Tag Archives: surfer Dave Ring

Doors, Panels, Screens, Artsy Dealies, My Most Recent Obsessions, Eye, Eye, Eye, AND BIG DAVE Stuff

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, Erwin Dence illustrations, Erwin Dence surf illustrations, mind surfing, northwest surfing, old surfers, real surfers, surf addiction, surf art, surf fiction, surf novels, surfing art, surfing blogs, surfing novels, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, writings of Erwin Dence

Trish wasI, as always, correct when she said I had become obsessed with these door panels I have been working on; four by-fold doors rescued/salvaged/pack-ratted from some job. My theory was, because everyone has limited wall space for art, these would serve as screens, or even, doors.

Yes, there’s an inside and an outside, and I kind of lost track of what was on one side when I was painting the other side. It wasn’t all, like, thematic. Maybe a little. Obviously I have some sort of fascination with waves. And color. I would start out, get to something that was not what I envisioned and… here’s the obsessive part; I would keep going until l was a high percentage of satisfied. The fear at some point is that I could then screw the whole thing up. A line too far. Or a color. Or… something.

I want to thank Joel and Rachel Carben, owners of the COLAB in Port Townsend, for allowing me to have my art in their space. Although I paint houses for a living, my artistic leanings have been toward drawing.

SO, I am not at all sure what to do with these panels now. Hanging out for three of the monthly Port Townsend ARTWALKS has reinforced my belief that marketing is not my strong suit. Not even close. SO, do I tell myself that the joy of art is in the process? That is true, but… but, but, but…

Captions: Stephen R. Davis approaching the wall of doors at the COLAB;Joel Carben and Steve; a framed painting that caused Steve to comment,”It’s nice that you’re finally going for fine art,”; various panels taken where they were painted (a Costco/White Trash garage). OHHH, and then there’s BIG DAVE.

I took this a week or so ago at the Home Depot in Sequim. I had already heard a rumor that Legendary Surfer BIG DAVE RING was giving up surfing due to arthritis in his knees. I did write about this. The rumor was confirmed. *Sort of. Quickly, Dave was raised in Pacific Beach, San Diego, and was part of the pack of “Pier Rats” that included standout, Joe Roper. Dave, currently 66, was fourteen when I moved to PB in late 1971. I was twenty. Not a big talker in the lineup, not a guy who hangs out and chats it up on the beach, part of the reason I found out any info at all is because we have been mistaken for each other, as in: “I read your last thing on your blog,” to Dave, or “I heard you were ripping the other day,” to me.

Most of this was back when Dave was merely rocking a big-ass mustache. We both were riding big boards (Dave a 12′ SUP as a regular surfboard), and we both caught a lot of waves, from the outside, or scrapping for insiders. Dave is a master of the late takeoff and the sideslip, and plows through sections I would dodge..

A notable quote that got back to me was, “I rolled up and the Walrus and the Beast were both out. I went somewhere else. Though I’m almost more comfortable with being referred to as ‘That asshole wavehog, kneeboards on a SUP,” and I’ve been doing my best to increase the size of my mustache, I must agree with those who say Big Dave is the Walrus. Coo coo ca choo, coo coo ca choo.

*Having already, in a pattern that seems to hold true among older surfers, moved from popping up automatically, to knee boarding the takeoff and standing up after the first section, to kneeboarding the entire wave, Dave expressed little interest in belly boarding. “No, but…” I could tell Dave was imagining the perfect pre dawn session, sneaking out, lining up a few bombers.

“It is amazng,” he said, “what I’ve gotten done because I’m not always putting stuff off to go surfing.”

I get it, Dave.

EYE and LEG UPDATE- I’m finally through with the wound care for the gouge on my right calf. Pretty impressive scar. I am going to have my eye checked out on Friday, with surgery to remove the clear oil inside it, hopefully, scheduled for… soon. It isn’t as if I can’t work, it’s just annoying. I sort of attacked a woman in a parking lot the other day because she had a bandage over one eye. “Hey, what happened to you?” Different deal. Worse than mine. Nice conversation. ANYWAY, I did tell Trish that, because of the glare in the water, I might not surf until the oil in my eye is exchanged for (I asked) saline solution, that to be replaced by the proper bodily-produced fluid.

BUT, but, but… when I check the forecast…

Moving on. Back to another of my obsessions. After I post this, my plan is to get back to “Swamis.” I had friends attempt to read earlier versions. I know where I have to make changes, and I have been working on it. That’s my process. Evidently. Obsession, distraction; what we have to do and what we want to do and what we really really want to do.

Good luck with your obsessions.

No Big Dave, No…

Posted on by under aggressive surfers, hipster surfers, northwest surfing, old surfers, real surfers, surf adventures, surf culture, surf stories

WORD ON THE STRAIT has it that BIG DAVE RING is giving up surfing. This would be a loss to whatever surfing community we believe we have.

All right, I immediately have to backtrack. I do divulge my sources; almost always. Adam Wipeout ran into Dave at Carl’s Building Supply. Or Henery’s Hardware- not important. Big Dave quitting surfing is. Important.

Big Dave is a secretive sort of person. I’m not. I’m not actually sure his last name is Ring. I may have heard his last name once, but not from him. I asked him for his phone number. Once. He said he’d give me one number each time I asked. “So, let me guess; three?”

Dave doesn’t talk much in the lineup. I do. He doesn’t often hang out on the beach, swapping stories. He is patient in the water, and is actually known for staying out for more hours than anyone. He picks out the best waves, sideslips in full control, and rather than barrel dodging sections, he drives through them. I have never seen him not in the best part of a wave, power in the pocket.

The only reason we sort of became friends (I say yes, you can ask him) is that we have some shared history. When I moved to Pacific Beach, San Diego, California in 1971, I was twenty. Dave was five or six years younger, a self-described “Pier Rat” hanging at Crystal Pier with Joe Roper and the rest of the local Gremmies. I can’t say I have a mental picture of fifteen year old Dave, but knew Joe Roper’s name because he was the best surfer in the bunch, and the most vicious. I can’t mention Joe Roper without retelling how he purposefully slammed his board into a guy in the shorebreak because (and I asked) the guy was from Clairemont. Perhaps it is not ironic that Joe’s repair facility is in… is it in Clairemont?

It wasn’t like I was in any group myself, but I was, for those couple of years, a local, for whatever that was or is worth. Still, I probably felt more connected to the pier rats than the other surfers who jockeyed for position in the crowded weekend and after work conditions. This was where I developed my Ghetto Mentality, a sort of excuse I have yet to totally disavow.

Big Dave, a few years ago, taking a rare break

Another connection I have with Dave is that we are sometimes mistaken for each other. It’s the mustache, perhaps. “People have said they really liked that thing I wrote on my blog,” Dave told me. “I just say ‘thanks.'” An argument continues as to which one of us is the Walrus, and which the Beast.

I have run into Big Dave over the years. He rescued my board in the rip once. If I paddled out and he was in the lineup he would say, “Oh, someone left the gate open.” Part way through a session, he would say, “The wave counters on the beach say you’ve caught enough.” I recently ran into him when he was with the Jefferson County road crew, setting up to close off another road. He said he’d gone to the doctor with a diagnosis of arthritis in his legs. “The doctor said it would mean a change in my… lifestyle.” “He meant… surfing?” “Maybe.” “No, man. No.”

There is some similarity in our arcs as we head past middle age. Dave has been riding a twelve foot SUP as a regular board for years. No paddle. It has been a while now that he, paddling back out, commented that I get to my feet like an old man. He was right. Still, over the past couple of years, he went from taking off, dropping in, and standing after the first section. Then, as with me, staying on his knees. He still rides a wave as well as anyone.

HERE IS WHERE surfers seem to decide to give it up: Surfing is a competitive activity, with inarguable amounts of ego unevenly divided among the worthy and everyone else. The crowd factor, a delight for the novice, so excited to be there, wears on others. It is tough to compete those on the safe side of the first section, paddling blindly, dropping in. I don’t get too many drop-in bitches (someone else’s term for male or female surfers- I only use it for dudes), but I have witnessed Big Dave, high and tight in the pocket, and someone just… drops… in.

I cannot help but remember when leashes came into use. I put off getting one, but couldn’t help but notice how the kids Dave was running with would take off in front of me, and when the wave got critical, they… just… bailed.

BIG DAVE… PLEASE, DON’T BAIL!

I might need someone to rescue my board from the rip again. OH, and I can’t imagine some almost out of control pre-dawn situation without seeing a big guy with a big board over his shoulder, coming down the trail and onto the beach, beating me out to the lineup. “Someone leave the gate open again?”

EVIDENTLY. As always, thanks for reading, and, if you can’t be nice, be real.