FIRST, and I’ll be removing this later, but, to terrorist/cowards everywhere, who chose soft targets rather than any battlefield, who consider themselves martyrs when they are murderers who create martyrs; there is no glory in this; there is no reward waiting, there is no God anywhere (and if you, as I, believe there is but one God, is that God not the God of all children?) who would condone massacre, the killing of the innocent and unarmed. And to those who incite and promote violence: Your hatred and fear are consuming you; the flesh is already rotting from your bones. May this only hasten, destroying you rather than infecting others. May God extend peace, wisdom, and mercy to the many. And True Justice. I wrote this to vent after the attacks in Paris; but it applies in way too many places around the world. Always has.
This is a photo taken on a recent day when Tom Burns did a lot of driving and never got to ride a wave.
He took this while on a long walk with Doug Charles. “Kindred spirits talking story” is how he described the visit. If your search for waves takes you to the Strait of Juan de Fuca, you probably know who Doug is. He’s “Uncle” Doug to many, the guy who tells you “you’re really not supposed to be here” to others. If you do surf, you are a guest.
Respect given is respect returned.
Hey, I’m not all enlightened. Far from it. My inner motto, in the water, is “I’m here to surf.” We can get into the sociopath-ic-ness of that another time.
I’ve been trying to include the journey, the there and back, the interactions with other surfers, even with non-surfers, as part of my surf sessions. This is not a natural or easy thing for me. If I were a fisherman, I’d be inclined to only count the time as ‘fishing’ when I was reeling something in. When there are lulls between waves, I’m more prone to sharking, paddling left and right, than patiently waiting. Even if I chat with some other searcher, I’ll most likely be checking my lineup, looking for indicators, trying to make sure that, when the set comes, I’m in position (that is, a better position than others in the water). More likely, I’ll go for some of those inside waves and hope I’m not on one when the set arrives. I’ve only sort of given up on counting my waves. Sort of.
I’ve also been trying to come up with a phrase that might crystallize the experience for surfers in a place that is so rare; the fickle, imperfect, wild, access-so-frequently-denied, beautiful, frustrating secret coast. I haven’t been successful, but now claim ownership of “Keep it Strait.” It was a throwaway line in an reply (to one of my usual overly prosaic emails) from Drew Kampion, the man who penned “Always Summer on the Inside” for O’Neill Wetsuits (with the image, made quite an impression on the 16 year old me) and the now-and-for-years cliche’, “Corduroy to the horizon.” I’m saving his email saying I can have it, but, all respect, Drew.
It’s tempting to add, “If you can’t keep it secret… keep it Strait.”
It’s semi-related to the North Shore expression, “Keep the Country Country.” I do include all the negatives in thinking of how to illustrate this. Those are all part of the journey. The journey is part of the session. As in all things, working on it.
DISCLAIMER AND ALERT- Immediately after I read the RANT section to my wife, Trish, with the intention of deleting it from the post (she asked why, if I meant it, should I delete it; so… maybe later), while checking my e-mails (and all this was immediately after the Seahawks lost the Sunday night game), I discovered I had a comment pending. It was from Foamclimb (probably not a given name- self-given, maybe). “Could read a bit homophobic, no? How about ‘Sometimes better than Lake Michigan?'” It just didn’t compute. Was he saying something about the RANT?
Maybe I was delirious from the defeat and the ‘knock-em-out’ pills Trish had given me for the headcold I’d exacerbated by surfing two days in a row; whatever; it was when I woke up (sort of, not actually fully awake yet- this is how those pills work) that I realized it was about “Keeping it Strait.”
OH, SURE. NO; never gave a thought to how that might sound to, you know, surfers who might not be heterosexual. AND, OH, maybe (referencing an earlier usage of ‘straight,’ as in not drunk or stoned) surfers who might be stoned or drunk or otherwise drug-influenced (like me on the nighttime cold pills) may also take offense. We can’t have that. No. AND, when I thought it might be good to add, “If you can’t keep it secret…” GEEZ. NO.
SO, let me say I did not mean anything mean, or to demean anyone except those who do not respect and appreciate the rare gift we are sometimes given of a few cold sliders. AND, when I say a few cold sliders, I’m talking about waves and really can’t imagine any other twisted usage of the phrase. It’ not like I said, “a few long straight tubes” or…
WAIT; In going through a few wave descriptions that could (maybe) be construed as sexual, and not wanting to be too crass, I’m thinking back to the artwork by a guy in San Diego who managed apartments for my brother-in-law. His stuff was definitely not in any way PHALLIC. Quite the opposite. So, I asked him what the opposite would be. “VAGINAL,” he said, with a straight face. “Uh huh,” I said, “vaginal.”
OKAY, THEN; I may not ever progress farther with “Keeping it Strait.” I’d give it back to Drew Kampion, but, once he sees how negative it can be, he may not want it.
Real Surfers 
Erwin,
If it’s of any value to the surfing community, I’d like to recite some first-hand oral history about Pt. Grenville.
I surfed there from 1967 to -69, when I was in high school. We just showed up with surfboards and camped for the weekend, without any fuss from “authorities.”
Then, in 1969, we showed up as usual, and a truck pulled up and a well-spoken, close-shaved Indian came over to us in an very authoritarian manner, and spoke to us ominously, “Where are you boys from?”
“Bremerton,” we said.
Then he looked at the rock cliffs covered in grafitti, and most of it was the names of various high schools painted in great big letters in a wide variety of colors.
He paused and said, “If I looked up at these rocks and saw ‘West Bremerton,’ or ‘East Bremerton’ written here, I’d arrest you and put you in jail. But as it is, you can just leave.”
So we got kicked out, and never went back. Good thing us Bremerton guys specialize more in thievery and violence, and “school spirit” was for “soces.” Besides, our writing skills were sketchy, anyway.
In 1970 I heard that some friends tried to go there, and the Quinaults confiscated their boards and they had to pay fines. I left the state in 1970, and have not heard anything about it since, except for your piece on this web page.
BTW, concerning Washington surfing at the time, I had the feeling that Pt. Grenville was the only place, because the waves were dependable. I wasn’t part of any big surfing “scene,” because there were so few of us, so I don’t know if there were many guys scouting all the coastline in the state, looking for a good break. In those days, I’d never heard of surfing at Westport. (What’s more, I lived the 1970s in San Francisco, and never heard of Mavericks, though no one else seemed to know about it, either.) People in Bremerton were always going there for more fishing. When we got out of high school, it seemed like everyone went to Hawaii, got jobs, and stayed for awhile.
Aside: We didn’t use wet suits. When I was aged 6 to 9, I spent the summers living in a tent and a beach cabin at La Push, because my father was a commercial fisherman out of there & Neah Bay. My mom told me, “Just wait till you get numb, and you can play in the surf all day.” She was right. Last time I did it was 2010.
Clint Burks
So, I really don’t know anything about Mr. Burks except that he must be about my age, possibly another member of the class of 1969. And I have heard a few stories about Point Grenville in the mid 1960s, some which might explain why the beach was closed. Still, the image of some waves peeling off that point…
Here’s my latest illustration: