After a few days with little wind on the entire Iberian Atlantic coast, my flat disc is delighted with the forecast on the thermally active beach of Guincho. Shortly before midday, the wind is still blowing 200 metres off the beach. Then it suddenly turns slightly to the west and picks up quickly. A light Swiss is torn across the beach on the 10. I set up the 9er Rally in a stubborn 24 knots.
At the leeward end of the beach, 200 metres away, seven-metre-high cliffs create strong windward eddies and nice breakers, according to the locals. The southerly current also pulls strongly in the water there. If you drift off, the only landing option is a 50 metre wide beach with plenty of rocks 200 metres further downwind. The locals advise swimming out there only with a retracted umbrella.
The waveboards here speak for themselves: hardly any are longer than my twintip, all are narrower. Many have loops. Most of them are riding six or seven metres today. After a botched jump, the first kiter smashes his kite into a wave that is initially still manageable at one and a half metres. He can’t get up and drifts all the way to the beach.
Since last week, people have been pumping up my kite because of my spinal disc. Today is no exception. It’s still shaking with anticipation. I go out. The very first wave throws me into the middle of some surfers. They are friendly, but almost as scared as I am. Further upwind, windsurfers are looping four metres high over mighty waves.
On the open sea, the tips of swells of up to two and a half metres break in the wind. It gets stronger and stronger and, apart from a few minutes of wind holes of around 15 knots, is soon bucking against the Guincho at 25 to 35 knots. As the wind picks up, almost all the surfers head out. The waves, which are now up to two metres high and breaking fast, belong to five kiters alone – and so the Guincho is already quite full.
A local rascal loops his 7 Dice like a madman in the flat water behind the waves up to almost 15 metres. Another kiter breaks his leg in a crash and is taken away by ambulance. All the kites go swimming several times, only a few let the waves go again. The Nortada rips my yodelling disc over the crests of the waves. My kite stays dry, but I often go for a swim.
For the first time in almost exactly 20 years of kitesurfing, I’m just permanently scared for an hour and a half in increasingly violent gusts. A few small kickers should only throw me two to three metres, fully depowered. I hit five, again and again, mildly. Floating downwards, you pull on the bar briefly… and then the next gust lifts you up a few more metres. I’m standing on absolutely nothing.
When the gusts go up to over 40 knots, it’s just enough. The last ten metres of beach before the tide line rise steeply at Guincho. It spits me ashore through a mighty shorebreak. I’m shaking. That was war. My master. The most intense session in 20 years of kiting. Guerra na Guincho…
Frank Woelky, born in 1973. Kitesurfer since 1998. Since 2006, I have been combining kitesurfing and web design on trips lasting several months off the beaten track.