Here is a little story I hope amuses and not offends.

It is Friday, you have been stuck at a job all week with only one thought that makes your lowly existence worthwhile.

Saturday

Saturday is the only day for a month that you can go for a ride. Saturday is the day you have pinned your hopes on in a week of drudgery and abject misery.

What’s the forecast??

Please, Please, Please give me a wind. Just a little, 12 knots?? 15??.

And the forecast for Saturday is 10 knots in the morning building to a steady 20 knots NE from midday.

20? North East?

But that is perfect. It never blows from the North East and never, never 20 knots. That means it will be blowing across the sandbar. It must be high tide in the arvo. It couldn’t be low tide. This is too good to believe. Low at 2.00. There IS a god in heaven.

So, Saturday arvo, you pack your gear say goodbye to “She Who Must Be Obeyed” who says “You haven’t done the mowing and that dog of yours needs a bath. He’s been rolling in something again”. This is converted in your fevered and somewhat demented mind as “Go forth my mighty bronzed warrior and battle tempest and raging waters. Return home to me and I’ll prepare a great feast as thanks for your safe return”.

On the beach. You can spot your fellow surfers by the way they hold strange devices to the wind and scan the horizon for the faintest ripple on the calm and azure seas. The forecast was for 20 knots so in spite of what most sane people would do, you rig your gear and wait. And wait. And wait. And wait.

Nothing. What went wrong? The forecast was for 20 knots. Has God himself been dethroned from Heaven and the Dark Prince now reign in his stead, laughing at the games to be had with such gullible fools. So with heavy heart you unrig your sail and return home, not as some conquering hero but just a sad and broken figure.

So once again you listen to the weather.

What a wonderful day today. 25 degrees, fine and not a breath of wind.

How is this possible? How can someone so heartlessly break someone’s spirit, tramp over them with so much glee and get away with it with nary a care?

Blah, Blah, Blah 25 knots NE.

Hang on what was that. 25 North East?? Are we doing anything tomorrow?

So once again thoughts of skimming across the water, being one with the sprites who reside in the oceans and play with dolphins flood your fevered brow. A hero, a colossus envied by non-surfers, admired by your peers and even some grudging respect by a couple of enlightened kiters intelligent enough to appreciate the complexities of our sport.

You turn to your beloved and she utters the words that only a married man can appreciate the true horror of hearing. “But you promised me you would take me to see my mother”.

This is one of those defining moments in life. Are you going to be a hero, carried on shoulder, laurel wreath placed on your brow and shown to the crowds as a man to be admired, looked up to and something young children are urged to aspire to.

Or are you going to be a man without courage, a shell, someone who looks like a man but in reality is hollow, callow, a lowlife, one without the internal strength or conviction to call himself a sailboarder. One who should rightly be called a KITESURFER!!

This is where you can tell if you are a man or not. You reply with the only two words you can. The two words that prove you are truly under the thumb.

“Yes Dear”.

To any kitesurfers who read my little story. I apologize if I offend. I only used these words for affect.
Thanks to Jimmy who gave me the germ of the idea for the story and a great day on Saturday.