Leaves on the Water

As I’ve said a number of times, the Ocean Shores Marina used to be a bustling place. There was an active fleet of charter boats and a decent sized fleet of commercial fishing boats that called the marina their home port. All of them where in pursuit of salmon. Kings and silvers are what they chased. What they really wanted, though were the dollars the fish brought in. It was a tough way to earn a living. To make a go at it, you had to be on the water from sunrise until near sunset - seven days a week. And if you chose the wrong fishing ground you’d lose your shirt big time.

The charter boats carried sportsmen for hire. Each fisherman was allowed 3 salmon per day and all the sea bass, ling cod and flounder they could catch. The only limit set for the commercial boats was the number of fish they could deliver to the fish buyers’ dock.

The photo above shows the remains of the fish buyers’ dock today. Actually, the dock itself no longer exists. It used to float at the base of the pier, running from the left foreground toward the center background. It was long enough for two or three kelpers to dock at a time - say 50 or 60 feet or so, and built from sun bleached 2 x 12 planks. And there were large scales hanging from the ceiling of a roughly made shed. The buyers would wait in the shed for boats to arrive, the whole time smoking and telling dirty jokes.

Part of my summer job at the Marina was to staff the fuel dock, which was adjacent to the fish buyers’ dock. Every evening a swarm of small boats would circle nearby, jostling for position as they waited to unload their catch and fuel up for the next day’s trip. From time to time larger trawlers would also pull in to load up on shaved ice before heading out for extended trips. These were 40 - 50 foot boats with large holds to carry several days’ catch. They might be out on the water a week or more before returning to port to unload their catch and take on fuel and ice.

Two buyers shared the dock. One, Bill, was the older brother of a guy I went to school with. He bought for the local cannery - Kustom Klam Kleaners (affectionately known to locals as the KKK). The other buyer, Elvin, was from the Seattle area. They seemed to get along fine - for competitors. I don’t know what kind of agreement they had, but it always seemed like they were working together rather than competing.

Today the dock is gone, and the planks are missing from the pier. All that remains of this once busy hub of the salmon economy is the small rusty crane that was used to lift loads of fish from the dock to the waiting cargo truck. Also gone are the huge runs of salmon that once supported not only this fish buyers’ dock, but others in Westport, Ilwaco and other west coast ports during the late 1960s and 70s.

But if I close my eyes and let my mind wander back in time, I can still see the boats cruising to the dock while exhausted, sunburned fishermen haggle over the price for their catch, and the smell of fish and diesel hang in the air. I know - these are odd memories, but they’re the stuff my childhood (and therefore, my art) is made of.

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Sometimes the things you think you remember have changed so much that you aren’t sure that they were at one time real. And yet, there are times when you find a tangible sign that your memory is not playing a cruel trick on you. The anchor in this photo is one of those artifacts from the past that let me know that even though I’m in the heart of middle-age, my memory hasn’t faded too much.

I’m not sure where the anchor came from. I remember someone saying it was from the SS Catala, the ship that ran aground near the marina in the 1960s. I don’t know whether that’s true or not, but I do know where it was during the 1970s. It sat next to the Ocean Shores Marina’s restaurant. I clearly recall running past it as a 10-year-old, on my way to go fishing on the docks. I pulled weeds from around it when I tended the landscaping beds as a teenager. And I went passed it countless times when I went to the restaurant to have lunch.

The restaurant was a place where the charter boat passengers could get breakfast and a box lunch for their day fishing for salmon. In the late afternoons the “kelpers” (commercial fishermen who returned to port each day with their catch) would gather in the Chart Room for a drink before heading home for dinner. In the late fall and winter there was a cast of regulars who would gather at the restaurant to drink strong coffee and swap stories.

One summer, when I was 10 or 11, someone kept tying their dog to the porch by the main entrance. For some reason the dog took a dislike to me, and every time I came anywhere near the door it would bark it’s fool head off at me. It scared the bajeebers out of me. One time the dog surprised me as I stepped onto the porch. It barked like mad, and I froze. The dog’s owner apparently was watching the whole thing from the Chart Room and started yelling at me through the darkened window - for teasing his dog! All I wanted to do was go inside and use the bathroom. I was more than happy to let the sleeping dog lie - but noooooooo! Anyhow after a few weeks the dog was gone, and I was able to freely roam again.

Today the restaurant is gone. There’s an empty field where the building once stood. Judging from the size of the field, the building must have been a lot smaller than I remember. But the anchor is still there. So I know that those carefree days of fishing and exploring actually did happen. That’s a relief for a middle-age guy looking back over his shoulder at his childhood.

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In my last post I mentioned that I had a job at the marina. Actually I spent a good part of my childhood at the Ocean Shores Marina. This picture is how the marina looked during the summer of 2007.

When I was growing up, the marina was a busy, vibrant place - full of all kinds of characters. If I remember correctly there were 16 charter boats that used the marina as their base. Each boat would carry 6 - 22 passengers. On a typical summer morning upwards of 200 fishermen would board the boats to fish for salmon. The dock pictured here would have been “The Main Dock” which served as the mooring berths for the charter boat fleet.

The dock in the photo is a replacement for the one I remember. The original seemed to be quite a bit wider than the one pictured. It was built from 2 x 12 planks, with logs underneath to serve as floatation. It extended quite a bit further into the boat basin - at least it seemed like it to a 10-year old kid.

My dad used to run the bait shop at the marina. It was a floating shack that was situated just outside of the photograph, in the lower left corner. The charter boat deck hands would come to the bait shack every morning to pick up their allotment of herring (bait) and any fishing poles their passengers had rented for the day. I’d help out now and then by scooping shaved ice into the bait buckets and counting out a dozen and a half herring per passenger.

The deck hands were usually bleary-eyed and ragged. After all, departure time was 6:00 AM - or as soon as everyone was on board and it was light enough for the skipper to safely pilot the boat out of the marina. My dad always had the shop open by 5:00 AM. Sometimes I’d sleep all night in the back of our station wagon so I could catch a bit more sleep.

A cool feature of the bait shack was the hole my dad cut through the floor. He did that so that we could fish for sea perch - and still mind the store - during the slow times. I can’t begin to count the number of fish I pulled up through that hole in the floor.

There are dozens of posts I could write about the time I spent at the marina. I’ll put together a few and upload them over the next few weeks.

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I’ve been spending some time preparing for this series of posts. As I mentioned earlier, I’m going to spend some time relating my memories of growing up in Ocean Shores. I thought that a fitting place to start would be the place where it ended.

This photo is the last house I lived in at Ocean Shores, Washington. In fact, my parents had the house built in 1980, when I was 15. I remember the contractor was Larry Locke - one of the major home builders in town at the time.

I do have to say that whoever owns the house now has done a fabulous job maintaining it. Since my mom didn’t have much money, she was never able to keep up with all the maintenance. The wind, rain and sand make keeping up a house at the beach a constant battle. But, I really do appreciate the work that it has taken to make the house what it is today.

There used to be a climbing rose growing in the front yard. Dad bought it for mom shortly after we moved in. If you look at the picture, it would have been pretty much where the small shrubs in the foreground are. I’m amazed that the thing was able to survive the harsh environment there, but it did. When my mom moved out of the house in 1994, we dug out the rose bush and planted it in the courtyard of her apartment complex. Surprisingly, the bush survived the 3 hour trip from the beach and thrived in its new home. A few years later, after my mom had to move to assisted living, we transplanted the rose to our front yard. That thing must be indestructible. It has not only survived, it has nearly taken over the flower bed under my daughter’s bedroom window.

When we moved in, the area was pretty remote. I remember one Fourth of July I had to work until midnight at the marina store. The owners thought that there would be lots of foot traffic that night - but there wasn’t. Anyhow, I had to ride my bike from the marina to the house. It was SO DARK that I kept running off the road! There weren’t any street lights, so I pretty much had to ride by feel. It took a long time, but I finally made it. Also - we were so far away from civilization that we didn’t even have cable TV. We could have had the cable run down the street, but we would have had to pay $1200 - plus the monthly subscription fee. We didn’t have that kind of money - so we got by without TV.

Winters there were awesome. During the many storms that would batter the area, we could see the spray from the waves breaking over the North Jetty. Pretty impressive, given that the jetty was 2 - 3 miles away. The wind would be so strong that you could see the front windows bowing in and out. Eventually, the windows ended up cracking from the stress.

My dad died in this house on July 18, 1982. He got up early every day to get ready for his job at the marina. During the spring and summer, he would be at the marina to sell bait and help get the charter boat passengers ready to board their boats.

On this morning - I guess it must have been before 5:00 a.m. - he was sitting at the dining room table with mom. He said to her “I don’t think we have enough frozen herring at the bait shop.” A few moments later he fell out of his chair and never regained consciousness. I performed CPR until the medics arrived, but it wasn’t enough.

After I graduated from high school and went off to college, I would come back to this house and spend summer and holiday breaks with my mom. During the summers I had a job with the City of Ocean Shores. Mostly I helped patch the thousands of potholes that plagued the roads at the time. I hated doing asphalt work. It’s hot, smelly, dirty, backbreaking work. But - it gave me enough cash to hang out with my friends and bridge the gap between my financial aid package and my college tuition.

There was a gravel road on the other side of the city road running in front of the house. The gravel road was put into aid in the reinforcement of the North Jetty. Barges would bring loads of rocks to the end of the road - at the tip of Damon Point, where the boulders would be transferred to large dump trucks. The trucks would carry the rocks to the jetty along the gravel road. After the project was completed, the road was allowed to return to its natural state. That took a number of years, though. While I was in college, I would run along the gravel road to prepare myself for football season.

Just beyond the road is a salt marsh that was known as “The Sink”. I spent countless fall and winter hours in the marsh hunting ducks. On my visit this past summer, I found that the marsh has changed dramatically from the way I remember it. The marsh is actually being eroded by the surf and current from the harbor. It looks like it won’t be many more years before the marsh is replaced by sand beach. I guess nothing stays the same forever. Sigh…

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Today I’m 43. I’m now officially as old as my parents. I always remember my parents as being “in their 40s”. Now I’m smack in the middle of MY 40s. I’ll mark the day by throwing some pots, eating some lasagna, and reminiscing about where I’ve been during the past 4.3 decades.

To start the navel gazing, I’m going to begin a series of posts about my childhood in Ocean Shores. This summer my family and I took a road trip to the beach. We spent a couple of days roaming around Ocean Shores. The trip brought back plenty of memories. Hopefully, I passed many of them along to my kids, as well as helped them to make a few memories of their own.

So - here’s to me! I’m now officially on my way to becoming my parents. That should be an interesting trip. So stay tuned over the next few weeks for some illustrated personal history, as narrated by renowned expert on Wayne Kilburn - me.

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The glaze firing went pretty well last weekend. I glazed the whole load with an emerald green glaze. The glaze didn’t turn out exactly how I wanted, but not bad. A half dozen mugs came out quite nice.

The best results came on a dark colored clay I experimented with. I have a feeling it will be my new favorite. I’ll post pictures as I get them.

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Ok - so I’ve been pretty successful in showing my primitive-fired work. Now, it’s time to take on some glazed work. I have a few serving bowls and mugs bisqued - some of them have fish or dogwood motifs carved into them. I’m going to spend this week glazing a kiln load and see if I can get a cone 6 load fired this weekend.

Stay tuned for the results.

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Finally - the hard part is over. Or is it?

Megan and I got home from Texas about 2:00 AM this morning. Only about an hour behind schedule. Not bad for today’s airlines.

The memorial service was hard. It’s difficult to know what to say about a brother you didn’t know real well. I shared a few memories from the road trip Jack and I took to Ocean Shores back in 2002, right after Mom died. We drove around town looking at the houses we had lived in, swapped stories about the stupid things we’d done there, and even looked up a few people from our past. All in all, it was a pretty good time. I think that will be the way I always remember him.

It was also good to meet his Texas friends and girlfriend. I’ll admit, I was surprised that the folks there were so hospitable and kind to us. Jack’s girlfriend, Julinda, is originally from Micronesia. We spent Sunday evening with her family. They fed us plenty of great food, had plenty of memories to share, and even sang a beautiful song in their native language. One line, translated to English is: “Across the bridge there’s no more sorrow, the sun will shine, across the river and we’ll never be unhappy again.”

Sunday night there was a big thunderstorm. We watched it from under the covered load/unload area at the hotel’s front door. The storm must have been quite aways off. We saw bright flashes that lit up the sky, then heard far away rumbles of thunder. The rain was absolutely torrential. It was somewhat comforting to be there with the thunder, lightning and rain. It reminded me of some of the big storms that I remember from my childhood.

Fortunately, Monday morning the storm was over, so we were able to wrap up our business and get on the road home. I’m glad Megan was there with me. It made the whole thing easier. I just hope the next few weeks get better.

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1 I 314. That is my brother, Jack’s new address. My wife and I visited him today. He has a nice place, with a beautiful view. Things are still in a bit of disarray, because he just got there on Monday. It was difficult to visit him today. It finally hit me that this will be the last place he will ever have. He’ll never leave it.

We’re going to go over again at 2:00 tomorrow afternoon. We’ll bring some flowers to help cheer the place up a bit. Julinda - his girlfriend and her family are going to go with us.

It’s going to be hell to leave, because I know it’s likely that I’ll never be back. You see, he’s here in Texas. This has been his home since he left the Army. I guess that’s been well over 20 years now. And, well, my home is in Washington state. I was born there, I was raised there, my wife and kids are there. The place is in my blood. We’ll probably slowly lose touch over time.

Oh yeah, there’s one very important thing I haven’t told you you about Jack’s new place - it’s is located just off of Texas State Highway 195, in the Central Texas State Veterans Cemetery.

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Last night was “Opening Night” for my show at the Burien Art Gallery. It went quite well. I got to meet a lot of new people, and talk art with some great people. I’m so glad I decided to go. It was hard to get up the “want to” because it was only last Friday that my brother, Jack died.

Looking back, I’m so thankful for the show, and all the great conversations, and the opportunity to be with other creative people who understand why I make art. It also helped me to keep my mind busy and to process everything going on inside me. I know I still have along way to go before the pain is gone, but the people at the Burien Art Gallery helped me along. And I thank them for that.

The photographer who is showing with me, Chris McCaw, is a great guy. He’s doing some really deep work with alternative photography techniques. His show is entitled “Sunburn”. His work is too fabulous for my words to do justice to, so go see the show. For some background, visit his web site.

If you’re an artist, I highly recommend hanging your work at the Burien Art Gallery. There are a lot of talented, warm and friendly people involved with the gallery.

Five of my tiles sold last night. It’s such a great feeling when my art finds a home. There was also quite a bit of interest in several of my larger wall hangings. I really needed that kind of validation right now.

So - if you have the chance, go see the show before Dec. 1. There’s lots of new work that documents my growth as an artist. If you’re lucky - the plaster mural of a heron will still be on the wall when you visit. I’ll post about that later - the piece is full of personal symbolism and embodies many of the ideas behind my work.

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