Bro-dads

Posted on November 10, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under northwest surfing, surf adventures, surf illustrations, surf sessions, surf stories, surfing art, surfing tales, Uncategorized

The word HODAD, back a ways in surf jargon, was used to identify people who had all the proper items necessary to look like surfers, you just never actually saw them surf. It should be mentioned that no surfer believes another person surfs if that person hasn’t been observed by that first person, surfing. And, even then, if the possible Hodad isn’t seen actually catching waves, the possible-poser might be merely relabeled as a KOOK. Even having multiple surfboards, wearing the proper semi-authorized surf garb, having appropriately cool stickers on your appropriate surf vehicle, and having a working knowledge of surf spots from Mainland Mexico to Alaska, and having the ability to drop names of surf legends/stars, and some local heroes, from Bob Simmons to Robert Kelly Slater, and having conversational/storytelling skills that would hold up in parking areas from Swamis to Velzyland, and… wait a minute; I’m sort of describing myself.

No, no; it can’t be.

I’m not nearly friendly enough to be a BRODAD. And besides, most of my beachside surf wear comes from Goodwill, my wetsuit is ragged, patched with cutouts from old wetsuits, my surf rig smells like mildew and, again, old wetsuits; my boards are dinged, yellowed, the wax dirty.

Oh, yeah; I know how to look like a REALSURFER, BRO. Except, BRAH (and I never really use either of these terms in real life), I do get in the water.

To surf.

Alternate ‘Power Couples’ with Larger Drawing (same drawing only larger)

Posted on November 5, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under northwest surfing, surf adventures, surf illustrations, surf sessions, surf stories, surfing art, surfing tales

I actually started writing this before I wrote the article now behind it on my site; really more a session report than something on power couples. Please check it out, also. I just wanted a larger version of the drawing and most of the copy below came with it. Still, I can’t seem to create new paragraphs since this is really a (protracted) caption. So… There are some surfing power couples I really like: Gordon and Lynn, Cash and Tanya… okay, I’ll add my former surfing trip friend (he has new friends, better friends) Jeff Parrish and his wife, my daughter Dru’s childhood friend, Ruth, who now, since she attended a Holly Beck-led surf camp in Costa Rica a few years ago, is also a surfer. Go Ruth!
It seems that more women are getting into surfing all the time. That’s fine. I actually prefer women (probably didn’t need to say that). And these new surfers seem to be sort of, um, competitive with their men.
That’s all fine. Initially starting the drawing because I find some surfing power couples (the ones that are just too cool- as if they bring the cool to surfing while, obviously, surfing, like wearing really fashionable clothes- adds to their joint coolness- I feel the same way about individual surfers) annoying, I find others interesting and, sometimes, amusing. An example would be the couple that cruised their mini-van into a parking spot at a spot (non-secret) on the Straits of Juan de Fuca, The woman dealt with unlatching their two children as the man threw on a short john wetsuit (it was summer, water still cold), grabbed the SUP off the roof, ran out, caught two quick waves, raced back in, stripped off the wetsuit, switched over to watching the children as the woman donned the same wetsuit (I’m pretty sure), walked down to the water, picked up the SUP, headed out. “I got to surf Westport last Saturday,” the husband said, “It’s her turn.” When I cleared my throat as a sort of question, gave him a nod that, at least, he already caught two waves, he explained, “I was just showing her where to take off.” “Sure. Great.”
I have called couples out, they always denying or amused by the ‘power’ part. I’ve only done this on the beach, after I’ve surfed myself out, when they can’t decide whether to surf here, head for Neah Bay, or cruise back to Joyce for brunch. If I haven’t surfed yet, I always recommend Hobuck. Or brunch.
Now, my power woman, Trish, will tell anyone that she actually rode surfboards before I did. It’s true. Okay, I have nothing more to say on the subject. Maybe later. Next I’m going to draw something on ‘bro-dads,’ a variation on the classic surf expression (in case you missed it in Surfing 101), “Hodads,” folks who have all the trappings of surfers, like to hang out at the beach, but never seem to make it into the water. If you’ve read this far, please go back and read the alternate version. And thanks.

Surfing Power Couples

Posted on November 4, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under northwest surfing, surf adventures, surf illustrations, surf sessions, surf stories, surfing art, surfing tales

As Stephen Davis and I were hiking back to my car yesterday, exhausted from the two-and-a-half hour workout, the occasional thrashing (mostly inside the tube) and the occasional thrilling down the line drop-swoop-glide ride (always very close to or in the tube) the waves at a certain unnamed Rivermouth/Pointbreak offered us; surveying the half mile of curved beach, waves peeling in long sections, we both zoomed in as a longboarder paddled for, caught, then dropped, backside, into a dirty-but-glassy-black section. Instantly in the powerful heart, she grabbed a rail, seemed to extend her lead foot toward the nose.

As with almost all of the waves anywhere along this sweep, with unseen sections peeling and reeling around a succession of named spots, there was no real exit. No channel, no deeper water. Hang on, pull in as tight as possible, take the roll. No where better to get rolled than inside.

So, to complete the reveal and the connection to the alleged topic, the surfer was Lynn, the better half* of the Port Angeles surfing power couple of Gordon and Lynn.

“I waited a long time for that wave,” Lynn said on the lawn outside ______’s house**.

Indeed; I first ran into Gordon and Lynn at the NearStraits*** backup/backup spot seven or eight years ago, Gordon was thrashing around on the freshly-purchased, striped (and, I would guess, expensive) Robert August surfboard that had been standing a while at the North by Northwest (NXNW) Surf Shop. They were both just getting into surfing as I was trying to get back into some sort of surfing shape, trying to get back anywhere close to some acceptable (as in not humiliating or highly embarrassing) level of surfing ability.

And they have improved greatly. I have more to say on the subject of power couples, but I have to go. Later. Okay. Teaser: “No, it’s your turn to watch the kids.” “Five waves. Five; that’s all I ask.”

*though it’s only polite to call a woman the better half; I do think Lynn is… no, you’re each as good a surfer as the other. **This was a clue for those who don’t really need a clue, but, after a phone call from a concerned surfer who thinks this is a secret, the name has now been dedacted/removed/deleted. Okay, so now those of you who did read the name, pre-dedaction, please keep it to yourselves; just to keep the crowds down in the water.***NearStraits as opposed to more secret/more mysterious spots closer to the ocean.

Trina Packard Takes (a few) Waves

Posted on October 30, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under northwest surfing, surf adventures, surf sessions, surfing tales

Somewhere, probably six or seven years ago, still rather early in my surf comeback, still trying to get to a reasonable level of ability and style (and I’m still working on that), I encountered Trina Packard on the inside at my most-frequented spot on the Straits. It was an above-average day (the real, every-day-counted average probably somewhere close to flat), with quite a few rigs in the parking area, and it was a session in which I noted, and, no doubt wrote to my old surf buddy, Ray Hicks, I caught eight waves before I ever actually made it to the outside lineup.

I was pretty proud I had improved enough to go to my old approach; taking a few on the head, dodging a few surfers on waves, dropping into a few.

Paddling along the rim of the lefts, both Trina and I were picking off waves surfers couldn’t quite catch, or couldn’t make the section. “If no one else wants this one,” Trina said, possibly a veiled message of ‘back off, old guy’ inherit in the phrasing (and the determined ‘going-for-it’ look), “I’ll take it.” And, of course, she did. Several times.

A year or so later, in the same parking lot, Tim Nolan (still older than i am) and I discussing why the waves could have been here, should have been here, but weren’t, after I’d recited Trina’s quote back to her and Tim, and, because we must all apologize, sort of, for sessions in which we’re a bit more aggressive than average, Trina explained that she’d just returned from Australia and was pumped up. At this time she had been working in graphics and web design in the Port Angeles area, but said she might have to move to the Seattle area (area).

“Oh, too bad,” Tim and I, no doubt said, thinking of all the surfers we run into, most of whom disappear to somewhere, possibly even worse than the big city across the Sound. “I’ll still be surfing,” she said. “Of course,” we said.

I ran into Trina two different times at the Surfrider Cleanwater Surf Contest in Westport (with a year in between in which I didn’t volunteer to ‘help’ and assist the judges- great fun for me). This is really like me running to the bathroom, her ready to go into a heat. “Good luck,” or “How’d you do?”

So, it wasn’t really too surprising, a few weeks ago, on a day when the coast was out of control and the Straits over-crowded; while I, already surfed-out, was taking the ever-longer walk out to check out what the dam removal had done to the surfing spot at the Elwha River, I passed Trina and a friend headed back to the parking lot. She has moved to Westport, she said. She did well at this year’s Cleanwater (second, as I recall, in Women’s Longboard). There had, evidently, been some discussion that some volunteers had hogged the judging assistant spots, and I missed this year’s contest. Maybe next year.

So (again with the ‘so’), here’s why I care: I also have a background in art. I appreciate anyone who can be good enough, persistent enough, gutsy enough to make a living at it. It’s hard. Like another surfer-turned-actually-professional artist, Todd Fischer, who I first met when he was a plumbing contractor working on some of the same projects I was doing the painting on, Trina seems to have figured some way to make a living from art AND live close to the beach

And, again; good luck.

Former Edmonds, Washington (really) Surfer Bill Thomas (and a mention of Archie Endo in Thailand)

Posted on October 22, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under surf adventures, surf sessions, surf stories, surfing art, surfing tales

I tried to insert a video of my friend, Archie Endo, surfing, quite Archie-like (stylish long and gliding ride on a longboard), in Thailand. He is (still) there, middleman for a fish company.
As I said, tried. Wrong format, evidently, and I got a big old “X,” and a scolding.
So, here is a photo I could insert, another (obviously old) friend, Bill Thomas, kayaking below his house on the Hood Canal with his new friend.
I went surfing with Bill, who will proudly tell you he has surfed the Puget Sound on one of those storm days (like yesterday) where the entire fetch of the Sound (lots of miles) was headed north, and he was on some of those windswells.
That was then, years ago, and when we went to Westport on a typical, chopped-up day, Bill in a thick wetsuit more suited to diving, and I didn’t surf very well, but did make it out a couple of times, Bill was almost angry that his skills from thirty, forty years ago hadn’t stayed with him.
He took a couple of photos of another surfer, doing well, and drove back.
Despite Bill being a retired firefighter, he was not, evidently, the guy driving the rigs to urgent fires and aid calls. He was stridently unapologetic about that. “I just thought I’d do better,” he said. “And frankly, I thought you’d do better.”
I have seen Bill since, kayaking at (I’m just going to name the spot) Salt Creek. No, one up on the Straits. He did fine. No, I don’t have a photo.

Competing (Vicariously) With Kelly Slater

Posted on September 29, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under Uncategorized

I started thinking about why I root for someone who has won more major surfing competitions than anyone else some time before the Hurley Pro at Trestles. I’m not sure Maybe it’s because I’m well over 42, his age at the moment, and he represents… Maybe it’s… still thinking…

But, now the Association of Surfing Professionals (ASP, soon to be something else) tour has moved on to France, and I just tried (and failed) to stay up late enough to watch the first heat of round two; Kelly relegated to the loser-goes-home heat by not winning in round one as the current wunderkind, Gabriel Medina, did.

Kelly Slater is probably the only other surfer on tour, and, even at that, he’d need help (as in other surfers who can beat Medina in a heat) who can catch the Brazilian, now the same age Mr. Slater was when he won his first of twelve world titles.

Oh, did I say twelve?

Maybe that’s the magic number; the one Slater, so close the past several years, is looking for. Or, maybe, maybe he just loves to compete, loves to win. It’s hard not to love competing when the water is cleared of other surfers during the best conditions (often questioned) during a waiting period lined-up with the optimum swell window for a given spot; not to mention the other perks.

Let’s count up a few: Fame, reserved parking spot, private dressing rooms, clamoring and adoring fans around the world, fame, contest winnings, sponsorships, fame, the true life drama of surfer-to-surfer competition, and, I almost forgot, money.

Fame should probably be broken down to the components; the part that includes those adoring fans who know you’re one of the world’s best, and the part that includes the respect of peers (well, wannabe peers), the fellow surfers who can’t devote their lives to being THAT good; those of us who compete whenever we’re in the water, those who seem to have other reasons for surfing (Yeah, yeah; spiritual, sensual; hard to think of those aspects scrambling for a wave in choppy, crowded, sub-epic waves).

There is the PEER RESPECT portion of what makes up ‘fame,’ proper respect from those surfers WHO HAVE devoted large chunks of their lives to getting as good as they can get at surfing, and, placed in a situation where their best two waves over thirty or so minutes, at any surf spot anywhere in the world, would be measured against Kelly’s best two waves at that same spot, with priority and wave selection and ability to pull off a move factored-in, and with the nerves associated with any competitive activity, and with judges and online viewers and a crowd on the beach… and just the worry that Kelly might (and probably doesn’t have to) give you a look, maybe just a nod, that completes the mind f___k, well…

Okay, sign me up. I’ll do my best.

Mr. Slater has been at the game so long, had the fame and respect so long; with the knowledge that so much of fame is so ridiculous, just has to be ignored, washed or dusted off, pushed aside; that he is casual about it. So casual. That’s style.

One must remember that he brashly said, and this was years ago now, that, when he got into professional competition, he was surprised at the level of the surfing. “At how good it was?” “No, at how bad it was.” Shocking; now that everyone says, and it’s true, that the surfers on the world tour, men and women, are some of the best in the world.

This elite surfer list doesn’t count, of course, the guy you see every time you go to any certain spot; just lighting it up.

So, I got up early, tuned in the ASP feed, just in time to catch Freddy P. in a heat, needing a score in the last few minutes of the last heat to be run today, late afternoon in France. I opened another screen to get the results from earlier. Kelly against Dane Reynolds, the very embodiment of the guy who lights it up without a jersey, sometimes when wearing one. Most surfers can relate so much better with Dane; a seemingly regular guy with freakish abilities (I don’t really believe the regular guy part). Kelly needed the points to maintain position in the world title race. Dane… well, Dane also has sponsors. Despite this being the 14th (out of 14) time he’d beaten Dane in a heat, Kelly was generous in his post-heat statements, saying that didn’t matter, we all know what Dane is capable of. Stylish, again.

Clicking back to the live feed, I caught Freddy get the score he needed. Buzzer beater. Yes, Mr. P said in his interview, after too many close heats that didn’t go his way, he was starting to get some confidence back.

I’d like to believe Kelly is a little more like most of the rest of us; maybe the respect he most wants is his own. I have to believe that each of us wants to surf up to the limits of our ability on any given day. That’s how we judge ourselves. If contest judges did the same, I could, occasionally, score a 9.5 without ever cracking through the lip.

Of course Mr. Robert Kelly Slater would, for the same moves, get a 2.35. Or less. So, and this isn’t just trash talk; “bring it on!”

Meanwhile, still a fan. In my neighborhood, Seattle Seahawks fans call ourselves some part of “The Twelve.” 12. 12. 12.

The Last Saturday Surf Session of Summer

Posted on September 22, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under Uncategorized

It seems to be important to me, because I’m self employed, because I don’t HAVE to be a WEEKEND WARRIOR; that I avoid surfing on the weekends. However, and there’s always a HOWEVER, sometimes the swell peaks on a Saturday. This is not just true on the Straits of Juan de Fuca; it’s true at the beaches you want to surf. So, on the last weekend of summer, to mitigate the situation with everyone checking out the same forecasts, making the same decisions, and because Trish was out of town, I got up at four am on a Saturday, checked the buoys, loaded up my stuff (if the buoys had looked more promising, I would have done this the night before), fooled around enough to determine if the swell had already peaked, and headed out.

I arrived at my (current) favorite spot before the sun. DAWN PATROL. I probably favor this spot because no hiking on trails and down cliffs is required, my vehicle is in sight from the lineup, and usually (if there are waves) there are easy paddle-outs around the waves rather than through. There were four other rigs in the parking area when I pulled in, four other surfers suiting up. I leaped (why is ‘leapt’ incorrect?), glanced over at the rights which I’ve called ‘slow motion Malibu’ at their (almost) best (full speed at the very best), and saw it was breaking, so, naturally, I asked the others, almost suited-up, where they were headed.

“Oh, the rights look good.” “No, no; it’s deceiving. They’re really only, like, ankle high.”

So, here’s the thing about doing the dawn patrol: You get a few waves and then more and more surfers join you. When there aren’t that many waves and those who arrive are trying, as you are, to get in a maximum number of waves before… before whatever they have planned, you can get a bit anxious, perhaps irritated; and, if that is irrational, uncool, non-mellow, maybe resentful; man; that doesn’t mean you don’t have these feelings. Really, only two other surfers came over to the rights while I was there, but, on the lefts, which are longer, a crowd was beginning to grow. And the parking area was filling up with other surfers waiting for the right signal before entering the water- a bigger set, a few waves breaking on the outside indicator, perhaps waiting for their fast and/or ferry food to settle down.

Because I’m self employed, and because the other reason I went so early was because this wasn’t a weekend for me, I had to go back and work; I was looking for a good wave to go in on. I got one; one of those ‘to the parking lot’ rights, but…

…but I wanted a few more waves, so I moved over to the lefts. Usually featuring long walls, the more crowded side seemed to be offer slightly bigger waves. I caught a few, but had to share each wave with others. I caught a few more. With several sections and quite a few other surfers of varying skill levels vying for each wave, of the ten or so I caught, none were solo rides. If I got into one early, another surfer might catch it farther in but closer to the reef. I’d try to allow room, make a section, be alone for a moment until someone else took off inside. Fine. At least no one yelled, “PARTY WAVE.”

There was kind of a party atmosphere; and I did try to go with that. I’m sure my smile looked genuine. “Waikiki!” I’ve yelled in similar circumstances, tight to the wave with two people paddling just beyond the next section, one I would have every intention to make.

Just wanting this last wave to go in on, and already standing, a guy who had done this to me already turned around to do the ‘take off behind’ thing again immediately to my right. “That’s not right” I said, paused just a moment, sped into a section, turned, and made it all the way to the parking lot, at least two shoulder hoppers backing off as I, spontaneously, rather than the “f___k, f___k, f___k” I’d muttered (probably) a little loud in the last similar circumstance, broke into the classic soul song, “I know you want to leave me, boom, boom, boom…”. I should have been happy with the ‘to the parking lot’ ride. Actually, I was; but, discussing the situation in the parking lot with Clint, a boat repair guy from Port Townsend, with whom I’d had a bit of a non-race race with in the traffic lights in Port Angeles, he said he was just about through with this spot.

It gets crowded, not just because sometimes (in answer to someone else’s prayer) a swell sometimes peaks on a weekend, but because this spot is so user friendly. Everyone else is there for the same reason I go there.

And I don’t want to be is the angry guy, willing to get hostile over knee high waves. Maybe I’m ready for more challenging waves. I asked one of the guys who moved their car into a beach side spot next to mine when someone else left why they didn’t go all the way to the coast where the same swell would no doubt be producing overhead, maybe ten foot waves. “I’m scared of ten foot waves,” he said. “Oh.” I have other excuses; time, um, a certain amount of, possibly, laziness.

But, right now; I’m planning, scheming, getting ready. There’s a swell forecast that’s too south in direction to make it to the Straits; long period, overhead. The first swell of fall. I’ll let you know how that goes. Meanwhile, Clint went back out, trying the lefts, the party atmosphere continued, someone pulled into the spot I left beachside, I passed at least eight board-topped rigs headed out on my way to go to work. Later, Clint surfed a secret(ish) spot near Port Townsend with one other surfer out.

Memorial Ceremony for Someone (Evidently) Very Special

Posted on September 7, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under Uncategorized

The story is, Stephen Davis, seen kite surfing in the photo, was working for me twenty five miles away from the secret surf spot north of Port Townsend when he got a call from Wade, telling him the winds were perfect on the Straits. It was already past seven, with little or no wind on the finger of Puget Sound where we were painting. "Take off," I must have said; and he did; arriving very close to sundown, doing all the arranging of kite and lines and wetsuits. Wade was already in the midst of what turned out to be a bit of a mystical experience. He had kite-surfed close to a pod of Orcas beyond the surfline, this observed by a group of people holding a Straits-side memorial for a recently departed 94 year old woman. And a sunset that was particularly special. Though Stephen didn't see the pod of whales, he was, coming in by the light from vehicles and the one light in the parking lot, wrapping up the lines and organizing the gear, surprised when a woman from the memorial party thanked him for gliding, flying across the waves... as if he, Wade, the whales, the sunset, were all part of the ceremony. Who's to say? And that added to the magic for Steve.

Hydrosexual Stephen Davis (he snow skis, plays ice hockey, surfs, kite surfs, paddleboards [the open ocean version], and, well, swims) was working with me twenty five miles away from this secret (and infrequent) surf spot north of Port Townsend when he got a call from… (EDIT- Evidently the person making the call, the person in the photograph, responded negatively to the possibility that a few people might associate him, and his name, with any sort of publicity involving, well, I’m not clear on this; I haven’t spoken with the now-unnamed person, and probably won’t. But, if you haven’t read this post previously, you may never know. EDITED OUT), telling him the winds were perfect on the Straits. It was already past seven, with little or no wind on the finger of Puget Sound where we were painting. “You better go,” I must have said, “and now;” and he did; arriving this close to sundown, close enough to snap a series of photos of unnamed kite-surfer, already in the midst of what turned out to be a magically shared and mystical experience. With people yelling, waving, and pointing, the mystery kiter had kite-surfed close to a passing pod of Orcas beyond the surfline. The yelling and pointing and waving was being done by a group of people holding a Straits-side memorial for a recently departed 94 year old woman. The kiter felt compelled to surf close to the pod (not TOO close). Amazing. AND there was this unusually spectacular sunset. Though Stephen didn’t see the pod of whales, he was, later, coming in by the light from vehicles and the one light in the parking lot, wrapping up the lines and organizing the gear, surprised when a woman from the memorial party thanked him for gliding, flying across the waves… as if he, the other kite-surfer, the whales, the sunset, were all part of the ceremony.
Who’s to say where, when, or why magic sails in?
Being part of that possibly-Cosmically-arranged event surely added to the magic for Steve and his friend.

The Smell of Fear on a Brand New T Shirt

Posted on September 2, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under Uncategorized

This is an update to the previous story. The original deal was that I would receive some sort of monetary reward for doing the drawing for the Quilcene Shin-Dig tee shirts. Fine, but things evolve. It ended up that I did the drawing, got some copies made, added some color. This became the poster. I paid for the printing of ten full sized and twenty flyer sized copies, distributed a few, at the cost of somewhere around $52.00, and traded this for three t-shirts, which would sell for $60.00 at the event; and then bought another, last year’s version, by a different artist, for another $20.00. Then, on the day of the event, because these shirts make such fine gifts, and because the image of the guitar player carving is based on our son, Jaymz, my wife, Trish, insisted I purchase more. $80.00 worth.

So, speaking to our daughter, Dru, on the phone this morning, and, before I had a chance to tell her she would be receiving a shirt, and before I could rant about the actual event, she quoted her mother quoting me saying, “It was the most expensive piece of art I’ve ever done.” Well, yeah; no, not really; but, let me get to the part where I actually performed.

Actually, I’ve not quite recovered from that, performing two original songs (“You Never Said Goodbye” and “I Guess I’m Lucky”) to a small crowd standing in the rain, with an uninvited, retired music teacher standing at the next microphone, totally unaware of what I was planning to do, interjecting little… I don’t know what he was singing, or scatting, or saying… he said he was going to ‘wing it.’

My vision was limited to… I guess I was trying to look at my harmonica… that’s as far as my vision seemed to go. I couldn’t really hear myself; I could hear the occasional interjections, sort of, on the periphery. I continued with something akin to muscle memory; songs performed so many times driving to or from a job, or a distant surf spot, one hand on the wheel.

When it was over, I walked through the building, tried not to let loose on Mr. Hodgson; walked around the block to my car, and drove home. When I arrived, Trish said I smelled funny. Maybe it was because I had been sitting in the just-started rain for a while in my (advertising, Trish said) orange Shin-Dig t-shirt before I went on. Maybe that’s just what fear smells like… rain, fear ahead of the performance, something like total confusion and embarrassment afterword; all mixed with the smell of me still thinking, somewhere in my brain, maybe from that place that told me I have these songs and someone should perform them, and if it had to be me… that perhaps-self-delusional bit of wiring; that thought had me holding out some hope that my audience, mostly made up of musicians who had performed or would perform later, might realize the lyrics are worthwhile, useful… possibly in their band.

Later, trying to get back to sleep, I was still mulling, still asking, “Just what where you thinking, Jim?” His answer, out near the street, his truck parked across Surf Route 101 in the Post Office parking lot, had been, “I was calming you down. I was helping.” My response since, not to him, is that I was ready to succeed or fail on my own. As with most things in life, I’m still not sure which is true, but I know there’s a big * next to anyone’s perception of the performance. And that includes my own.

If could compare it to something in surfing, it would have to be that my actual thoughts in riding the biggest barrel I was ever in, at Sunset Cliffs, was not some time-slowed-down version of joy; but was fear; that peripheral vision of the actual cliffs, too close, through the curtain. The joy, or, at least, satisfaction, would be added later. Edited. Like words on a computer. “Backspace.”

Illustration for Musical Event On Surf Route 101

Posted on August 27, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under Uncategorized

Here’s how this poster came about:

I was asked by musician Franko Bertucci (who heads up his touring band, Locust Street Taxi, participates in other musical groupings including “The Village Idiots,” and with his wife, Arianna, doing most of the work, has a small farm) to ‘draw up’ a t shirt design for the ninth annual “Shin-Dig,” a musical event in the town of Quilcene, Washington. If you’ve driven ‘the loop’ that US Highway 101 makes from down at the Columbia River, Chinook, the small town my Dad lives in, and go up the coast (sort of, more woods than waves), possibly making a detour to hit La Push, another turn at Sappho to check out Neah Bay, stay on 112 instead while heading toward Port Angeles, then head East and South; and you get to about mile marker 294, you’ll have passed my house and found yourself having to slow down once again for some small town before heading up and over Mount Walker and down the Hood Canal, the east side of the Olympic Mountains still on your right; well, that big curve is Quilcene, and exactly on the apex of that curve is where the Shin-Dig will be happening this coming Saturday.

So, since the event is held just outside what was once a theater, next to what was once a church, on that curve was once the center of what was once a thriving lumber town, with a railroad line that actually cut across what is now my property, and that former theater is now home to Waltz Lumber, a business that sells slabs of wood (for things like coffee tables) and other exotic wood products (like maple for guitars and such), I thought it might be good to have a drawing of a wood carving (this is just in case you don’t get it from the drawing), and, since my son Jaymz (formerly J.J., actually James) is a lead guitar player and professional musician, I thought a wood carving of… anyway, the whole thing ended up looking more like a poster than a t shirt design, so… I did the black and white, got some copies, added some color and… poster.

So, if you’re headed up or down Surf Route 101 on Saturday, this Labor Day weekend, and you just happen to get to Quilcene between noon and dark; stop in; it’s free, and, well; I have been threatening to participate, possibly to play harmonica and sing something like… “It’s a hard 1,200 miles; that old surf route 101; some are headed for the clouds, some are searching for the sun…”

Real Surfers

Shoulder-hoppers and name-droppers

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