because Microsoft Word on the laptop I am ‘borrowing’ from my daughter, Drucilla, suddenly started going… really… slow, I found a pretty good place to end what may or may not be the first book of… I don’t know, at least one more, THOUGH I’ve pretty much had enough of the writing style of the fictional narrator, JOSEPH ATSUSHI DE FREINES. He’s just a little too OCD for me AND it makes me worry.

So, currently, the manuscript is down to under 90,000 words, AND, because I was in severe panic mode, I took the thumb drive to COHO PRINTING and had 8 copies printed up. I’ve already given away two of them. AND, because the new epilogue and the new, foreshortened ending were the last things I wrote, AND because I am, in addition to the other psycho damage, evidently anal retentive about writing and cannot look at my work without changing it, I have done more on the first several pages.

I plan on printing them up separately, and… yeah, planning.

DRU updated the Microsoft, so, fast, fast, too fast. The good news is, with all the stuff I have written in the bloated, unexpurgated versions, I have lots of material, AND because I have what I intended to be the ending at a state where I was… almost… satisfied with it, it might be easier to continue with “Swamis.”

HINT- I’m considering “Beacons,” another Encinitas surf spot, as a subtitle for part II, then… “Grandview…” maybe. Anyway, here’s the latest. I’m pretty satisfied… Almost.

“SWAMIS” A novel by Erwin A. Dence, Jr.

                                    PROLOGUE

            Some moments, terror and bliss, mostly, that occurred in seconds, become, over time, placemarks. A corner turned, a decision made, a life changed. The mundane and the magic become part of the story. It’s easier to remember the magic.

            I started writing “Swamis” as memoir; fifty years after a specific time in a location that was, to me, magical. Swamis. If I believed I was the observer of other people’s lives, a part of someone else’s audience, listening to their stories, remembering the best parts, recording them; the real people placed, as characters, into positions in some larger story I believed I understood; and I did believe that; I was wrong. Wrong about it all.

            Whatever I saw, whatever I recorded, whatever role I played made little or no difference in what seemed inevitable. Still, I was there, almost eighteen, and thrilled to be there.

            Recalling, and writing, and editing, and rewriting has come to mean throwing out the peripheral and tangential stories, the ones I love knowing, the deep cuts. I have, finally, concluded that I want to tell more than one book’s worth. Still, this manuscript, with fifteen-thousand words cut and saved in some other file, might be the end of my trying to recapture the feel of a time in which change hit a new gear. Surf and evolution and revolution and peace and love and a war in the background, a drug culture morphing into an industry, heroes and villains, if anyone fit into either category, impossibly connected.  

            The murder and the mystery, all the other stories; “Swamis” was always going to be about Julie. And me. Julie and me. Magic.

                                    CHAPTER ONE- MONDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 1969

            “The allure of waves was too much, I’m told, for an almost three-year-old, running, naked, into them. If I tell you 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… or even that… Well, Doctor Peters, that would be, this all happening before the accident; that would be… me… creating a story from fragments. Wouldn’t it… be… that?”

            “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…”

            “I’m not here because of that… offense.”

            “I am aware. Just… humor me.”

            “I was… Freshman team. Locker room. They staggered practice. I was… slow… getting dressed. Bus schedules. He… FFA guy… Future Farmers. JV. Tall, skinny, naked, foot up on a bench. he said I had a pretty big… dick… for a Jap. I said, ‘Thank you.’ It was more like a question. All the Varsity players came in. Most stood behind him. He said, ‘Oh, that’s right; your daddy; he’s all dick.’ Big laugh.”

“’Detective,’ I said. ‘And, Rusty, I am sorry about your brother at the water fountain. I’m on probation already… and I’m off the wrestling team, and…’ I talk really fast when I’m… forced to… talk. I’m sure you’ve made note. I said, ‘I don’t want to cut my hand… on your big buck teeth.’ Bigger laugh. Varsity guys going, ‘Whoa,’ and… He was embarrassed. His brother… it’s in the records, that incident. Fourth grade. Right after I… came back.”

            “Joey, are you…? You’re picturing it… the incident. You are.”         

“No. I… Yes. I quite vividly imagine… incidents. In both cases, I tried to do what my father taught me… or tried to. ‘Walking away is not backing down.’ Basketball. I never had a shot. Good passer, great hip check.”

            “He… Rusty, he charged at you?”

            “He closed his eyes. I didn’t.”

            “All right. So, so, so… Let’s talk about the incident for which you are here. You had a foot on… a student’s throat. Yes? Yes. He was, as you claim, already on the ground… faking having a seizure. He alleges he wasn’t a threat to you; wasn’t charging at you. Have you considered…?”

            “The bullied becomes the bully? It’s… easy, simple, logical… not new; and I have… considered it. Let’s just say it’s true then. I am… this is my story… trying to mend my ways. Look, Grant’s dad alleges… assault. I’m… I get it; I’m almost eighteen. Grant claims he and his buddies were just… fooling around; adolescent… fun; I can, conceivably… claim, and I have, the same.”

            “But it wasn’t… fun… for you?”

            “It… kind of… was. Time’s up. My mom’s… waiting.”

            “Joey… I am, can be… the bully here. So… sit the fuck back down!”

Chimacum Tim Pauley sent me this photo of PAVONES. The memorial for EDINSON SERNA is today. Edinson’s brother lives near this epic Central American break. Some secret photos Tim has sent me in the past were taken by Edinson. One of them, secretly circulated among, you know, friends who wouldn’t share it except to, you know, a few friends, always had the question of who caught this magic moment on at was, up until this very time, an uneventful/normal session.

Thank you, Edinson, rest in peace.

LATE BREAKING and INCOMPLETE…

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WORD ON THE STRAIT. More on all of this on Sunday, including a list of scheduled, distinguished speakers, artists’ work on display, short documentary, and more.

Classic stylist Archie Endo is back from Thailand. Temporarily. I am hoping to do a surf trip with him before he goes back.

Stephen R. Davis conquers another peak.

SAD NEWS via CHIMACUM TIMACUM (Tim Pauley) on the passing of EDINSON SERNA:

“There will be a celebration of life for Edinson Serna this Sunday at Myrtle Edwards Park at 4pm. We will be meeting by the PI building by the sculpture garden on the water.

Many of us knew Eddie fron surfing in the Pacific Northwest. He was always a vvery likable guy, super stoked, positive, and excited to be in the water surrounded by people. Hope to see everyone this Sunday. RIP”

NOT-SECRET-ENOUGH stuff. Professional videographer ANNIE FERGERSON (left) will be, if not premiering a short documentary on a notorious wave hog at the upcoming CULTURE EVENT, at least showing outtakes or a gag reel. NOTE; The goonball with the cap ON TOP OF the hoodie put this off fro a while, then, in true self-centered, sociopathic fashion, agreed to be filmed (with certain restrictions as to the angle from the beach, no gratuitous nudity, etc.). “Yeah, I figured, at my age, I would love to see a slow motion video of me, you know, like, cruising, and, uh, yeah… what?” WHAT?

DETAILS ON all of this and more on SUNDAY, you know, like, maybe don’t look for it before, like 10am, Pacific Daylight Savings Time. There will also be updates on ORIGINAL ERWIN T SHIRTS and, now that my daughter, Dru, fixed the slowdown on microsoft word, the novel, “SWAMIS.”

MEANWHILE, keep working on your surf stories. We’ll talk soon.

Microsoft Word Doesn’t Like “Swamis” on Sundays, Stealing Something from Keith, and…

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…It isn’t as if Keith doesn’t steal (as in a wave or two) or borrow a few things from me (though borrowing doesn’t fit as well with the surf metaphor) a few things from me, including the graphic below, but it was just so easy to copy and paste the announcement for the FOURTH OCCASIONAL SURF CULTURE ON THE STRAIT OF JUAN DE FUCA AND THE SALISH SEA EVENT from Librarian Keith’s (as opposed to Cougar Keith or any other Keith) Port Townsend Public Library newsletter… and just… repost it.

Because excuses are always necessary when taking things without permission (such as, “Oh, you actually wanted that wave?”) I would say the goal here is to further spread the news.

Erwin Dence

Join us at the library, WEDNESDAY, JULY 17th, 6 to 8 pm, for an evening of surfing stories and surf art. Writers and story-tellers include, Greg Tindell, Drew Kampion, Tim Nolan, Dana Terill and Erwin Dence. A crew of local surf artists may be present to show their work. 

Greg Tindall
Although Greg Tindall has written for the UK-based Surfer’s Path, the US-centric Surfer’s Journal and Australia’s equivalent, White Horses, and while he has covered surf contests for Surfline and hurricane-surf seasons for ESPN, his true passion is telling stories in-person.  From the Society of the Four Arts in Palm Beach, as a Florida Voice, to the Surfing Heritage And Cultural Center (SHACC) in San Clemente, from the Tuckerton Seaport in New Jersey to the Libby Little Theatre in Montana, Greg now has the privilege of telling some good ones to his friend and mentor, Drew Kampion.

Drew Kampion is a former editor of SURFER (1968-72), SURFING (1973-82), WIND SURF (1982-89), and WIND TRACKS (1996-99) magazines. He was Editorial Director for the Patagonia clothing company (1990-91) and Associate Editor for NEW AGE JOURNAL (1992). He founded, published, and edited the ISLAND INDEPENDENT (1993-96), an award-winning “bioregional magazine in newsprint,” serving the “maritime rainshadow” islands of Washington State. For his work with the INDEPENDENT, he received first prize for editing a periodical with a circulation under 50,000. Until recently, Drew was the American Editor of THE SURFER’S PATH, world’s first “green” surf magazine. His episodic parody, THE TEACHINGS OF DON REDONDO: A SURFER’S WAY OF KNOWLEDGE (as illustrated by artist Tom Threinen) was a regular feature of the magazine. 

Erwin Dence is a writer and visual artist residing in Quilcene. He is well known for his regional surf-centric essays on his website realsurfers.net. Erwin is also in the final stages of the surf novel, Swami’s. His visual art is vivid, surreal and at times hypnotic. His art will be on display at the event. 

“SWAMIS” WISE, because, last Sunday, my computer went from fast to ‘oh my God, what the fuck’s gone wrong’ mode last Sunday, right after I decided to pull out early, so to speak, chopping off the last fifteen-thousand words or so, but it seemed okay on Monday, I took my thumb drive to COHO PRINTING and had eight copies printed up.

IT’S A DIFFERENT THING, looking at a manuscript on paper. 104 pages on the computer, 90,000 words, printed front and back to reduce waste if not cost, is still a lot of paper. And it’s… real. Tangible. Touchable. And… shit; I want to make changes.

THE LAST things I wrote were a last chapter modified to fit better as the end of… of this; with so much more to the story; and a new epilogue because the one I had written before the last rewrite no longer fit. SO, eight copies in a box, a copy in hand, questions in my mind on who could read them, I realized the new epilogue was possibly as ill-fitting as the others. Yes, others; there are others of everything.

SO, I DECIDED TO JUST start with the first chapter; all dialogue, not too much (but enough) exposition, AND, I thought, why not share it with, you know, YOU.

BUT THEN, partway through some unavoidable rewriting, M I C R O F T started going R E A L L Y S L O W.

I get a certain sense of panic when this happens; maybe not as severe as last week’s attack, but I am still not sure what to do: New computer? No. Go to the library and use their’s? Maybe. Not today. TODAY I AM working on a poster for the upcoming event. It’s getting closer by the second!

I HOPE ALL YOU ALL had a great International Surf Day, enjoyed the recent Solstice, and… and you’re saving the date to do what surfers do: Talk Story.

OH, and there is some possibility that outtakes, at least, from a very short documentary by a professional filmer, centering on a villainous surfer who hits the sometimes waves on the Strait, just might be something else offered at the upcoming surf culture event.

OH, and surfer, ARCHIE ENDO, Crescent Cruiser, is back in the area after an extended stay in Thailand.

MORE. Later. GET GOING!

“Dark Mercury Velvet” and 55 Years and Murals and…

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…More.

Surfers don’t necessarily NEED nicknames. In order to last, there has to be a story. Some stories hold up better over time. Example:A recent incident involving a car ‘vandalized’ in a parking lot with accusations thrown around by the victim or victims of, allegedly, a banana peel on the hood (or roof, I wasn’t there) and some amount of sunscreen on a (side, I believe) window. Three surfers exiting the water and approaching the lot were challenged by the victim(s) and his or her or their friends, called in for support/backup.

Paraphrasing, the first of the three; “How could I have done it. I was in the water.” Similar answers from the other two. “It must have been the FOURTH SURFER, then.” The Fourth Surfer was gone. His compatriots refused to give him up. Authority figures showed up. THERE has been further back and forth on the incident; e mails, some conciliatory, but the question is: Will the nickname THE FOURTH SURFER nickname (and he denies perpetrating the crime) stick?

Does Rico need a better nickname than RICO SUAVAY (phonetic spelling), that, face it, isn’t all that cool, although Rico definitely dresses the part? Suave. Here is another option: I ran into Rico the other dayk, chatted a bit on the side of the road about a near-dark to dark session. Now, Rico is a writer, but I was still very impressed when he described the waves as “Dark merury velvet walls.” Edited to Mercury Velvet,” it sounds like a nickname to me. We’ll see.

BECAUSE TIME seems to move so quickly, I have been telling people for a while that, if I make it to June, I will have been a painter for 55 years. NOW, Trish disagrees, claiming I can’t claim the two years and three months I worked as a sign painter apprentice/nub at Buddy’s Sign Service in Oceanside, immediiately after graduating from high school. “But, Honey, that allowed me to get hired as a journeyman painter at twenty.” “They were desperate.”

They were. Still, I persevered and… now iit’s June, and…

This is my latest artsy/painterly project, the HISTORICAL MUSEUM in Quilcene, what has, after 45 years plus, my de facto home town. This is the third time I painted the mural. At the museum’s opening, in 1991, I went to the committee and volunteered to do a mural. “What will it look like?” “Whatever I come up with. If you don’t like it, I’ll paint over it.” In the 2000s I painted the entire building and freshened up the mural. Recently I saw there was a meeting going on, and I again offered my services.

None of the new crop of volunteers on hand knew who I was. Their plan was to get a restoration artist to match the colors and, yeah, restore the mural. “What?” That I was a cheaper alternative doesn’t really bother me, even though I put at least two days more work into it than I had planned. I haven’t put my name on it. One of the volunteers said, “It’ll probably be the last time you paint it.

“Oh, I don’t know.”

MEANWHILE, the shirts with the graphic I did are available at the Port Townsend Public Library. All you have to do is promise to read, like, so many hours.

More events are coming up in the greater Olympic Peninsula Surf Zone. The FOURTH OCCASIONAL SURF CULTURE EVENT is scheduled for JULY 17. More information later. Oh, and if you can’t be nice, be real. Get some waves, dark mercury velvet or otherwise, when you can.

Sorry ’bout the Delay- Live Surf Contests are…

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…not exactly addictive, but, as a fan, with favorites, some winning, some not; if there’s a chance to watch… I just mighjt. NEWS for the Non-Watchers and the WSL haters, John John won the mens, moments ago and Caroline Marks… Yeah, I’m sure you know by now.

I kind of half thought it was Father’s Day today, another excuse, this one for sleeping late, not being totally concerned about work (the kind that pays selected bills), and maybe even taking a nap. It isn’t Father’s Day. While Mother’s Day (l’m choosing the singular possessive here because, while we can celebrate all mothers, it’s our own that we should be honoring) is set up during the school year, with craft assignments designed to produce refrigerator art and coffee table crafts, fathers have to wait, and wait, and get something store bought. Still, most likely refrigerator and coffee table stuff. BUT StILL…

I did do some surfing since my last posting, memorable mostly in that my psychedelic oil-filled eye didn’t present too much of a problem. Or the bright sunlight and the decent waves made me ignore it. Or I just closed the left one while screaming down the line. That’s screaming as in ‘loudly proclaiming.’

On that front, there is still some scarring in the eye and the potential that the retina could come loose, so, out of an abundance of caution, I get to go at least another three weeks with the magical liquid holding the wallpaper to the inner walls. I am learning more each time I get checked out. Not that I’ve been anxious to know some of this. And, again, I have a bit of regret for not giving a bit more sympathy for other surfers who have problems with the glare and such in the water.

In a non-similar situation, I stumbled and crashed going out on my last session, doing the dive straight in rather than the wade, AND, as is increasingly happening, I got thrashed trying to land in a not-that-vicious shorebreak, pushing my board up the beach and crawling with, of course, witnesses. IN BETWEEN, of course, I ripped.

Not just me, of course, but if it’s ever SURFERS DAY, I will use the singular possessive ‘surfer’s,’ and the surfer’s performance I am most concerned with, though I do appreciate any good-to-great ride by anyone, is mine.

Allow me a moment to look up SOCIOPATHIC NARCISSISTS’ DAY.

Artist/surfer Stephen R. Davis and I at the COLAB in Port Townsend with my panels. Photos by Joel Carben. Joel and his wife, Rachel, run the collaborative work space and have allowed me to exhibit my work there. Steve helped spread the word on social media.

Side note: I’m wearing the t-shirt I designed for the Port Townsend Public Library’s SUMMER READ.

Secret note: Partially (only partially) because non of the semi local crew would say that I’m in any way thinner than another local surfer, I’m getting more serious about dieting. Slightly more serious. I’m switching from ice cream to yogurt, mushroom burgers (with cheese and sometimes eggs) to salads; I’m avoiding chips, fries, donuts; and I’ve broken it off, hopefully for good, with Little Debbie; and I’m rethinking my longterm obsession with Hostess.

Meanwhile, there are plans and schemes for the NEXT OCCASIONAL SURF CULTURE ON THE STRAIT OF JUAN DE FUCA AND THE SALISH SEA EVENT. The date is set for July 17th. Art, talking story, special guests… MORE to be reported, LATER!

Hope you’re scoring some waves on occasion. As always, if you can’t be nice, be real.

Doors, Panels, Screens, Artsy Dealies, My Most Recent Obsessions, Eye, Eye, Eye, AND BIG DAVE Stuff

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Trish wasI, as always, correct when she said I had become obsessed with these door panels I have been working on; four by-fold doors rescued/salvaged/pack-ratted from some job. My theory was, because everyone has limited wall space for art, these would serve as screens, or even, doors.

Yes, there’s an inside and an outside, and I kind of lost track of what was on one side when I was painting the other side. It wasn’t all, like, thematic. Maybe a little. Obviously I have some sort of fascination with waves. And color. I would start out, get to something that was not what I envisioned and… here’s the obsessive part; I would keep going until l was a high percentage of satisfied. The fear at some point is that I could then screw the whole thing up. A line too far. Or a color. Or… something.

I want to thank Joel and Rachel Carben, owners of the COLAB in Port Townsend, for allowing me to have my art in their space. Although I paint houses for a living, my artistic leanings have been toward drawing.

SO, I am not at all sure what to do with these panels now. Hanging out for three of the monthly Port Townsend ARTWALKS has reinforced my belief that marketing is not my strong suit. Not even close. SO, do I tell myself that the joy of art is in the process? That is true, but… but, but, but…

Captions: Stephen R. Davis approaching the wall of doors at the COLAB;Joel Carben and Steve; a framed painting that caused Steve to comment,”It’s nice that you’re finally going for fine art,”; various panels taken where they were painted (a Costco/White Trash garage). OHHH, and then there’s BIG DAVE.

I took this a week or so ago at the Home Depot in Sequim. I had already heard a rumor that Legendary Surfer BIG DAVE RING was giving up surfing due to arthritis in his knees. I did write about this. The rumor was confirmed. *Sort of. Quickly, Dave was raised in Pacific Beach, San Diego, and was part of the pack of “Pier Rats” that included standout, Joe Roper. Dave, currently 66, was fourteen when I moved to PB in late 1971. I was twenty. Not a big talker in the lineup, not a guy who hangs out and chats it up on the beach, part of the reason I found out any info at all is because we have been mistaken for each other, as in: “I read your last thing on your blog,” to Dave, or “I heard you were ripping the other day,” to me.

Most of this was back when Dave was merely rocking a big-ass mustache. We both were riding big boards (Dave a 12′ SUP as a regular surfboard), and we both caught a lot of waves, from the outside, or scrapping for insiders. Dave is a master of the late takeoff and the sideslip, and plows through sections I would dodge..

A notable quote that got back to me was, “I rolled up and the Walrus and the Beast were both out. I went somewhere else. Though I’m almost more comfortable with being referred to as ‘That asshole wavehog, kneeboards on a SUP,” and I’ve been doing my best to increase the size of my mustache, I must agree with those who say Big Dave is the Walrus. Coo coo ca choo, coo coo ca choo.

*Having already, in a pattern that seems to hold true among older surfers, moved from popping up automatically, to knee boarding the takeoff and standing up after the first section, to kneeboarding the entire wave, Dave expressed little interest in belly boarding. “No, but…” I could tell Dave was imagining the perfect pre dawn session, sneaking out, lining up a few bombers.

“It is amazng,” he said, “what I’ve gotten done because I’m not always putting stuff off to go surfing.”

I get it, Dave.

EYE and LEG UPDATE- I’m finally through with the wound care for the gouge on my right calf. Pretty impressive scar. I am going to have my eye checked out on Friday, with surgery to remove the clear oil inside it, hopefully, scheduled for… soon. It isn’t as if I can’t work, it’s just annoying. I sort of attacked a woman in a parking lot the other day because she had a bandage over one eye. “Hey, what happened to you?” Different deal. Worse than mine. Nice conversation. ANYWAY, I did tell Trish that, because of the glare in the water, I might not surf until the oil in my eye is exchanged for (I asked) saline solution, that to be replaced by the proper bodily-produced fluid.

BUT, but, but… when I check the forecast…

Moving on. Back to another of my obsessions. After I post this, my plan is to get back to “Swamis.” I had friends attempt to read earlier versions. I know where I have to make changes, and I have been working on it. That’s my process. Evidently. Obsession, distraction; what we have to do and what we want to do and what we really really want to do.

Good luck with your obsessions.