Windy days in Coeur d’Alene often call me down to the water’s edge. In my ignorant youth, I’d been known for swimming in the biggest storms. Eyeing the speed and distance of the thunderclouds as they drove in over the lake from the south, I was “careful” to get out of the water before the lightning got too close. Stupid, I admit, but there was something about the lake when the wind churned the water into a heaving body of white-caped turmoil that called to me. And it still does.
I found myself one breezy morning at the small beach near Independence Point, walking barefoot along the edge of the water, waves crashing in and washing up my calves. I was tempted to get in but it was early spring, the water was cold and I wasn’t dressed for it. Instead, I settled for wading along the shore. I made my way to the steps of Independence Point, climbed up onto them and continued around toward the city beach. The waves came in hard against the concrete stairs, splashing high into the air and coming down overhead, and making me laugh out loud from the shocking cold.
As I approached the corner of the stairs, movement on the water caught my eye, and I glanced to the west. A man was out on the water, alone. He wore a helmet and wetsuit and had what I thought was a wakeboard strapped to his feet. Above him billowed an enormous kite, by which, he controlled his speed and direction over the choppy surface of the lake. I watched in amazement as he cut through the water, moving to the west so fast and so far that I feared he was leaving. Then, back he came, his kite full with wind, water spraying the air with every slap of his board across a white-capped wave. He was commander of his vessel, master of the elements. And just as I began to wonder if he might be able to fly, he slapped his board off a wave, hauled in on his lines and launched into the air, soaring 15, maybe 20, feet above the water.
I’d never seen anything like it. I couldn’t move. This was it. This was my new favorite sport. I absolutely had to talk to this guy. I had to know what this was, how to get started. What did I have to do? I must have caught his eye while he was flying because as soon as he touched down again he headed straight for me. A thrill went through me as he approached. For a brief moment, I thought he might come right up onto the stairs. He got so close I could see his eyes, his individual teeth when he smiled. He was mere feet away when he pulled up. There was a momentary pause as his kite seemed to stall in the air. “Hey,” he said with a grin, his voice barely audible in the wind. Then, he laid himself backward into the water, popped back up, and jetted off again to the west, leaving me in complete bewilderment and without answers.
This was the first time I was to meet Jeff Yates, but, of course, I didn’t know it at the time. Since that day, the wind has continued to call me down to the water. But now, finally, I know why. I met Jeff again on a day I thought might draw some kiteboarders. I’d recently made a new friend, Andy Harris, and had discovered he, too, was a kiteboarder. We’d discussed necessary wind speeds and the chop of the water on a good kite day. When I reached the shore, Jeff was already packing up.
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“How’s the wind?” I asked, spotting another kiter on the water.
“It sucks,” Jeff said. “Ever been pulled behind a 40-horse ski boat?” I honestly didn’t know if I had but tried to appear as though I understood. Until the other day, I hadn’t cared for water sports. “This is like being pulled behind a 25.”
I looked over his shoulder at the other kiter, who seemed to be struggling. “So, it’s not consistent?” I asked.
“Nah!” he said. “It just suckers you out there and then dies on ya.” The disappointment that crossed his face was brief but deep as he looked out over the water, longing to return. Then, he packed up quickly, clearly in a rush to get somewhere, and headed to his vehicle.
Ask Jeff, Andy, or even Cy Welk — whom I met further down the shore that day, and who was full of helpful and encouraging insight — and they’ll tell you kiteboarding takes a lot of training and a teacher before you should ever get on the water. They’ll also tell you it’s totally worth it.
Now, on windy days, when the waves are choppy and there’s just enough white coming off their tops, you won’t find me at the water’s edge. In fact, you won’t find me anywhere near the water.
Instead, I’ll be out in some open field with Andy, flying a trainer-kite, learning to master the wind and dreaming of mastering the water.
By Toby Reynolds
As Featured In: Winter/Spring 2016