Today began like many of our days in Corpus. We worked in the morning and headed over to Air Base in the late afternoon to hook up with the kiters and catch the evening sea breeze. I launched Brant on the 11.0 (he was testing the limits) and then got in the water with the little red 5.0. I had set aside today to learn how to stay to weather and go upwind. My plan was to go out, come back in, and then walk upwind to where I started from and repeat. Until, that is, I didn't have to walk, and could instead just sail back to where I started from.
So I began along my plan, and after the first leg in I ended up more than 100 yards downwind of the take-out point. So, flying the kite above my head in neutral, I treaded backwards in knee-deep water towards the camper. Brant was zipping back and forth effortlessly, stalling the huge kite to keep from being over-powered. I nearly got back to where I started from, and then took out away from the beach again. When I decided I should turn around and come back in, I casually looked around for jellyfish before settling down into the water to switch my board around. All clear. So I sat back down, and the invisible secret agent jelly wrapped itself lovingly around my thigh.
To Hell with staying upwind.
I got back up on that board and pointed it to the beach the fastest way I could. Of course, this put me about 1/2 mile downwind of the camper (and the MSG), but thankfully my buddy Robert (the champion who had helped me fix up the coolest helmet this side of Shoei) was there with his Xterra to ferry me back to the starting point.
Once there, I sought solace from seasoning, and the sting lessened a bit. Then Bob walked over and said calmly, pointing out at Brant, "He lost his kite."
At first not comprehending, we finally got it. Lost his kite as in gone, no longer attached to him, boom floating listlessly, kite celebrating its freedom on the surface and trying to find its wings to soar. Not good.
Brant was wading as fast as he could towards the shore, pushing his wakeboard in front of him, shouting "Call Pete! CALL PETE!!!!" As he shouted and waded, he walked right into a jellyfish, secret agent jelly no.2, who gleefully wrapped all 345 tentacles around both of Brant's thighs. Timing, gotta love it.
We needed a jet ski. Maybe Pete knew of someone that had one. Meanwhile, the sun was setting, as in darkness, and the purple, as in unable to see in the dark, $1300 kite was floating out into the bay. In less than five minutes, we rigged up the biggest sail we had with us, and Brant tried Rescue Mission #1, to sail out and retrieve the kite. This was an utter failure, since there wasn't enough wind, and the board and Brant from the knees down were underwater, and no amount of pumping the sail was going to do anything akin to windsurfing.
When chaos takes over.
So everything was thrown in the trailer and we headed down the highway, clocking the kite with binoculars as traveling 1/2 mile every 20 minutes. We headed to the marina to try to find someone with a boat, frantically hitting redial redial redial for Pete. Now, the marina was a good 10 miles away from where we lost the kite, and we had about 35 minutes of daylight left. The situation was looking dim, and Brant, usually a stickler for road rules, was encouraging me to break the speed limit. Repeatedly.
Miraculously, redial worked. Pete knew a guy right on Ocean Drive who had a jet ski. With quick directions, we hung a U-ey with our 40-feet and headed back to the house. Brant went in, and emerged 20 minutes shy of sunset with a two-person sea kayak. Not exactly a jet ski, but we weren't in a position to shop around. We slammed the huge kayak atop the huge mess which our trailer had become in the last half hour. The incredible Michael and Gail, owners of said kayak, (the jet ski was next door and away for the weekend) allowed two perfect strangers to drive away with his kayak. Never happen in California.
So we pulled in hastily to the pier next to Shoreline Restaurant, and moved as fast as possible to get that kayak in the water. The owner of the little fishing shop at the pier tried to tell us we couldn't park there. Yeah, right. We quickly helped him understand the urgency of the situation, and how it didn't lend itself to parking restrictions.
So we paddled, and paddled, and paddled, into the wind and up over the waves. We had the kite in our sights, and the sun (or lack of it) at our backs. Every paddle stroke and each wave crest sent salt water into our eyes, but we perservered. And we made it to the kite, and hauled the huge sopping purple giant onto the kayak. The rat's nest of black and red lines piled on top, and we bungied the thing down and turned back toward shore.
All the trouble in a little purple wad.
The sunset was beautiful, and with the wind at our backs, everything seemed calm. Perhaps the acquisition of the runaway kite lent something to that as well. Regardless, we enjoyed the moment. Then we returned the kayak and breathed a long sigh of relief.
And that, without even beginning to convey the frenzy of the situation, is the main reason why you need to wear a leash.
