Author Archives: Erwin A. Dence Jr.

The Line Between Respect and Pity

Posted on by under aggressive surfers, learning to surf, northwest surfing, old surfers, real surfers, surf adventures, surf culture, surf sessions, surf stories, surfing, surfing blogs, surfing for life, surfing Southern California in the 60s, surfing stories, surfing Swamis, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, Uncategorized

I’ve been trying to get an image of how thick that line is for a couple of days; or even if this is the line I’m really concerned with. Maybe, probably, I’m a bit too sensitive to my own position, as I, um, mature… okay, we’ll just say ‘age,’ in the overall surfer lineup. Maybe? Definitely.  Actually, I always have been.

When I first started board surfing, I’d sneak into the pack at Tamarack as if I belonged there, a big, kook smile on my 13, almost 14 year old face. Soon I was paddling, head down and blind, into a wave at Swamis that, undoubtedly, had someone on it, with me as an impediment to a great ride. I did stay in the lagoon section at pre-jetty extension at Doheny, an eye on the surfers out on the reef. I was learning, frequently thrashed by waves, but always happy to be out there.

It wasn’t too long a time before I tried, hard, to be one of the better surfers out on any given day. Competitive.

This hasn’t changed in fifty-two years. Hasn’t changed yet. Yet, though I’ve always pushed them, I’ve always known my limitations. At least I knew there are limitations. When I was a kook, I knew it. If I didn’t, other surfers told me. I was told to go (by one guy in particular, but also by consensus) to the Carlsbad Slough to practice knee paddling when I pearled on an outside wave, causing four or five surfers to scramble. I didn’t go, but moved away from the main peak. I was sent to the south peak at Grandview when I lost my board in a failed kickout, putting a ding in John Amsterdam’s brand new Dewey Weber Performer. I did go, looking longingly back at the rights.

It’s not me, though I did once have a VW bus (and hair)

Another lost board incident, with a near miss with some stinkbug-stanced kook Marine swimming after his borrowed-or-rented board found him standing on my board in the shallows. “You like this board,” he asked, threatening to break it into “a million pieces if I ever tried to hit him with it again.” He had two friends to back him up; I had my second brother down, Philip. “Okay.” Still, I paddled back out, ten feet away from him and his friends, brave look on my face.

I persisted. With the nearest waves twenty miles from Fallbrook, I always went out. South wind, north wind, white-caps, big or small. There were setbacks, times I just couldn’t connect, couldn’t get into the rhythm; days where trying to get out for another closeout seemed like more work than it was worth; but I was improving.

Hey, this will have to be part one; I just have to go, and I don’t have the whole arc figured out. I’ll be sixty-six in August; I’m still as stoked (and as immature, emotionally) as ever; still want to be, during any given surf session, competitive.  I do admit to having more handicaps than I’d like.  I’ve adjusted. Bigger board, mostly.

I had two sessions this week; the first, at a mutant slab with a massive current. I was humbled.  While I was thrashed and sucked, others were thrashed and got some great rides. I would love to say I wasn’t embarrassed as much as disappointed in myself. That’s what I’d love to say; the truth is, again, I’m still working that out.   Possibly to make up for this, I went to a more user-friendly spot the next day. I didn’t suck.

just coming up. Photo by Jeffrey Vaughan.

Not really surprisingly, a couple of older surfers I’ve surfed with before showed up. When the waves went from almost flat to pretty darn good, one of them, as cool a surfer as one would meet, admitted that, when he sees great waves, “I just get giddy!”

This giddiness, something so profound that we can forget the posturing and coolness, is at the very heart of surfing. It’s something common to all real surfers. Maybe it takes a better wave to bring it out in some, but that bustable smile is there.  We’re all, occasionally, humbled.  The ocean always gets the last word.  Not actually ready to be humble, yet, I’m persisting.

 

NO SURF… No, there’s always surf…

Posted on by under real surfers, surf adventures, surf culture, surfing, surfing in Oregon, surfing in Washington State, surfing Southern California in the 60s, Uncategorized

…somewhere. Usually somewhere else. I’m, luckily, pretty busy painting, today being the only day lately where rain isn’t threatening or falling. Since there are no swell forecasts that predict anything close, and I don’t have time to go to the coast, I googled/yahooed ‘no surf,’ got this image.

Luscombs

The cove is, evidently, now called ‘No Surf Beach,’ along Sunset Cliffs. I actually have a couple of stories about the spot. The first involves Stephen Penn and I, both twenty years old, freshly married and living in San Diego. Steve, formerly of Marin County, and his wife, formerly Dru Urner, formerly of Fallbrook, were living in Ocean Beach; Trish and I in Pacific Beach. Our daughter, Drucilla (born on earth day, April 22, 1980, before it was Earth Day- and, oddly enough, as I edit this, it’s again Earth Day- Happy Birthday), is actually named after Dru, a promise Trish made to Drucilla Urner, evidently in typing class back in high school.

It was 1972, and Steve and I went looking for waves. I had surfed Sunset Cliffs before, but at Luscombs, the point in the distance, and once at New Break (with Bucky Davis and Phillip Harper, walking in back in 1967- we had no problems with locals). When Steve and I arrived at the little parking area in the foreground, there were four or five surfers at the little peak. The tide was lower and the peak was closer to the foreground point. I thought these other surfers were less a problem than Steve did. “They’ll leave,” I said. “Just start catching waves.”

Now, I don’t want to sound all aggro about this, though I may have been a little more exuberant while trying to convince Stephen to go out. It was either here or Ocean Beach jetty. Surfing mostly Crystal Pier, mostly after work and on weekends, with strangers, since Trish and I got married in November 1971 had pushed me toward a sort of ghetto mentality. It wasn’t surfing Swamis beachbreak with friends. This was city surfing. No eye contact.

Yeah, still dealing with my wave lust, bad manners. I wasn’t, I insist, pushy, merely persistent, going for position when possible, always ready for waves someone missed or fell on.

Three hours or so later, with three or four different surfers sharing the lineup, with the tide filling in and the waves ending on the mossy ledge beyond the pinnacle rock, Steve and I were climbing back up the cliff. With almost all of my surfing done between/before/after school/work/other-seemingly-or-actually important-stuff, forty-five minutes to an hour an a half, with me mentally breaking it into fifteen minute ‘heats,’ this was one of the longest sessions I had surfed. I was exhausted.

Maybe it was the competition. I couldn’t get out of the water before Steve; and the waves kept coming. I have more to say on the whole waves vs. life subject, but … Oh, gotta get to some actually important stuff. If I get some work done, and the waves… you know… I’ll be ready.

Later. WAIT! Since there’s no waves in the local forecast, and not mentioning how Adam Wipeout scored, Mike could have but didn’t, and that I ran into Darrin, who scored on the coast, at Wal-Mart, and because I’m planning on going down to my Dad’s house (now my brother’s house) in Chinook, Washington, here’s a shot I stole from a forecast site.

 

At Great Personal Risk…

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…to my ego, I’m posting a few photos from a recent session. Yeah, I know there’s kind of a thing about taking photos of places that might be recognized, and I did tell the stealth photographer I wouldn’t reveal where or who. But I did thank him, despite asking for photos where I don’t look fat.

ED6

Guess he didn’t have any of those.

thumbnail_ED8.jpg

Anyway, I know the waves were actually bigger later. Pretty sure. There’s nothing at all in the forecast for the Strait, so, guess I’d better concentrate on work. OR go to the coast.

thumbnail_ED5

Yeah; also working on actually standing up on this board. I’m blaming the oversized booties. No, I can’t explain the odd paddle positioning; more concentrated on my own positioning on the wave. Obviously shoulder high for a fat guy. Yeah, yeah…prrrrrtttt.

Several Angles/Lines on Recent Epic Swell

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ONE: I was filling my friend Keith Darrock in on some of the details as I made my way back home, focusing, probably, for a moment, on how I’d almost said something to a surfer who paddled for a couple of set waves he didn’t catch. Now, although I do have a reputation for being too vocal in the water, it’s not for calling people out (more like over exuberance). I may have given the surfer in question a disparaging look that might, easily, be translated to, “you’ll have to assume, sir, that the next time we’re going for a set wave, I won’t back off.”

That didn’t happen. Fortunately. When I got to the beach I discovered the surfer in question is Arnold (sorry I don’t know his last name), one of the early pioneers of surfing on the Strait, an important member of the Olympic Peninsula Surfrider chapter (as am I), and a close friend and surfing partner of the first surfer I met up here, Daryl Wood.

Daryl Wood, left, Arnold, other Surfrider Olympic Peninsula Chapter members on assignment

“I feel like,” I told Keith, “when I get back on the beach, I should apologize to everyone else who was in the water with me.” “You probably should,” Keith said. I did apologize to Arnold for “any offensive thing I might have done,” once he peeled off his hood, once the guy who was riding with him mentioned his name. This, weirdly, coincided with Concrete Pete, freshly back in the Northwest after an extended stint in Cabo and Southern California, gave me a big hug.

Unusual. I don’t think of myself as being a hug magnet. Now, I did once give Concrete Pete credit for getting the wave of the day on a very small (normal, if normal isn’t flat) day. I wasn’t lying. I really wanted that wave. Arnold said he was only offended I hadn’t given him a hug. Really? Okay.

Image (187)

TWO: If Tim Nolan hadn’t already gotten out of the water, I would have been the fourth oldest surfer in the lineup. Tim is about four years older than I am. As long as he’s still surfing, I have years left in my career. In fact, when I first ran into Tim, over ten years ago; Tim, from Palos Verdes, originally; me from San Diego’s North County; he told me my best years were yet to come.

A legend on the Strait, Tim Nolan. Google “Tim Nolan and the Wave of the Day” for more. It’s somewhere in the realsurfers.net archives. Still dominates.

I’ll have to say I continue to be surprised by how much I get out of surfing; how a dark and moving line at the horizon can be so… so many things, really; from thrilling to frightening.

Yeah, I know; if you’re nineteen and you see three surfers out, each over sixty, you’re thinking, ‘easy pickings.’ I thought the same thing.

Big Dave, two years ago, taking a rare break

THREE: BIG DAVE, a fifteen year old ‘Crystal Pier Rat’ when I moved to Pacific Beach, San Diego, when I was twenty; is one of my surfing heroes. He’s now fifty-nine, and the last time I surfed with him, he was in the water when I arrived. I surfed for about two and a half hours (Dave actually wears a watch in the water, a practice I gave up), got out, got some coffee, rested a a bit, then went out for “Five more.” That became fifteen or so.

Two things here: Good waves are rare; one should maximize the experience. Big Dave and I both catch a lot of waves.

So, wanting to truly maximize my time, with the waves (super unusual) refusing to stop rolling in, I hung out on the beach a while before changing into my real world (painting) clothes. I wanted to take a new photo of Dave.

Somewhere in this time, Tim Nolan returned, just as Dave went streaking across another wave. “There’s Big Dave,” Tim said, “Owning it.”  Yeah.  When I left, five hours after I arrived, Big Dave was still in the water. I should mention, I was exhausted. That’s why Dave’s moved up a few notches on my list of heroes.

AND, and we have some discussions in the water. Often I’m paddling out when he’s on a wave, and vice versa. “Grab a rail,” he’ll say, “do some side-slipping.” “Yeah, I’ll say, when I see some of those sections, I’ll just drop down (Adam Wipeout would call this ‘barrel- dodging’). Maybe I’m scared.” “Don’t be scared.” “Oh, okay.” “Stay up high; that’s how you make those sections.” “Yeah. Right.”

On my most memorable wave on a memorable day, I stayed high on the wave into a section I was sure I wouldn’t make. I could sort of see Dave down the line, paddling out. I held the high line. Thanks, Dave.

 

Real Surfer Stephen Davis, Surfing Somewhere…

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…else. Yeah, it’s Hawaii.

StigSteveHawaii

I’m guessing this is Stig, Steve’s friend from Hawaii. I’ve never met him. Heard about him. I heard how he and Stephen hit some big reef action on the wild coast; in fact, somewhere in my stacked-on-top-of-each-other entries (working on organizing this), there’s a story Steve wrote (wasn’t happy with my editing/changing, so I ran his as was/is) about that incident.

He told me, on the phone the other day, about this session. Stig had come to the big island from his job on Oahu. He and Steve paddled out on a big day at _______ (I guess I forgot the place’s name), in crowded conditions. Sitting farthest out, diving down to check the reef, Stig evidently was in position for several of the largest ‘bombs.’

Steve, no doubt, said ‘bombs,’ downplaying, as always, his own surfing. “Yeah, but how did the locals treat you?” “Fine.” “Well, maybe they think you’re a… I mean, you’re living there.” “Maybe. People are nice. Even the tweakers. So mellow.” “Okay, gotta go.”

Here’s an email from Stephen on a more recent session at a different spot. There are photos, but I don’t know how, right now, to get them from a compressed file to here.

Hi Erwin.
Ya, I didn’t know what to expect when I paddled out there.
I was shocked to see how big it was.
Close to double with ledgey Hawaii drops.
Ya the vibe is —– —— (redacted by me) party wave style but only lots of guys getting barreled that actually rip.
The take off is super sketch. Gnarley slab reef deal. That’s what makes it badass. The chargers go deep and beginners shoulder hop and groms are further inside.
I was a shoulder hopper. I had some looks at empty bombs too because people couldn’t catch them and I wasn’t on it you know.
For me it’s like a big tropical —– —– (redact).
Every one is really nice out there too.

OKAY, I tried. File type is not supported. Okay, I’ll describe the scene. Light colored, obviously tropical water; overhead (as opposed to hugging the mountains) sun; lefts peeling from a rocky outcropping, into a deeper bay. Surfers are variously charging, turning, in tight; but other shots show ten shoulder-hoppers, just waiting; and one photo has someone in position, kick-stalling, as another longboarder drops in. So, yeah, maybe it is like a big-enough day at ____ ______.

Meanwhile, surf-starved northwesterners are probably all over the highways today. I’m headed the opposite direction, so, sob, sob, more waves for you. No, that’s me sobbing; but I have a plan.

Swamis, Trancendental Meditation, and Passing Wind

Posted on by under "New Yorker" cartoon submissions, Erwin Dence Cartoons, Erwin Dence surf illustrations, real surfers, realsurfers illustrations, surfing Swamis, Uncategorized

This piece insn’t necessarily surf-centric. I wrote it for my blog, “Stuff That Goes On,” at the ptleader.com. I’ve been featuring some of my cartoons, after they’ve been rejected by “The New Yorker.” Here’s the one that goes with, kind of, the story:

Image (39)

One of my favorite surfing spots is Swamis, Encinitas, California. It is so named because of the gold tulips adorning the high white walls around the adjacent compound. Founded by followers of Swami… sorry, I really don’t want to get into more of the history than that which impacted me. Again, sorry. The compound was a sort of mysterious place for surfers, and what was known back in the middle 60s, when I started (board) surfing [at least three stairways ago, when the parking lot was smaller, the bathroom was of the pit variety], was that people inside spent a lot of time on their gardens. And meditating.

Trancendental meditation. Groovy. Maybe it played into the rapidly changing surfer self image as the end of the 60s brought more of a drug culture; bearing in mind drug use was ‘mind expanding’ and ‘experimental’ at the same time. Not that I participated. I didn’t. Some surfers also, by the end of the 60s, switched gears into the Jesus ‘Freak’ mode. That was more my speed, though they had a zealousness that my (short, to be sure, I turned 18 in 1969) lifetime of attending church didn’t seem to give me.

In 1975 Trish and I had moved to a house we bought in Encinitas. Swamis was still my favorite spot, and in the time we had lived in San Diego, the secluded beach around the point and directly below a meditation garden inside the compound had become a nude beach. I discovered this, not by word of mouth, but by… hey, I was just trying to go surfing.

The nudity caused a problem with the people inside the compound. It’s evidently difficult to fully get trancendental-ized when naked people are cavorting (didn’t look it up- sure it’s accurate) below you. It eventually made the paper, it made the TV news. Meetings were called. Dennis Weaver, Chester on “Gunsmoke,” was at one, livid, leaning into the cameras to make sure the point was made that this distraction was not acceptable.

I don’t think his appearance helped, but, before Chester and the spreading of the news throughout the San Diego County area, and about a week after I discovered the nudity, I actually went to work for local (Cardiff) painting contractor “Two Coat” Charlie Barnett, on a project to paint the exterior stucco surfaces at the enclave. We had to be quiet, I was told. Okay, but first break time, two of the helpers on the crew said we should all go up to the meditation garden and ‘watch the nudies.’ “What, you know about this?” “Hey, man; everyone knows.”

One thing that struck me was that, during what was evidently a women’s retreat, meals were taken in silence. That’s fine. I mean, there was the sound, no doubt, of chewing, maybe some loud swallowing. After the meal, partially-filled and enlightened participants went back to their stucco cabins for private meditation.

Now, everything around the compound, the gardens, the paths, the concrete, was supposed to be spotless. All the attendees were dressed in white. Although Charlie had hired the aforementioned helpers to insure cleanliness, he was having trouble getting his final payment until all spots of paint were cleaned up. So, Charlie and I were crawling around the sidewalks with wire brushes and lacquer thinner, cleaning. Oh, Charlie and I were also dressed in white, as is traditional, but with spots of colors, more so on my clothes than Charlie’s.

I was just trying to get the job done, but couldn’t help but hear, around pretty much every guest cabin, the unmistakable sound of someone passing gas.

Amazing. No doubt related to trancendentalizing. On a related note, Trish claims her father, always the ideal image of propriety, would often pass gas while under the headphones, listening to phonograph records. And then there’s the almost absolute need, possibly because of the altitude, while riding in a plane… hey, this isn’t a secret. As far as whether there’s still a nude beach at Swamis; haven’t a clue.

Here’s another rejected cartoon: Image (34)It’s Nietzche. I explained it in another blog post at ptleader.com  Go to “Blog” at the top of the home page, click on “Stuff That Goes On.”

As far as my fear of meditation… another time.

The World Surf League, “Hard Yards,” Sharing, Not Sharing

Posted on by under aggressive surfers, northwest surfing, surf culture, surfing, surfing blogs, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, Uncategorized, writings of Erwin Dence

Without permission from the World Surf League (WSL), I’ve taken a photo from their site. If they disapprove, here are several things in my argument: 1. I love the WSL  and their live coverage (and the fact there is live coverage). I’ve gotten up early and/or stayed up late to watch contests from all over the world. 2. It’s not like I make any money on this site, even IF I mention the WSL. 3. I’ll see if I can get “express, written permission…” in a moment.

This is a drawing I did for a piece on the World Mind Surfing League

 

Here’s the shot I’ve borrowed. Decisive scores for a close heat between Kelly and Gabriel Medina were about to fall. Kaipo Guerrera had, boldly, aggressively, just grabbed both of them, all looking at the screen in anticipation. I do always root for the overdog, if it’s Kelly Slater, and felt he should have won the heat. In the same way, having watched Stephanie Gilmore lose a close one to Carissa Moore, a heat that, if Stephanie had been scored correctly on either of her two best waves… yeah, big Stephanie fan, also, not taking away anything from anyone else on the tour, each of whom surfs better than… Here’s the truth:The difference between any WSL surfer and a regular (or ‘real’) surfer is the same as the difference between us and the casual, once-in-a-while-on-vacation surfer. Massive.

I really wanted to talk about secret spots and the information we share about secret and/or fickle surf spots. If you knew that I took off right after this moment, then got back in time to watch Stephanie win the final at Snapper Rocks, and Owen (“O Dog” according to Martin Potter) Wilson, back from a year off after a concussion at Pipeline, win a close one against Wilko (okay, I’m just going to use nicknames for people I don’t actually know); if you did some calculations on time and distance, checked back on buoy readings, tide charts, you might know something, too much, possibly, about where I surfed (and that I surfed, if I did), secret, fickle, or great. Check it out, Sherlock.

So, here’s something Potts says all the time. “You have to put in the hard yards.” That’s the thing about sharing info. My friend Daryl Wood, pathfinder in surfing on the Strait of Juan de Fuca, said surfers would see his vehicle parked on someone’s private property (with permission), and, the next time he came there, other surfers would be there. Word had spread. It’s been a while since surfers had to call people to have anyone to surf with.  And we love to brag. Other surfers have gone down trails, followed streams, explored; keeping a mental record of when a spot worked, how well it worked. Hard yards. Anecdotal becomes, with enough of it, science.

We’ve all benefited from information on where to go and when; but most of us have spent some long hours studying, waiting; have traveled in search of waves. It can be irritating when someone who hasn’t just checks out a forecast; or gets a call from the beach, shows up. “My wave.”

But I love to talk; and, if I score… so guilty. Trying to quit, but I only have a small circle of surf friends. And they have friends. Basically, if you share too much information, expect the person to share waves with you, and some of his or her friends, next time.  That said, the waves weren’t awesome the time I’m writing about;  at least not where I went. A couple of other surfers did show up, weren’t impressed, didn’t want to have wet wetsuits for the next day when, they hoped, there was a chance for some waves. “Really?” I asked.

The truth is, we don’t need more information, we need more swell. Meanwhile, next WSL event, Margaret River. I think their dawn is, geez, I don’t know; probably prime time here. We’ll see. I’ll still be rooting for the overdogs… and O Dog. And a shout out to Strider.

Chapter VIII or so, Stephen Davis Saga

Posted on by under northwest surfing, oregon surfing, real surfers, real surfers coloring book, realsurfers illustrations, surf adventures, surf culture, surfing blogs, Uncategorized

I’m suddenly really busy. Painting season is starting to come. Finally. Stephen got back to the Northwest about a week ago, he’s leaving today for Hawaii. He, and I don’t feel sorry for him, had to work while he was here, and missed possibly the only small window of opportunity. I caught the last of it, just for reference.

One of Stephen’s friends, old or new, he seems to constantly be adding to the group, whose name, because he never actually spelled it out for me, is always going to be BEAR; came through on his way to Canada. He passed through a town along the seaside last Sunday. Walking to the Point, not a secret spot, two different surfers told him it was “Locals only.” Oh, so, if one can’t surf, it is, evidently, fine to watch others surf (no photos, though, bro). So he did; and, when those locals, real or imagined, got out of the water, he went in.

When Stephen sent him out to check out the Strait, Bear got skunked. WELCOME. Then, just outside a convenience store in a port town; a store my kids, when they were young, and because it had an American and a Canadian flag by the gas pumps (long gone), called the “Canadian Store,” and one I’ve long referred to as the ‘half a rack store,’ based on seeing folks (like carpenters and our like) coming out in the mid afternoon with a custom sandwich and a box of beers (long sentence, you still there?); Steve and Bear ran into some locals who, perhaps, surf, but who Stephen knows mostly from the local skatepark, and mostly from ‘back in the day.”

So, evidently these guys had some issues with someone who spent three months in Baja. “Erwin, you know how I always say everyone hates me These guys…?” “Uh huh, Steve; but, really; I mean, I kind of hate you.” “Yeah; like that.” “What did you say?” “I said, ‘you’re allowed to your evaluation, but it was my choice, and I earned the money to do that.’ and then…” “But, this was kind of embarrassing; I mean, your friend…” “Yeah, he thinks it’s a very friendly place.”

stephenDavisSunsetPanaramaStephenPortrait

I took these from Facebook. I actually was thinking of the panorama shot when I drew… wait a second, this:cropped-image-178.jpgYeah, maybe it’s hard to see the connection. Anyway, Steve promises to send me some photos of big island slabs; and continues to promise to send me some stories of Baja pirates and passports and Federales. Meanwhile, and as always, looking for those briefly- opened windows.

PART 8 or 9, Hydrosexual Stephen Back…

Posted on by under getting barrelled, real surfers, surf adventures, surfing, Surfing mainland Mexico, surfing Baja California,, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, Uncategorized

…but not for long. He’s headed back to Hawaii at the end of next week. “Everyone hates me,” Stephen told me recently after running into a couple of fellow surfers at a parking lot (as usual for the Strait, ‘almost’ surfable waves). “Steve,” I said, “you’ve been gone for, like, four months, not having to work, warm water, real waves… I hate you.”

“Oh,” he said. Yes, an under-the-breath chuckle, possibly even a chortle; actually not even under-the-breath laugh did not miss my notice. We then discussed the difference between jealousy and envy. “Not quite to envy,” I offered. “Oh, that’s good, I guess.”

Now that he’s back, and not that I’ve been able to hear details on some of the adventure stories Steve has alluded to, here are a couple more shots from deepest, southest Baja:

CaboStephencabomattcabo2Steve

The first photo is of some city where they, apparently, have nightlife designed to lure surfers who actually only came to the area to surf, kite surf, read, write, get in touch with greater truths.   The second is of Stephen’s friend, Matt Stokes, at some obviously overcrowded, overgringoed spot.   The bottom shot is of Stephen in the casual stance he sometimes assumes when not, in a Stephenism, “pig-dogging it; packing a bomb.” Wave. He means a bombing wave. He means… hey, you know what he means.

Meanwhile… still no waves on the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Next time, I promise, some details on, at least, the story of the stolen passports, chasing the culprits, watching the Federalies in action.

Psychedelic in B&W, And In Color, Plus three cartoons

Posted on by under Erwin Dence surf illustrations, real surfers, real surfers coloring book, realsurfers illustrations, Uncategorized

Trish recommended I add some flowers to a sort of abstract wave drawing I did. Hedging my bets, and because I wasn’t really sold on the idea, I got some copies of the non-flower version, then drew the flower outlines onto one of those, got copies of that, and then, this morning, added some color to one of the smaller (eight and a half by eleven) versions.

Image (186)Tilt your monitor/screen until the deeper and richer colors show up. It will be available for you color to your satisfaction in my next version of the realsurfers coloring book. Soon. Since I keep drawing, I’m going to produce limited editions, 20 or so each run, 48 images per copy, each with some favorites, some new drawings.  I’m hoping to get some done  tomorrow, run them down to my sister, Suellen (who got me into my surf addiction when she let me ride/hog her new-to-her Hobie back in 1965), before she heads up to Alaska.

If you want one, write me at realsurfersdotnet@gmail.com

Okay, I’m adding a couple of the cartoons not-accepted by “The New Yorker,” which, of course, they should have printed, but didn’t. I do have a “Blog,” “Stuff That Goes On,” at the “Port Townsend and Jefferson County Leader,” and was trying to post them there. It looks like I could only do one at a time, and I wanted to do these two. SO: Here’s my money and/or politics collection:

“Yes, there’s “in” someone’s pocket, and “IN someone’s pocket.”