Tag Archives: surf sessions

Hydrosexual Stephen Davis Spiderman’s Pilings

Posted on by under aggressive surfers, northwest surfing, old surfers, real surfers, secret surf spots on the Straits of Juan de Fuca, SUP surfing, surf adventures, surf culture, surfing, surfing in Washington State, surfing stories, surfing tales, Uncategorized

Ten days after my SUP paddle ended up stuck in the wire rope that holds the three pilings together  (making it, technically, a dolphin), I was surprised to find it still there, still looking like an antenna.

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Unlike the session where I lost the paddle, this time Stephen and I were the only ones out. Jeffrey Vaughn, a longshoreman (who also identified the pilings as a dolphin, probably used back when the area was a source for extracting and shipping clay), parked in front of the rights, took a lot of photos, but was changing into his suit when Stephen borrowed my SUP (he was riding a classic Phil Edwards model Hobie), and paddled over to the dolphin.

Having tried unsuccessfully myself to scale the ancient poles on the day of what I’m now calling ‘a prank of opportunity,’ I didn’t have much hope that Stephen (to refresh, I call him hydrosexual because he loves all water sports; ice hockey, skiing, kite surfing, classic paddleboard racing, sailing, etc.) could actually free the monument to my (yeah, we’re talking about the husky old guy with the gorilla hands) unappreciated lineup dominance.

Having already shed my booties, seeing Steve ‘chimney-climb’ between the pilings and then climb onto the dolphin, I ran down the rocky beach. Jeffrey would miss the shot. Two Natives, a father and son I’d seen here before, were pulling their crabpots, loading their boat onto the trailer. “Yeah, I saw the paddle. I think it had a flag on it for a while. It’s been there since that one day when there were lots of surfers here.” “Yeah, it’s my paddle.” The son thought this was quite amusing. “But you got it back.” “Yeah.”

I asked Jeffrey to try to make me look skinnier. Maybe he did and this is the result. I’m going to hang onto the paddle Nick so kindly gave me (loaned, I’m saying), ready to return it the next time I see him.

A Temporary Monument to A Notorious Wave Hog

Posted on by under aggressive surfers, gopro shots on the Straits of Juan de Fuca, northwest surfing, old surfers, real surfers, secret surf spots on the Straits of Juan de Fuca, SUP surfing, surf adventures, surf culture, surf photos, surf sessions, surf stories, surfing, surfing in Washington State, surfing on the Straits of Juan de Fuca, surfing tales, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, writings of Erwin Dence

Maybe it was just a sort of harmless prank; maybe it’s a statement that those wave-hogging, SUP-riding, Aloha-be-damned surfers should always hold on tightly to their paddles. Yeah; even if there’s sixty yards of spinning inside tube ahead of him. And yeah, even if the set-wave-grabbing lineup Dominator is somewhere on the downhill side of sixty, with bad knees and… I mean, you should have seen him trying to get to his paddle as the tide dropped… yeah, he may have deserved this.

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I might agree if it wasn’t my paddle.

I’ve been working toward posting something on realsurfers that might go viral. A few pieces, over the three years or so since realsurfers hit the electronic cosmos, have had a sort of slow-motion version. But, what I do know is, even if someone as athletic as whoever found the paddle and jammed it into the wire rope-held pilings pulls it out, King Arthur style, the story will spread. Quickly.  After all, surfers hanging out on the Strait, waiting and hoping some sort of swell might show up, might just have to tell the tale of how the baddest-ass, kook-burning-est, wave-catchin’-est, loudest, least cool guy ever to knee-board an eleven foot board from the pilings to the fence got a sort of comeuppance.

I’d argue with the description if it wasn’t supposed to describe me.

There is more to the story; coming soon. If this wasn’t a happy ending for me (still feeling a bit outside of the tribe of mellow, never-took-off-on-anyone-ever-no-really-like-never-surfers, I’d probably guess anyone ever frustrated by SUP-riding over-compensators might just go, “Right On, Man!”), there is a surprise twist in this little morality play. This twist is forcing me to question my initial reaction to be hurt, then pissed-off at being singled out for this little prank; then humiliated by my pathetic, clumsy, and unsuccessful attempts to retrieve the paddle (witnessed by anyone who cared to look among a gathering crowd on the beach). These feelings were followed by a momentary-but-deep (why me? am I really that much of an asshole?) depression combined by a significant amount of anger at people who I would like to think of as peers (even friends). I aimed these feelings to those responsible, and to those who (owing to a different strain of tribal-think) would never reveal who did this. This rather quickly morphed into ‘fuck them/I don’t need them,’ a throwback to my days as a loner/outsider (yeah, I know you think you are. Probably not) with a fully-functioning (as in, I got waves) ghetto-mentality surfer in Oceanside and Pacific Beach,  and Swamis, and Trestles, and made me almost proud to be the Antagonist.

Still, until I sort it all out in my mind, I’m leaving it at this. [not true- I’ve already added to this piece several times] I’ve been very satisfied with the many surfers I’ve met over my years surfing in the northwest, an contrast this, happily, with my time in California.

Here are a couple of things: I won’t drop a paddle again. I catch almost every wave I try for. If you aren’t getting enough waves, take off in front of me.  Really.  I’ve never really yelled at anyone for this (wait, once I yelled, “Really?”), though my usual thing is to sarcastically yell, “Waikiki!” or “Party!” but, my new and humbler self might just smile and say, “Aloha!”(Durn; still a bit bitter, but working on it)

I’d give acknowledgement to the photographer, but, just in case he’s maintaining a safe distance, I’ll just say, ‘nice photo.’ Oh,and Trish said, “If you had a ladder, you could have walked out and climbed up to get it.” “Oh, uh huh.”

Clinton Burks on Point Grenville, Me on Jeff Parrish and Tom Decker, and a new Illustration

Posted on by under aggressive surfers, Erwin Dence illustrations, learning to surf, northwest surfing, old surfers, real surfers, surf adventures, surf culture, surf illustrations, surf sessions, surf stories, surfing, surfing in Washington State, surfing Point Grenville in the 60s, surfing tales, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, surfing Westport Washington, Uncategorized, writings of Erwin Dence

I received this comment in response to one of the most popular, over time, posts, “Tom Decker and Jeff Parrish.” Noticing the consistent number of hits the piece seems to get, I thought either Tom Decker, well known to pretty much anyone who surfs at Westport over the last twenty-five years, is a name people google, then find my article; or Jeff sends friends to check out what I wrote about him. I’ve had a sort of suspicion that, always just trying the real story, I may have written something that would or should offend Jeff. Since Jeff’s wife, Ruth, has started surfing, and, actually, before that, he seems to have other people he prefers to surf with (and, yes, I am somewhat hurt by this, but no longer whine about it when I see Jeff’s father-in-law, Jim Hodgson, at the post office.). Because I got this comment, I checked.

Yeah, maybe Jeff had a tough outing, called-out by Mr. Decker; but he’s not alone in that. I do drop the name (Tom Decker, though I always ask people from Seattle if they know Jeff. “Which Jeff?” They all know at least one) with folks from Westport, or those who say they surf there a lot, when I see them looking for waves on the Strait. Maybe Tom has mellowed; other names are mentioned as enforcers at the Groins and the Jetty.

So, here’s the contribution:

Clinton Burks (@soloncircus)

Erwin,

If it’s of any value to the surfing community, I’d like to recite some first-hand oral history about Pt. Grenville.

I surfed there from 1967 to -69, when I was in high school. We just showed up with surfboards and camped for the weekend, without any fuss from “authorities.”

Then, in 1969, we showed up as usual, and a truck pulled up and a well-spoken, close-shaved Indian came over to us in an very authoritarian manner, and spoke to us ominously, “Where are you boys from?”

“Bremerton,” we said.

Then he looked at the rock cliffs covered in grafitti, and most of it was the names of various high schools painted in great big letters in a wide variety of colors.

He paused and said, “If I looked up at these rocks and saw ‘West Bremerton,’ or ‘East Bremerton’ written here, I’d arrest you and put you in jail. But as it is, you can just leave.”

So we got kicked out, and never went back. Good thing us Bremerton guys specialize more in thievery and violence, and “school spirit” was for “soces.” Besides, our writing skills were sketchy, anyway.

In 1970 I heard that some friends tried to go there, and the Quinaults confiscated their boards and they had to pay fines. I left the state in 1970, and have not heard anything about it since, except for your piece on this web page.

BTW, concerning Washington surfing at the time, I had the feeling that Pt. Grenville was the only place, because the waves were dependable. I wasn’t part of any big surfing “scene,” because there were so few of us, so I don’t know if there were many guys scouting all the coastline in the state, looking for a good break. In those days, I’d never heard of surfing at Westport. (What’s more, I lived the 1970s in San Francisco, and never heard of Mavericks, though no one else seemed to know about it, either.) People in Bremerton were always going there for more fishing. When we got out of high school, it seemed like everyone went to Hawaii, got jobs, and stayed for awhile.

Aside: We didn’t use wet suits. When I was aged 6 to 9, I spent the summers living in a tent and a beach cabin at La Push, because my father was a commercial fisherman out of there & Neah Bay. My mom told me, “Just wait till you get numb, and you can play in the surf all day.” She was right. Last time I did it was 2010.

Clint Burks

So, I really don’t know anything about Mr. Burks except that he must be about my age, possibly another member of the class of 1969. And I have heard a few stories about Point Grenville in the mid 1960s, some which might explain why the beach was closed. Still, the image of some waves peeling off that point…

Here’s my latest illustration:

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Chasing the Diamonds; Quilted, Kenetic, Allusive

Posted on by under aggressive surfers, Erwin Dence illustrations, Melissa Lynch watercolors, mind surfing, northwest surfing, old surfers, Port townsend surfing, real surfers, surf adventures, surf culture, surf illustrations, surf sessions, surf stories, surfing, surfing art, surfing drawings, surfing illustrations, surfing in Washington State, surfing Lower Trestles, surfing on the Straits of Juan de Fuca, surfing satire, surfing Southern California in the 60s, surfing Swamis, surfing tales, surfing Trestles in the 70s, Uncategorized, writings of Erwin Dence

My sister, Melissa Lynch, the real artist in the family, scolded me for being in any way apologetic for my drawings. Yeah, well; I would like to be honest. If I could capture the building blocks of always-moving water, figure out how to weave a seamless shadowed/reflective/glimmering/black/white/multi-hued image I would.

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If I could.

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Since I can’t; yet; I’ll keep trying.

Meanwhile, I’m still in the thinking-it-through phase of a piece I must write under the working title of: “Are All Surfers Sociopaths; or Just the Good Ones?”

Three Acts: ACT ONE- several highschool surfing buddies and I surf Swamis after school. The only other surfers out are three (also high school age) members of the Surfboards Hawaii Surf Team. On the drive home, my friends complain they couldn’t catch any (or enough) waves. I hadn’t noticed, being busy catching waves and watching incredible longboard surfing. ONE, PART 2- One of my friends (Ray Hicks, most likely) points out (I think this was the day I ripped out my pants and had to borrow a pair of Levis from Billy McLean) that, when encountering other surfers of about our age, I seem to puff out my chest. “Maybe you’re intimidated.” “Yeah; probably.” “It’s, uh, like a gorilla.” “You mean, like, primal?” “Yeah, probably.”

ACT TWO- During the last week of my job up the hill from Trestles, taking an hour and a half break during my half hour official lunchtime, some surfer (I’ve always believed he was a Marine Officer) burned me and everyone else (I still got some, but not as many as usual waves). When I checked back at my half hour afternoon (supposed to be ten minutes) break, the guy was still out, still burning surfers mercilessly. I didn’t hate him; maybe he was going somewhere sucky, where a rifle was mandatory, for a while.

ACT THREE- My friend Stephen Davis, last time I spoke with him on the phone, mostly about his upcoming trip to the Oregon Coast and the chance I might meet him somewhere (probably won’t happen); had to, (had to) mention how I fell out of favor with many members of the Port Townsend surfing crew (very unofficial) because, over-amped, I (accidentally, I swear)wave-hogged on a day almost two years ago. Two years ago. Jeez. When I mentioned this on the phone this morning with Keith Darrock, and that I’m no more a sociopath than he is, and I do have empathy, whatever that is, he had to (had to) mention his observation that I’m kind of loud and possibly abrasive (see how he was tactful about this?) in the water, and, also, incidentally, I do seem to “kind of strut in the parking lot.” “WHAT? ME? No, it’s just being friendly.” (I am laughing at this point, but, also, thinking. Is he right?) “Like a rooster. And, oh,” he adds, has to add, “You kind of stick out your chest. And…and it seems like you want to dominate (I’m adding ‘even in’) the parking lot.”

There is no ACT FOUR where I try to change my ways, get all friendly and nice; empathize with those who won’t (before hand) or didn’t get enough waves. Empathize. I did tell Keith I’d rather attempt to empathize than be one of those who didn’t get enough waves. Maybe they’ll get points toward sainthood. No true contrition. Sorry. At least not so far. But, I am thinking; and since I can’t afford professional help, I’ll have to self-diagnose.

STEP ONE-“Yes, it’s all true.” See you in the parking lot.

What Stephen Davis was doing while Kelly and Dane lost their heats in Fiji, but before Owen blasted his first 20 point heat

Posted on by under aggressive surfers, northwest surfing, real surfers, surf photos

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Porter Hammer took this photo of Hydrosexual (surf, kite surf, ice hockey, swimming, etc, etc) Stephen Davis s-turning his sailboat past the tourists, some already, no doubt, below decks.

I was on my way home, Trish commentating on the last of Kelly’s defeat (“The waves are really terrible. OOps, he wiped out again.”). I got home in time for the last of Dane’s heat. I did witness, live via computer, Kelly’s and Dane’s earlier dominant heat wins. AND, I did see Owen score two tens in five minutes. The final, yesterday, got his 20 point heat on the recap.

Meanwhile…

Correspondence- Unnamed Wife at Unnamed and Secret Oregon Spot

Posted on by under surf culture events, surf photos, surf sessions
Please read the correspondence (below) from bottom to top. The guy thrashing on the guitar in our hotmail ‘image’ shot is our son, James, or, guitar wailer name, Jaymz. Drew Kampion is the guy who wrote back to Keith. We’re both trying to convince Mr. Kampion, legendary surf writer, and headliner at the first (highly successful) event, to participate in “The Second Occasional Surf Culture on the Straits of Juan de Fuca and the Salish Sea Event,” curated by Port Townsend Associate Librarian Keith Darrock.  The name may be shortened. More details will be forthcoming: It’s scheduled for Saturday, July 11th, so, so it’s like a longrange forecast. I’ll be doing some posters, so you know I’ll be adding more information as we get closer to the (gosh, I keep saying) event. Oh, it will be (an event).
Oregon Coast
keith darrock
7:12 AM
To: Erwin and or Trisha Dence
Yeah, go for it. That’s actually my buddy’s wife! She’s quite the ripper. He didn’t say, I didn’t ask, but I’m pretty sure that’s a semi legendary mysto reef/creek mouth near where I grew up. It’s pretty fickle and dependent on how the sand sets up over the winter. Its been dormant in recent years. Good sign for one of the better waves on the coast. 

Drew wrote back already. He said “Will crunch thi in the ol’ reality machine & see what comes out, Keith!!  Thanks for thinking of me … drew”
keith darrock 6/02/15
To: Erwin and Or Trisha Dence
Click for Options
Hey Erwin,
Here’s a recent shot taken by a friend at a reef break near where I grew up on the Central Oregon Coast. It’s way off the beaten track. They’re getting all the swell this year.
Keith
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And here’s the shot, only larger. Thanks, Keith.

Go-Pro-ing (mostly) real surfers

Posted on by under gopro shots on the Straits of Juan de Fuca, real surfers, surf adventures, surf stories, surfing

These aren’t the first photos I took with the GoPro my daughter Dru bought from her friend, DJ Trentino, and gave to me; then providing extra stuff I will probably need, including a way to make the thing waterproof. Not trying that yet. Thanks, Dru. Since the site is real surfers, I figure I should have a few shots of other surfers.

Port Townsend surfers Bob Simmons (no relation to That Bob Simmons) and Michael McCurdy (no relation to those PT McClearys) out on the farther Straits. See any waves? Me either.

Port Townsend surfers Bob Simmons (no relation to THAT Bob Simmons) and Michael McCurdy (no relation to those PT McCurdys) out on the farther Straits. See any waves? Me either. We all headed elsewhere.

Josey Paul at the same beach. Still no waves. He walks his dogs here daily, but couldn't give me a report on recent wave activity. He said the area was once bigger than Port Angeles, center for logging, clay mining, bars, prostitutes, you know. None of them probably noticed the surf either.

Josey Paul, one of the true locals at the same beach. Still no waves. He walks his dogs here daily, but couldn’t give me a report on recent wave activity. He said the area was once bigger than Port Angeles, center for logging, clay mining, bars, prostitutes, you know. None of them probably noticed the surf either. No, someone must have.

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So, I actually surfed at a backup spot, knowing the tide was all wrong, the waves would be (and were) totally closing-out. This is the third place I checked, the second I surfed. A lot of walking was involved. My line on this is:

So, I actually surfed at a backup spot, knowing the tide was all wrong, the waves would be (and were) totally closing-out. This is the third place I checked, the second I surfed. A lot of walking was involved. My line on this surf session is: “I wanted to surf there in the worst way; and I did.” I became intimately introduced to the gravel. Also, the guy surfing is on a ten foot board, he’s at least six feet tall; I’m saying the wave is… wait, let me look again.

Excuse Me, Sir… uh, um… maybe you’re ‘MIND SURFING.’ Sorry. It’ll Wait. It’s Just, you know, Work

Posted on by under mind surfing, real surfers, surf adventures, surf stories

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“If I were free, beyond this cubicle, beyond these fences and stoplights and freeways, out where the ocean constantly, steadily, erodes and decays the man-made manifestations of pride and ego and power-games; if I had never bought into the ethic, the code, set up by the captors, gotten onboard the ‘debt-work-debt’ escalator; if I could even see beyond the next meal; maybe some bonus thrown my way in hopes I might show some teeth, some gratitude (though many would settle for dodging a turd); if the nights weren’t spent mostly anticipating the days; if I were free…

“…I’d be dropping in behind the peak, skittering, falling, setting my fins, powering… I’d be catching a glimpse of a waterfall rainbow… watching the field of diamonds bend and curve, see the sun through a thin, reaching, slapping hand of a wave as I break free. Free. If I were free, beyond this cubicle…”

My daughter, Drucilla Dence, walked to the Lincoln Park Zoo the other day, from her apartment (walking distance to work in the Hancock Tower). She said the trip was notable because nothing happened, no scary encounters with crazies, no near-misses in the crosswalks, and the day was lovely. She sent me some photos and said I had to respond. Okay. Thanks, Dru (and, no, I’ll not add this to the piece where you compared me to your cat, Mister Pugsley). Love, Dad.

And, look; maybe a lot of us would rather be somewhere else than working; I break free every once in a while. Tomorrow, maybe. Meanwhile…

Adam Wipeout’s realsurfers’ Guide to Being Real, Number 3

Posted on by under adam wipeout, Erwin Dence illustrations, northwest surfing, real surfers, surf adventures, surf illustrations, surfing art, surfing guide

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This is the drawing for the post two down from here; but, rather than transfer the copy from there (mostly because I couldn’t seem to get it done), I should probably just update. I did hit the hot waves on the cold Straits last Thursday. The session that  started out… wait, I already wrote about that. I could mention the “Locals Only” session in Port Townsend earlier this week; two hours of rare wraparound waves with heavy nearly-offshore winds and a horizontal downpour . I was actually working nearby, headed over, watched the two hour session happen from the comfort of my work rig.

I probably should come up with the top ten excuses for not going out when there are actually waves. My ear was plugged up from the previous session, not thinking I needed earplugs because it was small (initially), and suffice it to say, I do feel the guilt. Maybe my best excuse is that I’m not a local, and didn’t want to impose.

No, that won’t be on my list; I’ve only done it once. merely crowded is not the same thing. Oh, and, for the sin of ever mentioning there are ever, EVER any waves in Port Townsend; no one could really predict or forecast the event, or take the chance to drive any distance on the chance it might happen.

As for today’s surf… owwwwww!

Coming up soon: “Are all surfers SOCIOPATHS; or is it just me?”