Lost Between the Lines

This drawing is from a copy of the original black and white, which I (and at one point I was afraid I hadn’t) saved. The colors seem to get muted in the copying process, so I probably got a little over-amped (not unusual). A different mood could be achieved by going with different colors, but, having started with yellow, it got a bit stained-glassy.

realsurfersreflectionmancolor 001My original thought was to have a darker mood, a surfer swimming in, a wave behind him about to break. I also thought, once I got on the reflected image, that another reflection, high in the wave might be… okay, you’re imagining it now. And, I did want to keep some white space, keep it cleaner. Simpler. I just didn’t. Maybe I couldn’t. However, I spent some time (mostly wasted it) looking for images of a woman in a similar situation, thinking, yeah, triptych, this one on the left, the drawing on the right with a woman, maybe more in the actual wave, that wave breaking the opposite way; and the middle drawing just, simple, the wave between them. Okay, you’re seeing that now. And I’m seeing it.

That’s the first step. Only; but probably the most important one. The rest is scratching and coloring, sometimes in between the lines.

Not Talking About a Non-Secret Surf Spot

“You don’t even know,” Stephen said. “You wouldn’t believe how… good… double-overheaddddd…”

The cell phone connection, these being cosmic and pure, only made scratchy and difficult by the devices, modern versions of the tin can and string, wasn’t good*. I was in my work van, cruising south on Surf Route 101. I had made three phone calls to Stephen, left one message, left the other two before I would have had to. “Missed” calls.  Steve was, evidently, on a break, just outside of the kitchen at a restaurant at Fort Warden.

I should have pulled over, but it was dark. I just wanted a report. I had heard he and his friend Stig, over in Washington State from the Aloha State, big wave charger, had surfed a legendary spot on the northern coast. **

“Wait,” I said. What?” I asked. “I mean, what did you say?”

“I said you can never go there with me. Look, Erwin; I have to go. My life’s… it was; just take my word for it. I can’t even… Soooo unbelievable.”

“Wait, Steve, Stephen… you mean you surfed there and survived, but… I mean, I’d drown?”

“I just can’t be responsible. I’ll… I’ll send you some photos.”

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Okay, it was either a challenge or a statement (I’ll say ‘statement’ rather than ‘put-down’)  that I was not up to the task. That may be true. Setting aside my age, I haven’t taken a lot of time to explore the wild coastline, take the logging roads, walk paths along bluffs and cliffs, but I do know there are several (there just have to be) spots where, on some particular swells, under some conditions, waves follow the rugged points, peel into log-jammed beaches.

And, Stephen had sent me some photos from an earlier trip; a shot of a random, unnamed and probably-never-surfed slab, which I posted on this site, and a photo of the spot he and Stig had so recently ridden, taken from a high cliff; spooky, congested inshore on a rocky ledge, and scary-if-enticing lines peeling to a certain closeout section. I didn’t post it, on Stephen’s quite-adamant insistence. He and the surfer with him on that quest, and others they met on site, also declined the opportunity.

Stephen did send photos from this session, when he and Stig got there before the south Devil wind came up, chop blowing into the wash-throughs, the sneaker sets hitting unknown outside reefs. From the beach, from the photos, it looked, to me… possible.

But, you won’t see those photos here.

Oh, the photo above is of somewhere, somewhere else, borrowed from nwframeofmind. *Someone told me the cosmic string theory. I just said, “Uh huh.” **I actually saw super 8 movies of this very spot over thirty years ago. When I said, “It looks like Swamis,” I was booed, corrected, and, most tellingly, not invited to the next private surf movie night.

Probably my second thought on hearing the challenge/realistic assessment from my friend, was that it would make a great short story; old(er) guy takes on surf spot, does or doesn’t get a few great rides, does or doesn’t drown. Really, my biggest fear is getting back up those cliffs after, after what? Meanwhile, Stephen is working on his own surf-centric story that he will, he says, allow me to publish to the pure dark cosmic internet.

If you pull the string really really tight…

 

Seattle Seahawks, “the Wave” rolls on…. and on, and…

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It’s a bit disturbing, if not irritating, that the color I apply to the drawings doesn’t come through the cosmos and onto the computer screen. Please take my word, the original color is WAY more intense. Maybe this reflects how my calm demeanor is way more controlled than my inner Seahawks fanaticism.  Living on the northwestern-most chunk of the contiguous United States, I tend to believe any west coasters- Charger, 49er, Raider (jeez, even Arizona and, gulp, Denver) fans- should, at least for this game, root for the Seahawks. Hawaii, Alaska? Yeah, and… it’s not like everyone has to love the team whose play on the field reflects the bird that glides, majestically, on ocean updrafts; swoops, attacks, tears, shreds… while the Patriots; maybe they’ll wait until they see the whites of the eyes of… that may be too late.

If I could figure out how to change the size of… wait… Goooooooo0SeaaaaaaHaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaawksssssss!

Okay, and back to calm, mellow… waiting, waiting… eeerrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr.

Real (and annoying OLD GUY) Surfers

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I don’t know how the top line got all crooked. I thought I measured it. Well, old guys, don’t even know how to do computer illustrations. Incidentally, I want to make the statement, “I’m here to surf!” I probably can’t copyright it, or trademark it, but it does define my mindset when I hit the water. Always has. Not apologizing.

Still, I never use the ‘old guy’ card to excuse any perceived over-zealousness; just as I never used my youth to excuse my wave-hogging to the limits of my ability and the constraints of ocean and crowd.

And I do have sessions and particular waves that I’ll never forget. Until I’ve forgotten just about everything else. Oh, and there’s no semi-self portrait here. I never surfed Rincon, epic or otherwise; but I did, once, surf small-but-decent Upper Trestles alone. Once. I will have to work on something to do with how surfers tend to think the waves can’t be any good because no one’s out. Or maybe just one guy. I’ll never forget… hey, get your own memories.

My Custom-Tailored 1965 Shortjohn Wetsuit

My First Wetsuit- 1965
Because it’s December, because I’m thinking about what wetsuit items I need for the colder WINTER season, it seemed like a great time to relive a few things about my first wetsuit, the classic CALIFORNIA SURFER’S SHORT JOHN, custom fit in 1965, and purchased for the sum on $15.00, plus tax. Not to give too much away too soon. So:
BOOTIES- Very fine. My daughter, Dru, bought them for my birthday. Because I have a bone spur/bursitis on my heel of my left foot, I’ve been sticking with the zip up pair I bought from a dive shop in Bremerton, though I’ve ripped through the material in a few places. So, no new booties; I can take the tightness if I don’t have to hike too far.
VEST/HOOD- In pretty good shape. Fine. This piece adds an added mil of rubber for my core. It’s a bit tighter than I might like, but, well, maybe that’s something I can work on. No, not cutting it and adding more material.
RASH GUARD- It’s fine, does its job; could use a higher neck area, and it never seems to dry out. Yes, I could bring it in the house. Okay, no new rash guard.
3/2 MIL (or is it 4/3?) BODY GLOVE LONGJOHN WETSUIT, with back zipper- Broken string replaced with longer, sturdier shoe laces, this piece was purchased in a Seattle surf shop (I was doing a job in Queen Anne, it’s the shop by the Aurora Avenue Bridge) for about one hundred dollars (plus tax), and had been (lightly) used in the shop’s rental/surf school operation down at Short Sands in Oregon; so, though I’m sure it did contain some residue of someone else’s urine, it was probably a specialty tea drinker from some Portland office complex, trying to seem more interesting (“You do know I surf, right?”), and maybe (because it is big enough to fit me, maybe the renter wanted to lose a few pounds. Yeah, the suit is getting a bit thin in the places I grip to get it into position, yes, I have patched a few spots with material cut from my previous wetsuit… So, probably not getting a new wetsuit this year. And, incidentally, I did offer the folks at my local(ish) surf shop, NXNW SURF, in Port Angeles, an opportunity to sell me a rental wetsuit; the kid working probably didn’t pass the word on to Frank Crippen. Oh, and, as I did when I got this suit, I want my next one to be a size smaller. Working on it.
GLOVES- I have several pairs of worn out gloves. I definitely need new gloves. Santa?

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PHILLIP C. HARPER , my first surfing buddy, now Dr. Phillip C. Harper (I added this for when he googles himself), as with all things surfing, found out for both of us how to get proper gear for our first winter season as surfers. He may have already gone for his fitting, but was kind enough to go, after school, with my Mom and me to the shop over by Oceanside Harbor. It was somewhere around December tenth.
The date meant the wetsuit would be my main Christmas present. It also related to the unofficial (but very important) rule that REAL SURFERS don’t don wetsuits until the water temperature drops to 58, and cease wearing them when the temperature comes back up to the magical 58 degree mark, usually some time around Easter Vacation.
MEASURING- This is always embarrassing for a chunky kid. It was somewhat lessened by the fact that Phillip and I had both gone out for wrestling as freshmen at Fallbrook High, and we both knew he weighed somewhere around a hundred pounds, and I had started out the season at 130, but somehow, with strict dieting and exercise (and as much surfing as possible) had ended up the season at 136. Vertical growth, maybe. I got through the measuring, and we got to do some surfing before going back home. Phillip was the guy in a wetsuit. Fine; he needed it more.
STYLE- The wetsuit had no zipper, but did have a, new that year, stainless steel closing mechanism on one shoulder. Stylish and out of the way.
PERSONAL STYLE- Maybe it was more modesty than fashion that made me want to wear trunks over my wetsuit. I’m going to say it was, perhaps, consideration for other surfers who were more, um, err, modestly-endowed, because… anyway; I did soon discover that my Hawaiian Jams, all the rage (according to Phillip) would rip out even faster when worn over the suit. They just didn’t ‘ride up’ properly. But, this didn’t stop me from wearing a t shirt under the suit; sort of an early rash guard effect, though the extra layer did nothing to promote warmth.
NOWADAYS (and for a long time now) surfers wear wetsuits in the summer, even longjohn wetsuits in the summer. Hey, I’m not judging; it’s no longer cool to be cold; and, it must be said, wetsuits are better than ever. I rarely get as cold in water that drops to as low as 43 degrees, possibly lower near the rivers coming off the nearby Olympic Mountains, as I did in the depths of winter in 1966, clad in my Beach Boys (style) striped shirt, my custom short john with the stainless steel closure, and my first pair of Hang Ten trunks. Phillip, no doubt, pointed out the unofficial (but strictly enforced by peer pressure) requirement for real surfers to wear surfing trunks, along with my surf wardrobe of Levis (not Sears or Pennys) jeans, Pennys t shirts, and a properly-showy windbreaker.
Actually, I purchased a pair of Jantzen trunks before the Hang Tens, at the Men’s Shop in downtown Fallbrook, along with gym trunks and an (and I was so embarrassed to ask for this that I wandered around the shop for a long time) athletic supporter. Not wanting to be measured, the trunks (and I think they just ‘ran’ small) were too tight to wear even under a wetsuit; but the other items, with the ‘boys large’ stickers, fit fine.
Not bragging.
No, I don’t wear trunks over my wetsuit. I did mention how cold the water is, right? Colder for some than others.
Again, not bragging.

Another Un-named Surfer at Another Secret Straits Spot

20141123_123549 This photo was taken by Adam “Wipeout” James on the Sunday after I surfed with this guy on a late Saturday afternoon. Maybe it was the next Sunday; I lose track. Even if it wasn’t, the surfer (we’ll call him Clint) seems to be trolling the Straits of Juan de Fuca looking for surf.  And, sometimes, finding it.

I was a little surprised when he told me, on whatever Saturday evening it was, that he was camping out, hoping for more waves the next morning. “It’s a long night,” I told him. I’d rather drive back home and return in the morning. Not that I did. the short wave window had, in my estimation, already passed. Now, maybe Monday; Monday had been the day I’d been looking at for a while. Better tides, maybe better swell angle; but I had already committed to working “across the water,” as we say, in Seattle. No, I wasn’t staying overnight there either. I can sleep on a ferry, just not so well in a lot close to a road, where other surf surfarians pull in and, I’ve heard, sometimes party down.

THE STORY ON CLINT, who had already surfed some “a little windy, but not crowded” waves at another spot on the Saturday when I ran into him, is he did some surfing on Sunday, with Adam also involved in the action, then checked out this secret spot closer to his home. Meanwhile, Adam surfed another, even more secret spot with Keith. Now, Adam’s excuse/explanation for not surfing up to his full potential and ability at that super secret spot, is that he went to a restaurant in between, you know, like social surfers do, and ate more teriyaki than he should have.  But, he told me (this would be on Monday) that he’d surfed well on Sunday in the first, pre-teriyaki/hangin’-with-the-bros session, which also included Nate, who built and sold Adam at least one Bob Simmons-style twin fin, and some other guy who Adam didn’t fully identify, and whose name I’ve forgotten (or didn’t bother to try to remember). Those two guys remained on the shore as Adam and Keith surfed, the waves fading fast, but Nate offered to sell Keith a Robert August “Wingnut” surfboard, a leash, and a board bag, for a really good price.

Not that it’s really pertinent, but Keith called me (in Seattle, working, after getting lost) to ask if I thought the potential purchase was a good deal. “You know, I once surfed in a heat against Wingnut…” “Erwin, I have to talk now.” “Yeah, okay, um, yeah; I’m sure it’s…” “Gotta go.”

Okay, so, in the process of delivering the board and stuff to Keith on Monday, Nate, with or without his friend, but without Adam, decided to head out farther on the Straits. They didn’t find rideable waves, but saw Clint’s Camper, but no Clint. So, they decided to go the actual coast. It was big, a little out of control, and the surfers out were having troubles. So, Nate and his friend stayed on the beach where they witnessed Clint (who, his rig broken down, maybe, had hitched a ride farther out) go over the falls at least once; maybe twice.

So, Nate relayed this message to Adam, because Adam just has to know these things, and he called me the next day (I was still, or, really, again, in Seattle), wouldn’t let me talk over him until he told me that he had talked to Clint, asked him how the session on the coast had gone, and, and Adam says this really speaks to Clint’s authenticity (because Clint didn’t know he was being observed. See? Yes, Adam, I get it), Clint said, “Actually, kind of shitty.”

If it had been me, I would have said, “You know, great.”

Then again, even going over the falls beats camping on a long ass northwest winter night.

 

Selfie No. 37, Go Pro Joe, Bro

What really happened is this guy paddled out on a really long long board, a bit closer to dark than when I had. Since it was only Clint, me, this guy, and his girlfriend out, I thought I should ask him something.  You know, seem friendly.  Not that I am.  Friendly. What I asked is, "Go Pro, huh?" What he said was, "Uh huh," adding, sort of sarcastically, I felt, "And why not?"  "Oh, sure," I said, "You don't want to miss anything." He paddled off, caught the one wave I would see him catch, way on the inside, way down the line. I hope he got a good, um, video.  I've always thought the shots taken from the front of the board, no matter how good the surfer is, how big the wave is, seem to really show someone doing some sort of exercising, maybe with dance tunes playing in their heads. Disco, maybe. But really, I'd rather add something to the story, like, me asking, "So, you send a lot of selfies?" This would be responded to, with him saying, "Oh, yes, and I use a variety of social media devices." "Uh, huh, and, um, a little light, waterproof surf makeup might be..." And he'd say, "Oh, I do my own. You never who'll see my next viral performance, and...." ...And, and, and, and I'm still thinking of lines for him and clever and wicked lines for me, and, well, it gets confusing because then I start thinking about how awesome a go pro dealeo I could make; dropping in late, dropping sideways, free-falling, catching a rail, going highline... you know, not me, just by me of an awesome ride. By me. Me, because I don't do selfies. Really.

What really happened is this guy paddled out on a really long long board, a bit closer to dark than when I had. Since it was only Clint, me, this guy, and his girlfriend out, I thought I should ask him something. You know, seem friendly. Not that I am. Friendly. What I asked is, “Go Pro, huh?” What he said was, “Uh huh,” adding, sort of sarcastically, I felt, “And why not?” “Oh, sure,” I said, “You don’t want to miss anything.” He paddled off, caught the one wave I would see him catch, way on the inside, way down the line. I hope he got a good, um, video. I’ve always thought the shots taken from the front of the board, no matter how good the surfer is, how big the wave is, seem to really show someone doing some sort of exercising, maybe with dance tunes playing in their heads. Disco, maybe.
But really, I’d rather add something to the story, like, me asking, “So, you send a lot of selfies?” This would be responded to, with him saying, “Oh, yes, and I use a variety of social media devices.” “Uh, huh, and, um, a little light, waterproof surf makeup might be…” And he’d say, “Oh, I do my own. You never who’ll see my next viral performance, and….”
…And, and, and, and I’m still thinking of lines for him and clever and wicked lines for me, and, well, it gets confusing because then I start thinking about how awesome a go pro dealeo I could make; dropping in late, dropping sideways, free-falling, catching a rail, going highline… you know, not me, just by me of an awesome ride. By me. Me, because I don’t do selfies. Really.

How to ‘Water-Proof’ Your Child

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“Daddy, is that what will happen to me if I go in the (pointing) ocean?”

“Well, yes; it could. I mean, no, no; that sea lion was probably old and… The ocean (pointing) is a dangerous place and…”

“Will a seagull (pointing at the carcass) bite my eyeballs out?”

“No. No. Probably not. Usually some… (fluttering his eyes) small fish will…”

“But… (points) you go in the ocean; and you don’t get eaten.”

“Well, yes; but that’s because… (points to himself) I…”

“Do you have… (puffs out his chest, strikes pose) super powers? I mean, when you put on your costume, and…”

“Super? Well; sometimes… (puffs chest, strikes several surfing poses) I get a super ride; a head dip or, um, three; but usually…”

“I want a blue and red costume when I get super powers. Okay? Oh, and, Daddy; you know… (walks closer) you’ve just given me Post Twamatic Stwess Disorder… for life, and, someday, when I’m older, with or without my superpowers; I will have to sue you. (long pause, looking into each others’ eyes)          Oh, and about swimming in the pool, later; I won’t need the waterwings.  I’ll just watch.”

“No, no; watching’s good. You know I’m supposed to be watching you. Right? Well, if Daddy catches a few waves…”

“Sure, Daddy; But remember it when you give… (removes a glove for effect) your deposition. (smiles somewhat menacingly) Later. Much later.”

Thanks to Adam James for the photo, one of several from a recent James Family trip to the Long Beach Peninsula area of Washington State.

Celebrating the Wave

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Other than hydrosexual (in love with all sports water-in any form-related) Stephen Davis and me, there were only two other surfers out on this particular section of track. Track, I say, partially because Stephen described the inside section, after the late-takeoff-only drop, after the first bowling portion, as a ‘racetrack.’ Yeah, but this was a morning when the dark swells approached, lining up way up the point, and advanced toward us like high speed freight trains, heavy. spinning.

I’d love to make some comparison to cement mixers, though they’d have to be backing up, the barrels moving, counter-clockwise, one just to the right and behind another, picking up the chalky water flowing out of the Olympic Mountains, approaching, closer; and as each wave did, it would pick up that gray-green color characteristic of cold, cold water.

With the sky threatening, layers and splotches of muted greys, near-blues, and the surface glassy, reflecting those subtle tones, and another four wave set (one each) moving steadily toward the little point in a long sweep, one of the other two guys, looking up the long lines, gave the wave the universal gesture of celebration, of jubilation, of appreciation.

A bit farther down the track, I turned and paddled.