“INSIDE BREAK” The Novel- INTRODUCTION

Posted on January 5, 2015 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under surf adventures, surf stories, surfing novels, surfing San Onofre, surfing tales, uncatagorized, writings of Erwin Dence

NOTE: I started realsurfers.net to have some ownership on the two words, real surfers, and to tell the story alluded to in the introduction (below). Maybe I didn’t realize I had so many other stories to tell; maybe I didn’t realize I still have a surfing life. So, I plan on serializing the novel that fictionalizes the real story and wraps other stories around it. It will, unfortunately, be in reverse order, but, after a few chapters, interspersed with other pieces, I’ll consolidate. When it’s all done; I’ll probably change the name to “Real Surfers,” what I always wanted to be. I did a drawing, but I didn’t think it fit the mood, didn’t want to wait until I have the time to do one I actually like, so… here we go… thanks for coming along.

INSIDE BREAK
Love and Wars and Surfing and Some Amount of Magic

INTRODUCTION-
Surfing is part of the soundtrack; whoosh, wait, wait, wait, whoosh. Always has been. Well, maybe not surf itself; but it is the tides and winds, moving in waves, and the waves themselves, maybe even time itself, another wave, spinning ever outward, all providing the heartbeat of the planet. Whoosh…wait…wait…wait…whoosh.

“So, Dad; it has to be fiction?”
“Because… you know our memories are…”
“Corrupted? Flawed? Inaccurate?”
“Hmmm. Ha. Yeah.”
“Maybe your original story could be enough. Jeez; I’ve heard it for years; headed for San Onofre; you and Phillip Harper and Ray Hicks and…”
“Dru; I’ve asked Ray. He doesn’t remember this trip. Others; yes. I think it was always Bill Buel. See? I edited him out; stuck Ray in, because Ray was… because I never liked…I mean, Bill wasn’t my friend; Ray and Phil were.”
“And you were riding with Bucky Davis, your surf hero…”
“For a while. That’s part of it. If I broke down my… shit; it’s really just another surfer coming-of-age story, but, at such an, an almost unique angle. If …and, if I could break down my surf history, to, like, chapters; it’d be illustrated with the times I went surfing with Bucky Davis. Like five or six times over five or six years. Grandview, New Break, Swami’s, the last time… your mother was there… at the beach by the state park… South Carlsbad. and part of this, this bigger story, is how my image of Bucky and…”
“Matured. And there’s the love story; Bucky and Phillip’s sister. Trish.”
“Yeah; and, again, I don’t really know. We never know about other people’s lives… or loves, and I’m such a fucking romantic, I wanted that to…”
“To work out. But that’s all… it’s the hidden story, Dad; the, um, interplay between what you thought, that so many things were magic, magical; and what was real. The, I guess, surface story, is of you guys going from Fallbrook, across Camp… Camp?”
“Camp Pendleton, 1967; the Vietnam War in full swing, and the Marines, really, were all just a couple of years older than Phil and Ray… I’m sticking with Ray, and I; and Bucky was… he was right at draft age. And the war; everyone thought, was going to go on forever.”
“Well, it didn’t. New ones. But, you know, some other stuff happened on that trip.”
“Yeah. Yeah, it did; but, this far removed, this far gone, it seems… stopped by a Highway Patrolman and hassled before we even got to the back gate, running out of gas, pushing the VW up a couple of hills, coasting down, pushing it into the little PX outpost in another tent camp as marines marched by, us all cool surfers and they ready to go to… see? It seems like fiction, even to me; like I’ve seen it before.”
“But you did. And… see, even I know the story. And you did surf at San Onofre.”
“The surfing was almost incidental; I don’t really remember it, specifically. Another session. Just like with Ray, huh?”
“But the story; it ends up at Tamarack. Tamarack, right? After Bucky tore up his Dependent ID card, and couldn’t ever go back on the base; and you’re riding shotgun… for once. Right? And Phillip and… and we’ll say Ray; they’re asleep in the back, and Dylan comes on the radio.
“It was ‘Rainy Day Women #12 and 35.’ Rare on ’67 am radio.”
“Right. And, pretty soon you’re singing along, beating on the dashboard. And pretty soon, maybe because this was the perfect song for the perfect scene; you could see and hear the waves, just about to get glassy…”
“The afternoon glassoff.”
“The soundtrack and the… the soundtrack. And now; I love this part; Bucky, so, to you, ultra cool; Bucky’s beating on the dashboard, also, and you’re both trying to sing along.
‘Everybody must get stoned.’”
“Ev-ry-bo-dy mussssst get stoned!”
“Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Can you still see it?”
“Yeah.”
“There is magic in there somewhere.”
“Thanks. But, Dru; you know; now; because I… because real life doesn’t live up, maybe, because I’m going to steal other things I’ve seen, from other people’s lives, move things around; and, and, mostly, maybe, because I haven’t, um, lived up… it’ll be fiction.”
“Dad? Has your life contained enough… magic?”
Woosh, wait, wait, wait, wait, wait… woosh.
“Yeah.”

Selfie No. 37, Go Pro Joe, Bro

Posted on November 28, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under northwest surfing, surf adventures, surf illustrations, surf sessions, surf stories, surfing art, surfing tales, Uncategorized

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.

Celebrating the Wave

Posted on November 17, 2014 by Erwin A. Dence Jr. under northwest surfing, surf adventures, surf illustrations, surf sessions, surf stories, surfing art, surfing tales, Uncategorized

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.

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.

Real Surfers

Shoulder-hoppers and name-droppers

Tag Archives: real surfers