It means something to me that the father of modern surfing and I were both born on August 24th, sixty-one years and an ocean apart. Duke Kahanamoku personified the Aloha spirit.
Hey, man; I’m working on it.
Category Archives: surf illustrations
Clinton Burks on Point Grenville, Me on Jeff Parrish and Tom Decker, and a new Illustration
I received this comment in response to one of the most popular, over time, posts, “Tom Decker and Jeff Parrish.” Noticing the consistent number of hits the piece seems to get, I thought either Tom Decker, well known to pretty much anyone who surfs at Westport over the last twenty-five years, is a name people google, then find my article; or Jeff sends friends to check out what I wrote about him. I’ve had a sort of suspicion that, always just trying the real story, I may have written something that would or should offend Jeff. Since Jeff’s wife, Ruth, has started surfing, and, actually, before that, he seems to have other people he prefers to surf with (and, yes, I am somewhat hurt by this, but no longer whine about it when I see Jeff’s father-in-law, Jim Hodgson, at the post office.). Because I got this comment, I checked.
Yeah, maybe Jeff had a tough outing, called-out by Mr. Decker; but he’s not alone in that. I do drop the name (Tom Decker, though I always ask people from Seattle if they know Jeff. “Which Jeff?” They all know at least one) with folks from Westport, or those who say they surf there a lot, when I see them looking for waves on the Strait. Maybe Tom has mellowed; other names are mentioned as enforcers at the Groins and the Jetty.
So, here’s the contribution:
Chasing the Diamonds; Quilted, Kenetic, Allusive
My sister, Melissa Lynch, the real artist in the family, scolded me for being in any way apologetic for my drawings. Yeah, well; I would like to be honest. If I could capture the building blocks of always-moving water, figure out how to weave a seamless shadowed/reflective/glimmering/black/white/multi-hued image I would.
If I could.
Since I can’t; yet; I’ll keep trying.
Meanwhile, I’m still in the thinking-it-through phase of a piece I must write under the working title of: “Are All Surfers Sociopaths; or Just the Good Ones?”
Three Acts: ACT ONE- several highschool surfing buddies and I surf Swamis after school. The only other surfers out are three (also high school age) members of the Surfboards Hawaii Surf Team. On the drive home, my friends complain they couldn’t catch any (or enough) waves. I hadn’t noticed, being busy catching waves and watching incredible longboard surfing. ONE, PART 2- One of my friends (Ray Hicks, most likely) points out (I think this was the day I ripped out my pants and had to borrow a pair of Levis from Billy McLean) that, when encountering other surfers of about our age, I seem to puff out my chest. “Maybe you’re intimidated.” “Yeah; probably.” “It’s, uh, like a gorilla.” “You mean, like, primal?” “Yeah, probably.”
ACT TWO- During the last week of my job up the hill from Trestles, taking an hour and a half break during my half hour official lunchtime, some surfer (I’ve always believed he was a Marine Officer) burned me and everyone else (I still got some, but not as many as usual waves). When I checked back at my half hour afternoon (supposed to be ten minutes) break, the guy was still out, still burning surfers mercilessly. I didn’t hate him; maybe he was going somewhere sucky, where a rifle was mandatory, for a while.
ACT THREE- My friend Stephen Davis, last time I spoke with him on the phone, mostly about his upcoming trip to the Oregon Coast and the chance I might meet him somewhere (probably won’t happen); had to, (had to) mention how I fell out of favor with many members of the Port Townsend surfing crew (very unofficial) because, over-amped, I (accidentally, I swear)wave-hogged on a day almost two years ago. Two years ago. Jeez. When I mentioned this on the phone this morning with Keith Darrock, and that I’m no more a sociopath than he is, and I do have empathy, whatever that is, he had to (had to) mention his observation that I’m kind of loud and possibly abrasive (see how he was tactful about this?) in the water, and, also, incidentally, I do seem to “kind of strut in the parking lot.” “WHAT? ME? No, it’s just being friendly.” (I am laughing at this point, but, also, thinking. Is he right?) “Like a rooster. And, oh,” he adds, has to add, “You kind of stick out your chest. And…and it seems like you want to dominate (I’m adding ‘even in’) the parking lot.”
There is no ACT FOUR where I try to change my ways, get all friendly and nice; empathize with those who won’t (before hand) or didn’t get enough waves. Empathize. I did tell Keith I’d rather attempt to empathize than be one of those who didn’t get enough waves. Maybe they’ll get points toward sainthood. No true contrition. Sorry. At least not so far. But, I am thinking; and since I can’t afford professional help, I’ll have to self-diagnose.
STEP ONE-“Yes, it’s all true.” See you in the parking lot.
First in a Series of Newly-Colorized B&W Drawings
Because I actually have a large number of drawings in my portfolio, and wanted to display as many as possible for the recent (and extensively covered in realsurfers.net) Surf Culture on the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Salish Sea Event, I took some time, dug through various shelves and drawers and drawing books, and found quite a few of the variously-sized originals, some previously-made copies; took them all to The Printery in Port Townsend, and, with a lot of help for the money, got them sized to fit on 8&1/2 by 11 inch shinier, heavier stock, and placed them in five stacks on a six foot piece of 12 inch wide pine.
Almost instantly I wanted to add color to many of them. Oops; too hard to color on the shiny stock. But, I do have a scanner/printer. Here’s the first. There will be more.
Not so stoked on the way yellow reads like semi-worn out magic marker, but, not apologizing. And, somewhere here I’ll have to write about how I got some small waves today; small but… hey, look for both “Erwin Would Go, But What Will He Do When It’s Over A Foot?” and “If You Were Happy With Your Last Session, Don’t Talk to Adam Wipeout.” I have some photos; might even have some of me on really tiny waves.
BUCKY- Another Character for S(Heart)P MAN
I’m getting the S(Heart)P MAN characters together for the non-epic, everyday (unfortunately) battle for a few waves. Bucky has been forced back into the ghetto mentality of seaside city surfing by the most devious of villains, the need to make a living. Where he once developed skills and a reputation, he’s now scrapping on an even-more-crowded playing field where he must compete against surfers with less skill, less wave knowledge, less… it’s debatable, even in Bucky’s mind, if he ever had the proper surfers’ soul, or even what that means. If the thrill is harder to achieve and the fun is fractured by drop-ins and cut-offs and the waves he can’t even go for because some SUP-riding A-hole is…
Well, there’s the drama, huh?
Naming this character Bucky is in homage to my first local surf hero. I hope he’s doing well. I decided to put in the sort-of super hero perspective, partially, in response to the response from Trish, whose comment on the drawing of Rhonda (not really based on anyone on a conscious level) was, “Her hands are kind of big… man hands;” and Stephen Davis, who agreed. I don’t want to go back and redraw Rhonda (again), but do plan on redoing the drawings of S(heart)P MAN and parts the montage, maybe just gluing-in some changes.
S HEART (READ IT AS ‘U’) MAN- RHONDA EXPOSITION
Maybe I’m going to have to go back and work on the earlier drawings. It’s all about telling a story, and a story is developing. This isn’t me telling it; this is me working it out. Rhonda is not happy with her life, pushing flabby desk jockeys, cubicle dogs, guys who suddenly discover they never really had an adolescence, guys with enough money to suddenly find they want to be exciting, too (also) into weak beachbreak, in sometimes-skanky water, in a city with often-brown skies- for money.
“We’re all whores,” SUPman will (eventually) say; “at least you’re making money doing something you love. And, no, you’re, really, a ‘pusher,’ ha, ha; and, um, wait… brainstorm… ‘the first wave’s free.’ Hey, Rhonda, that could be your tagline. A gift. Another gift. You know I’m hooked, right?”
“Something I did love,” Rhonda will think. “If he calls me a ‘hook hooker’ I’m just gonna …”
Stay tuned; workin’ on it. Oh, and hope you didn’t find the Beach Boys allusion cheesy.
Adam Wipeout’s realsurfers’ Guide to Being Real, Number 3
This is the drawing for the post two down from here; but, rather than transfer the copy from there (mostly because I couldn’t seem to get it done), I should probably just update. I did hit the hot waves on the cold Straits last Thursday. The session that started out… wait, I already wrote about that. I could mention the “Locals Only” session in Port Townsend earlier this week; two hours of rare wraparound waves with heavy nearly-offshore winds and a horizontal downpour . I was actually working nearby, headed over, watched the two hour session happen from the comfort of my work rig.
I probably should come up with the top ten excuses for not going out when there are actually waves. My ear was plugged up from the previous session, not thinking I needed earplugs because it was small (initially), and suffice it to say, I do feel the guilt. Maybe my best excuse is that I’m not a local, and didn’t want to impose.
No, that won’t be on my list; I’ve only done it once. merely crowded is not the same thing. Oh, and, for the sin of ever mentioning there are ever, EVER any waves in Port Townsend; no one could really predict or forecast the event, or take the chance to drive any distance on the chance it might happen.
As for today’s surf… owwwwww!
Coming up soon: “Are all surfers SOCIOPATHS; or is it just me?”
Risen
Some believe one shouldn’t try to depict any deity (not arguing this here) in any medium. I drew two different illustrations to commemorate Easter, actually put on on the site. For about ten minutes. This is an acrylic I did several years ago on canvas board, a bit warped from leaning on the piano. I had to weigh down the top of the scanner to make it work. It’s not really out of focus; it was painted that way. I’d regret the wasted time I spent on drawings I won’t use, but, really, what I’d prefer, is more time to waste similarly.
There have been a couple of thousand Easters, and an unknown (to us) number of dawns, the daily reminder that we have another opportunity to struggle, to succeed, to fail; another chance to correct some of our blunders, to move beyond our failures, to push toward, toward…
…we have hours and days to worry about what we’re struggling against, about what we’re striving for. What we might do, for a moment, is consider love and compassion and grace and peace and redemption; realizing we need more than we possess or can attain.
May you occasionally stop to appreciate the journey, wherever your beliefs and your search to validate them takes you. Seriously. What I most firmly believe is that, wherever this adventure takes us, life is a solo trip for each of us. We share a few seconds or days or years; we find a bit (or, hopefully, a lot) of what we’re searching for; and we keep going. Stop, think about the gift of those moments; moments of love, of peace, of mystery and magic, maybe a few moments on a wave you’re not sure you’re going to make. And, incidentally, thanks for sharing this moment.
“So, This One Time, Back at Surf Camp…” a short story/illustration
I showed this, at a bit of a distance, to my wife, Trish. She nodded, approvingly, then asked why there were so many words. “I can’t help it,” I explained. It’s just so difficult to be clever, even with an “American Pie” reference, a few phallic symbols and a double entendre or two. Oh,and now I’ve ‘over-explained.’
Channeling Your Inner Greg Noll
It doesn’t matter what beach you go to, how big the waves are; it’s a part of the mystical ritual to get to the edge, find your inner Greg Noll (forever deified in the photo by John Severson), and prepare for the epic battle/love affair between surfer and sea. And then there’s some kid/freak channeling an inner nine year old John John… and beware, that freak could be some old guy, that weird bit of spittle drooling onto his soul patch might just be froth. So, froth on!
Real Surfers 
Erwin,
If it’s of any value to the surfing community, I’d like to recite some first-hand oral history about Pt. Grenville.
I surfed there from 1967 to -69, when I was in high school. We just showed up with surfboards and camped for the weekend, without any fuss from “authorities.”
Then, in 1969, we showed up as usual, and a truck pulled up and a well-spoken, close-shaved Indian came over to us in an very authoritarian manner, and spoke to us ominously, “Where are you boys from?”
“Bremerton,” we said.
Then he looked at the rock cliffs covered in grafitti, and most of it was the names of various high schools painted in great big letters in a wide variety of colors.
He paused and said, “If I looked up at these rocks and saw ‘West Bremerton,’ or ‘East Bremerton’ written here, I’d arrest you and put you in jail. But as it is, you can just leave.”
So we got kicked out, and never went back. Good thing us Bremerton guys specialize more in thievery and violence, and “school spirit” was for “soces.” Besides, our writing skills were sketchy, anyway.
In 1970 I heard that some friends tried to go there, and the Quinaults confiscated their boards and they had to pay fines. I left the state in 1970, and have not heard anything about it since, except for your piece on this web page.
BTW, concerning Washington surfing at the time, I had the feeling that Pt. Grenville was the only place, because the waves were dependable. I wasn’t part of any big surfing “scene,” because there were so few of us, so I don’t know if there were many guys scouting all the coastline in the state, looking for a good break. In those days, I’d never heard of surfing at Westport. (What’s more, I lived the 1970s in San Francisco, and never heard of Mavericks, though no one else seemed to know about it, either.) People in Bremerton were always going there for more fishing. When we got out of high school, it seemed like everyone went to Hawaii, got jobs, and stayed for awhile.
Aside: We didn’t use wet suits. When I was aged 6 to 9, I spent the summers living in a tent and a beach cabin at La Push, because my father was a commercial fisherman out of there & Neah Bay. My mom told me, “Just wait till you get numb, and you can play in the surf all day.” She was right. Last time I did it was 2010.
Clint Burks
So, I really don’t know anything about Mr. Burks except that he must be about my age, possibly another member of the class of 1969. And I have heard a few stories about Point Grenville in the mid 1960s, some which might explain why the beach was closed. Still, the image of some waves peeling off that point…
Here’s my latest illustration: