I ran into Andrew, another house painter, up in Port Townsend yesterday. Checking out a historic building in the Uptown area, stepping back into the street, I practically ran into him as he got out of his car. We had passed each other at the paint store, but this time he was out of costume and carrying a small painting on canvas. It was a scene of this very street, almost black and white. Because I have questionable social skills, I took it from him, checked it out.
Andrew is through, he says, with exterior painting for the season. “Oh. No, it’s still warm enough,” I said. No, I’m no where near through with exterior painting. He plans on building his inventory of paintings. “You make any money on this,” I asked as he took his painting back. “Maybe in a couple of years.”
“Realsurfer.net” has always been a portfolio builder for me. And, with longer nights, I’ve been on a bit of a roll, lately. Trish recommended (strongly) that I not add color to the drawing above. I thought it looks ‘beatnik and 1959-ish,’ she says it’s Art Deco-ish. I probably will make a copy and color that. Oh, more than probably.
While the top drawing evolved from a sketch, the lower drawing came from some reference material; specifically a photo of Kahea Hart at Backdoor Pipeline by Pete Hodgson/AFrame. This time, because Trish had trouble discerning the surfer’s head from the background, she insisted I add some color. No, I didn’t make a copy first. Darn.
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: