Tag Archives: writing

I’m BIG in China and Wondering Why

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, gopro shots on the Straits of Juan de Fuca, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, surf culture, writings of Erwin Dence

FIRST- I did go surfing recently, as in, possibly, today, a Saturday, and, before you ask; yes, it was crowded. It’s a Saturday! There was a search for view parking, and no handicapped spots out in the wilds; I had to invoke Costco rules, along with a Costco smile, when, circling, I hit the turn signals, pulled as close as I could to the van whose driver either super dawn patrolled or gave up, and snagged a front row spot. Yes, I squeezed up snuggly close to some dude’s SUV, allowing almost enough room for another, similar sized rig to share the thrill of looking out, directly, at an overcrowded lineup. Weekend Warriors and never-seem-to-work thirty-somethings, some of them couples, on dates. Wow!

Wow as in I should write about the first date Trish and I had, November 10, 1969. I took her to a then 2nd tier spot, allowing her the opportunity to watch me surf uncrowded waves, on to Grandview with a view from the bluff (at least two surfers tried to ‘make time’ with her, then on to gourmet food at the new Jack in the Box.

Yes, she has, mostly, gotten over the thrill of watching me.

And then, back to today, there were the older folks, some of them there, perhaps, to coach younger rippers-to-be. I was particularly interested in the guy with the straps over his wetsuit, there to hold his camera. Go pro, man! I did see him in the lineup. Hopefully he got some good shots of more than the deck of his board.

It wasn’t like I didn’t have some of the “know before you go” stuff going on. Not Surfline, which may have predicted head high bommmbs (didn’t happen), but friend of a friend stuff (allowed if the report is mostly a negative), but I was almost there when I got the news. Two fewer surfers in the water, few waves in the mid thigh range. Mid calf.

NOW, I got to go spend time surfing because TRISH is, finally, getting better. Better is relative, but part of what I take for truth is that she now realizes how close she was to (I hesitate to type this, and I’ve been equally hesitant to admit it) dying. SO, Yay! and Fuck Cancer!

I should note that, out of the water for several months, my first concern was that I would suck. I didn’t rip; didn’t suck; so, success! I did have two ugly attempts at getting back to shore. Normal. I’m kinda old, my knees seem older. 3.5 for the landing. 3.75 from the Canadian judge.

POST SURF REVIEW- I spoke with several friends about my adventure (and every session is), and the argument of crowds ruining sessions came up. The counter is surfers retelling tales of surfing quality waves alone, or with a few friends. Yeah; hang onto those. I do. OH, I did ask a woman parked near me if she got enough waves. She held up one finger. No, different finger. “Hope it was a good one.” “Wave of the day!” “Yay!

I did ask another woman, thinking I recognized her as the one who claims to have once grabbed my leash, if her oversized sprinter van was big enough. I didn’t hear what she responded with, but she may have raised one finger. ” Yeah, wave of the day!”

CHINA ISSUE- WORDPRESS keeps track, and I get a lot of hits, too many, from China. I can’t help but imagine that their Commie AI wants to decipher my writing style, possibly to duplicate it to infiltrate America, and then world surf literature. Joke’s on them. I could explain, but, meanwhile, I’m not unhappy to get semi-successful numbers.

Yes, I’m totally exaggerating, though I did have a guy in the lineup tell me he reads realsurfers. “Oh, you’re the one. Thanks. I’m popular in China.” “Cool. You had a lot of drop-ins.” “Yeah. People recognize a decent wave when I’m on it.” “China, huh?”

MEANWHILE, enjoy whatever surf adventure you’re on. If some old cruster gets a parking spot or a wave you wanted, well, part of your story. Costco rules apply.

JIM ALLRED is helping me put together a book of my work, “Love Songs for Cynics.” I have to come up with artwork (I have lots). I’ll keep you, and China, updated.

“SWAMIS,” my novel, is… still… almost… totally… done.

erwin@realsurfers.net realsurfersdotnet on Instagram

NOTE- I almost posted a photo that showed a part of the coastline on the Strait of Juan de Fuca. Lovely sunset, no waves, but, still, if it fell into the wrong hands…

There’s Always Westport

Posted on by under Competitive surfing,, northwest surfing blog,, oregon surfing, real surfers, surf contests, surf culture, writings of Erwin Dence

The contest season in the West-Northwest is over. Sort of. Maybe. Big wave stuff might be coming up, but what’s always happening is the day-to-day session stuff, surfers waiting, searching, ready to test ourselves against the conditions, the crowds, and our own desires to score.

Scoring, of course, means different things to different people. While some are looking to score, to dominate, even, some are content to be on a scene, part of the people hanging in the parking lot, on the bluff, on the beach, or in the lineup. There is, then, always Westport.

Wind-whipped and/or out of control huge, semi-lined up and groomed peaks, Westport is rarely flat, flat, flat. Along with Seaside, it’s a destination semi-surf town. When all the wave energy is from the south, it’s a choice.

No, though I often tell surf fans checking out the potential on the Strait to go to Westport, I’m not trying to sound like the tourist bureau. However, there is a tradition of Olympic Peninsula surfers heading down when it’s flat and/or if there was an unavoidably alluring southy. Surfers made friends with Seaside and Westport locals. Homes were opened for visits. There was some reciprocity.

I’m also not saying this aloha-esc sharing is over. Recently, my friend Keith Darrock headed down to hang with a friend in Westport the weekend of the longboard contest. Another trip had Keith hitting Oregon, hanging and surfing with friends he grew up with in Yachats. I asked him to send some photos.

Yeah; Westport. Dreamy, huh?

Keith’s crock in Seaside. I did hear some stories and saw some photos of surf in deeper Oregon, but was instructed not to publish them. Keith’s friends wouldn’t appreciate it. His friends. Keith did call me from the parking lot at Seaside Point on his way back. A local running out, gave him the kind of look regulars at any localized spot give interlopers.

Not aloha-esc. I don’t have any friends, exactly, in Seaside, but my father lived iin Chinook, Washington, close enough to be within an acceptable range (based on my being vibed, in the past, by a dude from Astoria), and my brother now owns tharinghe house. I keep telling my friends that we could cruise down, hit the Point. Could. Everyone appreciates sharing.

Sorry. Sarcasm; but, on one visit to my dad’s, after three days, actual locals were kind of, almost, friendly. Cove’s one thing; Point’s another.

Images of Seaside; one by me, one of me, one by my nephew, Fergus, who was threatened, then asked if he caught the surfer’s last ride, then allowed to leave. I must be thinking too much about Seaside. No, go to Westport, even if you’re from Seattle or, even, Canada.

MEANWHILE, I did watch some of a Challenger Series contest from Brazil. Still rooting for Sally Fiitzgibbons. She got into the semi-finals. Stephanie Gilmore wasn’t competing there, so we’ll see how the season ends for the holdovers from their generation. Interestingly, the contest on the women’s side ended with a sixteen-year-old winning over a, like, nineteen-year-old. Brutal. Or fun, depending onb your perspective.

Meanwhile, I am reciting or reading an excerpt from an original poem at an event in Port Townsend. It’s kind of an honor to be included. There are so many ways I can fuck this up. I’ll let you know.

erwin@realsurfers.net realsurfersdotnet on Instagram.

I do plan on writing about Instagram addction. Later. Thanks for checking out my site. Get some waves.

Contest Season in the PNW and… Non-Intentional Drama

Posted on by under Competitive surfing,, northwest surfing blog,, real surfers, surf contests, surf culture, writings of Erwin Dence

It’s been a long while since I competed in any surf contest other than the de facto, any time it’s crowded, sessions. Yes, there are judges, always, the self judge being thhe one most susceptible to bribery and/or choosing sentimentality over reality. Speed, power, flow? Not always. Best two rides out of however many I could snag, steal, or even, have priority and etiquette on my side.

There are some Olympic Peninsula regulars (NOTE- Not all live here) who compete in these events. I should mention Z. I don’t know his actual name, and don’t think I’ve ever met him, but he delivers stuff for one off the non-Amazon companies in the Port Townsend area, and my friend, Keith Darrock, runs into him fairly frequently. He’s a past winner in his age category at Cape Kawanda (at least), and, most recently, told Keith he spent some time in the Mentawais, ‘practicing,’ or, as they say iin the WSL, ‘working.’ Yeah, Z’s fired up!

Keith is down in Westport, taking in the vibe. I have requested some photos. So far, I got texts saying Surf Route 101 was jammed, yesterday, the HAMA HAMA BANJO-RAMA also happening; and one saying a lot of Wavestorms were heading toward the coast. These events do have a bit of a circus flavor, not that the parking lot/bathroom-shower facility, bluff aren’t always a hotbed for kook-to-wannabes-to pissed off locals-to tourists snd posers. WHO DOESN’T LOVE A CIRCUS?

Hawaiian Brian, just after he won his division at Cape Kawanda last year. Or the year before. He did have his trophy with him, out onb the Strait… working.

Me, in the brownish hoodie, at the judges’ table a few years back. TOM BURNS got me the spot, and, because I judged rides as I saw them, and because I was loud, and because everyone except the head judge was having way too much fun, and despiite the fact I tried way harder on Sunday to behave and go along with the expected scoring, I was not invited back. Either was Tom, BUT, time and all, I do believe Tom is judging this weekend. I’m afraid to call and possibly disturb him.

A rented 40 FOOT LADDER was required to complete the stain job on this charming cottage: Taken just after I got off the roof (explaining the slight unevenness). There is a story about the high ladder woodworking I did to correct what high level woodpeckers damaged.

Can this tire be saved? There is a story involving a post Seahawks victory, late night blowout, a very steep spot where the car ended up, no phone coverage (luckily texts went through), the car falling off and wrecking the jack, another rescue from my daughter, Dru, and a successful switch to the temporary tire by ADAM WIPEOUT JAMES, the person I bought the car from, though, ater fixing the brakes he had no obligation to help.

It’s another in a long history of ERWIN BREAKS DOWN stories. When I told it to Librarian Keith, he was not properly impressed by the drama. He was checking the surf, it wasn’t exactly Alexander Dumas, or even Tom Clancy storytelling, and it doesn’t make me appear as anything other than kind of helpless, so… maybe later, maybe on the surf trip I promised Adam and included Keith. Wondering if I’ll have to find a new rim is keeping me… anxious.

I am working on some other stuff, and after a summer-long drought, and despite it still being painting season, it is raining. Is there hope for the wave pattern to switch? Yes. Why should California get all the waves?

erwin@realsurfers.net

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Thanks for checking out realsurfers.net Get some waves!

Summer Shadetree Mechanics and…

Posted on by under Uncategorized

This might be your view heading to the Olympic Peninsula to look for surf. For me, it’s heading home. Mid summer, the sun sets straight up the hill on the west side of the Hood Canal Bridge. It’s no longer mid-summer. Perhaps we are re-entering surf season, such as that is.

My house is under the sun

The image kept going sideways. I almmost resorted to using AI. It turns out I don’t know how. Forced to add the caption. Afraid not to.

Flipped again. Crazy.

One can never have too many ladders. Unfortunately, I need a forty footer to complete this project. The staggering is a trick I learned as a sign painter apprentice, years ago, from a guy who busted up his knees coming home drunk from somewhere. I would move one of the two ladders as he moved across the billboard. I wrecked mine the slower way, 57 years of crawling and climbing. It’s the job. I can’t blame surfing; wouldn’t if I could.

ADAM “WIIPEOUT” JAMES POST BRAKE JOB #1

ADAM “WIPEOUT” JAMES, poster boy for the HAMA HAMA SEAFOOD empire, helped me with the brakes on the WINDSTAR I bought from him. The previous owner was another surfer, CLINT THOMPSON, a legend among the folks at the Port Townsend Boatyard. I got a very good deal on the rig, but had to wait a while to get the title sorted. I did drive it a bit, owned rather than borrowed, before the brakes totally went out in the middle of Silvverdale.

I managed to drive it (carefully, but, having always owned old work rigs, I have driven with limited braking ability more than once) to my daughter’s house in Port Gamble. I did call Adam en route. NO, not hands free. “What broke?” “Well…”

“Maybe you just need fluid.” OKAY. I have some in the BIG BOY VAN. The problem is one has to take the cowling off the front of the van (or I thought this was necessary) to get to the brake fluid reservoir. I whipped out my ragtag assortment of tools and started stripping stuff off. I added 8 ounces, called Adam. “Pump it!” I pumped it. Called Adam. “Used it all up.” “It was thirsty!”

I tried to call him again. Straight to voicemail. “The mailbox is full. Goodbye.” I sent a text with a possibly sarcastic tone to it, saying I hoped I got my money’s worth out of the van, plus everything I had learned from the internet, YouTube; and said I had almost asked chatGPT. I got a text back, later. from Adam. “Those are the breaks.” Brakes.

Believing I had used up all my brakeless driving karma, and feeling very reluctant to drive the van down Surf Route 101, we discussed other options. All this is with me saying, because it’s true, that Adam did not owe me anything, and I could get the van towed to Les Schwab.

There is way more to this story. Let’s call this PART I.

I JUST REALIZED I cut off Adam’s head. Not on purpose. I think, with my new phone, I have to send photos less than full sized to not have the problems. Anyway, I’m leaving it. Them’s the breaks. OH, don’t get me wrong. I am so pleased that Adammm helped me with the Clintmobile (Reggie has another name for the van- ask him), AND with the Highlander. PART II.

THE PLAN IS I will drive on an upcoming surf trip AND treat Adam to a post surf lunch or dinner at his choice of PA spots. I would be stoked. I mean, I will be.

Here’s a serious-ish poem I’m working on.

TOO LATE FOR THAT

I move at all; I will have to admit I am awake. If I look up at the time, projected in red on the ceiling, I will have to admit I am late. Already. Early sneaks away. Late charges. I don’t want to be awake. Not yet. Soon. Too soon.

If my brain hadn’t already awakened, ticker tape clicking from worry to worry, I could go back to sleep; fifteen minutes to make up for lost sleep at 3:18. Too late.

If I slide and twist and drop my feet to the ground; if I pull back the blackout curtains, the outside will still be pre-dawn dark; wet, a watercolor wash blurring the trees, the brush, the dead van sinking into the lawn gone feral.

The brilliance will break through soon. Too soon. 

I am moving, following, not chasing, the early, blinking in the brilliance.

If I hurry…

Back to Skip (Frye) and Me

Posted on by under Uncategorized

July 28- PAGE VI NOW includes illustrations from 2016. Check it!

July 27- There are new posts on PAGE III, ‘serious writings,’ and PAGE VII, ‘Erwin talks to strangers.’

SKIP FRYE, PB POINT, AND PIRACY

Trish and I got married in November 1971 (she just 19, me a mature 20). We moved to Pacific Beach (PB), first to a one bedroom on Felspar, two blocks from Crystal Pier, then to the La Jolla Bella apartments, just up the hill from Tourmaline. $185/month for two bedrooms, two bathrooms.

And, for the first time since I was a baby, in Surf City, North Carolina, I was a local! Yee-haw (only carryover from babyhood)! I could skateboard or bike down to the pier, or hit the canyon, always hoping PB Point would break or there would be a connecting wall. Rare, but appreciated.

It’s not as if I made friends. There was a sort of ghetto mentality. Head down, no real eye contact. But, I did become known in the lineup and did become familiar with local standouts. I was aggressive, but teenage “pier rats,” led by Joe Roper, were always there, kicking boards at non-stop locals from, like, Claremont.

I had some run ins, but not really with the young guys. This is me, working man, before or after work and weekends. Here is where Skip Frye comes in. He would be out, somewhere on the stretch, navigating the crowd. I was most impressed at how he found waves between set waves, and casually found smooth lines while others were dropping in, bailing if the wave closed out (I meant when) relying on kook cords to save them from swimming. This with, possibly, me behind them, maybe someone within the length of the leash.

As always, I was thrashing and repairing (mostly thrashing) boards. I would go to the Gordon & Smith factory for materials. I often saw Skip Frye. Working. My image is of him, beside a dumpster, possibly trying to figure out if he recognized me. I don’t believe we ever spoke.

NoAt that I didn’t want to.

Somewhere before Trish an I bought a condo in University City (east of I-5…ahhh) Morey-Pope introduced the Waterskate. Thick down rails coming up to a raised line, that dropping to a flat deck. The boards were being produced by G&S.

I wanted one. I had pretty much totaled the cutting edge Surfboards Hawaii twin fin Trish had custom ordered for me. I had a tentative relationship with the PB Surf Shop, having done some graphics and having done menus and such for a hamburger/sandwich shop that shared the space.

Some guys with some connection were trying to sell custom garage soul boards out of the shop. They pirated the waterskate, shaped it, I painted the blank, they glassed it.

I cruise down to Tourmaline, after work, to try it out. There, on the beach, looking at me as if he might recognize me… Skip Frye.

We didn’t speak. Still, I felt a Pirate’s guilt.

The problem with the design was that stress cracks came on quickly, following the ridges. I ended up ripping off the deck’s glass, sanding out the ridges, reglassing. .

I probably bought materials at G&S. That may be where one of my lasting image of Skip Frye comes from.

Last thing: In his segment on “Pinch my Salt, ” Skip mentioned an encounter with a seal ” Out by the boil” at PB Point. One of my fondest memories is of surfing a perfect little peak alone. I took off deeper on each wave. I tried to backdoor the wave, my fin skidded out, my brand new leash dragged me across the reef. I came up with seagrass in my fingernails. And so so stoked!

I should mention thankful. Skip would. Thank you!

I am doing this on my tablet. I have some new stuff on other pages. I will update… Later.

erwin@realsurfers.net

Get a few!

Skip Frye and I, Skip Frye and Me

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, Erwin Dence illustrations, Original Erwin, real surfers, surf culture, surfing blogs, surfing for life, surfing novels, surfing Southern California in the 60s, writings of Erwin Dence

UPDATES- NONE at the moment- Saturday, July 18.BUT…

Skip Frye and I, Skip Frye and Me- Several Anecdotes

INTRO-

A sudden, not-going-to-last obsession with classic surfer Skip Frye was triggered by an episode of “Pinch my Salt” showing up on YouTube. I’m fine watching a snippet of the pretty smarmy Sterling Spencer, but I’m never ready to spend an hour plus watching… anyone. This is what fast forward is for. 

This episode promised an interview with Skip; but it did start without him. So, fast forward; though I had to watch a portion where Sterling claimed someone ‘picked his pocket.’  It turned out to be a not unusual ‘chat and steal.’ One of my standard moves.  Or so I’ve been told.

Then, on to the interview. If someone personifies an eighty-three-year-old lifetime (not Skip’s, probably yours) San Diego surfer, no one better fills the role than Mr. Frye.  The hosts were respectful, though Skip was pushed to say something negative about soft tops (he said someone gave him one, but he’d never ride it), surfers who put their names on popouts (almost did because Donald Takayama wanted him to make some real money, but died before it might, or might not have happened), and modern surfing competition, the toughest and truest thing he would say, though he did contests, is that the one winner ruthlessness takes something away from what is often referred to as soul surfing.

Skip, who tries to turn out six boards a week, none cheap, all highly sought after, is still the epitome of soul. Surfing or otherwise.

The other guy on the podcast, Sterling’s cousin Ryan Spencer, asked the viewers to pleas be nice to Skip in the comments. I checked. Not a negative comment in the bunch, and, when Skip pulled out a harmonica at the end and played a mellow version of, “What a Friend We Have in Jesus,” well, people broke into tears. Or so they said.

TAMARACK, 1965-

My family (seven kids, our mom) was parked in the lower lot, as always. I was a total beginner/kook, just switching over from mat to board. I was probably still sharing my older sister’s (Suellen’s) 9’4” stock Hobie. There had been some sort of contest. Surfers and their entourages were loading up, ready to head home. “Skip was robbed!” “Skip should’ve won!”

I have this image, real or not, in my permanent files: A blond-haired guy shrugging off the comments meant to reassure him. 

PACIFIC BEACH, SAN DIEGO- 1971-1973- Later. I gotta go. But, coming… STEALING a design from TOM MOREY, surfing from Tourmaline to Crystal Pier ala Skip, finding nuggets in a crowded lineup, soul arching, ala Skip, just for the fun of it.

The Morey-Pope WATERSKATE, produced by Gordon & Smith; probably shaped by SKIP FRYE.

ULTRA CLASSIC TRIO- Photo by RON STONER, MICHAEL HYNSON paddling out, and SKIP (never not in trim) SKIP FRYE soul arching at THE RANCH.

I want to stress that I have been doing some research on this stuff. I have always been intrigued by the Hynson/Frye friendship, partially because they seem like such different individuals. If I give Hynson a lot of credit for downrail surfboards, prove me wrong. It was interesting to learn, from the podcast, that they were riding boards Michael had shaped for the 1966 Duke Kahanamoku contest. Cool.

CONTACT- erwin@realsurfers.net InstaGram- realsurfersdotnet

Thanks for checking out my site. Get some waves, summer isn’t really endless.

“Soft Persuasion” and Happy 4th

Posted on by under surfing blogs, writings of Erwin Dence

UPDATE- July 6- ANNOUNCEMENT! PAGE VII has been added. It is focused on my upcoming collection, “LOVE SONGS FOR CYNICS.” Check it out.

UPDATE- July 4, 2026- 2:12 PACIFIC DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME

I just posted something on PAGE III. Check it out if you get a chance. This image is a clue.

I have, according to my phone used up all the storage for the ‘gallery.’ What this seems to mean is that I cannot film myself playing harmonica and singing original songs. SO, there goes my Instagram career hopes. I recorded two versions of my song, “Soft Persuasion,” which has a particular relevance on the day before the Fourth of July. In one, the harmonica sounds screechy and my voice sounds… kind of like it usually does; nasal-ly, flat…whatever. The second one, recorded by a local lake with the phone in the back of the Toyota, has me and the harmonica sounding okay, but, possibly because of the angle (SURE), I look, in an oversized white t shirt, well, fat. Not that I’m not. And my hair… awful.

So, I deleted all of the videos on my. phone, but, maybe because the trash section is full, no storage.

Anyway, I have been working on formatting a collection of poems and essays and songs. I do enjoy this. I’m pretty close to having “Love Songs for Cynics” ready. Because poetry is so… fancy, I plan a separate and definitely not equal section for ‘Down and Dirty Blues’ songs. This is more a ballad. Fiction, actually, with an opportunity to throw out some non-political Independence Day references. Here goes:

You offered me such SOFT PERSUASION, on the night before the fourth of July, Began as such a festive occasion, you held me close, I never asked you why,

I went off just like a Roman candle, I’m sure the light lit up half of the night, But love, that’s something we could never handle, True love’s one thing that we can’t get quite right.

(Chorus). Misunderstanding, misunderstood; I thought that we could make it happen, Now I see it ain’t no good; Misunderstanding, I got it wrong; You took the words that I has written, and wrote yourself another song.

You said it’s just a misunderstanding, said you’d never meant to lead me along; You hoped I’d have a really soft landing; You wrote down all the words to my last song.

All in all, you treated me quite kindly, You said there were some things you should explain; I had rushed in way way way too blindly; And love’s that blind can only bring one pain.

Chorus

“Some things,” you said, “Are best left unspoken,” Some things I said I never should have said; Some spells, once cast, should never be broken; some love’s not in your heart, it’s in your head.

But you’d already. heard my. confession, There is no other woman I think of; “Sometimes,” you said, “love’s really obsession;” Well, sometimes, what we think is love is love.

Chorus

I walked into the teeth of the morning; Where firecrackers popped and fuses burned; I had been knocked down without a warning; I couldn’t put in words what I had learned.

All I knew is I had never known you; And everything I thought was right was wrong; Didn’t know, from there, where I could go to; Couldn’t find a tune for my new song.

Misunderstanding, misunderstood; I thought that we could make it happen; Now I see it ain’t no good; Misunderstanding, you got it wrong; You took the words that I had written, but now I have another song.

And you’d offered me such soft persuasion.

Contact- erwin@realsurfers.net Instagram- realsurfersdotnet

I have been updating my artwork; check out. PAGE VII.

ALL RIGHTS ARE RESERVED ON ALL ORIGINAL writing and artwork on this site by Erwin A. Dence, jr. Thanks for honoring my copyrights.

AS ALWAYS, THANKS for checking in and checking my humble blog out, GET SOME WAVES, AND, PLEASE, CELEBRATE! Happy Birthday, America, and good luck to us all!

Four Days Past the Solstice and…

Posted on by under Erwin Dence illustrations, Erwin Dence surf illustrations, non-political Erwin,, northwest surfing blog,, Original Erwin, real surfers, surf culture events, surf illustrations, writings of Erwin Dence

SORRY TO INTERRUPT- Updates

Tuesday, June 30- TRISH IS CANCER FREE! She saw the Oncologist yesterday. The numbers are all good. Thank one and all for your concern, prayers. SHE IS NOT OUT OF THE WOODS AND BACK ON THE BEACH YET. Progress is being made. Trish is trying to regain lost strength. I have a new appreciation for the hardships endured by those stricken by cancer. As always, FUCK CANCER!

ALSO, there is a new post on. PAGE VII, ERWIN TALKS TO STRANGERS. Check it out.

– PAGE VI, Original Erwin art, as of Saturday, June 27, is up to all of 2015. Give it a scroll if you get the chance.

…some stuff on what I devised for the mural project at Port Townsend’s Seamus Skate Park, an upcoming Original Erwin Coloring Book, an upcoming album of poetry and essays and blues songs, “Love Songs for Cynics,” and a possible start for a poster for the next Occasional Surf Culture on the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the Salish Sea Event. AND, promising not to whine because I was not selected for the top three contestants/applicants for the Skate Park Project.

PEOPLE often stop in Port Gamble, close to where my daughter Dru (and Trish, still recovering from Cancer and Chemo) lives. The sunsets tend to be spectacular; often with that orange popsicle color. In Quilcene, the Eastern foothills of the Olympics dominate the view; that and all the trees.

SKATE PARK- I did get all jazzed up at the prospect of making big money for artistic… stuff; and got into doing some sketches. I did wait until the finalists were announced (whimper) before posting any.

I thought it would bee dramatic to have an action image on an inside corner of the low walls. I wasn’t sure how this would work, so I did a sketch, and bent it. Okay, that’s how it would work!

ORIGINAL ERWIN COLORING BOOK-

I am going through and placing artworks on a separate page. I have completed 2013, the first year of realsurfersnet, and 2014. I plan on selecting images and producing another limited edition. Soon.

“LOVE SONGS FOR CYNICS”-

My current plan is to have something that mimics a record album. I am in the process of formatting, all with an increasing awareness of the expense involved in getting an actual book together. For all the projects I have done in the past, including ORIGINAL ERWIN T SHIRTS, the artist got screwed and the publisher/manufacturer/whatever made (some) money. NOTE- Exclusivity has value. Hopefully.

SURF MUSIC AND…

If you are an actual musician, you know this isn’t actual music.

THANKS FOR CHECKING OUT my humble blog. Side note: I was kind of called out for ‘going political.’ Sorry. Couldn’t help it. I have a bit of a platform, I have fears and opinions, and, for now, freedom of speech. And you are free to not read… anything.

HIT some waves when you get the chance!

OH, and all original works by Erwin A. Dence, Jr. are copyright protected, all rights reserved. AND, no AI involved. Thanks.

For The Complaint Department, Go To: Helen Waite

Posted on by under "Swamis" the novel, hipster surfers, learning to surf, northwest surfing blog,, old surfers, real surfers, real surfers coloring book, Seattle surfers, surf adventures, surf sessions, surfing blogs, surfing in Washington State, surfing Neah Bay, surfing the strait of juan de fuca, women surfers in the Northwest,, writings of Erwin Dence

I was working in Port Angeles all week, never had (or gave myself) a chance to even check out the surf; but, then, wait for it (I have), I went. Yeah, I joined the seeming caravan of time-offers and weekenders and vacationers headed toward the Olympic Peninsula, home to the Olympic Mountains, named, appropriately, after the mythical home of the mythical gods. It’s like… Nirvana, with a different lineup (do I have to add ‘not the bend? Probably). Yeah, and there’s, like forests and… lakes, and… It is enticing, entrancing, inviting those stuck on I-5 to drive however many hours to get here. And the weather has just been so… Southern California-ISH. Not that I’m complaining.

This was a side project. I was painting an ADU on the Port Angeles property. Someone else cut out the trees a while back. The homeowner, who has a lot off artsy stuff going on, gave me free reign. Thanks.

The job done, I traded ladders for a thrashed out board, and headed back north. It’s not that I want to share the road OR the waves. Dawn patrolling might help. Still, I worry. I am still trying to get past a severe thrashing from mid-winter, and have had few opportunities to rebuild my. confidence. What if, I was thinking on the way up Surf Route 101, it’s closed out and crowded and… ?And then, when I arrived… no worries; no ‘got to go NOW’ conditions. Barely breaking. It was a ‘it might get better’ situation, so, normal. Not crowded… yet. No side wind. Yet. I took my time, chatted with PA locals, Bill Truckenmueller (sp?) and his son, who talked about how the day before was better, and never got out of their van, and told me they were leaving as a sacrifice to the swell gods. “Thanks. I’ll let you know what you missed next time I see you.”

Parked in my favorite spot was THOR. I’ve surfed with him quite a few over the years. He said the previous day started similarly weak and inconsistent, and got better. The last time I saw Thor was at the Lower Elwha gas station. He had just suffered a serious injury. He’s fully recovered now. I filled him in on what is happening with me. I did, because I do, mention this blog. “You. mean your personal complaint department?” ‘Huh? What? Um, yeah.”

Still taking my sweet time getting suited up, a rig pulled up next to me, two young (relatively) men jumped out, instantly started putting fins on their fancy wood boards. Just making conversation, because ERWIN TALKS TO STRANGERS, I mentioned their parking gave themselves plenty of room, but they could have parked closer, allowing the next folks room. “No.” Okay. No disagreeing. I asked one of them how long he’d been surfing. “A while.” “Oh. Did you, like, start during Covid?” “Give me a break.” “Okay, so… adult learner. Surf school.” No answer. “It’s pretty flat. Hobuck’s probably big. Maybe you should go there.” The other guy came around the corner, turning his Patagonia wetsuit rightsideout while doing modified squats. “Why don’t you go, then?” “Too far. Too scary.” “Sure.” Possible sarcasm. “Um, where’d you, if I might ask, come from?” No answer. “I live in Quilcene. It’s down the canal.” “Okay. Sure.” Somewhere it was revealed they were from Kirkland. “Might be bigger there,” one of the Kirkland dudes said before he raced his friend toward the water.

It’s fine that, when flipping friendly-ish shit, some gets flipped back. The test of surfing is in the water. By the time I got out, there were five or six other surfers out. Long boards. I took off on a wave, not believing (or looking) behind me. “Hey!” A guy on a green longboard, who wasn’t on the wave, yelled, “You have to look. That’s it! You get. one. drop-in!” He paddled out. I paddled out. He back paddled me. Evidently backpaddling was acceptable. Fine. Game on!

I don’t mean to overdramatize this; not high tension. Just, with not-great waves, kind of unnecessary.

There were some other ‘your wave, my wave’ things happening over the course of the session, but I didn’t have any other disputes with the unofficial regulator. He did continue to backpaddle, I played my game, managed to get some rides I was really happy with. Meanwhile, the Kirkland guys did not dominate. The lineup had the usual small day ratio of beginners to experienced surfers, and I noticed several of the guys in the water looked… similar. We all want to identify who, in the water, is going to blow a takeofff, who is a bit too aggressive; all of which helps us catch more waves and stay out of trouble. Maybe. Plus, it’s not cool to stare at your. competition. Or talk too much.

None of these societal restraints kept me from paddling over and making a comment to the large (not that I’m small) woman with a bright red, full-brimmed hat on. It seemed, not staring, that it was attached to a hood. Maybe it just had a very practical chin strap. “You’re doing your best to avoid cancer,” I said. “I’m trying.” She took off on a wave, went straight, and two other women, with similar hats, about to paddle out, hooted, wildly, as if their friend had won the contest. Perhaps she had. We are all competing in our minds. Aren’t we?

I managed to outlast the green board enforcer, but he did paddle out next to Thor, and, possibly because Thor was, my assessment, the best surfer out at this time, engaged him in conversation. I mentioned that when the waves dropped back to minimal as the tide drained out. “Yeah, I told him you’re old, you have really bad knees, your wife is battling cancer, and you should give you a break.” “Thanks, Thor, but… about those two times you burned me…” “Oh, one was for the guy you burned, and the other… It was my one free burn.” Fair. Enough.

I had to take this photo. The guy sat there a while, looking like Rodin’s “The Thinker.” I asked if he was thinbking, “Damn, should have gotten here earlier.” “No, I was thinking… maybe it’ll get better.” Eventually. Yes.

Contact- erwin@realsurfers.net

Instagram- realsurfersdotnet

Thanks; catch some waves when you can, limit your dropins, backpaddle at will, keep it friendly, keep it fun. But, FUCK CANCER!

Oh, shit! I forgot. I do have some new ORIGINAL ERWIN illustrations. I will post them soon.

Summer Approaches, and with it…

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

…traffic. Now, I love the vview from the Hood Canal Bridge as much as anyone, and, though I am grateful I no longer commute regularly to the other side, I may have a bit o an issue when, trying to get back, I am 13th in line for a bridge closure to allow a sailboat to get back to the north side. And then, under power, the sightseer takes his or her sweet time getting through the opening (Yeah, for tourists, the floating bridge is open when it’s closed and closed when it’s open).

Meanwhile, cars and busses and Walmart semis and Amazon delivery vans and tourists and I are waiting. I shut the engine off (many didn’t), called Trish, and said I really wanted to get close enough to yell at the sailer, not that I, even with my lost at sea. voice, could. “No, no, don’t do that!”

Okay, but, maybe, there should be a… dealie; like, if you’re enoying the splendors of the wilder lower canal (for tourists, it isn’t a canal; there’s an end. Waterway cul-de-sac), you should stay until… I don’t know, not Monday morning when workers need to get to jobs.

I guess one brighter side is that I was on the bridge, and not stuck behind a tour bus-sized motorhome pulling a Mad Max rig, that rig holding the electric bikes and Kayaks, and, worse, surfboards. I was packing ladders, so… that might make me a tiny bit jealous. Maybe.

Meanwhile, I finally posted a Dylan 85th birthday video I filmed a couple of weeks ago. Find it on the gram at realsurfersdotnet. Like, comment, follow. Not mandatory. I’ve spent too much time scrolling and commenting; sniping and attempting cleverness. It’s not (for tourists) real life.

Contact- erwin@realsurfers.net

“SWAMIS” note- I keep thinking about subtle changes to my otherwise done novel. Because I am also trying to keep a bit of a journal on some dreams, I went to sleep in that ‘one more hour’ portion of the night/dawn considering the real life location in which I have fictional character Julie Cole living. It is across Highway 101 and the railroad tracks, up the hill, and offers a view of the entrance to the Swamis parking lot and a chance to see swells approaching. In 1969, the time in which the story is set, there was still a pullout adjacent to the park. Houses now.

In this dream, I am on that hill. I see waves, surfers. I tell Trish I have to go. Now. Now! I’m running down through the scrub brush, onto the gravel, across the tracks, and… I did warn you that it was a dream. I mean, me, running.

In real life, the last time I surfed Pipes, I did park up and above the tracks. I didn’t run.

NOTE- Dreaming about surfing is not a replacement for surfing. Following every real surfer on Instagram, also not a replacement. Still… part of surfing is imagining oneself… surfing. The harder part is getting there, getting out, getting in position, paddling… That.

Thanks for checking out realsurfers. If you can’t be perfect, be real.