Another windless day passes. I’m working on a thank-you poster for all my hosts. The house and me, alone. I head to the beach again in the evening. For free, as expected. At a good Mexican restaurant, I treat myself to a club, firm and liquid. Back home again. My surfing in Hawaii has so far only taken place on the Internet. Desolate kite lulls me into a restless sleep.
The next morning I am woken by the unfamiliar sound of moving leaves. Only briefly, then it’s over. I fall asleep again. Shortly before midday it’s clear: there’s finally wind today. Not much, just enough. Once more than the forecast, so far it’s always been 5 miles less in Kailua. My last day in Hawaii. Kitesurfing at last. (more…)
Waiting for wind in Windward Oahu
My new home is just 2 kilometres from a large army base. The huge Galaxy transport planes come in every five minutes. They are flanked by small security Cessnas or Chinook helicopters. That’s what I call fear in your own country. You can’t blame the soldiers. It wouldn’t be the first time here that a president has had 2,000 soldiers barbecued for a reason for war.
Despite the proximity to the base, it’s wonderfully quiet here. But compared to Waikiki, even a jackhammer is quiet. I check the wind on the other side of the bay on the internet and after 11 weeks of almost no kitesurfing, I finally head to the Mecca of kitesurfing on Oahu, Kailua. (more…)
Grand Canyon & Lake Powell
I thought the owner of the hostel in Flagstaff was an Irish alcoholic. I mean an Irishman. When we said goodbye, he said a few words in German. Excuse me? I see. A native of northern Bavaria from Hof. The world is shrinking again. I have to move on to make it bigger.
Heading north across the Arizona steppe. With the top down, I’m amused by Boss Hoss, Jesus built my hotrod. The side canyons of the big one look much better. Crazy colours and much better light today. Constant police checks annoy me. Probably 10 times more often than in Germany. (more…)
Flying water on Sherman Island
Scott wakes me up around 11 a.m. Kiting? Sure. Emergency restoration, quick breakfast and off to the delta behind San Francisco Bay. Our destination is Sherman Island, a very special kind of choppy shallow water spot. I’m already wide-eyed on the journey. The fog clears and the necessary temperature difference is created. The wind is getting stronger and stronger. We arrive around one o’clock after an hour’s drive. Lots of kiters between the rushes. The “real” pros have – no joke – wind turbines on their campers to generate electricity. Should be worth it here. We head to the beach. (more…)
San Francisco: Kitesurfing & Nightlife
Scott wakes me up at 8.30am. Surfing? Me? Nope…but watching, swell should be good. We drive to Ocean Beach south of Golden Gate. I see the happiest dogs in America so far. Their masters are grinning too. Don’t pick up any poo. The Pacific will be fine. The waves look mean. Only 1.5 metres but completely unpredictable. Sometimes they break like this, sometimes like this, and never in the same place. In between, rip currents everywhere, many drowned here. After my first cigarette, I exhale a few times in amazement. What, smoke comes out that long? Nope. It’s just so cold that my breath condenses. On land, I’m delighted with my long-sleeved neoprene. Hemingway says: “The coldest winter I ever experienced was the summer in San Francisco.” (more…)
Redwood National Park
I’ve been looking forward to this day for a long time. I drive back up the 101 to the north into Redwood National Park. Low clouds roll in from the Pacific over the first hills. I leave the motorway at the first opportunity and head along gravel tracks right next to the coastal cliffs. Signs warn of “sneaker waves”, unexpected and unrhythmic breakers on the beach that sweep away and drown a person every year.
The redwoods only occur in isolated places in the park. I don’t think the largest concentration was in the National Park, but 50 miles north near Crescent City in the State Park directly on Highway 101. The real 2000-year-old giants are hiding here. You have to ask and look. (more…)
Along the River Gorge
In the morning, the wind is already picking up right outside the school on the edge of the valley. I’m not going to miss anything today. Over to Hood River, buy a bus ticket and off to Pasco, Washington. I arrive there around 14:30, half an hour late. On to the airport. My new car is waiting. Another seven days without lugging equipment and travelling for miles. I drive back west along the Columbia River.
On the journey, it becomes clear why it’s such a drag. Here in the east, Oregon is a real desert steppe. It’s over 30 degrees and very dry. Not a cloud in sight. All the hills are golden. And if they are green, then only in circles. (more…)
20 minutes of Kite bliss
Glück|see|lig|kite [f] means: the right wind in the right place with the right kite.
Only after a few hours of lying around in a weak wind around 25km/h does the wind finally pick up in the early afternoon at Hood River. I’m out immediately and do a few laps. Strange: the wind is fairly constant on the ground, but quite rough at kite height. After just 20 minutes I have the feeling that the wind is getting stronger, much stronger. Fully depowered, I can barely keep contact with the ground. The feeling is not deceptive. A gust pulls me out of the water and hurls me right in front of a small kite school group. (more…)
Gruesome kite on the Columbia River
Grue|some|kite [f] gruesome kite refers to adverse conditions that prevent you from kiting. The heightened form of gruesome kite is usually seen at perfect kite locations in the form of unsuitable material after dragging across entire continents. A special form of gruesome kite is the sudden change from several completely wind-free weeks to unkiteable choppy winds. The feeling of happiness is similarly high: Shooting wasabi peas out of your nose and biting your own arse. (more…)
Wiiiiiind!
I hung some things up to dry during the night. That was a mistake. They are even wetter in the morning. With an extra 5kg of weight, I travel back to Portland by bus and then further up the Columbia River. Basalts, twisted at an angle next to the road. Wide river, but little space: high mountains on both sides. On the Oregon side, low clouds cling to the mountains. On the Washington side, it is increasingly clearing up.
An hour upstream, the sun finally comes out. In its rays I see wonderful trees: all the branches are pointing upstream. Now that’s something. After a bend in the river, the bus suddenly starts to rock. White whitecaps in the middle of the river. At last! (more…)
Downtown Chicago & No Kitesurf
The next morning I go straight into the city, I didn’t even notice David coming home yesterday. Taking the L-Train into the city is much more fun than in New York. There’s simply more to see above ground. I ride the Loop once and then walk through the Merchandise Mart, one of the biggest department stores in the world.
I walk along the Chicago River, then on to the Sears Tower. Good exhibition about historic skyscrapers. Then it’s up to the top, at breakneck speed. 110 floors in 60 seconds. (more…)
The Author
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.