Category Archives: surfing blogs

Skip Frye and I, Skip Frye and Me

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, Erwin Dence illustrations, Original Erwin, real surfers, surf culture, surfing blogs, surfing for life, surfing novels, surfing Southern California in the 60s, writings of Erwin Dence

UPDATES- NONE at the moment- Saturday, July 18.BUT…

Skip Frye and I, Skip Frye and Me- Several Anecdotes

INTRO-

A sudden, not-going-to-last obsession with classic surfer Skip Frye was triggered by an episode of “Pinch my Salt” showing up on YouTube. I’m fine watching a snippet of the pretty smarmy Sterling Spencer, but I’m never ready to spend an hour plus watching… anyone. This is what fast forward is for. 

This episode promised an interview with Skip; but it did start without him. So, fast forward; though I had to watch a portion where Sterling claimed someone ‘picked his pocket.’  It turned out to be a not unusual ‘chat and steal.’ One of my standard moves.  Or so I’ve been told.

Then, on to the interview. If someone personifies an eighty-three-year-old lifetime (not Skip’s, probably yours) San Diego surfer, no one better fills the role than Mr. Frye.  The hosts were respectful, though Skip was pushed to say something negative about soft tops (he said someone gave him one, but he’d never ride it), surfers who put their names on popouts (almost did because Donald Takayama wanted him to make some real money, but died before it might, or might not have happened), and modern surfing competition, the toughest and truest thing he would say, though he did contests, is that the one winner ruthlessness takes something away from what is often referred to as soul surfing.

Skip, who tries to turn out six boards a week, none cheap, all highly sought after, is still the epitome of soul. Surfing or otherwise.

The other guy on the podcast, Sterling’s cousin Ryan Spencer, asked the viewers to pleas be nice to Skip in the comments. I checked. Not a negative comment in the bunch, and, when Skip pulled out a harmonica at the end and played a mellow version of, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” well, people broke into tears. Or so they said.

TAMARACK, 1965-

My family (seven kids, our mom) was parked in the lower lot, as always. I was a total beginner/kook, just switching over from mat to board. I was probably still sharing my older sister’s (Suellen’s) 9’4” stock Hobie. There had been some sort of contest. Surfers and their entourages were loading up, ready to head home. “Skip was robbed!” “Skip should’ve won!”

I have this image, real or not, in my permanent files: A blond-haired guy shrugging off the comments meant to reassure him. 

PACIFIC BEACH, SAN DIEGO- 1971-1973- Later. I gotta go. But, coming… STEALING a design from TOM MOREY, surfing from Tourmaline to Crystal Pier ala Skip, finding nuggets in a crowded lineup, soul arching, ala Skip, just for the fun of it.

The Morey-Pope WATERSKATE, produced by Gordon & Smith; probably shaped by SKIP FRYE.

ULTRA CLASSIC TRIO- Photo by RON STONER, MICHAEL HYNSON paddling out, and SKIP (never not in trim) SKIP FRYE soul arching at THE RANCH.

I want to stress that I have been doing some research on this stuff. I have always been intrigued by the Hynson/Frye friendship, partially because they seem like such different individuals. If I give Hynson a lot of credit for downrail surfboards, prove me wrong. It was interesting to learn, from the podcast, that they were riding boards Michael had shaped for the 1966 Duke Kahanamoku contest. Cool.

CONTACT- erwin@realsurfers.net InstaGram- realsurfersdotnet

Thanks for checking out my site. Get some waves, summer isn’t really endless.

Tracking Incredible Ocean Photographer (with, of course, her permission) Rachael Talibart

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, northwest surfing blog,, real surfers, surf photos, surfing blogs, writings of Erwin Dence

The photographer, abovve, some of her work, below.

I am writing something about how addictive INSTAGRAM is, but, while scrolling (and, can’t help it), and (occasionally) commenting, I came across some incredible photographs of the open ocean; the chaos and the power and the beauty, taken by Rachael Talibart. I HAD to comment. The first comment on a collection of black and white images, which I self-borrowed from a possibly edited-out quote from Ruth DeFreines in my novel, “SWAMIS,” (note the self promotion here- not there) was, “Our minds fill in the colors.” It got a like/heart (part of the addictiveness).

I, of course, had already hit ‘Follow,’ so I got more posts from @rachaeltalibart. I sent a comment saying I would love to include some of her work on my HUMBLE (not by design) blog, and she ‘replied’ it was fine if I include a working link to her website.

This linking is tough for me. I will get my daughter, Dru, to assist.

What interests me is figuring out what kind of person chases storms to capture the previously mentioned power and chaos and beauty, the source of what surfers seek, groomed-out and organized, of course. NOT a lot of bio stuff readily available. Rachael lives in the south of England, gets seasick, and takes on extreme weather so folks can look at the images (she has a book, “Sirens) in comfort, perhaps with one of them as a sort of window, framed and hanging in a formal room.

Anyway, thank you, Rachael. Heart/like.

Meanwhile, I’m getting my works together and planning on having Dru help with the formatting, pre-publishing stuff for my upcoming (I promise) collection, “Love Songs for Cynics.”

I do have some newly added Original Erwin additions on my other pages (nothing on the political or religious front at the moment), so check that out if you get a chance. Contact- erwin@realsurfers.net, Instagram- realsurfersdotnet. AND thanks, as always, for spending. a little time at my humble (not by design) site. GET SOME WAVES!

“Soft Persuasion” and Happy 4th

Posted on by under surfing blogs, writings of Erwin Dence

UPDATE- July 6- ANNOUNCEMENT! PAGE VII has been added. It is focused on my upcoming collection, “LOVE SONGS FOR CYNICS.” Check it out.

UPDATE- July 4, 2026- 2:12 PACIFIC DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME

I just posted something on PAGE III. Check it out if you get a chance. This image is a clue.

I have, according to my phone used up all the storage for the ‘gallery.’ What this seems to mean is that I cannot film myself playing harmonica and singing original songs. SO, there goes my Instagram career hopes. I recorded two versions of my song, “Soft Persuasion,” which has a particular relevance on the day before the Fourth of July. In one, the harmonica sounds screechy and my voice sounds… kind of like it usually does; nasal-ly, flat…whatever. The second one, recorded by a local lake with the phone in the back of the Toyota, has me and the harmonica sounding okay, but, possibly because of the angle (SURE), I look, in an oversized white t shirt, well, fat. Not that I’m not. And my hair… awful.

So, I deleted all of the videos on my. phone, but, maybe because the trash section is full, no storage.

Anyway, I have been working on formatting a collection of poems and essays and songs. I do enjoy this. I’m pretty close to having “Love Songs for Cynics” ready. Because poetry is so… fancy, I plan a separate and definitely not equal section for ‘Down and Dirty Blues’ songs. This is more a ballad. Fiction, actually, with an opportunity to throw out some non-political Independence Day references. Here goes:

You offered me such SOFT PERSUASION, on the night before the fourth of July, Began as such a festive occasion, you held me close, I never asked you why,

I went off just like a Roman candle, I’m sure the light lit up half of the night, But love, that’s something we could never handle, True love’s one thing that we can’t get quite right.

(Chorus). Misunderstanding, misunderstood; I thought that we could make it happen, Now I see it ain’t no good; Misunderstanding, I got it wrong; You took the words that I has written, and wrote yourself another song.

You said it’s just a misunderstanding, said you’d never meant to lead me along; You hoped I’d have a really soft landing; You wrote down all the words to my last song.

All in all, you treated me quite kindly, You said there were some things you should explain; I had rushed in way way way too blindly; And love’s that blind can only bring one pain.

Chorus

“Some things,” you said, “Are best left unspoken,” Some things I said I never should have said; Some spells, once cast, should never be broken; some love’s not in your heart, it’s in your head.

But you’d already. heard my. confession, There is no other woman I think of; “Sometimes,” you said, “love’s really obsession;” Well, sometimes, what we think is love is love.

Chorus

I walked into the teeth of the morning; Where firecrackers popped and fuses burned; I had been knocked down without a warning; I couldn’t put in words what I had learned.

All I knew is I had never known you; And everything I thought was right was wrong; Didn’t know, from there, where I could go to; Couldn’t find a tune for my new song.

Misunderstanding, misunderstood; I thought that we could make it happen; Now I see it ain’t no good; Misunderstanding, you got it wrong; You took the words that I had written, but now I have another song.

And you’d offered me such soft persuasion.

Contact- erwin@realsurfers.net Instagram- realsurfersdotnet

I have been updating my artwork; check out. PAGE VII.

ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED ON ALL ORIGINAL writing and artwork on this site by Erwin A. Dence, jr. Thanks for honoring my copyrights.

AS ALWAYS, THANKS for checking in and checking my humble blog out, GET SOME WAVES, AND, PLEASE, CELEBRATE! Happy Birthday, America, and good luck to us all!

For The Complaint Department, Go To: Helen Waite

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, hipster surfers, learning to surf, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, real surfers coloring book, Seattle surfers, surf adventures, surf sessions, surfing blogs, surfing in Washington State, surfing Neah Bay, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, women surfers in the Northwest,, writings of Erwin Dence

I was working in Port Angeles all week, never had (or gave myself) a chance to even check out the surf; but, then, wait for it (I have), I went. Yeah, I joined the seeming caravan of time-offers and weekenders and vacationers headed toward the Olympic Peninsula, home to the Olympic Mountains, named, appropriately, after the mythical home of the mythical gods. It’s like… Nirvana, with a different lineup (do I have to add ‘not the bend? Probably). Yeah, and there’s, like forests and… lakes, and… It is enticing, entrancing, inviting those stuck on I-5 to drive however many hours to get here. And the weather has just been so… Southern California-ISH. Not that I’m complaining.

This was a side project. I was painting an ADU on the Port Angeles property. Someone else cut out the trees a while back. The homeowner, who has a lot off artsy stuff going on, gave me free reign. Thanks.

The job done, I traded ladders for a thrashed out board, and headed back north. It’s not that I want to share the road OR the waves. Dawn patrolling might help. Still, I worry. I am still trying to get past a severe thrashing from mid-winter, and have had few opportunities to rebuild my. confidence. What if, I was thinking on the way up Surf Route 101, it’s closed out and crowded and… ?And then, when I arrived… no worries; no ‘got to go NOW’ conditions. Barely breaking. It was a ‘it might get better’ situation, so, normal. Not crowded… yet. No side wind. Yet. I took my time, chatted with PA locals, Bill Truckenmueller (sp?) and his son, who talked about how the day before was better, and never got out of their van, and told me they were leaving as a sacrifice to the swell gods. “Thanks. I’ll let you know what you missed next time I see you.”

Parked in my favorite spot was THOR. I’ve surfed with him quite a few over the years. He said the previous day started similarly weak and inconsistent, and got better. The last time I saw Thor was at the Lower Elwha gas station. He had just suffered a serious injury. He’s fully recovered now. I filled him in on what is happening with me. I did, because I do, mention this blog. “You. mean your personal complaint department?” ‘Huh? What? Um, yeah.”

Still taking my sweet time getting suited up, a rig pulled up next to me, two young (relatively) men jumped out, instantly started putting fins on their fancy wood boards. Just making conversation, because ERWIN TALKS TO STRANGERS, I mentioned their parking gave themselves plenty of room, but they could have parked closer, allowing the next folks room. “No.” Okay. No disagreeing. I asked one of them how long he’d been surfing. “A while.” “Oh. Did you, like, start during Covid?” “Give me a break.” “Okay, so… adult learner. Surf school.” No answer. “It’s pretty flat. Hobuck’s probably big. Maybe you should go there.” The other guy came around the corner, turning his Patagonia wetsuit rightsideout while doing modified squats. “Why don’t you go, then?” “Too far. Too scary.” “Sure.” Possible sarcasm. “Um, where’d you, if I might ask, come from?” No answer. “I live in Quilcene. It’s down the canal.” “Okay. Sure.” Somewhere it was revealed they were from Kirkland. “Might be bigger there,” one of the Kirkland dudes said before he raced his friend toward the water.

It’s fine that, when flipping friendly-ish shit, some gets flipped back. The test of surfing is in the water. By the time I got out, there were five or six other surfers out. Long boards. I took off on a wave, not believing (or looking) behind me. “Hey!” A guy on a green longboard, who wasn’t on the wave, yelled, “You have to look. That’s it! You get. one. drop-in!” He paddled out. I paddled out. He back paddled me. Evidently backpaddling was acceptable. Fine. Game on!

I don’t mean to overdramatize this; not high tension. Just, with not-great waves, kind of unnecessary.

There were some other ‘your wave, my wave’ things happening over the course of the session, but I didn’t have any other disputes with the unofficial regulator. He did continue to backpaddle, I played my game, managed to get some rides I was really happy with. Meanwhile, the Kirkland guys did not dominate. The lineup had the usual small day ratio of beginners to experienced surfers, and I noticed several of the guys in the water looked… similar. We all want to identify who, in the water, is going to blow a takeofff, who is a bit too aggressive; all of which helps us catch more waves and stay out of trouble. Maybe. Plus, it’s not cool to stare at your. competition. Or talk too much.

None of these societal restraints kept me from paddling over and making a comment to the large (not that I’m small) woman with a bright red, full-brimmed hat on. It seemed, not staring, that it was attached to a hood. Maybe it just had a very practical chin strap. “You’re doing your best to avoid cancer,” I said. “I’m trying.” She took off on a wave, went straight, and two other women, with similar hats, about to paddle out, hooted, wildly, as if their friend had won the contest. Perhaps she had. We are all competing in our minds. Aren’t we?

I managed to outlast the green board enforcer, but he did paddle out next to Thor, and, possibly because Thor was, my assessment, the best surfer out at this time, engaged him in conversation. I mentioned that when the waves dropped back to minimal as the tide drained out. “Yeah, I told him you’re old, you have really bad knees, your wife is battling cancer, and you should give you a break.” “Thanks, Thor, but… about those two times you burned me…” “Oh, one was for the guy you burned, and the other… It was my one free burn.” Fair. Enough.

I had to take this photo. The guy sat there a while, looking like Rodin’s “The Thinker.” I asked if he was thinbking, “Damn, should have gotten here earlier.” “No, I was thinking… maybe it’ll get better.” Eventually. Yes.

Contact- erwin@realsurfers.net

Instagram- realsurfersdotnet

Thanks; catch some waves when you can, limit your dropins, backpaddle at will, keep it friendly, keep it fun. But, FUCK CANCER!

Oh, shit! I forgot. I do have some new ORIGINAL ERWIN illustrations. I will post them soon.

Checkout Page VII and Portfolio/Resume’ Stuff

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, northwest surfing blog,, Original Erwin, real surfers, surf culture, surf novels, surfing, surfing art, surfing blogs, writings of Erwin Dence

I included these as part of my resume’, that part of my submission for the mural project at the Seamus Skate Park in Port Townsend. It’s, top to bottom: Original sign on 101 originally done as a (winning) entry in a post card contest at the Quilcene Village Store; rainbow on. gable of house on San Juan in Port Townsend; stripes and lettering in Quilcene gymnasium; surfboard and panel in Joel Carben’s collection; fence at PT’s Memorial Field; repaint of mural on Peninsula Foods; original. mural on. the Quilcene. Historical Museum.

Restricted in the number of images, this was the entire portfolio, with, of course, stories.

I did write some stuff, because having a connection to the skater community seemed to be part of what the deciders were looking for, revealing my last century street/skate cred. Skateboarding, for a kid twenty miles from Oceanside Pier, slaloming down the hills of Fallbrook, was so much a part of my surfing that… Yeah, I’ll get back to you on that, including my experience, in my twenties, living in Pacific Beach, San Diego, with the resurgence of skateboarding.

MEANWHILE, I’ve added another page to cover stories and dreams I really enjoy writing about. Check it out. I keep talking to strangers, keep dreaming, so… more stories.

Contact- erwin@realsurfers.net

InstaGram- realsurfersdotnet

Trish Update- Slow recovery, stronger everyday. If she has some chemo fog, so do I. Fuck Cancer!

Thanks for checking out realsurfers.net, see. you out on Surf Route 101!

The Hole in Your Heart (Only) Surfing Fills

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, surf addiction, surf culture, surfing blogs

I’m almost finished with this sign down Linger Longer Road in Quilcene. Suddenly, the town on Surf Route 101 I’ve lived in almost 48 years, is hip, cool; hip and cool go there. On purpose. And, with rich folks building mansions on Olympic foothill acreage, there has been an influx of a young demographic.

You can cruise on the massive, wonder of a bridge, just opened, that goes over the remodeled lower stretch of the Big Quilcene River/flood plain, cruise along the mud flats of Quilcene Bay (filled in at high tide with water warm enough in summer to allow swimming sans wetsuit), and, just before you get to the oyster hatchery and Herb Beck Marina, check it out. Am I trying to blow up the spot? Maybe.

                                                 If Surfing Fills a Hole…

If surfing fills a hole in your life, possibly in your soul; if your self-image and the image you’ve worked for and work to project is that of a person who surfs, a surfer, with any and all of the real or romanticized attributes given, and appreciated even by the most random, holiday surfer; if you live for and lust after waves, fun-sized to crazy to death barrels; if you are that person, and you can’t surf for a while, as in longer than it took for you to recover from this or that medical setback, or a work or situation-caused injury that required time away from waves; if you cannot surf… what fills that hole?

Stories of past glories are not enough. Enough retellings of even the most mundane tales of riding spots now incredibly crowded on even an average day sound exaggerated. Or worse. Even surfers your age might question whether your authenticity. Young surfers will dismiss you and your tales, just as you put little faith in the stories told by people over thirty when you were under twenty.

Still, people riding emptier lineups, even on pre-revolution boards… that’s something. Memories have value. Times edits out those that don’t.

Yeah. I’m writing about surfing instead of doing more surfing. I have excuses and explanations and situations, and, mostly, or partially, I have a lot of other things I have to do; most of which interfere with other things I want to do.

Surfing is on the ‘want to do’ list. There is that hole, that desire.

“When I was younger,” a sentence begging to be ignored or half-listened to begins, I was critical of surfers who weren’t frothing to go out on waves I couldn’t resist. But then, and now, I tried to adjust my life, or, at least, my schedule, to allow the opportunity, and, non-epic waves, enough of them, with, maybe, that one sneaker barrel… worth it.

Most of my contemporaries are not surfing. Kudos to the ones who are.

A good friend, legendary (I try not to over or misuse that description) gave up (not ‘quit’) surfing a few years ago. Bad shoulders, bad knees, crowds. Age. Mix and match. He told me that he says, if asked, that he loves surfing, always will, but, luckily, he has a lot of other activities and responsibilities that keep him occupied. He may have said fulfilled.

Still, I have seen other, most-likely retired folks, and this was a while ago, at Pipes, hanging on the fence, looking at other surfers paddle and bob and blow takeoffs and ride awkwardly, and I thought how lucky they were. Then Ray and I walked down and paddled out.

The hole. I am fond of thinking that it’ll always be there, as filled in as best I could; still anticipating the next session.

Lucky me.

Contact- erwin@realsurfers.net

Instagram- realsurfersdotnet

Check out the other Pages, including the newly-added PAGE VI, a collection of my original art works. I have been working on a collection of poetry/songs/stories, with a plan to publish it. Soon.

I have a new copyright for “Swamis,” the novel, mostly because I’vve gotten a bit more protective, partially because it is so different than the draft currently copyrighted. The above story is, as all original works by me, protected under copyright, all rights reserved by Erwin A. Dence, Jr.

Thanks for checking out realsurfers. Get some waves, make some memories, live your own story.

Almost forgot… FUCK CANCER!

Buy “SWAMIS” NOW!

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, Erwin Dence surf illustrations, northwest surfing blog,, surf fiction, surf novels, surfing art, surfing blogs, surfing illustrations, surfing Southern California in the 60s, surfing Swamis, writings of Erwin Dence

I DO HAVE surfing related content to post, but I’ve other things going on that push this stuff back a ways. As do we all. Other stuff, like real life. Trish has had a terrible time recovering from chemo and radiation, and has been in the hospital for almost a week. Weight loss, low blood pressure, some sort of infection, it’s all been quite overwhelming.

THE THING ABOUT much of life is that there are, yes, those moments in which something happens suddenly; car accidents for example; but most things happen in much slower motion. Sometimes painfully slow motion. Hair loss is one example (not the best if you consider chemo), but all the indignities dealt us in the aging process. AND THERE are the many problems and issues we cannot fix. ourselves, even with YouTube video help: Car repair. Cancer. AND THERE is the (almost) guilt we feel when we can do so little to help others, this hopelessness (if I haven’t mentioned this emotion yet), the ‘almost’ hopelessness and guilt when we’re talking about people we don’t know, or don’t know well, the feelings multiplied when it’s someone we love.

I I’M COMPLAINING, and I am, I am also aware it’s not about me. It’s about TRISH, someone I’ve known and loved for almost 58 years; someone who doesn’t want me making a deal out of all this. Stubborn enough (and people do ask me… and Trish) to stick with me all this time. IF TRISH is stubborn, she is also strong.

THE ANNOYING reality is that life goes on around us. Bills come due, obds have to be completed, and there’s not much I can do hanging around in a hospital room. AND I AM SOO annoying. II do, however, have some abilities in raising Trisha’s blood pressure. I must shout out now, to our daughter, DRU. She was vital in persuading her mother, with a lot of push from ADAM LARM, childhood friend to two of our three children, and now a nurse (two side stories I’m not telling now) to get paramedics to check her out. No, of course she had to go. And. now…

NOW I’m home, Dru did. a second overnight (they kicked me out at 8:30), and I’m charging up the phone, hanging on, waiting to hear what the doctor (4th or 5th since the two in the emergency room) has to say.

I CAN go work, or I could go to SAINT MICHAEL, or I could work on this blog, or I could finish the ending for my novel. The last two pages have been ready for a while, waiting for my cluttered, disjointed mind to focus enough to come up with… something… perfect, something that ties up some of the storylines while hinting, not subtly, that the next book, “BEACONS” (like Swamies, a convenient surf spot name that reflects the characters) will continue the fictional story of love, marijuana, surf, and MAGIC in the real world, 1969, San Diego’s North County.

LIVE ACTION- It’s almost 11am on Saturday, and I got the latest. UPBEAT, waiting for this test result. Or that one. Antibiotics. Waiting. I need to make a decision. But first… finish this.

My plan was to write something on how. so many things in REAL LIFE take precedence over surfing: Family, work, emergencies of all kinds; bbut when I went to Microsoft Word and checked my file for my novel, it had the little arrow allowing me to. go to page 229 (of 229) rather than scrolling down (which I wouldn’t have done today), SOOOOO, here we are.

-HERE’S THE PITCH! “Swamis” is for sale. I NEED AN AGENT! I NEED A PUBLISHER! I DO NOT WANT an EDITOR-FOR-HIRE. If you are a LEGIT agent, or someone interested in publishing, or, perhaps, investing in some sort of self-publishing scheme, contact me, erwin@realsurfers.net

I SHOULD MENTION THAT “SWAMIS” is dialogue heavy and could be visually… compelling.

OR, I’VE long considered printing some very limited copies, offering the signed work (probably 8&1/2 by 11, with illustrations, signed, dated, numbered) for some decent price, to the most discerning investors and/or surf novel fans. I’m trying to ome up with a price. I will.

TRISHA, checking me out in 1969, with what might be perceived as an adoring look. More likely, it’s curiosity rather than amazement. I’ve been thinking about some sort of poem about what she means to me. Everything. She is my buoy and my anchor; keeps me afloat when I’m sinking, keeps me closer to reality when my imagination overrules my judgment. The anchor simile is tougher. I don’t always want a real life perspective. Nothing replaces honesty. It’s a key ingrediant in love.

Working. on it. Check out some other realsurfersnet pages when you get a chance. Oh, and I sometimes post on INSTAGRAM, realsurfersdotnet

I think Fast Eddie Rothman is saying, “FUCK CANCER!”

“Even the President of the United States Sometimes Must Have to Stand Naked.” Dylan. “If I was the King of the Forest.” Cowardly Lion in “The Wizard of Oz.” “And could we, in this Constitution, perchance, add the phrase, ‘Fuck a bunch of fucking Kings?'” Benny Franklin.

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, surf culture, surfing blogs, writings of Erwin Dence

It’s NO KINGS Day! Got any plans?

“YEAH; NO KINGS !”A photo from Desert Point. DISCLAIMER- Not sure of the circumstance. Maybe it was payback, maybe this guy enjoys a party wave more than the GOAT. Now, I am not in any way pushing for drop-ins of the punitive nature, particularly by newby shoulder hoppers, but… sometimes… I don’t know, maybe Kelly wasn’t adhering to a priority system lesser mortals are expected to adhere to. I get that. OH, and… the dude down the line is probably causing a chandelier situation, so… fun.

Too much to unpack here. A bigger board doesn’t make one Kinglier, evidently. Is the one guy trying to party down? Is the scrapper about to get run down? Is this wave kind of… weak? Is the Dude in the Waikiki pose, obviously trying to remember step number three (Don’t pearl)? Is he wearing a spring suit, with hood, And a knee brace? Is the Dude in the ‘I’m driving down the line’ pose actively reconsidering his latest switch from crypto to betting on how many American service people will be dead or wounded in the latest War/escapade/evasion? Which way is the guy immediately outside the wave looking? Is the guy who is watching thankful he didn’t go on this wave? Is there surf in Cuba? Is stupid catchy? Are there any people in Congress with any integrity (I have my list of more or totally courageous folks, it’s America, you are still free to chose yours)?

GEORGE WASHINGTON, ‘PRESIDING’ at the Constitutional Convention, May of 1787, sending out some gang signs to the other old, bewigged, most-likely slave-owning white men. Loosely translated, it was, “If we play our cards right, this experiment might last, I postulate and do herein claim, two-hundred-and-fifty years; perhaps more. And if some charlatan/montebank/swindler/huckster even attempts to become a, dare I say, King; the PEOPLE will not stand for this brazen effrontery. Congress and the Courts will live up to their sworn vows, perform their sacred duties. The People, I tell you, will, shall, must PREVAIL! And now… now; I hear there’s a buffet. Line forms to the left. Let’s GO!

Some (not all) credits- History.com, El Pais in English, Pittsburg Gazette- from today

I keep putting off what I keep telling myself I will write about: How snow activities are so much better than surfing. Now, with the last ski bus heading to the Cascades for the last of the snow, it’s almost too late. Still, it’s coming. Soon.

CONTACT erwin@realsurfers.net

I have promised myself I will put in some time on finishing my novel, “Swamis.” I keep coming up with new ideas for the story’s climax.

HOW MY BRAIN WORKS (OR DOESN’T)- Earlier today, scrolling on the YouTube, I saw something explaining people who can’t remember other people’s name (but, saving grace, remember stories involving that person, or, in my case, nicknames). Okay. So I’m writing the paragraph immediately above this one, and I can’t think of word for the ending of a novel. CONCLUSION? Maybe, but there’s no way “Swamis” is going to end with anything less than a cliffhanger. Next novel? “Grandview.” I look conclusion up. Not exactly right. I’m thinking, “What’s a word that is a synonym for orgasm?” I look up ORGASM. Climax is a choice. I look up CLIMAX. One choice of definitions in Merriam-Webster mentioned a series of phrases or sentences in ascending order of rhetorical forcefullness. “Oh, so it’s like the third wave of a four wave set.” Yeah. That. That’s where I want the ending of my novel to be.

We’ll see. I posted another Original Erwin song, with harmonica, on the Instagram. Check out REALSURFERSDOTNET to see and hear my third or fouth attempt to do a one take version of “Before the Wind Comes Up.” I am going to try to do a decent version of “Another Lie, Another War.” I will let you know. Surf if you can, Snow it up while you can. FUCK CANCER! FUCK A BUNCH OF. FASCISTS! Thanks for checking out realsurfers.net

Second Hand Stoke

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, Erwin Dence surf illustrations, northwest surfing blog,, real surfers, surf art, surf novels, surfing art, surfing blogs, Uncategorized, writings of Erwin Dence

A couple of photos from CHIMACUM TIMACUM of his view during his recent trip to TORTOLA. Not to blow up the spot, but Tim claims waist to chest high most days. SO, perfect Erwin size surf. 80 degree water and air. And… yeah, yeah, yeah…It is kind of like bragging.

Not that I mind. But, as much as I enjoy hearing about someone else’s exploits, am I surfing vicariously and soaking in the mellow vibes? No.

There’s reporting, there’s bragging, and there is gloating. Not that I don’t feel some sort of desire to gloat my ass off on those occasions when I am the one scoring.

My SURF FRIENDS seem to love letting me know about scores they have, um, scored; magical sessions, narrow windows of surf perfection they were not mere witnesses to, but active participants in. I am, apparently, expected to be that guy on the beach, jumping up and down, that guy on the shoulder, both arms up. in celebration. “YEA!”

Then I get a call or a text or run into another surf friend. “Yes, I heard about it.”

YEAH and YEA and “I am so happy for you… or him… or her… or anyone who scores. I AM STOKED.” Second hand stoke.

BUT, really, I’d rather be the frothed than the frothee, the stoked rather than the stokee. YEAH.

AND, MY GUESS, so would you.

FROM THE EMAILBOX: erwin@realsurfers.net

I got the first image from legendary waterman TIM NOLAN. Tim uses a technique in which he bleaches out the colors from a photo, then uses water colors to bring a new vision of the image.

The middle image is the photo taken by RICO MOORE of KEITH DARROCK. If it wasn’t a great shot, neither Tim nor I would have been drawn to it. The bottom image is my take on the scene; Keith coming in, a fire, a coffee cup. Yes, I do love Tim’s color selection. Yes, I could have blended the colored pencil colors a little more smoothly.

I have been doing some recording of original Erwin songs for my Instagram account. I have decided, since I should not sing but do, and because I have songs worth sharing (my opinion), I am just going to sing and play harmonica.

UPDATE/UPDATE/UPDATE- March 26- If I stop and watch and listen to any of my one take, usually while driving videos, I will probably not post it. The harmonica sounds shrill, my voice sounds… pick any word to describe the sentiment, “That guy should never sing.” STILL, I have songs people should hear. SO, I will continue to try to improve. YEAH, I did kind of believe people might forgive my voice because of my age. Maybe, but I haven’t. Not yet.

Here are the lyrics to my most recent tune:

Before the wind comes up, Before the clouds blow in, Before the sun goes dark, Before the rain begins, Before the lights go out along the avenue, I’m gonna load up my tools and head on home to you. Home to you, home to you, gonna pack up my van and hurry home to you.

REMEMBER Saturday is NO KINGS DAY.

Shit’s at stake. Participate!

Thanks, as always, for checking out realsurfers.net

How’s Your Week Going? Words, photos, stories

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, adam wipeout, northwest surfing, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, surf fiction, surfing blogs, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, Uncategorized, writings of Erwin Dence

Here is another example of why I should be ready to take photos with my camera: I was in my last surviving vehicle at a parking lot that faces the Strait. There were no waves, but there was cell phone coverage. I may have been feeling particularly down, not to panic-depression levels; but, having lived a large chunk of my life on the edge (my choice to be a self-employed painter in the Northwest), and sharing with some unknown but large portion of the citizenry the pain of war and suddenly crazy gas prices, and, perhaps some lack of real confidence in our leaders…

Anyway, I see this old person (I’m guessing a man) being led by a younger, taller, person down the easiest incline from the parking lot to the narrow stretch of beach. My thought is he wanted to see the ocean, that perhaps he hadn’t seen it in a while, perhaps, even, he had some fear he might not have another opportunity. I don’t know; I make up stories.

He shuffles out. There’s a slight but cold west wind. There are rocks and driftwood and kelp to navigate. He did not last long. I imagined him saying to his companion, coming back up the berm, “Yeah; just like I remembered it.”

Close as I could get, image-wise. Borrowed from ruveyda

A screen tracks trading on the floor at the New York Stock Exchange (NYSE) after the closing bell in New York City, U.S., April 4, 2025. REUTERS/Brendan McDermid

I should apologize for not putting this on NON-POLITICAL ERWIN. No. On a more personal note:

There is, of course a story. SO, top to bottom: After several issues with the VOLVO, alternately known as the “Super Fun Car,” I managed to get it to 200,000 miles (note the crustiness of the steering column and the harmonicas). NEXT, Dru’s house in Port Gamble is a stopping off point for Canadian Geese (note the shadows of the Volvo, with surfboard, and me). NEXT, Full moon, or fullish, last Monday night (note Dru’s new car, replacement for Honda attacked by mutant deer). NEXT, Dru’s cat, Nicholas, and the very rich cake Dru made for her lifetime friend, Mollie Orbea (who lives down the street).

BEFORE I get to the bottom shot, my work van being towed (for the many-ith time) from the parking area at Highway 104 and Center Road, I will enlighten you on the latest wound to the Volvo. YES, as in every movie that shows the moon, it was full. And it was Mollie’s birthday. And, because TRISH is recovering from Chemotherapy very very slowly, I was sent to represent. Also, I did not have my hearing aids with me. Awkward in any social situation, forcing kids and grownups to yell and/or repeat is… rude. At least. BUT, while leaving, I mentioned to Mollie’s husband, Pete, the person who pretty much runs the activities in Port Gamble, AND the person who conducts the ghost tours, that the Volvo reached this milestone. And then, looking for some wood to knock on, I selected a wheel from a ship that was mounted on the wall.

“You should know,” Pete said, “that wheel came from a Japanese vessel sunk in World War II. Now, the ghosts might follow you home.” Maybe they did. It’s about 20 miles, and when I turned into my driveway, the car stalled. And wouldn’t start. Blown head gasket. AVID readers of realsurfers.net might recall that Adam James helped me with using some Blue Devil when the Volvo overheated about twenty or thirty thousand miles ago. Now, according to my mechanical guru, George Takamoto, I will have to replace the headgasket. Not happening immediately, but I do plan on getting it done. AND I thought I was very lucky that the car stopped in my driveway.

Not the same luck two nights later when the gauges stopped working on van.

LIFE is, of course, a combination of good luck, bad luck, and shit we cannot control. I try very hard not to just freak the fuck out. I do have almost enough faith to believe, with the setbacks and traumas and dramas, the cruel, profane wars of choice, the inhumane treatment of those we share this fragile existence with, that there is a reckoning coming, that my complaints are not really significant.

I guess I’m lucky, because I never get the blues; Oh yes, I’m quite lucky, because I never get the blues; Now I might get suspicious, and sometimes I’m anxious, too; I might even get desperate and tear up a thing or two, but I count myself lucky because I Never get the blues.

Please don’t tell me your problems and think that I can relate; I don’t harbor jealousy and I won’t subsidize hate; If you want to complain, you can just go to Helen Waite; Don’t be telling me gossip and acting as if it’s news, ‘Cause I can’t share your problem and I want no part of your blues.

Dream of tomorrow, we sacrifice all our todays; We’re so busy working, we don’t take the time to just play; Though I’m selling my blood just to pay up my union dues; I still count myself lucky because I never get the blues.

My old truck’s still running, My dog didn’t die, Not in love with a woman who told me ‘goodbye,’ And my mama still talks of her baby with pride, And I can’t remember the last time I cried.

But then… I’m lucky, because I never get the blues; Oh yes, I’m quite lucky, because I never get the blues; Yes, sometimes I get angry, and sometimes I’m hurtin’, too; I might even get lonely, but not like most people do; Then again, I’m just lucky; Yes, I count myself lucky; Hell yes, I’m quite lucky because I… never get… the… blues.

Contact- erwin@realsurfersdotnet

All rights reserved for “I Guess I’m Lucky,” Erwin A. Dence, Jr.

THANKS, as always, for checking out my site. Good luck, get some waves.