09/07/2026
Please take a few minutes to read this story about Martial Arts in the PNW. There are many more names that could be added, numerous more stories as well. The original article is 22 pages long. It wouldn't fit here so this is the "social media" version.
If you have some stories to add, if you are named here and have corrections to make, please do so. I'd love this to become a living documentation of the world of Martial Arts in the PNW.
I am humbled to be surrounded by so many good and amazing people.
WATER, STEEL AND THE NORTHWEST
A Martial Arts Culture More Than Sixty Years in the Making
Yesterday morning I walked into a martial arts tournament in Bellevue expecting something much larger.
It wasn't.
But then I started watching.
Practitioners from the Shou-Yu Liang Wushu Taiji Qigong Institute in British Columbia performed Chen and Yang Taijiquan, short forms and sword with remarkable technical depth. I watched Sh*to-ryu karate practitioners demonstrate a completely different kind of mastery—precise, disciplined and deeply rooted in their tradition.
I've spent more than forty years in martial arts, yet these people had developed abilities I don't possess and probably never will. They had simply traveled farther down different paths.
And I found myself wondering:
How much martial arts history is actually sitting around me?
As it turns out, an extraordinary amount.
The Pacific Northwest has quietly developed one of the most interesting martial arts cultures in North America.
Bruce Lee arrived in Seattle in 1959, still a young martial artist. He studied here, taught here, attended the University of Washington and developed some of the ideas that would eventually influence martial artists around the world.
Around him gathered people including Jesse Glover, Taky Kimura, James DeMile and Ed Hart. Glover, Lee's first Seattle student, eventually developed Non-Classical Gung Fu.
It would be wrong to suggest Bruce Lee created the Northwest's martial culture. Japanese, Okinawan, Korean, Chinese and Filipino traditions all developed their own histories here.
But there's something fitting about one of history's greatest advocates for martial exploration developing in a region that would become unusually comfortable with people crossing stylistic boundaries.
Traditional karate was establishing deep roots as well. Julius Thiry founded the Washington Karate Association in Seattle in 1966.
The Northwest also developed a significant tournament culture through people such as Steve Armstrong and later Dan “Super Dan” Anderson, who competed throughout the region and nationally.
Korean martial arts became part of that landscape too. Mike Shintaku opened the Seattle Tang Soo Do Association in 1978 and spent decades teaching and competing. Mike and David Carman would later help continue that open-tournament tradition through Tacoma's City of Destiny Classic.
Then came another enormous influence: the Filipino martial arts.
Professor Remy Presas, founder of Modern Arnis, traveled throughout the United States teaching and repeatedly visited the Northwest. Dan Anderson eventually trained with Presas and later described him as the teacher who helped transform him from primarily a sport-karate competitor into a more complete martial artist.
The fighter hadn't rejected karate.
He had expanded the questions he could answer.
And perhaps nothing represents that Northwest philosophy better than **Water and Steel**.
Created by Kelly Worden, Water and Steel became a gathering where practitioners from different backgrounds could spend days exchanging ideas—Filipino martial arts, Jeet Kune Do concepts, karate, grappling, sambo, weapons, combatives, defensive tactics and more.
James Keating, Ted Lucaylucay, Leonard Trigg, Burton Richardson, Michael Janich and many others passed through over the decades.
In 2026, Water and Steel marked its 45th year.
Forty-five years of martial artists gathering in Washington simply to train, experiment and exchange knowledge.
And that's when this history started becoming personal for me.
I didn't grow up in the Pacific Northwest. By the time I moved here, my own martial journey had already lasted decades through martial arts, law enforcement, security, defensive tactics, fi****ms instruction and personal protection.
When I arrived, I knew very few people in the Northwest martial community.
But I knew, Mike Shintaku.
Shortly after arriving, I visited Mike's school. I took a class. Afterward we went out for a drink and talked martial arts.
At the time, Mike was simply another experienced martial artist I knew.
Only much later did I appreciate that the man whose school I'd casually walked into had already been part of Northwest martial arts since the 1970s.
Mike was one of my first doorways into a community I didn't yet understand.
Then the other names started becoming people.
Several years ago I attended Water and Steel and met, Tim Gustavson, one of Dan Anderson's top competition students and also a practitioner of Modern Arnis.
We started working together.
Tim looked at me and said:
“Oh, somebody who actually knows what he's doing.”
Longtime martial artists understand that statement. It isn't about belts. You recognize experience through timing, structure, balance, pressure and movement.
Tim and I connected. Eventually I spent a weekend at his home. We trained, exchanged ideas and went into the woods and played with sticks.
No tournament. No certificate. No argument about whose system was superior.
Just two longtime martial artists exchanging knowledge.
Later, I interviewed for a position with Security Services Northwest. Doug Tangen was on the interview board.
Water and Steel came up.
Kelly Worden's name came up.
Other familiar names followed.
We discovered a common language.
At work he became Doug One and I became Doug Two.
My own Northwest path continued through Duvall Martial Arts, Eastside Combatives, teaching at Seattle Shaolin Kungfu Academy, and eventually the work I do today through Warrior Path and ETS360.
And somewhere along the way, without really recognizing it, I had become part of the culture I was researching.
Not one of its legendary figures.
One of the thousands.
Because that's the real Pacific Northwest martial-arts story.
It's not ultimately about ten famous people.
It's about thousands of people who walked into dojos, competed in tournaments, attended seminars, became teachers, police officers, coaches and parents, crossed the Canadian border to train, and passed what they learned to someone else.
There is no single Pacific Northwest martial art.
No headquarters.
No founder.
No flag.
There is karate, Tang Soo Do, Chinese martial arts, Filipino martial arts, boxing, kickboxing, Taijiquan, Jeet Kune Do, Modern Arnis, grappling, combatives, defensive tactics and modern combat sports.
Some preserved tradition.
Others deliberately broke from it.
The connective tissue wasn't agreement. It was exchange.
Which brings me back to that little tournament in Bellevue.
Watching those practitioners made me realize something else.
Not everything in martial arts has to “work in the UFC.”
An elite MMA fighter placed into a high-level Chen Taijiquan forms competition would probably perform terribly. That doesn't mean MMA doesn't work.
It means that wasn't the question being asked.
Martial arts can be about combat, self-defense, sport, health, culture, historical preservation, professional application, personal development, artistic expression and community.
A serious martial artist should be capable of recognizing excellence even when it occurs in a discipline he doesn't practice.
Perhaps especially then.
Yesterday I went to a relatively small martial arts tournament.
Instead, I stumbled into more than sixty years of Pacific Northwest martial history—and realized that, somewhere along the way, I had walked into the story myself.
My place in that history is small.
I find that comforting rather than disappointing.
Because none of us owns this.
Not the champion.
Not the grandmaster.
Not the person with fifty years of experience.
Certainly not me.
We borrow the tradition.
We receive knowledge from people who came before us. We test some of it. Preserve some. Change some. Discard some. And, if we're fortunate, pass something useful to another person.
That person changes it again.
That's how a living martial culture survives.
I arrived somewhere in the middle of the story. I'll leave somewhere in the middle of it too.
And somewhere years from now, one of the students being taught in a Northwest dojo today will meet another martial artist.
They'll compare backgrounds.
A familiar instructor's name will come up.
One of them will smile.
Then they'll start training.
And the story will continue.
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