Every year it’s, like, “Yeah, Fall is the best season for waves on the Strait.” Then, “Yeah, Winter.” We are just into Fall and… from here, Winter looks promising. I don’t know. Does Westport get crowded?
I haven’t had a lot, or any real time to write. Doesn’t keep me ffrom thinking. Stories. I’ve plans for one that addresses surfers coached into competitive form.
I haven’t worked out all the details yet, but I’m thinking about the plot and characters, andm, as always, I’m looking forward, revisiting past experiences, to the next actual surf adventure in actual surf. Giid. kyucj. ti yiy (ingers on the wrong keys) Good luck to you.
erwin@realsurfers.net. realsurfersdotnet on Instagram
I will have news on the literary front and on the”Swamis” front… soon. Thanks.
Image from Trent Olson (or Olsen- didn’t go back to check) Facebook page. One dude (guessing, not being snarky) won’t pull up his wettie (Australian influenced jargon) until the water is genital level (I agree with this cold water adjustment strategy), the other dude don’t need no stinkin’ (and they usually are- with or without urinary help) booties, and, wait, are those both soft-tops? Wavestorming Cape Kawanda.
I have been critical of the spot in the past, one of the few places in the northwest with multiple web cams. But I have checked it out. Yes, I called it the ‘pull back’ capital, did remark on how (and this is typical of west coast beach breaks) the outside sets, mushy or not, closeout or not, lead one to the inside double-ups, most of them crashing closeouts. Yes, I have wondered why one weekend day there’s only a few adult learners jumping into the re-forms, getting thrashed, popping up prematurely, but still claiming victory for the relatives on the beach; and sometimes, same conditions, there’s hordes of heroes and villains vying for evrery three second ride.
Good Luck; I have to go; I’ll check back. Later.
I do have to go to work. erwin@realsurfers.net
realsurfersdotnet on the Gram.
News on the literary front. Coming soon. You know, like the next swell.
It’s been a long while since I competed in any surf contest other than the de facto, any time it’s crowded, sessions. Yes, there are judges, always, the self judge being thhe one most susceptible to bribery and/or choosing sentimentality over reality. Speed, power, flow? Not always. Best two rides out of however many I could snag, steal, or even, have priority and etiquette on my side.
There are some Olympic Peninsula regulars (NOTE- Not all live here) who compete in these events. I should mention Z. I don’t know his actual name, and don’t think I’ve ever met him, but he delivers stuff for one off the non-Amazon companies in the Port Townsend area, and my friend, Keith Darrock, runs into him fairly frequently. He’s a past winner in his age category at Cape Kawanda (at least), and, most recently, told Keith he spent some time in the Mentawais, ‘practicing,’ or, as they say iin the WSL, ‘working.’ Yeah, Z’s fired up!
Keith is down in Westport, taking in the vibe. I have requested some photos. So far, I got texts saying Surf Route 101 was jammed, yesterday, the HAMA HAMA BANJO-RAMA also happening; and one saying a lot of Wavestorms were heading toward the coast. These events do have a bit of a circus flavor, not that the parking lot/bathroom-shower facility, bluff aren’t always a hotbed for kook-to-wannabes-to pissed off locals-to tourists snd posers. WHO DOESN’T LOVE A CIRCUS?
Hawaiian Brian, just after he won his division at Cape Kawanda last year. Or the year before. He did have his trophy with him, out onb the Strait… working.
Me, in the brownish hoodie, at the judges’ table a few years back. TOM BURNS got me the spot, and, because I judged rides as I saw them, and because I was loud, and because everyone except the head judge was having way too much fun, and despiite the fact I tried way harder on Sunday to behave and go along with the expected scoring, I was not invited back. Either was Tom, BUT, time and all, I do believe Tom is judging this weekend. I’m afraid to call and possibly disturb him.
A rented 40 FOOT LADDER was required to complete the stain job on this charming cottage: Taken just after I got off the roof (explaining the slight unevenness). There is a story about the high ladder woodworking I did to correct what high level woodpeckers damaged.
Can this tire be saved? There is a story involving a post Seahawks victory, late night blowout, a very steep spot where the car ended up, no phone coverage (luckily texts went through), the car falling off and wrecking the jack, another rescue from my daughter, Dru, and a successful switch to the temporary tire by ADAM WIPEOUT JAMES, the person I bought the car from, though, ater fixing the brakes he had no obligation to help.
It’s another in a long history of ERWIN BREAKS DOWN stories. When I told it to Librarian Keith, he was not properly impressed by the drama. He was checking the surf, it wasn’t exactly Alexander Dumas, or even Tom Clancy storytelling, and it doesn’t make me appear as anything other than kind of helpless, so… maybe later, maybe on the surf trip I promised Adam and included Keith. Wondering if I’ll have to find a new rim is keeping me… anxious.
I am working on some other stuff, and after a summer-long drought, and despite it still being painting season, it is raining. Is there hope for the wave pattern to switch? Yes. Why should California get all the waves?
erwin@realsurfers.net
realsurfersdotnet on the InstaGram
Thanks for checking out realsurfers.net Get some waves!
This might be your view heading to the Olympic Peninsula to look for surf. For me, it’s heading home. Mid summer, the sun sets straight up the hill on the west side of the Hood Canal Bridge. It’s no longer mid-summer. Perhaps we are re-entering surf season, such as that is.
My house is under the sun
The image kept going sideways. I almmost resorted to using AI. It turns out I don’t know how. Forced to add the caption. Afraid not to.
Flipped again. Crazy.
One can never have too many ladders. Unfortunately, I need a forty footer to complete this project. The staggering is a trick I learned as a sign painter apprentice, years ago, from a guy who busted up his knees coming home drunk from somewhere. I would move one of the two ladders as he moved across the billboard. I wrecked mine the slower way, 57 years of crawling and climbing. It’s the job. I can’t blame surfing; wouldn’t if I could.
ADAM “WIIPEOUT” JAMES POST BRAKE JOB #1
ADAM “WIPEOUT” JAMES, poster boy for the HAMA HAMA SEAFOOD empire, helped me with the brakes on the WINDSTAR I bought from him. The previous owner was another surfer, CLINT THOMPSON, a legend among the folks at the Port Townsend Boatyard. I got a very good deal on the rig, but had to wait a while to get the title sorted. I did drive it a bit, owned rather than borrowed, before the brakes totally went out in the middle of Silvverdale.
I managed to drive it (carefully, but, having always owned old work rigs, I have driven with limited braking ability more than once) to my daughter’s house in Port Gamble. I did call Adam en route. NO, not hands free. “What broke?” “Well…”
“Maybe you just need fluid.” OKAY. I have some in the BIG BOY VAN. The problem is one has to take the cowling off the front of the van (or I thought this was necessary) to get to the brake fluid reservoir. I whipped out my ragtag assortment of tools and started stripping stuff off. I added 8 ounces, called Adam. “Pump it!” I pumped it. Called Adam. “Used it all up.” “It was thirsty!”
I tried to call him again. Straight to voicemail. “The mailbox is full. Goodbye.” I sent a text with a possibly sarcastic tone to it, saying I hoped I got my money’s worth out of the van, plus everything I had learned from the internet, YouTube; and said I had almost asked chatGPT. I got a text back, later. from Adam. “Those are the breaks.” Brakes.
Believing I had used up all my brakeless driving karma, and feeling very reluctant to drive the van down Surf Route 101, we discussed other options. All this is with me saying, because it’s true, that Adam did not owe me anything, and I could get the van towed to Les Schwab.
There is way more to this story. Let’s call this PART I.
I JUST REALIZED I cut off Adam’s head. Not on purpose. I think, with my new phone, I have to send photos less than full sized to not have the problems. Anyway, I’m leaving it. Them’s the breaks. OH, don’t get me wrong. I am so pleased that Adammm helped me with the Clintmobile (Reggie has another name for the van- ask him), AND with the Highlander. PART II.
THE PLAN IS I will drive on an upcoming surf trip AND treat Adam to a post surf lunch or dinner at his choice of PA spots. I would be stoked. I mean, I will be.
Here’s a serious-ish poem I’m working on.
TOO LATE FOR THAT
I move at all; I will have to admit I am awake. If I look up at the time, projected in red on the ceiling, I will have to admit I am late. Already. Early sneaks away. Late charges. I don’t want to be awake. Not yet. Soon. Too soon.
If my brain hadn’t already awakened, ticker tape clicking from worry to worry, I could go back to sleep; fifteen minutes to make up for lost sleep at 3:18. Too late.
If I slide and twist and drop my feet to the ground; if I pull back the blackout curtains, the outside will still be pre-dawn dark; wet, a watercolor wash blurring the trees, the brush, the dead van sinking into the lawn gone feral.
The brilliance will break through soon. Too soon.
I am moving, following, not chasing, the early, blinking in the brilliance.
