Oliver at Cline Street Sailboards told us about a spot back on the Corpus Christi Bay, that had more side shore winds and flat water...great conditions for learning to kiteboard. Only hangup was there was no beach to speak of, but the road ran right along the shore for a long time, so it was easy to sail downwind and get a pickup when you got out of the water down the beach. He said he would be out there later in the evening, so we parked at a spot close to the end of the road near the Naval Air Station and Brant got out to test the waters at the spot we ended up naming Air Base. He rocked it, and when Oliver and his friend showed up a few minutes after BP launched, they got out there and progressed in the learning phase until one of Oliver's kite bladders broke and cut the session short.
We headed down the highway a ways, looking for a more sheltered area to park for the night. We found one that shielded the outside shower from the wind, and we took advantage of that right away. Fresh hot water in the cool night air, with a view of the ocean just steps ahead.
Thursday morning: Aryn's turn. We rigged the 5.0 kite, and I donned the begginer's kiteboarding suit, complete with lifejacket and helmet. Because of the tricky launch right next to the highway, the entire prep, launch and board mounting was a team effort. We waded out into the waist-deep water, red kite flying overhead emphatically in the gusts. I got the directional board around to the right position, tucked my toes under the footstraps and pulled the kite down. Success! I got up and started planing right away. I could hear BP's cheers in the increasing distance, and I was stoked. Then I got slammed over the front of the board when the 14 mph average wind gusted to 25 on a whim.
AK demonstrating the unglamorous side of kiteboarding.
Then the story splits into two perspectives:
Version via Aryn: No problem, I thought. I pulled the board around in front of me and started over. I got up again, but the ride was much shorter. After a few more crashes, I looked back at the beach. The plan was that Brant would drive along the highway, following me, and pick me up when I finished. Well, the beach was now a hell of a long way away, and the water was no longer waist deep. So, although it's my weaker side by far, I stuck my left foot in the forward strap and pointed the board towards the beach. I moved the kite into the power position, stood up, and got wrenched out of the straps, over the nose of the board, and belly first into the water, while the kite flew on. Short of the story is that I never actually got back up on the board, being more concerned about getting back to the beach before I was blown downwind past the pier pilings we had agreed would be the northern barrier. I spent about an hour trying to make the kite fly me to the beach, and I succeeded in flying past the pilings and heading towards downtown Corpus. My frequent shots up to the beach couldn't site the rig, either. Bummer. A potato-head jellyfish about the size of a basketball floated past me. Whoopee. It just kept getting better. Finally I decided I had to down the kite and swim into the beach, which now was private waterfront homes. I figured I'd be knocking on someone's back door and begging for forgiveness for having washed up on their beach. I struggled with the kite, the current, the wind, the harness, the lines, the board, and the overwhelming desire to curse out loud repeatedly and damn the sport to Hell. Finally I saw Brant wading out to my rescue, and I adjusted my attitude. The best things are worth working at, I reminded myself. Practice makes perfect, I chanted mentally. I narrowly escaped another potato-head encounter, and handed the kite over to Brant with a smile.
Version via Brant:All right! She is going to love this so much! Look at how good she is doing right off the bat. Oh, bad fall. But it happens to all of us. There she goes! Oh. Man, she is really really far out there. I wish I had a jet ski. She'll be fine. Just heading downwind. I'll be able to pick her up just a little farther than we talked about. I'm sure she won't go past the pilings. Oh. Better go drive down there. Uh oh. No place to park. Lemme get the binoculars. Mmmmm. Sirens? Hello, Mr. Policeman.
"Do you know what's going on out there? We've gotten several calls of a downed navy pilot struggling out in the bay with his parachute.*"
"Um, actually that's my girlfriend. She's learning to kiteboard."
OK. Find a place to park. At the college. Convince the parking person I've got to park here for a rescue. Hop on the bike, head down into the residential areas. Problems, can't see the beach anymore. This looks like a good house to stop at. Permission to use your beach to save my girlfriend, please? Thanks. There she is. Having fun, I'll bet. There's nothing better than struggling with a kite and tangled lines for an hour. She's probably elated...smile and wave, smile and wave.
AK after the survival trial.
So we reunited in waist deep water, and I survived. And I will try again. And I will succeed eventually. And I'll take a few more wind lessons before I do (BP's got 16 years of windsurfing under his belt, and my wind experience stops at figuring out how to open the door without getting slammed). But make no mistakes about it, kiteboarding is not a plug-and-play sport for anybody. Especially people named Aryn. We found out later when Brant took out with the same boom I had used that the lines were uneven (making it generally impossible to fly the kite well) and that the wind conditions were the gustiest he had seen in a while. So it was some consolation that my inaptitude was only a part of the equation that led to such a grand failure. Maybe next attempt with even lines and more even wind will help the curve arc more towards the fun factor, and less frustration.
*This is the truth.
