Similar concept used here to stablize the sail in an upright position.
Skip near the end to see this kite powered vehicle demonstrate the physics of kiting/sailing. The opposite forces of the kite and the foil cancel each other leaving only the forward vector.
The Beautiful Hairy
For some strange reason it’s those really hairy aka dangerous sessions that are the most rewarding. So much for self preservation, right? Back in 2001, design-wise, kites were infants and so were we, babes on the water. Every single one of us; kooks starting out. Back then we all wanted to be on the biggest kite we could handle. Now we know how more can be done with less. But then it was the bigger the kite, the higher you could go. When the wind really cranked up, well, things got reeeeally interesting. Some of it was down right crazy in retrospect. Even so, that’s how we got here. And, those were the sessions you can still snuggle up to in your memory over and over again.
Launching a C-kite in 30 kts was intense. The fact was, we would be completely out of control on the beach, having very little resistance on the sand, getting drug mercilessly to the water and into… the unbelievable reality of flying. We paid our dues getting pummeled, tea bagged, and hucked. It’s how we got here.
I’m not trying to say we weren’t careful. We considered the weather carefully, judged the currents, took note of obstacles, in every way we could, we took it all very seriously. We had to. Kiting was dangerous and we were caught in the grip of an addiction. Each new challenge or discovery opened doors for new challenges and new discoveries.
On those over-powered days, you couldn’t de-power the kite for the monster on the other end pulling you towards a beating. Holy shit, the damn thing’s at the edge of the window and it’s still pulling like mad - like playing tug of war with the devil. But we figured out that if you had to, you could go the wrong way to put the devil in his place. This was the stuff that put the proverbial hair on our chests. And we’ve gotten pretty wooly over time.
So it’s hard to decide what the very hairiest and scariest of all was but I have something in mind; because hairy can be beautiful too. First we have to define what hairy is. Hairy unfortunately has not been answering the phone for an official answer, but for the sake of this discussion, let’s say hairy is on an old 12 M C-kite when it’s blowing 20 knots plus, it’s usually off-shore wind and cold and ideally includes waves. In practical terms hairy is past the point where I can keep the kite from dragging me down the beach.
On this particular day it’s cold but sunny, the wind is blowing N over 20 knots and gusty, and we are at the S end of Folly beach, all the way at the bend so the wind is side-shore relative to the beach here. It’s low tide coming in, and the sandbar formation at the inlet and further out is extensive; a pretty set-up for sure. We’re riding between the bars, up into the inlet, and across the passage having a blast.
At this point, because there are no waves involved and I’m sheltered on the inside of the sandbars, everything is too tame to be called hairy just yet. But, like a dream, the waves are calling me and tentatively I answer, making my way downwind out between sandbars; seaward. As I get closer to the break, just there across a short section of shallow water going across the outer bar I see her, she is truly beautiful with the spray misting off into the ocean, I wave to her wondering if I should go over and introduce myself. To my astonishment she winks at me! Well, clearly I have to walk over to say hello. “Don’t I?”
So, I let the devil, who is now riding on my shoulder, talk me into it. Here is the wind going almost straight off-shore, I’m a bit over-powered but all the better to edge upwind, I think to myself. There is lightly churned butter seperated by whitewater waves tumbling towards shore like ripples in a calm pool, little girls in the shallows. Where are your older sisters little ones?
I feel like I’m breaking all the rules. My friends are not too far away. At least someone knows I’m out here. Out in the break zone it’s not a big day; only waist to chest high but very clean. The waves are coming in parallel with my path on a port tack, each one a short wall of water forcing it’s way toward me until it has me riding along the wall like a nascar driver except this wall has somewhere to go, pushing its way right through me until it has forced me over its top, pushing hard against the wind towards to the beach. The next wave marches steadily toward me and this time, pushing hard as it begins to put the squeeze on me again, I send the kite up and back, and I push as hard as I can on the wall of water pushing back and launch like a rubber band, up, up, up, and over… one, two, three, four waves beneath me. Holy shit I think. This is awesome.
Now is probably a good time to take a tack back in towards shore. Definitely. Edging hard at only a slight angle to the beach, the incoming waves are now just ridable and when I say rideable I’m not talking about making any turns. The angle wouldn’t tolerate that. What I should say instead is that the waves make like an elevator which as long as a beat it hard upwind, allow me to stay on the face. This gives a different kind of boost to my upwind progress and has me back to the bar in no time. It’s a virtual boost machine going out, jumping 3 or 4 waves at a time and then a virtual elevator on the way in. I stay out here for half an hour getting the biggest jumps of my life and then feeling like I’ve pressed my luck enough, I head for the inlet. The current is coming in and I’m steadily getting back to the beach proper.
This was a session that I’ll never forget. And though it wasn’t technically as hairy as other darker curlier ones, this one was the kind that’s just sheer beauty to run the fingers of your memory through, one that changes the rules. I wouldn’t recommend this to anyone, seriously, don’t do this, but if you just can’t resist the sirens call and you weigh all of the conditions, your equipment, the tide, the warmth of your wetsuit, and your up for some sick jumps, this is it; the beautiful hairy.
