PRETTY FLY FOR A KITE GUY

It was as my arms tired, my feet began to lose their grip and the rocks loomed closer that I began to have a few regrets. One was that I had agreed to spend what would otherwise have been a perfectly relaxing Sunday afternoon trying out the strangely monickered sport of Power Kiting. Another was that I had forgotten how to safely bring down the kite I was flying. Yet another was the fact that the only person I knew who could do so was now the length of a beach away, his final instruction to me a simple "don't let go."
Abandoning any pretence of fine control, I was happy to send the kite crashing to the ground a (relatively) safe distance from the nearest group of people. As I hurriedly lobbed handfuls of sand onto the sputtering canvas, I wondered, not for the first time that day, about why people do this for fun.
It all began, as these things often do, in conversation with Sheila Convery, Assistant to the Editor at hotpress. She was wondering if I could do her a favour, she said. Oh dear, I said. She was having a bit of trouble getting someone to do something, she said. Um, I said. Kite-karting, she said. Uh? I said. Ah, g'wan, she said. It'll be great. And lo, a day later the ageing Stanagemobile was juddering across the sands of Dollymount Strand, its occupants (yours truly and snapper Declan English) with their eyes peeled for kites, karts or anything that looks vaguely like it could be a hybrid of the two.
After a few false alarms (the similarities between a kite-kart and a big black dog are remarkable if the light falls a certain way), we successfully located Clive Rowen and his fellow Power Kiting enthusiasts. Rowen, the affable head honcho of Temple Bar's Skate City is a font of knowledge about various cult sports, and had first become curious about Power Kiting after seeing it on TV. Finding that it was virtually impossible to get the right equipment in Ireland, he began importing the kites himself. Of his first attempts at actually flying the things, he laughingly says, "I nearly totalled myself."
Although the sport is very new to Ireland, it is becoming increasingly well established in the UK and US. Dublin boasts about 15 Power Kiters who, according to Clive Rowen, "come out here every Sunday, irrespective of the conditions."
Clive explained the basics of kiting before allowing me to make a first effort - the kite is controlled via two steel bars, save for the mega-powerful kits for which a protective helmet and harness is recommended. Variations on simple movements of the bars enable anyone with sufficient expertise to execute myriad impressive manoeuvres. When done right this seems effortless. When done by your correspondent it results in everything from the kite's strings to limbs becoming entangled immediately.
The appeal of Power Kiting lies in what Clive refers to as "the adrenaline rush". In fairness, with just one afternoon's practice even I could progress from utter ineptitude to bare competence, and that was sufficient to see what Rowen meant. Power kiting is an exhausting but exhilarating experience, with the effort to keep control a relentless thrill.
As for karting, a mere novice like myself was not going to be let near a machine with no brakes, the capacity to career across the beach at 60mph, and steering totally dependent on the driver's kiting ability. Broken bones, I was warned, would ensue. Clive nevertheless gave a suitably impressive demonstration, though even he was getting slightly flummoxed by the strengthening winds.
It was also due to these conditions that Clive was summoned away to assist someone else, leaving me in control of the kite. Which was nice. Until my arms tired. And my hands burned. And the kite started pulling me. And the rocks loomed, but, hey, if you know what you're doing it's great fun.