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.

The spot is small. We set up behind the first belt of bushes. Then 50 metres through thorny bushes to the beach. The wind is blowing onshore at 45-65 km/h. The water flies in my face, I get blown over a few times – without a kite. I see 5s, 7s, 9s. That’s it. Scott goes out with a 5 for a while. An 80kg bracker makes 10-second flights with a 7. You don’t need two people to launch here as usual, but three. The third person holds the kite on the ground. The same for landing. I still need a small bow. My C-kite is only about 50% too big.

The jumps are high, very high, up to 15 metres. The landings are sometimes very hard because of the gusts. None of the kiters are doing anything today. But a motorboat driver hits the wind waves a bit hard and dislocates his shoulder. Doesn’t seem to be simulated. I’ve never heard anyone scream like that in my life. I preferred to flee to get my shoulder fixed. Off through the rushes to a hidden beach. A hundred thousand birds are shouting about trespassing.

Scott’s girlfriend Gail drags us to a restaurant that dramatises American health. Yanks eat here, not tourists. The 400g steak costs $10. Including bombastic goulash soup, bread, salad, pasta and vegetables. Stupidly eaten, we head back to San Francisco into the fog at around five. A round of darts in the pool parlour, then some shopping. I’m knackered without kiting.