Tag Archives: “Swamis” novel by Erwin Dence

The Hole in Your Heart (Only) Surfing Fills

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, surf addiction, surf culture, surfing blogs

I’m almost finished with this sign down Linger Longer Road in Quilcene. Suddenly, the town on Surf Route 101 I’ve lived in almost 48 years, is hip, cool; hip and cool go there. On purpose. And, with rich folks building mansions on Olympic foothill acreage, there has been an influx of a young demographic.

You can cruise on the massive, wonder of a bridge, just opened, that goes over the remodeled lower stretch of the Big Quilcene River/flood plain, cruise along the mud flats of Quilcene Bay (filled in at high tide with water warm enough in summer to allow swimming sans wetsuit), and, just before you get to the oyster hatchery and Herb Beck Marina, check it out. Am I trying to blow up the spot? Maybe.

                                                 If Surfing Fills a Hole…

If surfing fills a hole in your life, possibly in your soul; if your self-image and the image you’ve worked for and work to project is that of a person who surfs, a surfer, with any and all of the real or romanticized attributes given, and appreciated even by the most random, holiday surfer; if you live for and lust after waves, fun-sized to crazy to death barrels; if you are that person, and you can’t surf for a while, as in longer than it took for you to recover from this or that medical setback, or a work or situation-caused injury that required time away from waves; if you cannot surf… what fills that hole?

Stories of past glories are not enough. Enough retellings of even the most mundane tales of riding spots now incredibly crowded on even an average day sound exaggerated. Or worse. Even surfers your age might question whether your authenticity. Young surfers will dismiss you and your tales, just as you put little faith in the stories told by people over thirty when you were under twenty.

Still, people riding emptier lineups, even on pre-revolution boards… that’s something. Memories have value. Times edits out those that don’t.

Yeah. I’m writing about surfing instead of doing more surfing. I have excuses and explanations and situations, and, mostly, or partially, I have a lot of other things I have to do; most of which interfere with other things I want to do.

Surfing is on the ‘want to do’ list. There is that hole, that desire.

“When I was younger,” a sentence begging to be ignored or half-listened to begins, I was critical of surfers who weren’t frothing to go out on waves I couldn’t resist. But then, and now, I tried to adjust my life, or, at least, my schedule, to allow the opportunity, and, non-epic waves, enough of them, with, maybe, that one sneaker barrel… worth it.

Most of my contemporaries are not surfing. Kudos to the ones who are.

A good friend, legendary (I try not to over or misuse that description) gave up (not ‘quit’) surfing a few years ago. Bad shoulders, bad knees, crowds. Age. Mix and match. He told me that he says, if asked, that he loves surfing, always will, but, luckily, he has a lot of other activities and responsibilities that keep him occupied. He may have said fulfilled.

Still, I have seen other, most-likely retired folks, and this was a while ago, at Pipes, hanging on the fence, looking at other surfers paddle and bob and blow takeoffs and ride awkwardly, and I thought how lucky they were. Then Ray and I walked down and paddled out.

The hole. I am fond of thinking that it’ll always be there, as filled in as best I could; still anticipating the next session.

Lucky me.

Contact- erwin@realsurfers.net

Instagram- realsurfersdotnet

Check out the other Pages, including the newly-added PAGE VI, a collection of my original art works. I have been working on a collection of poetry/songs/stories, with a plan to publish it. Soon.

I have a new copyright for “Swamis,” the novel, mostly because I’vve gotten a bit more protective, partially because it is so different than the draft currently copyrighted. The above story is, as all original works by me, protected under copyright, all rights reserved by Erwin A. Dence, Jr.

Thanks for checking out realsurfers. Get some waves, make some memories, live your own story.

Surf Dreams and Other, Non-Surf Dreams

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, mind surfing, northwest surfing, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, writings of Erwin Dence

Since I’ve been hearing about other people’s surf experiences more than enjoying the planning and anticipation, the search, the wait, the finding and enjoying a session way better or less better than imagined; the chance to be the one bragging, gloating about, or merely and factually reporting on the score; all o which means. I’m dreaming more than realizing, I think I should add a page for dreams; a dream journal if you will. I you won’t, I still will.

I’ve had so many dreams in which I am frustrated in getting to the beach. Normal, I guess. I have had numerous dreams in which I’m driving through woods and swamps on crappy, one lane roads, only to get to a section that is. impassible or requires driving over a log bridge. Imagine 112 anywhere west of Joyce. I had two of these category dreams last night, sort of connected. In the first, there’s a giant cement structure to my left, with, some unseen shotgun rider explaining the surf, also unseen, is on the other side. “Keep driving.” Ine second. dream, I’m trying to pull into a muddy, dark road, and there are headlights coming down and around a corner. Lots of speeding vehicles. I gun it, the copilot screaming, go up and around a corner, and… and, and, there’s a school bus, red lights on. Stopped.

Wake up.

I do self analyze the dreams before they vanish like morning mist. Yeah. Fucked up. I’ll keep my assessments semi confidential. YOU’RE WELCOME.

BUT, here’s my inaugural piece: II can explain, sort of, the line throughs: I was using a different computer, tried to save it to a thumb drive, and then, out of nowhere…

IN DREAMS

  In dreams, it seems, we are attacked by the monsters we blink away when we are awake. Dream demons come from the shadows, from the hidden spaces, the windowless rooms, the caverns and the taverns, the back offices; they emerge from the deep woods, the grown over pools, the  long and lonesome highways, places we know they inhabit; but the dream dwellers also appear at the laundromat, at the market; grinning ghouls, leering carnies, hawkers and grifters, preachers and politicians, and… most frightening, we are joined, greeted, casually, in some public place, by people we no longer know, people long deceased.

These specters are not frightened; we should be. We are the strangers in this realm, dropping in and shaking ourselves out.

Alternate world, or overlapping orbit, or separate track in our overwhelmed brains, we are told that dreams give us the opportunity to work out problems our conscious minds cannot. Work out, possibly; solve, probably not.

In dreams, we sometimes believe we have solved… something; only to realize, as the gauze and the glisten vanish, that the shadows are still occupied, our problems are still real. And, in the open, in the light, one terror remains; some thought that something so disturbing, so contrary to our daytime logic, is real.

I do, in real life, have a barn. We once, years ago, had pigs. It is not true that we have pigs in the barn, hungry, squealing; it just, sometimes, in a certain half-light, half awake, not fighting other ghosts, seems as if they are real and squealing for me. And I had better hurry.

My novel, “SWAMIS” is done and I have done nothing toward selling it, but I will. I mean, it’s been years getting to this point. PUBLISHERS, AGENTS, and, really, anyone who wants to reach out on surf or any related issues, it’s erwin@realsurfers.net Not editors for hire, however. No offense.

I do, occasionally, put out stuff on YouTube. realsurfersdotnet I DO SPEND/WASTE too much. time on the site, meaning, yes, I like and comment, and then. look if I get a response. Because I do, my commentary obviously. clever, I. spend/waste more time. Or maybe. it’s spend/waste/invest time.

TRISH UPDATE: 21 days in the hospital, she’s back at our daughter’s (DRU) house, slowly, slowly, eveer so slowly getting better. There’s a formula for how much time it takes to recover from hospital stays. It’s more than one to one. AND I’ve been told to be patient. Numerous times by numerous folks, Trish foremost among them. Trish is determined. I’m optimistic, I’m ust not all that… patient.

I ALSO need to do a page of my art stuff. Yeah, yeah, I will. Soon. Really. Patience.

Thanks for checking out realsurfers; hope you overcome the obstacles and get some tube time.

Lots of Photos, Some Explanations

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, surf adventures, Uncategorized, writings of Erwin Dence

CHRIS and MEGAN

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Actual text from Chris after the surf/yoga/actual honeymoon to some resort-like place in Central America: “Okay, here’s your dispatch from the field. The crowds you feared are a non-issue. I’ve had multiple solo sessions and only one with more than 5 others. The biggest issue with locals was the crocodile that was in the lineup two mornings in a row. I surfed 20 sessions across 4 spots, including some epic ones that involve a hike in. Lots of great wildlife, as expected, including a sea turtle hatch and lots of loud monkeys right outside the window. I did not see anyone SUP surfing on their knees- those niches remain open here. There were people taking lessons out front, but they were not in the way, and they were fun people. The waves were pretty big for part of the trip, so they mostly went to mellower beaches elsewhere. I did have a chance to meet the local version of Keith, who takes it to another level and sleeps in a hammock on the beach. He tends to the local turtle nursery rather than a library. The local Erwin is an opining yoga instructor who paints sunsets. All in all, a great trip, and looking forward to getting back in the water with the PT gang.”

Gang is right, from what I hear. It must have been in conversation, maybe in person, that, both of them being marine scientists, Megan was especially excited about a sea turtle hatching while they were there.

Speaking of KEITH; a flyer for the library featuring him, a photo of an above-average day on the Strait, newly painted rails on a board he got from JOEL CARBEN (also provided/sold Chris some snorkel fins that came in handy down central), a slightly out of focus ORCA checking the surf, and a flyer for Reggie. No phone nNot that hard to find.

I’m not allowed to post any photos of TRISH. I am putting this together in her room at SAINT MICHAEL. She is very committed to getting the hell out of here. Friday for almost sure. The farther we get from the original admittance, the more we (especially our daughter DRU and I) realize how dire her condition was when she was admitted.

The view from the ICU is the worst. Most views include the Olympics. Speaking of mountains, SHORTBOARD AARON LENNOX, surfer, climber, professional rope worker, has been doing some work, or having some scary fun, or both, near this top secret location.

Just to round this all out, the photo above, on the Olympic Peninsula, was taken by ARLENE OPTINERIO. And here is a shot of the rig ADAM WIPEOUT JAMES IS ‘practically giving me’ to replace my much-loved VOLVO (I do plan on getting it fixed). It’s a stealthy WINDSTAR that once belonged to CLINT THOMPSON, who also owned most of the used surfboards now owned by others hereabouts. IF I haven’t dropped your name here, send some photos, artwork, stories to erwin@realsurfers.net and I’ll give you the same amount I gave Chris. That and the knowledge that tens of real surfers, worldwide, are checking it out and scrolling on.

I have some other projects in the works, and, a reminder, “SWAMIS” IS DONE, MAN, and I need an agent, producer, publisher.

ALSO check me on INSTAGRAM, realsurfersdotnet AND check out the other pages here. AND surf when you get the chance, work toward having more chances.

Excuses and Explanations

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, Original Erwin, real surfers, surf fiction, surf novels, surfing Swamis, writings of Erwin Dence

I do have some content in the works. I’ve been kind of… No, I don’t like excuses. You don’t need explanations.

As an update, TRISH is ready to get the hell out of the hospital. Her numbers are all getting back to the normal pre-cancer, pre-chemo, pre-radiation levels, and she is ever more determined, Again and always, fuck cancer! She is, finally, getting stronger. We can now see how critical her situation was.

I do need an agent and. publisher for my *COMPLETED novel, “SWAMIS.”

*OF COURSE I want to do just a couple of minor tweaks, not that. I’m, like, overly anal retentive. IF YOU WANT IN on this, contact me, erwin@realsurfers.net Or for any other surf related beef or content or submissions of stuff you want posted for free for my small but worldwide audience.

Meanwhile, I am putting art and music on Instagram at realsurfersdotnet and doing way too much commenting on other people’s stuff. Because I care. I have a new poem, “VISCOUS,” on PAGE III. I am considering adding another. page for original artwork. Not yet. I will let you know.

I DID WATCH quite a bit of the most recent WSL event. Two things: This surf competition is BRUTAL! STEPHANIE GILMORE is the QUEEN, and, evidence seems to show, she seems to know how to celebrate.

SAN CLEMENTE, CALIFORNIA – SEPTEMBER 8: Seven-time WSL Champion Stephanie Gilmore of Australia after winning the World Title at the Rip Curl WSL Finals on September 8, 2022 at San Clemente, California. (Photo by Pat Nolan/World Surf League)

Different contest, same winner. Thanks for checking out realsurfers.

Buy “SWAMIS” NOW!

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, Erwin Dence surf illustrations, northwest surfing blog,, surf fiction, surf novels, surfing art, surfing blogs, surfing illustrations, surfing Southern California in the 60s, surfing Swamis, writings of Erwin Dence

I DO HAVE surfing related content to post, but I’ve other things going on that push this stuff back a ways. As do we all. Other stuff, like real life. Trish has had a terrible time recovering from chemo and radiation, and has been in the hospital for almost a week. Weight loss, low blood pressure, some sort of infection, it’s all been quite overwhelming.

THE THING ABOUT much of life is that there are, yes, those moments in which something happens suddenly; car accidents for example; but most things happen in much slower motion. Sometimes painfully slow motion. Hair loss is one example (not the best if you consider chemo), but all the indignities dealt us in the aging process. AND THERE are the many problems and issues we cannot fix. ourselves, even with YouTube video help: Car repair. Cancer. AND THERE is the (almost) guilt we feel when we can do so little to help others, this hopelessness (if I haven’t mentioned this emotion yet), the ‘almost’ hopelessness and guilt when we’re talking about people we don’t know, or don’t know well, the feelings multiplied when it’s someone we love.

I I’M COMPLAINING, and I am, I am also aware it’s not about me. It’s about TRISH, someone I’ve known and loved for almost 58 years; someone who doesn’t want me making a deal out of all this. Stubborn enough (and people do ask me… and Trish) to stick with me all this time. IF TRISH is stubborn, she is also strong.

THE ANNOYING reality is that life goes on around us. Bills come due, obds have to be completed, and there’s not much I can do hanging around in a hospital room. AND I AM SOO annoying. II do, however, have some abilities in raising Trisha’s blood pressure. I must shout out now, to our daughter, DRU. She was vital in persuading her mother, with a lot of push from ADAM LARM, childhood friend to two of our three children, and now a nurse (two side stories I’m not telling now) to get paramedics to check her out. No, of course she had to go. And. now…

NOW I’m home, Dru did. a second overnight (they kicked me out at 8:30), and I’m charging up the phone, hanging on, waiting to hear what the doctor (4th or 5th since the two in the emergency room) has to say.

I CAN go work, or I could go to SAINT MICHAEL, or I could work on this blog, or I could finish the ending for my novel. The last two pages have been ready for a while, waiting for my cluttered, disjointed mind to focus enough to come up with… something… perfect, something that ties up some of the storylines while hinting, not subtly, that the next book, “BEACONS” (like Swamies, a convenient surf spot name that reflects the characters) will continue the fictional story of love, marijuana, surf, and MAGIC in the real world, 1969, San Diego’s North County.

LIVE ACTION- It’s almost 11am on Saturday, and I got the latest. UPBEAT, waiting for this test result. Or that one. Antibiotics. Waiting. I need to make a decision. But first… finish this.

My plan was to write something on how. so many things in REAL LIFE take precedence over surfing: Family, work, emergencies of all kinds; bbut when I went to Microsoft Word and checked my file for my novel, it had the little arrow allowing me to. go to page 229 (of 229) rather than scrolling down (which I wouldn’t have done today), SOOOOO, here we are.

-HERE’S THE PITCH! “Swamis” is for sale. I NEED AN AGENT! I NEED A PUBLISHER! I DO NOT WANT an EDITOR-FOR-HIRE. If you are a LEGIT agent, or someone interested in publishing, or, perhaps, investing in some sort of self-publishing scheme, contact me, erwin@realsurfers.net

I SHOULD MENTION THAT “SWAMIS” is dialogue heavy and could be visually… compelling.

OR, I’VE long considered printing some very limited copies, offering the signed work (probably 8&1/2 by 11, with illustrations, signed, dated, numbered) for some decent price, to the most discerning investors and/or surf novel fans. I’m trying to ome up with a price. I will.

TRISHA, checking me out in 1969, with what might be perceived as an adoring look. More likely, it’s curiosity rather than amazement. I’ve been thinking about some sort of poem about what she means to me. Everything. She is my buoy and my anchor; keeps me afloat when I’m sinking, keeps me closer to reality when my imagination overrules my judgment. The anchor simile is tougher. I don’t always want a real life perspective. Nothing replaces honesty. It’s a key ingrediant in love.

Working. on it. Check out some other realsurfersnet pages when you get a chance. Oh, and I sometimes post on INSTAGRAM, realsurfersdotnet

I think Fast Eddie Rothman is saying, “FUCK CANCER!”

Updates on Updates

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I posted something non-controversial on the NON-POLITICAL ERWIN PAGE. Check it out.

The Hama-Hama Oysterama is today, and, I believe, tomorrow. Any time you’re cruising the Hood Canal section of SURF ROUTE 101, it’s the place to stop.

On advice from surfer Joel Carben, I am going to post something from whatever stuff I have on this site to #realsurfersdotnet on Instagram.

I will have an actual post of surf related material soon. Perhaps I will delve into the still. unsolved mystery of why legendary surf writer DREW KAMPION dedicated a poem he wrote and published in “Surfer” magazine to me.

“SWAMIS” is ALMOST almost ready to sell. If writing a coherent novel is difficult, selling the masterpiece is daunting, frightening, scarier than negotiating the lineup at Windansea. IF YOU are someone who can assist in this effort… let. me know. If you want to sell ways I can improve my blog; thanks, but I kind have gotten accustomed to being almost unknown. But optimistic.

Meanwhile, partly because it is a pain in the ass to comment on WordPress, feel incredibly free to write erwin@realsurfers.net

See you.

Why Skiing and Snowboarding are Better than Surfing, and, Oh Yeah, Happy Resurrection Day

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, real surfers, surf adventures, surf novels, surf satire, writings of Erwin Dence

Surf spots can get crowded, surfers can be rude, kooks can spoil a ride, sometimes paddling out. is just. like, almost impossible, AND surfing (well) is kind of hard to do; I mean, like, even Kelly sometimes wipes out in an awkward way. BUT, now, going up to the clean crisp air in the mountains, shredding the pow-pow (hip lingo or powder, aka fresh, non-iced or mowed-over snow), that’s JUST SOOOO MUCH BETTER.

THE DREAM, REALIZED. YEAAAAA!!!!

MEANWHILE, out on the increasingly polluted oceans…

Yeah, it’s MAYHAM!!!

BUT, up on the slopes… the lineup is for the lift. Once at the top, it’s your mountain. No priority hassles, no better wave in a set; you just… pick your line and GOOO!

SO, GO; GO NOW!

AND, if I didn’t mention it, snow-related activities also have the advantage over sitting on a beach somewhere trying to figure out how to make the perfect s’more without getting all sticky, wondering if that sideshore wind is ever going to stop, hoping the predicted swell might actually show up, all while mean-mugging and side-eyeing the newbies and adult learners with their tricked-out rigs and their pristine, custom popout boards and their colorful beachwear, each of them claiming some overriding right to the next set wave; a lot of SKI RESORTS have SKI LODGES. Yes, you can show off your latest ski wear, posture and pose in warmth and comfort.

NOW I’ve thought about this too much. YES, there are increasingly large numbers of surf resorts around the world. Same opportunities for preening and posing. Select one and, since snow is kind of seasonal, and the season in these parts started late and is all but over, GO! GO NOW!!!

NO, I’m not all that bitter. It’s EASTER, the celebration of the resurrection of JESUS, and kind of the end of SPRING BREAK, so… bummer, but a sincere shout out to JESUS. Sorry so much hate and destruction is done while using your name to attempt to sanctify it. I have to imagine the haters and destroyers are imagining a different Jesus than the one in the Bible, and, since I’m imagining, I have to wonder how Jesus would behave in the lineup. “Your wave? Sure, sinner, hypocrite; go for it; there’s a better one coming.”

“Even the President of the United States Sometimes Must Have to Stand Naked.” Dylan. “If I was the King of the Forest.” Cowardly Lion in “The Wizard of Oz.” “And could we, in this Constitution, perchance, add the phrase, ‘Fuck a bunch of fucking Kings?'” Benny Franklin.

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, surf culture, surfing blogs, writings of Erwin Dence

It’s NO KINGS Day! Got any plans?

“YEAH; NO KINGS !”A photo from Desert Point. DISCLAIMER- Not sure of the circumstance. Maybe it was payback, maybe this guy enjoys a party wave more than the GOAT. Now, I am not in any way pushing for drop-ins of the punitive nature, particularly by newby shoulder hoppers, but… sometimes… I don’t know, maybe Kelly wasn’t adhering to a priority system lesser mortals are expected to adhere to. I get that. OH, and… the dude down the line is probably causing a chandelier situation, so… fun.

Too much to unpack here. A bigger board doesn’t make one Kinglier, evidently. Is the one guy trying to party down? Is the scrapper about to get run down? Is this wave kind of… weak? Is the Dude in the Waikiki pose, obviously trying to remember step number three (Don’t pearl)? Is he wearing a spring suit, with hood, And a knee brace? Is the Dude in the ‘I’m driving down the line’ pose actively reconsidering his latest switch from crypto to betting on how many American service people will be dead or wounded in the latest War/escapade/evasion? Which way is the guy immediately outside the wave looking? Is the guy who is watching thankful he didn’t go on this wave? Is there surf in Cuba? Is stupid catchy? Are there any people in Congress with any integrity (I have my list of more or totally courageous folks, it’s America, you are still free to chose yours)?

GEORGE WASHINGTON, ‘PRESIDING’ at the Constitutional Convention, May of 1787, sending out some gang signs to the other old, bewigged, most-likely slave-owning white men. Loosely translated, it was, “If we play our cards right, this experiment might last, I postulate and do herein claim, two-hundred-and-fifty years; perhaps more. And if some charlatan/montebank/swindler/huckster even attempts to become a, dare I say, King; the PEOPLE will not stand for this brazen effrontery. Congress and the Courts will live up to their sworn vows, perform their sacred duties. The People, I tell you, will, shall, must PREVAIL! And now… now; I hear there’s a buffet. Line forms to the left. Let’s GO!

Some (not all) credits- History.com, El Pais in English, Pittsburg Gazette- from today

I keep putting off what I keep telling myself I will write about: How snow activities are so much better than surfing. Now, with the last ski bus heading to the Cascades for the last of the snow, it’s almost too late. Still, it’s coming. Soon.

CONTACT erwin@realsurfers.net

I have promised myself I will put in some time on finishing my novel, “Swamis.” I keep coming up with new ideas for the story’s climax.

HOW MY BRAIN WORKS (OR DOESN’T)- Earlier today, scrolling on the YouTube, I saw something explaining people who can’t remember other people’s name (but, saving grace, remember stories involving that person, or, in my case, nicknames). Okay. So I’m writing the paragraph immediately above this one, and I can’t think of word for the ending of a novel. CONCLUSION? Maybe, but there’s no way “Swamis” is going to end with anything less than a cliffhanger. Next novel? “Grandview.” I look conclusion up. Not exactly right. I’m thinking, “What’s a word that is a synonym for orgasm?” I look up ORGASM. Climax is a choice. I look up CLIMAX. One choice of definitions in Merriam-Webster mentioned a series of phrases or sentences in ascending order of rhetorical forcefullness. “Oh, so it’s like the third wave of a four wave set.” Yeah. That. That’s where I want the ending of my novel to be.

We’ll see. I posted another Original Erwin song, with harmonica, on the Instagram. Check out REALSURFERSDOTNET to see and hear my third or fouth attempt to do a one take version of “Before the Wind Comes Up.” I am going to try to do a decent version of “Another Lie, Another War.” I will let you know. Surf if you can, Snow it up while you can. FUCK CANCER! FUCK A BUNCH OF. FASCISTS! Thanks for checking out realsurfers.net

Waiting Room Sketches

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, Erwin Dence illustrations, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, surfing in Washington State, writings of Erwin Dence

TRISH is undergoing radiation as part of the treatment for breast cancer. It is not fun. 21 trips to SAINT MICHAEL in Silverdale. Four have been completed. We are so very fortunate for the help of our daughter, DRU. She is, well, essential to this process. Since I am not needed or wanted in the rooms where Trish is being tortured, I have some time to… yeah, draw.

Not as much as I might want if I’m really into something, but enough to do some sketches. SKETCHES. I once took some (too much) offense when a surfer introduced me to his girlfriend as, “You know, he does t-shirts, and has that blog. I showed you.” “OH,” she said, “I really like some of your sketches.”

SO, yeah; thanks; these are sketches;

Port Townsend surfer/librarian Keith Darrock and I have not gotten it totally together in organizing the next OCCASIONAL SURF CULTURE ON THE STRAIT OF JUAN DE FUCA EVENT. However, it will be centered on the connection between surf and music, with, of course, surf artists and storytellers, as well as PETE RAAB, expert in all the background, history, and wonder of surf music. The event will be part of the summer library lineup, and… and we better get to work jockeying for position. This sketch probably won’t be part of the poster. SKETCH. We’ll see.

THIS SKETCH probably should be on PAGE II, NON-POLITICAL ERWIN. But here it is. Having been raised to be anti-war, and having studied enough of pasts wars, there seems to be a pattern in that some are sold with near-truths and some with outright lies. There are aggressors and defenders. There have been some shenanigans, such as one side claiming to be in the midst of negotiations and then… attacking. Infamy. And, of course, no war is complete without WAR CRIMES.

SHIT, now I’m going. If we don’t focus on the body count per acre of a war for land, or try to divine the math behind the cost in money and, yes, lives, of a blood for oil campaign; if we discount the suffering of the dispossessed and the seekers of refuge; turn away from scant news of scorched earth tactics; pretend ignorance of or an inability to imagine humans being capable of reported and, yes unimaginably inhuman, brutality; perhaps we know someone who served, survived, and is living with the consequences of ventures into man’s most telling feature; war.

I claim no one else’s valor. I got lucky, had a high draft number, missed out on my generation’s conflict. In a twist of fate, I was hired on to work for the U.S. Navy as a journeyman painter in 1971. Twenty years-old. Almost all the oldtimers were veterans of World War II. They had stories they weren’t keen on sharing with a punk ass, non-vet surfer, but, maybe on a payday afternoon, stories would be shared. I would listen. If painters are characterized as drunks, add a veteran who was under twenty years old at D Day, or Guadalcanal (my father and my father-in-law both served in the Marines, WWII and Korea), or an Irishman (“Don’t call me British”) who served with the British in North Africa, or a soldier who was there for the liberation of Nazi (still a dirty word to me) death camps; yes, I heard stories. I saw men damaged by what they saw and what they did.

Then there were the incoming Apprentice Painters. Vietnam vets. Some, no doubt gung ho at one time, were disenchanted. I would say most. Some were, whether they admitted it or not, broken. Spirit gone. For several in my time with the Navy including working on ships at Puget Sound Naval Shipyard, their mental brokenness, while they were otherwise healthy, seems to have led to their deaths.

And now, forgive me, I’m thinking about two other stories. One guy thought he was fooling the government because they believed he had PTSD. He totally did. Though he seemed to trust me, I knew enough to not even come close to walking behind him. The second guy had been an officer, planned on getting enough knowledge of painting to go out on his own as a contractor. One day at lunch he announced to the crew that he had no trouble killing. “I could blow any of you away and go on eating.” “Well,” I said, “Would you mind eating somewhere else?”

My father, when presented with stories in the news (or movies that didn’t agree with his stance that he and those he served with served America, justly), told me that a lot of bad stuff happens. “You just have to live with it.”

I’m working on a song on this theme. Originally I was thinking of something to fit with the tune to “Makin’ Whoopee,” more recently (and not like recently recently- 1961) known as a theme for Pepsi commercials. “Now it’s Pepsi, for those who think young.” I DID, of course, get carried away. Doesn’t fit the tune.

Another lie, another war, One can’t help but wonder what we’re killing people for;

Another war, another lie, an eye for an eye for an eye for an eye; One has to wonder, has to wonder, has to wonder… why.

AS FAR AS NON-POLITICAL ERWIN, I’m thinking of this: REAL MEN DON’T HEGSETH!

I DO claim all rights to original sketches, and writing on realsurfers.net.

Contact me at erwin@realsurfers.net

The time I spent on this could have gone to my novel, “Swamis.” I did put in an hour or so, and I am on page 210 of 227. BIG FINISH! To be continued. Thanks for checking out realsurfers. If you like snow, better get on it! As far as surf… hmmm

Heavy TRAFFIC and the Full Hand Flipoff

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, aggressive surfers, learning to surf, northwest surfing blog,, real surfers, surf culture, surf fiction, surf novels, surf satire, surfing, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, Uncategorized, writings of Erwin Dence

                                    Crowd Surfing and City Driving: A Comparison

IT isn’t some brilliant or sudden or unique thought that driving in traffic is very much like surfing in a crowded lineup. Still, I have some thoughts.

Photo from San Diego Surf School.

FUCKERS cut you off; DICKWADS on oversized boards drop in way outside of you; over stimulated shortboard PUNKS backpaddle and drop in, at the last moment, with you obviously desiring a certain wave; oblivious ADULT LEARNERS blindly paddle for the shoulder on a wave you might, just possibly, thrash; BACKOFF BOBS and BETTYS add a chandelier to a section you would have made; a PACK OF possibly local, definitely friends act as a TEAM/GANG to dominate a peak, blocking your attempts to crack the lineup… EVEN WHEN you are SO, SO patient, respectful, almost ready to forget your hard earned sense of dignity and beg for just  ONE chance,  ONE non-set, not-a-bomb wave. Looking around the playing field at the greedy movers and shakers, the ‘just-happy-to-be-out-here’ enthusiasts; checking out and the seemingly omnipresent surf-adjacent crew of onlookers, color commentators, judges, cheerleaders, coaches, filmers; are they pleased that you’re frustrated? Fuck, yeah, and fuck you; maybe next time you’ll bring your own crew. OR…

from MUMMY TALES, a wordpress site/blog.

THE GREAT EQUALIZER- Not talking Colt 45 here, or any violent road rage insanity, and it’s not an avocado-to-mango comparison, but ANY MOTORIZED VEHICLE (even hybrid or electric) is capable of doing the same maneuvers as your ride of choice, attain the same speeds as your work rig or your Camry; and, additionally, a motorcycle (or Vespa or overpowered electric bike) can weave through lane changes and backups way better than a jacked-up, offroad diesel burning MAN truck, the modern incarnation of a Corvette, regardless of how many lights and wenches and flags and scary decals the man-mobile is sporting. ANYONE’S GRANDMA in a coupe, even without a spoiler and noisy muffler, any WHIMP, regardless of party or sexual affiliation, can cut you off in the collector/distributer lane, whip into the parking spot at Costco that, though not close to the entrance, is (was) close to a cart return. OH, IF ONLY you had a handicapped sticker.

SIGNALS- Yes, it is still rude to be yelling, “MY WAVE, MINE, MINE, MINE!!!” However, it is sometimes helpful to signal your intensions. Subtly. Softly. “Excuse me, but I am going on the second wave of the incoming set. Feel free to discuss the first wave among yourselves. And… Did you not hear me? My wave… mine, mine, MINE!!!!!”


5/10/2011 – Jay Janner/AMERICAN-STATESMAN – Emily McLean is stuck in a traffic jam on Colorado Street after President Barack Obama gave a speech at ACL Live at the Moody Theater on Tuesday May 10, 2011. She got stuck waiting to turn onto Cesar Chavez Street. The street was closed for about half an hour for the president’s motorcade. NOTE- I liked the photo.

THE FULL HAND FLIPOFF- Here’s how this civilized screed (I’m not checking if it can be both a screed and civilized) came to be: I have this bad habit of not using my car’s turn signals. This is how my daughter Dru and I decided it was her driving Trisha’s Highlander when a traffic camera in Poulsbo caught it running a light. Signals. Still, I, as the registered owner, got the ticket. In the mail. I thought it was a scam. No. They want real money. SO,

I’m in a hurry, going from here to there in Port Townsend. Not that I’m ever not in a hurry (when I’m behind the wheel. MAYBE, slight interjection, when I’m on my way home from surfing. SO, I make a left onto a busy street over by the school with the pool and the food bank on Wednesdays. It may or may not have been a Wednesday, but, as I’m making a right hander onto San Juan, I notice a woman, evidently waiting to turn left from San Juan, in a dark car. She is raising her left hand up, fingers spread. The back her hand is up near or against the window. As I ease around the corner, I can’t help but focus on the woman and the gesture. Was she waving? Do I know her? No. She may or may not have smacking the back of her hand against the window, but her frustration was obvious. Or should have been.

WHILE I’M THINKING ABOUT all this; you know when there’s some reason, known or unknown, for a backup, and the right lane is moving faster, relying on the kindness of strangers to let them in at the last moment? Well, I have been known to position my vehicle in such a position that these late mergers can’t, cannot merge. Similarly, I have either yelled out, “GO… whoever” when another surfer is about to be dropped in on (again) AND/OR I have blocked a shoulder hopper. Not that this is any way noble. I have had surfers cut across my bow (sailor lingo) to keep me off a wave.  

Be patient, be safe. It’s only surfing, or traffic, or any situation in which a horde is keeping you from that which you desire. Now I’m thinking about checkout lines and Disneyland and imagining an empty lineup with wonderful waves and… no, I’m back to remembering the full hand flip off. Deserved. Sorry, Ma’am.  

I HAVE BEEN offering an incorrect email address. erwin@realsurfers.net will work. Don’t be afraid.

SURFWISE- There may or may not have been waves in this off most charts zone. As always. It is March, coming in, as the poets say, ‘like a lion.’ Wind, surprise snow, generally crappy weather. The snow is happening. While several of the local Olympic Peninsula surfers are elsewhere, including Chimacum Tim in some exotic spot close to Epstein’s Island. Surfer/snowboarders are hitting the slopes. I will have more on how snowboarding and skiing are better than surfing NEXT TIME.

MEANWHILE, try really hard to relax. Yes, it’s a lot of work staying calm, not freaking the fuck out. Try a mantra, repeated until your mind if free from panic-inflaming reality. This might not be proper, but you can use mine: NOTHING, NOThing, NOthing, nothing, nothing… nothing… …nothing… AH!

All work and no play make Jack a dull boy… All work and no play make Jack a dull boy. All work and no play make Jack a dull boy All work and no play make… You can’t handle the truth! No. Wait. All work and no play make… Chinatown… No, no, it’s… you see, it’s like this: I… No, no. All work and no play… no play… no… nothing, nothing, nothing. Not a damn thing. You got that? No? Okay. Nothing, nothing, nothingnothingnothing.