Tag Archives: real surfers

Original Erwins in Progress, “Swamis” Again

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, Erwin Dence illustrations, northwest surfing, Original Erwin t-shirts, real surfers, realsurfers illustrations, surf fiction, surf novels, surfing art, surfing Swamis, surfing the strait of juan de fuca

Now that I am committed to putting out a new round of ORIGINAL ERWIN t-shirts, I’m going through my past drawings AND doing some new ones. I scanned these two on my printer AND I have two more illustrations that I have to take to a print shop. AS ALWAYS, attempting to go simpler, I fail.

LET’S DISCUSS THE SURF SITUATION on the Olympic Peninsula and the Strait of Juan de Fuca. NOT GOOD. Now, if you’re almost anywhere SOUTH of here, you should be scoring. AND the forecast is not too… thrilling. BUT I do have my HOBIE patched up and I’ve done some work on the MANTA. I’m ready to leap into some wind chop when it… let me check the forecast. Yeah, wind chop. That’s official.

As far as “Swamis” goes, I am committed to what JUST HAS TO BE a final draft before the ridiculously scary act of trying to actually sell the novel. I moved the former first chapter to the end, and though I am dying to write about what fictionally happened to the fictional characters between 1969 and now, I’m going to NOT… not yet.

My hope is that, now that I’ve completely mind-surfed the hell out of plot and characters, I might be able to cut the length down from the current 104,000 thousand words. HERE IS the new prologue and a bit more:

“SWAMIS” A novel by Erwin A. Dence, Jr.

                                    PROLOGUE

            Some events, terror and bliss, mostly, which occurred in seconds, in moments; those almost nothing in the expanse of time; expand, over time, into placemarks; a corner turned, a road taken, a life changed. Magic.

            Half a century after the events, I started writing “Swamis,” as memoir. It no longer is that. This is my fourth full rewrite, with so many discarded words, deleted chapters, all in attempting to turn notes and dreams, images and remembered dialogue, into a story. I have tried to do justice to the various people, characters here, but real people with real lives, who changed mine. There are people who have come into my life, changed it in some way, and gone out. Somewhere. For the most part I do not know where they went, but I do wonder. Wonder.

            The story centers on a very specific time, 1969, in a very specific place, North San Diego County. I was turning eighteen, in love, and the world I wanted swirled and revolved around surfing, and surfing revolved around Swamis.

            My apologies for my writing style. Years of writing briefs, documents. Dry, perhaps, but thorough. A friend’s review of an earlier draft concluded I went for detail and clarity rather than flash and description.

“I don’t use a lot of adjectives in regular speech,” I countered.

“But this is writing,” she said, “The prologue shouldn’t be an apology.”

“Honest.”

“Sure, and it is… your own voice. Yes, it is that, and, as your mother said, ‘the mind fills in the colors.’ Different thing, I know. Photos, stories; it still applies.”

“Not arguing.”

“Not yet. But… ambiguity and bullshit aside, you don’t exactly nail down who the killer was. Or killers were. Some detective novel, Atsushi.”

“It’s in there. And… doesn’t that explain the need for detail and clarity? And, more importantly, I never said it was that… A detective novel. Trueheart.”

“There’s no such thing as a seventeen-year-old detective. Not in real life.”

“It’s in there; that quote; in the text. And… as far as real life goes…”

“From your particular viewpoint.”

“That’s all any of us have.”

 “But… Joey… you called me a friend. ‘A friend’s review.’”

“Just another draft, Julie; I can… change it.”

“To what?”

“Keep reading. It’s in there.”

                                    CHAPTER ONE- MONDAY, NOVEMBER 13, 2023

            “The allure of waves was too much, I’m told, for an almost three-year-old, running, naked into them. If I say I remember how the light shone through the shorebreak waves, the streaks of foam sucked into them; if I remember the shock of cold water and the force with which the third wave knocked me down, the pressure that held me down, my struggle for air; if I say I remember anything other than my mother clutching me out and into the glare by one arm… Well, that would be, this all happening before the accident; that would be… me… creating a story from fragments. Wouldn’t it, Doctor?”

            “Memories. Dreams. We can’t know how much of life is created from… fragments. But, please, Joey; the basketball practice story; I didn’t get a chance to write it down. So, the guy…”

            “Locker room. After. I’m not here because of that… offense.”

            “I am aware. Just… humor me.”

            “He said I had a pretty big… dick… for a Jap. I said, ‘Thank you.’ All the Varsity players came in. Most stood behind him. He said, ‘Oh, that’s right; your daddy the cop, he’s all dick.’ Big laugh.”

“Detective,” I said. “Sorry about your brother at the water fountain, but I’m on probation already… and I don’t want to cut my hand… on your front teeth.’”

            “Whoa! Did that end it? Joey. Joey, are you… You’re remembering the incident.”

            “I tried to walk away. He… Basketball. I never had a shot. Good passer, great hip chuck.”

            “All right. So, let’s talk about the incident for which you are here.”

ALL RIGHTS to all ORIGINAL WORK by Erwin A. Dence, Jr. are reserved by the author/illustrator. THANK YOU for respecting these rights, AND, AS ALWAYS, for checking out realsurfers.net

“Swamis” ‘Sexy Scene’, FrankenSUP, More from the Adam’s Family Big Island Vacation, and…

Posted on by under "New Yorker" cartoon submissions, northwest surfing, real surfers, surf addiction, surf novels, surf-related short storties, surfing Swamis, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, writings of Erwin Dence

…that’s about it. Oh, yeah; HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY!

I AM, AGAIN, at the end of the latest complete rewrite of “Swamis.” As in, where an author is supposed to write, in case a lack of more pages isn’t enough, “THE END.” I wrote, “NOT EVEN CLOSE TO THE END.” The current version is, after thousands of words were cut, at a little over 103,000 words. As I explained in an earlier post, I was forced to move the first chapter, which, cleverly, I thought, set in something more like the current time, answered a lot of questions I didn’t want to spell out at the end.

AFTER several attempts to write something concise AND with the all important AWESOME first line, I am pretty much just changing all the chapter numbers on my next go-through. LAST? I hope so. ONE OF THE ISSUES I wanted a new opening chapter to deal with is the writing style of the fictional narrator, JOSEPH DeFREINES, JR, aka Atsushi Defreines, aka Jody, aka Joey.

It sort of comes down to whether, as I’m hoping, the clues JOEY finds along the course of the novel are enough for a reader to draw conclusions. It’s not some conscious attempt at might-be-cool (or another failed attempt at it) AMBIGUITY, but Mr. DeFreines, who, after years as an attorney (alluded to but not overtly stated) writes in a very controlled way, clarity over flash. To that end, I wrote, and will not use, a line like, “I don’t use a lot of adjectives in my regular conversation, why should I do so because I’m writing rather than telling the story.”

WHAT’S CHANGED in my constantly working and editing and thinking about the story, “Swamis,” is that it has become much more a love story, Julie and Joey, tangled in the rush and roar of 1969. I have tried to convince the LOVE OF MY LIFE, TRISH, that it would make a great HALLMARK MOVIE. “Oh, with a guy being burned alive and all that?” “Yes I mean, it’s not gratuitous.”

I might be if Joseph DeFreines used more ADJECTIVES.

With apologies for going on about this, I wrote a sub-chapter, moved it to another place because I didn’t know where to fit it in. The place is now the depository of the latest rounds of cuts. AND, when I asked our daughter, DRUCILLA, to check out something on the laptop I am borrowing from her, she had to comment, out loud, “Oh, ‘Sexy scene,” to which Trish responded, “Really? I might have to read that.”

Sexy Scene for “Swamis”

“No, Julie, it was more you than me… The kissing. I was… more… controlled.”

It was late in the afternoon. There were still three surfers out. Julie and I were on the point end of the lifeguard tower. Our towels had slid into a single pile on the x shaped cross members. “No, Joey. You certainly were not.”

“I certainly tried to be… controlled.”

Julie reached into her big gray bag, unwrapped a top, basically something like a small apron. “Controlled. You… weren’t. But… enthusiastic. Yes.”

“More like surprised.”

“Are you going to… look away?”

“You look away; I’m the one who’s… topless.”

“Yes, you are.” Julie put the palm of her left hand on my chest. “You and your stick out nipples.”

“Nipples?” I crossed my arms over my chest.  Julie untied the strap on her bikini top, her left hand holding her top to her chest. She widened her eyes. I turned, untangled my towel from hers, spun around and backed up a bit closer to her, holding the towel up and out in front of both of us. “In case those guys… in the water, have… really good eyesight.”  

“Really good? Thanks.”

“Not a… I didn’t mean…”

Julie pressed her body against mine, slid her arms around me, her hands on my chest until she had my alleged stick out nipples between the first two fingers of each hand.

I tried not to inhale. Failed. A deep breath I was afraid to exhale.

“Don’t giggle, Joey.”

“You are.”

 “You know it was my birthday…” Julie stopped giggling. “…over the weekend. I’m legal!”

“Congratulations. I’m not… legal… yet.”

“I’m willing to risk it.” Julie took a breath. “If you are.”

The towel dropped away as I spun, slowly, with control, Julie’s arms never fully pulling away, toward Julie, my arms squeezing her closer.

Closer.

I FEEL DUTY-BOUND to now mention that, whether or not I use this for the novel, it is still protected by copyright. Thanks for respecting that.

WIPEOUT UPDATE- This is the EMU Adam “Wipeout” James’s son, EMMETT caught off the Big Island. It was prepared by a chef in Seattle, presumably the woman in the photo. ALSO, and it may be because, like realsurfers.net, Adam and the HAMA HAMA OYSTER COMPANY have a world wide reach, my site got a higher than average number of hits since I posted the photos and story of the Adam’s family vacation. So, thanks.

FRANKENSUP UPDATE- Thanks to Joel Carbon for the apt description. Yes, that is my thumb. Yes, I did need a skil saw to cut the fin box out of the tail section of the first SUP I owned. And chisels, and knives. I filled in the big divot with foam from the same board, used some leftover cloth and some resin given me by Keith Darrock to cover the wound. Oh, and the sawhorses were from Mikel “Squintz” Comiskey, cutting down on possessions before he moved to the Big Island. I am also holding on to binoculars and a trophy he won at the Cape Kawanda Longboard contest a few years ago. I’m using the trophy, a beautiful turned bowl, for my keys, not that I still don’t still misplace them.

SPEAKING OF OLD DUDES WITH BAD MEMORIES, I’m thinking that will be my new excuse for bad lineup behavior when I get back to searching the Strait of Juan de Fuca for waves. “Backpaddling? Oh, sorry, I didn’t notice you.” Yeah, age, along with my wearing earplugs and my hearing being no better than marginal without them.

I DO PLAN on doing more board repair on the HOBIE. I guess I’ve had it for six or seven years, way longer than any other board I’ve ever owned (and thrashed), and ALL I WANT is another six or seven years out of it.

It’s still Winter. Get some waves when you can. And, again, HAPPY VALENTINE’S DAY to all the lovers out there.

INSTANT COMMENTARY from (obvious alias) Frank Lee Darling: “If your taking a swipe at Biden. He doesn’t remember all the good things he’s done. Marmalade Man can’t thinnk of any. Because bone spurs never don anything that wasn’t self serving. That’s it. Connot wait til you book comes out. Probably banned and or burnt in Fla.

Why You Shouldn’t Care What Others Think About Your Surfing and Why You DO

Posted on by under hipster surfers, northwest surfing, old surfers, surf culture, surfing, surfing the strait of juan de fuca

I tried to pre-write this, but I had to edit it. WHY? Because I care.

I do care. I almost wish I didn’t… but I do. Every time I surf I try to surf as well as the waves will allow, and as well as I can.

Yes, I surf for fun, and I do have fun, but it would be even funner if I didn’t put asterisks next to my name and provide disclaimers before others get the opportunity to do so. But I do. I do this any time I describe myself (to pretty much anyone) as a surfer (“No, really, I surf, but…”), or if I recall (even to myself) my latest surf session (“Sure, I was ripping it up, but… knees, age, big ass board, paddle, years of experience, etc.”). Not excuses, explanations.

The negative self-explainers are pre-staged, baked-in as I try to gauge or grade my ability to ride waves in relation to others in the water (“Okay, five people out. I’d say I was… third best.”). Subjective. And I have asked other surfer’s opinions (“More like four; you’re getting… better.”). Subjective. The other, more important criteria was whether or not my surfing was improving (“Oh, I got in your wave? Hey, man, I’m just learning, etc.”). Excuse.

All this self-analysis goes on before (“Oh, it’s crowded, tricky, someone’s feelings are going to get hurt”), during (“Why didn’t I go for a side-slip?”), and after, all the while trying to guess what others might be saying (“Sure, he catches a lot of waves, but…), which of the available asterisks they might put beside my name, or exactly how others gauge or grade or… judge my surfing ability. I wish I didn’t care, but I do. And maybe you do.

But here’s the truth: No one is analyzing you as much as you are self-analyzing.

With exceptions. In fact, an even truer truth: Everyone judges everyone else; we attempt to put ourselves in front of or behind you in an innumerable number of categories, one of which, as surfers, is the ability to ride a wave competently. And we rate each other, definitely, on where a person fits on the kook-to-cool-to-totally arrogant dick/princess scale.

My site being ‘realsurfers’ is discriminatory. You are or you aren’t. Qualifications vary.

I recently asked a woman surfer on the beach if she judges whether a random person, before he or she actually gets in the water, is a decent surfer. “Definitely.”

“Yeah. If I saw me, I’d say (disclaimer alert) ‘that guy’s too old, too fat… not a real surfer.’” “Probably,” the woman may have said, and could have added “But…” Objective. I can… surf.

On the same outing, I asked a guy about the GoPro mounted on the front of his board. “WHY?” “Huh.”  “I mean, everyone, no matter how good or bad he or she surfs, or how big the wave is, if the camera’s pointed at the surfer, it just looks… fake… Beach Party kind of fake.” “Well, I do it to work on my technique.”

At that point, because I am pretty far along on the ‘arrogant dick’ scale, I replicated the GoPro moves. I’m not sure the guy appreciated it. Still, realistic.

It should be easily believed that none of us look as cool as we think we do. A simple cell phone video from the shore or a fancy drone shot will prove this. Easily.

All surfers look awkward some of the time, some look stylish some of the time, few look either stylish or awkward all of the time. Maybe Clay Marzo can look awkward AND stylish all the time.

Forgive me, but I really don’t care how well you say you surf. Or once surfed. I’ve pretty much given up on telling people I rode six-foot boards for years, or I surfed here or there, or that I have surfed waves that were… challenging.

No. I still do that, but I wish I could… stop.  

If I recount my history and list my credentials, it might not explain why I can’t surf up to my self-hype. That could be embarrassing. If I cared.

And I do.

For me, it’s all part of the FUN. Fun-funner-funnest. See you… out there.

Dear Hobie… Sponsor Me… Please

Posted on by under classic surfboards, northwest surfing, old surfers, real surfers, surfing tales, surfing the strait of juan de fuca

BEFORE I get into how HOBIE SHOULD SPONSOR ME (as in provide me with a replacement for the board, above), I want to apologize for not posting on Wednesday. I woke up on Thursday and thought it was Wednesday. It wasn’t. RATHER than putting out something to explain this but without any worthwhile content, I… well, I’m posting this now. Sunday. For some reason, I kept thinking yesterday was Sunday, as in, “It seems like a lot of people go to church and then… Costco,” to which my friend STEPHEN R. DAVIS, replied, “Do a lot of people go to church on Saturday?” I still didn’t catch it. “Jewish people, Seventh Day Adventists,” to which Steve could have replied, “Oh, but then do they go shopping… on the SABBATH?” Still didn’t get it.

PERHAPS MY CONFUSION had some connection to my beloved HOBIE 10’6″ SUP, admittedly well-to-overused-to-thrashed, having its fin violently ripped out, half the fin box gone, a certain amount of foam and fiberglass with it.

PERHAPS, MY ASS; it was totally that.

THE MOST TRAGIC thing about the incident is that I was in no way ready to get out of the water.

It was one of those sessions that was a combination of really fun rides and some beatdowns. NOTE, I would never trade a session like this a soft and safe one, nothing bad, nothing great. HAVING SAID THAT (and this may the first time I’e ever said ‘having said that’), I’m pretty much frothed up to overflowing anytime I see the kind of waves there is just no way I’m not going to attempt to ride.

SO, after a few behind the section wipeouts left me in the impact zone, with, of course, five or six wave sets, and after losing my paddle on another ride (and thanks to the guy who spotted it and grabbed it), I was cruising along on another insider when… FWAPPP! “What?” It felt like I’d hit a drifting log or something; the sound was like hitting a two-by-four against another one; and then… yeah, I finished the ride, flipped the board over and…

YES, I did tell others on the beach that I felt like crying. I did… feel like it, having an opportunity to watch others surf waves, some of which I might have been on. I DIDN’T. I still might. I love that board. ODDLY, my unused froth seemed to be channelled into being nice to pretty much everyone I ran into. “Have a nice day,” stuff like that, though, on the way home, at the exact moment another rig with surfboards on the racks passed me, they going out, me going home, I whispered something like “Good luck,” something I in no way meant. Sincerely.

So, dear HOBIE, HERE’S MY PITCH:

The first surfboard I ever rode, in 1965, was my sister SUELLEN’S 9’4″ stock model HOBIE; wide, thick, rounded nose, adequate kick, big ass fin. I loved that board. SO MUCH so that our parents had to get me a board of my own. NO, not, sadly, a Hobie.

ADMITTEDLY, I have loved other boards. SURFBOARDS HAWAII; still have fond memories of my 9’10” noserider, my 9’6″ pintail, my 6’something” twin fin (TRISH bought this for me- custom). And I have had dalliances with backyard/soul/homemade boards I put together from stripped-down longboards or blanks (seconds) purchased from the GORDON AND SMITH factory. I have surfed on at least one board (a popout) my father purchased from those confiscated at Trestles.

If most surfers suffer from BOARD ENVY, or even BOARD LUST, and I cannot truly say that I do not look at the fancy boards (and I’m imagining a 6 foot JJF FISH I saw in this guy’s tricked-out Sprinter van) owned by surfboarders who in no way can do the board justice, or ride it properly (and realizing, sadly, that I haven’t been capable for riding sub-nine-foot boards for many years) with some of that lust in my heart.

I also realize it means little to say I never owned, or wanted to own a board by HANSEN or GORDON AND SMITH; as if I had some sort of loyalty. It may say something about something if I admit I shared a sort of prejudice, when I lived in San Diego County, against any board manufactured north of DANA POINT, and now that BING is, evidently located there, though I am 1,200 mile away, I kind of think Bing board might be okay. AND, since I’m confessing stuff here, I should mention that I had a local shop, when I lived in Pacific Beach, pirate a shape (WATERSKATE) designed by Morey/Pope and test ridden by PB legend SKIP FRYE.

STILL, after riding a longboard made by an OLYMPIC PENINSULA shaper, which I didn’t love, but got at a decent price, and procuring an 11’6″ SUP made in China by trading out worked for it (didn’t hate the board, and did thrash the shit out of it, hitting pretty much every rock of consequence on the Strait of Juan de Fuca and elsewhere) I got my HOBIE, on payments, from ADAM ‘WIPEOUT’ JAMES.

I am not even sure how long I’ve had it, but, at 72 years old, I had planned on it being the last board I will own. BUT, SHIT, MAN, I am not ready to quit, and though one of my friends has offered to loan and/or sell me another SUP, and another, who loaned me one once, has declined to do it again, I EITHER need to fix the HOBIE or get another board. It’s not like I’m poor, BUT…

I was going to say that I might be a perfect representative for all things HOBIE. Yes, Trish keeps me stocked in Hobie gear (after my board destruction, for example, moaning and whimpering, but not crying, I wandered the beach in my new Hobie hoodie); BUT, because my REPUTATION (and I am told I have one) is not as 100% saintly, AND because I’ve spent a lot of verbiage on this subject, I will save it for WEDNESDAY.

MAYBE I WILL write it today, just to make sure I don’t get confused about the days.

ART NEWS ART NEWS ARTNEWS ARTNEWS ARTNEWSARTNEWS ART… NEWS

Original paintings, cards, and prints by ARTIST/SURFER/KITESURFER/SKATER/HOCKEY PLAYER/ETC. STEPHEN R. DAVIS are currently being displayed and available for purchase at MARROWSTONE VINYARDS, Norfland, Washington. If you’re out cruising the Peninsula, or perhaps got skunked trying to surf, or disappointed trying to find snow, check out his stuff.

AGAIN, I should have taken photos when I was, POST DISASTER, hanging out the North by Northwest Surf Shop in Port Angeles. Formerly owned by FRANK CRIPPEN, the shop is now owned by TATE (should learn people’s last names, also) and his wife. With stuff for snow, skate, and surf, there is also work by local artists. Already familiar with work by Nam Siu, Todd Fischer, Reggie Smart, I was VERY IMPRESSED with (original) watercolors by AMY (again, last names). I’ve seen Amy surfing on the Strait for quite a while, do doubt burned her a few times, but, through STU (not to be confused with Mike), I discovered Amy who was watching their child, or child while her husband surfed (with four children running around, it was not clear which one or two was or were theirs) did art. SO, since I couldn’t surf, I went over to talk to her about doing, and SELLING art. My thought was she should also do prints and cards, more opportunity to get surfing related art to the masses.

MORE on all of this next time. THANKS, AS ALWAYS, for reading.

Original Erwin and Erwin Originals

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, Erwin Dence illustrations, Erwin Dence surf illustrations, northwest surfing, surf novels, surf posters, surfing art, surfing illustrations, surfing novels, surfing the strait of juan de fuca

I’ve been busy drawing. I have several reasons for doing so. New designs for t shirts, some work for the PORT TOWNSEND PUBLIC LIBRARY’s upcoming SUMMER READ, and, just because I enjoy it.

SO, LET’S SEE HOW MY LATEST scans look on the screen:

THERE ARE MORE, but should save some copyrighted original stuff for next time. WEDNESDAY… MORE! (sorry about the explanation point; not that a show of enthusiasm isn’t appropriate. MEANWHILE, thanks, as always, for checking out realsurfers. See you out on Surf Route 101.

IF I HAVE TO BLAME something for the prolific-ness, it’s the recent far-eeez-ing weather. AND I have been sa-soww-ly getting cal-lose-er finishing my novel, “Swamis.”

!!!

Double Eagles and Other Greetings

Posted on by under Uncategorized

Leaving the studio space Stephen R. Davis’s friend Cosmo is letting him use, squeezed tightly into my stealth surf rig, my pristine Hobie on the racks, I gave Steve what I believe I have him convinced is the official surfer greeting, a sort of ALOHA (like ‘hello’ and ‘goodbye’) for haoles (and I’m only saying haoles as counterpoint to the aloha spirit thing I’m not certain is as widespread as presented in ads targeting tourists, some of whom are haoles) who aren’t into the now-and-possibly- increasingly common practice of hugging people we don’t know well (or don’t actually know at all).

I think I picked up the connection back when, 15 1/2-years-old, proud possessor of a learner’s permit, I was driving with my mother in the family 9 passenger station wagon (this was way pre-Sprinter), our collection of surf-riding equipment on the racks, I noticed Phil Harper’s sister Trish (not my Trish- didn’t surf, didk date one of my first surf heroes, Fallbrook local Bucky Davis) coming toward us. I may have been ready to wave, possibly even with my hand out the window, when she flipped me the bird. SINGLE EAGLE. Now, Trish may not have noticed my Mom… or, more exciting in a rebellious kind of way, may not have cared. In order to not completely freak out about the situation, I tried to convince myself that my mother didn’t know what the gesture meant. I mean… my Mom?

INTERESTINGLY ENOUGH, the double eagle is pretty much the way I greeted Steve when he surprised me by paddling out unannounced (he was supposed to be in Hawaii) on a day when the waves were… I’ll say challenging, in a good way. As I recall, he said something like, “Happy to see you, also,” possibly in a sarcastic way. REGGIE was a bit more… I’m going to say unappreciative when I gave him the double fisted hello on several occasions. I can’t say for certain if he’s convinced yet that I meant something positive, like “Glad to see you, can’t wait to compete for waves with you… brother.” Oh, also something I can’t get going on, even though I have three brothers.

WHAT IS INTERESTING HERE is that Steve sent the photo to our mutual friend, ARCHIE ENDO. When I say friend, though Archie and I, and Archie and Steve and I went on many an exciting surf adventure, I haven’t kept in touch the way I should since he went to Thailand for work a few years ago, had a stroke, is still recovering, and is still there. Trish (my Trish) has been communicating through the Facebook, and Steve does that and the Instagram; BUT Archie sent Trish and Steve a lovely note that included the photo, and Trish sent it to my phone.

Knowing Archie does read this blog, I tried to save his post and put it on here but the transfer didn’t work. Here is what he wrote:

“Hoping you guys are doing OK in the cold weather. I hoped I cold come home this winter but I couldn’t (partner’s family’s health). So much for the El Nino ‘warmer’ winter, though. In my dreams the other day; I saw you guys at Swami’s parking lot.. Young Erwin was giving me… fingers! Nice photo.”

Bad friend (and young Erwin) aside, I named the narrator of my novel Atsushi, Joseph DeFreines’ middle name, Archie’s actual first name. I do miss going surfing with him. He’d play cassettes of surf music from Japan(and many other places) if he was driving, I’d play harmonica, and, if I was driving, he would never complain about having to go to Costco on the way home. Trish really likes Archie, possibly because his calmness is so radically different than my… I want to say higher energy-ness, and my saying I was going with Archie was quite persuasive. STILL, Archie is radical in his own way, always stylish, always in control.

We are bonded, I believe, through our mutual love for surfing. As are all real surfers, something I had intended to write about as of Tuesday morning.

Atsushi ‘Archie’ Endo styling.

I MUST ADD that I call a zone inside the big rocks at a spot known for closeouts ARCHIE’S REEF. He knew how to navigate through the sections and find a clean face. I can easily remember walking along the trail, and, visible through and just above the line of trees and shrubs and blackberry bushes, Archie was streaking past.

WEIRDLY CONNECTED story-

We have a cabinet in the breakfast nook where the cat, Angelina’s, food is kept. Also inside are these postcard sized postcards, I guess, that Dru gathered back when we would frequent the ROSE THEATRE in Port Townsend. When I opened it this morning, this photo, found somewhere else and put in the cabinet, already mildewed, fell out. I made the mistake of trying to clean it with something a bit too strong. Wiped out the lower portion. This was (maybe you’ll notice the painting on the back seat side window) my stealth surf rig circa 1970. That’s Trisha’s VW coming up the road. My replacement for the Morris Minor I loved was this Hillman Husky.

I told BUDDY ROLLINS, my boss at Buddy’s Sign Service in Oceanside, that I wanted to get a VW, and we were doing some signs for the local dealer, and he could possibly… you know, do a deal. Since Buddy, real name Lacy, hence a nickname was necessary, learned how to letter signs in a Florida prison, I thought he could, you know, do a deal. He did, but not for a VW. “Kid’ll love this way more than a bug. It has so much more power and…” That was the guy at the dealership. Not sure where he learned his tactics. “Has to buy it today, though.”

I didn’t love the car, I did love the power. I’m not sure how long I had it, but I blew the engine heading to Palomar Junior College, passing another guy from Fallbrook who was driving a, yes, VW. I think he flipped me off when he re-passed me, the Hillman coasting to the side of the road.

SIDENOTE- I did love, for the most part, as a 17-20 year-old, working at Buddy’s, two blocks from Oceanside pier, in a converted newspaper building where I could work on my own art projects, and though the varied nub/apprentice/shop manager experience did greatly assist in my getting a job as a journeyman painter at barely twenty, I didn’t totally love Buddy. Didn’t hate him. AND I do have a character in “Swamis” named Buddy Rollins, a bowling alley owner and ‘pro.’ Maybe it’s the swagger Buddy had that made him seem the model for the fictional version.

AS PREVIOUSLY MENTIONED, I did want to write about bonding in surfing. I will. But, since I am thinking about it, perhaps, in life, we are bonded with those we don’t love as well as those we do.

I don’t want to wear you out. THANKS for reading. I do have some recent illustrations. Next time. Meanwhile, double eagles to you in only the most gracious, way. Beware, however, of the single eagle with a half twist; that one is serious.

Content with the Content? NO

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, Erwin Dence illustrations, Original Erwin t-shirts, real surfers, realsurfers illustrations, surf art, surf illustrations, surf novels

Because it’s been preternaturally cold (I looked it up; it could mean ‘extraordinarily’ f’ing cold, as in, yeah, it’s been this cold before… in, like, Canada, Siberia, anywhere east of the Cascade mountains, just not lately), I have had some time, afraid, perhaps, to risk the icy roads (“I’ve heard of Quilcene,” the Facebook site our daughter, Dru, started, and Trish helps monitor; had reports of multiple cars in the ditch… and, perhaps, you remember I totaled a car against a tree in black ice two years ago, and, since, have become, I admit, less willing to assert my mastery over slippery roadways), and, anyway, someone has to run around and make sure no more pipes freeze up; BECAUSE OF ALL THAT, and the fact that folks don’t really think about house painting when it’s like this…

…I have had some time to work on my ART, on my NOVEL, on REALSURFERS.NET, what others always refer to as a BLOG. “I call it a WEBSITE.” “Yeah, you would.” “Yeah, and I do, and what I want to present to the tens of people who see it, is CONTENT.” “Oh. Sure. Content. What do you have?”

I HAD PLANNED to post images of recent illustrations, but, even after Dru switched the images of drawings from PDF to JPEG, they came out looking as if someone had placed a piece of frosted glass over them. SO, nope, I’ll get the originals back and rescanned. AND, though I wrote two pieces I might have used in today’s posting, AND wrote them in Microsoft Word rather than, kinda like LIVE, on the Word Press site, I, in the extended darkness of mid-winter night, under a thick pile of sheets and blankets, the heater set at “Roast,” decided they just weren’t good enough to share with you. WHY? CONTENT.

A drawing I didn’t think good enough to use on a t shirt, but, now that I see it after some time has passed; hmmm… maybe put a border on parts, and… yeah, that might be better.

WE, as consumers of ENTERTAINMENT, are constantly looking for BETTER CONTENT. If a TV channel doesn’t provide it… NOPE. We can scroll through the available options on ROKU, Prime, Netflix, whatever you or I have. NOPE; though I spent too many of my cabin fever hours watching one of those binge-worthy (the producers hoped) series(es?), the ending so rediculus (shit- Word has spell-fix, Word Press doesn’t), that I wanted my time back. I could have been doing something useful, like CONTENT.

YouTube; yeah, I’m a bit of an addict; surfing (I am caught up on Nathan Florence exploits, now fast forward paddling out sequences), politics (some I have watched LIVE, like Hunter showing up for sham committee and MTG acting… trashy, and when NSNBC stopped showing it, I, YES, watched some more on, yes, C-SPAN), some historical stuff that looks interesting (Bigfoot- not historical); OH, and I just discovered that, on my tablet (never on the laptop, but some surf stuff has been moved to the BIG TV), if I watch one of those quickies, I can scroll down and watch another, and then… another..

AND eventually, bored or fed up (which typically suggests some sort of anger), or SATIATED (seems more positive), or just OUT OF TIME, we… quit.

NOW, I do PROMISE new illustrations, several I’m really pleased with, and properly scanned, will be posted on WEDNESDAY. Meanwhile, the polishing of my manuscript continues. And, NOTE; I didn’t stop posting excerpts because they weren’t good enough, it was because the content is still changing. Of all the things I am involved in, in all aspects of life (other than surfing, where, still enjoying the hell out of it, I may have peaked a while back), what I’m striving for is to be… BETTER.

SO, other than all of the above (and Microsoft Word would give me a word count), no real posting today. STAY WARM, find some SURF. Oh, and, as always, thanks for checking out realsurfers..net

“I’m Here to SURF” and Other Invalid Arguments

Posted on by under Uncategorized

I apologize for not having my sorta-promised SUNDAY Posting out in the void already. I was surfing. And, somewhere between my first and second session, a bit of lunch, heat, and a quick nap in between, I was MOM-SHAMED. That is, not to be in any way sexist, but I do believe some of the little children hanging around the Sprinter van I believed were (in the case of the children) and was (in the case of the particular Sprinter van) hers. AND, assuming most of us do or have had mothers, it was the kind of upbraiding a mother or pre-school teacher might have delivered when you hogged the big red ball on the playground, or, perhaps, got a bit too competitive at four-square or, later, dodgeball.

And, yes, I have, in my past, been guilty of those heinous crimes against humanity.

Then, at the tender, impressionable age of 13 I started board surfing, the etiquette of the time, as I recall, being that the best surfer gets the best and the most waves, and the gremmies and kooks and neophytes got the scraps… or surfed somewhere else by choice or by BANISHMENT. This ROUGH JUSTICE was enforced with threats and… yeah, mostly threats; oh, and SHAMING, one step from complete OSTRACIZATION from civil (surfing) society.

OKAY.

a woman shamed me for burning here, not once, not twice (as I admitted to, saying, “Yeah, but I gave you lots of room on the second one [third by her count], and I did yell, ‘Come on!'”), but, as just mentioned, three times.

“AND I made the waves!” This was pretty much a boast from her. “Yeah, so I left you a lot of room.”

PARAPHRASING here, the little lecture, with the woman surfer pulling her wetsuit’s hood back at the end and saying, “NOT COOL!” pretty much the coup de sand, included: “I’ve seen you here for ten years!” AND “You have this big big board (mine is 10″6″ and I weigh over 250, hers is 9’4′ and she weighs more than a hundred pounds less)!” AND “There are plenty of waves to go around (with the surfers-to-available-waves ratio, there really weren’t)!” AND, when she seemed to be waiting for some explanation or apology, and I offered only, “Well, I am old,” she said, “WELL, YOU SHOULD KNOW BETTER!”

NOW, if I did have an argument, possibly including that paddling for a wave doesn’t guarantee someone will actually catch it; catching a wave doesn’t mean a surfer will make the drop, or the section, and that each of us judges others in the lineup before making a decision to challenge any specific surfer for a particular wave; and… NO, you don’t really want to hear any explanation that mitigates obviously bad behavior. 

SHE IS RIGHT. GUILTY AS CHARGED.

Borrowed from surfermoms.org

LEST YOU THINK I am, like, anti-women-in-the-water… no; absolutely not. It’s great.

It is almost, in my mind, more of a generational thing. If surfing never really was an activity practiced by rebellious loners, or Beach Blanket partiers, it might not now be a family friendly activity people take up in their twenties, or later, with the proper attire and equipment, surf lessons and surf camps and yoga sessions and physical therapy (“You are a wave! You are a dolphin! You glide through liquid!”) I am pretty much imagining some of these things- with an accumulation of anecdotal non-data, rather than having real, like, numbers, data to back up my assertions. Maybe it seems realistic, with a certain percentage of surf enthusiasts way more interested in saying they were out at this or that spot, with these or those people, and it was life affirming, possibly more interested in the cultural status, real or, again, imagined, that saying, “Yes, I surf” brings.

“Yeah, I surf.” Okay; it works, though, if I say it, the response is usually, “Really?”

While none of my surf friends will defend me as any less than a wave hogging throwback/neanderthal (and yet, they are still… friends), I am confessing here that, one, folks who surf by the forecast or because so-and-so and their kids are going, aren’t there when I most often surf, and two, because I was affected by the confrontation, I have considered what it would mean for me to would to willingly give up surfing, or give up on going to family/old person-friendly beaches with easy access and fun waves.

No; I’m not giving up… yet.”

MEANWHILE, if I am at a beach, “I”M HERE TO SURF!” I know. “NOT COOL!”

Never was.

NEW ART WORK to share ON WEDNESDAY.

FLASH! Surfing is no longer COOL

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, real surfers, surf addiction, surf culture, surf satire, surfing, surfing blogs, surfing satire, writings of Erwin Dence

I learned a few things watching a YouTube with local librarian/ripper Keith Darrock’s favorite surf magazine writer (spiffy columns with an accompanying photo of him… smoking- so rebellious) turned (with the demise of most print mags) into an (I’m not saying posing) outsider (allegedly)/critic of many-if-not-all things corporate, or cultural, or just plain obviously wacked-if-not-permanently ruined in the once pure (purer, perhaps), whole wide world of surfboarding, consistently those evil-ish ghouls and thugs who profit from it:

The massive (and easy) target of the World Surf League, and… oh, my god (not meaning, like, God God) Kelly Slater, Greatest surf Of All Time, and almost certainly the biggest beneficiary of the wave-washed money that has come from Kelly’s stellar career (K.S. wave pool in where? Dubai- wannabe sports capital).   

Chas, in the continuance of his career, appears in his videos with a bottle of spirits, glasses donned and un-donned, and, though I haven’t watched enough of them to see if he lights up, I do admit he looks pretty cool in a Don Johnson/Miami Vice/throwback way (and, if I hadn’t stated this so far- I am in no way criticizing Mr. Smith), starting his commentary with, “I hate surfing, I don’t hate you.”

Hopefully I got that right.

SO, having former TransSurf (Surfing before that, I believe) magazine editor and current WSL commentator, Chris Cote, on his Vlog, cups and saucers rather than a bottle on the table in the foreground, with the clickbait come-on headline of (I looked this up in my History), “Chris Cote on the killing of the surf industry and the joys of toxic positivity, I meant just to watch just a bit, but stayed for all 23 or so minutes of the thing.

SO, here’s what I learned: The average age of the approximately 33 million surf or surf-adjacent people in the world is, like, forty-six (or so, I didn’t rewatch), AND, the BIGGIE, surfing is NO LONGER considered COOL among the not-yet-sponsored younger set.

WHY?

CHECKING out the comments section as Chas and Chris chatted, I read about clueless and etiquette-deficient crowds at any decent break, the swelling of kooks and hodads furthered by wave pools and surf lessons and surf camps; and words on the tragic replacement of blue (or no) collar surf rebels with time-and-money rich techies and mid-level managers driving tricked-out Sprinter vans and custom racked Teslas. Yeah, that seems… correct.

Folks just want to be part of something with a perceived (or conceived- by ad agencies, mostly) coolness they are not contributing to.

I have some theories, most centered on this: IF YOU ARE NEVER going to get as many waves as your father claims to have ridden, you might never surf better than he (or your mom) does; and anyway, few of us have fathers we would be embarrassed to hang out on the beach with; if this is the truth of surfing (and that it is actually kind of… difficult; all the paddling and stuff); WHY BOTHER?

“No, you love it. You love it! Now, just get out there, you little Ripper!” Photo from, yeah, RIP CURL.

THIS ISN’T TRUE in my case; my father, a champion swimmer, was a great body surfer, even if his wearing of the traditional Speedo (I didn’t follow suit after the sixth grade) was a bit… awkward. My mother’s driving her seven children to the beach, mostly because she loved the beach, and her support of my surfing (“Tell your friends surfing, to you, is a sport; it isn’t a lifestyle” was her point when I couldn’t go with them because of religious reasons). If it was a sport, I wanted it to be a lifestyle. Still do. It still isn’t, but it is a part of my life.

AND, in furtherance of my hypothesis, my three children do not surf; the children of many of my surf friends do not surf. Granted, I live in an area late to the game, with fickle surf and cold water, and adverse winds, difficult access, lots of troublesome rocks (though not quite far away enough from large metropolitan areas- some would say); and purchasing gear for rapidly growing kids might be financially daunting. STILL, the average age of the surfers I run into is probably in keeping with Chas Smith’s assessment. YES, I do up the demographic. AND, I do see some second generation surfers. Not, statistically, that many, but some.

OKAY, this has about the word count that seemed appropriate back when I had a column (not self-promoting, as such, it’s long gone) in the Port Townsend Leader. SO, hmmm… considering doing a live thing. NO, I’m just not cool enough. PODCAST? Double hmmm.

MEANWHILE, looking for content beyond anything Nathan Florence puts out, always checking out Keith Olbermann’s short hype-ups for his podcast, though never hitting on the full length version (and never subscribing or ‘liking’ any videos), occasionally fooled into watching some wannabe Nate Florence kooking it up in some shorebreak, next time I’m clickbaited by Chas Smith, I will probably… CLICK.

I was planning of showing my latest illustrations, but I forgot to bring my dedicated thumb drive to the printer, and, when I tried to get copies, the super fancy, super expensive machine didn’t cooperate. This kind of thing can irritate the shit out of the owner/operator. YES, I did make the stupid comment that, “Yeah, that’s why I almost always brush and roll paint jobs.” “Uh huh. Three-sixty-one.” “Okay. Let me dig out some change.”

NEXT TIME…

You-Tubing/Dreaming Swamis/Big Waves in General, Full Wetsuits in 63 degree water,

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, northwest surfing, old surfers, real surfers, surf novels, surfing in Washington State, surfing the strait of juan de fuca

This isn’t from the most current big wave event at SWAMIS, but, that doesn’t really matter when it’s the same deal any time the news media (and all your instagram surf-adjacent folks) hypes up an incoming swell; every wannabe hero paddling out at one of the only places one can (easily) make it out in San Diego County on those swells that come down from up here in the Pacific Northwest (just incidentally, totally missing the north shore of the Strait of Juan de Fuca); and… yes, getting out at Swamis is easy; not getting in some other hero’s way as they ride a wave they snaked someone else to get, getting more than three waves in a session, not kooking-it up and crashing on a takeoff with 89 scrappers, 19 actual rippers, and five videographers, 105 cell phone or actual cameras, and all the eyes of a bluff and stairway full of tourists and surfers who claim they got the sickest wave ever (or plan to, once they wax up and have another hit or sip… all trained on you. YOU. You.

Don’t blow it.

Damn! FELL OFF AFTER THE DROP!

YES, I have my own not-quite-a-hero stories; already shared. For years. Swamis, Windansea, Sunset Cliffs, Cardiff, Upper Trestles, La Jolla Cove; pretty much the other accessible spots on big days.

AND

But now, leeward of the swell, I just might have overdosed, self-medicating in the long nights of this amazingly warm winter (not arguing global warming while trying not to sound like I’m indulging in geezer-talk, but 50 degrees plus on any December day; not what it was when we moved up here in 1978, haven’t scraped ice in a while) by watching waves and wave riding on YouTube: Some amazing rides among so much disappointingly bad surfing, almost all of the scare-factor coming from the crowds rather than the waves.

Raw footage? No. Please edit the shit out of whatever you put out there.

I do have a few ISSUES, other than the oversold clickbait headlines/come ons, “20-25 foot Blacks,” for example. I only sometimes appreciate the ‘here I am getting a parking spot, here I am putting on my full wetsuit, booties, gloves, hood, floatation vest, compass.” behind or near the camera commentary, having heard enough “Sick,” “Rad,” “Oh no!” “Come out!” “Kook burned the other kook!” “Look at that one!” “Shit; broke his board and didn’t even make it out!” “Can we get pizza, Daddy!” Yeah, I’m looking, but I frequently fast forward and I almost always turn down the volume on the background music/rap.

HERE IS A QUESTION I felt compelled to text-ask of Trisha’s (and, by marriage, my) nephew, DYLAN SCOTT: Okay, two questions: Are you getting any of those waves? Why the hell are surfers wearing so much gear when the water temperature (I checked) at La Jolla Shores (where he lives) is 62.6 degrees. “WHY, back in my day, water got to 58, you put on your short john and…” Dylan did text back a ‘YES,’ and that it is a bit of overdressing, though he has become fond of booties.

ME, TOO; ever since that time at SEASIDE (not the one in Solana Beach, though I have surfed there) when I got bullheads in my feet walking up toward the… the cove. Wheww, almost said too much.

All this SCREEN SURFING may have affected my dreams. YES. So, last night I had this dream… you know how wave height is often compared to multi story buildings? It’s never, “Whoa, the wave was as big as a rambler in a tract out in the valley!” So, someone is giving this woman on a board close to shore shit for getting in the way. I go out (imagine, IF YOU WILL, Nate Florence or JOB with a POV sequence).

WHEN I GET TO THE LINEUP, there’s this multi-story building (imagine the train station at the entrance to Disneyland- I may have been) that is, evidently, a wave. I turn, I paddle; I’m at the peak, ready to drop in from the turret/tower. AND, looking down from something that magically turns back into the biggest wave my mind/memory can muster, I… CHOKE.

THE GOOD NEWS IS no one caught it on camera. It won’t even be one of those shorts that pop up- 29 seconds of dude who shouldn’t have been out considering the multi-story conditions.

THAT’S MY STORY. Hopefully, in the coming year, you’ll have moments and sessions worth remembering; and, sure, hopefully you have many from this year.

I do hate to mention how close I am to totally finishing the manuscript for “SWAMIS.” I am culturally bound not to say too much about when and where I have surfed recently, or where and when I plan to attempt to find waves next. So, I won’t.

Oh, and HAPPY NEW YEAR to all the real surfers! Yes, I am including kooks and posers and hodads and, of course, geezers. I do plan on posting some new click-worthy stuff on Wednesday. Thanks for reading.