Forty, Fat And Trying! #03 | Forty, Fat And Trying!

INTRO - The final part of a three part series in which Cheryl Harrison attempts to overcome her rheumatoid arthritis and crack the kiting caper. This issue, the journey continues north along Western Australia's mammoth coastline...

Coughing and snorting, the seawater oozing sharply into the back of my nose, I noticed a hissing from the direction of the downed nine metre. As it wrinkled up on its leading edge I wondered if my concern would be better placed towards it, my husband Perry's reaction to what I've done to his favourite kite, or whether that sound could be made by something else... a sea snake perhaps?

Just days after my first truly triumphant planing session, I had been re-aquainted with the small kite. I hate it.

I love my tractor - the sixteen - it's slow and predictable. This little bastard anticipates my every thought, and before I even realize that I've acted upon it, leaves me body surfing and spluttering, clutching for the handlebars. On this occasion, I eventually got packed down and paddled back to shore to find Perry merrily chit-chatting with a stranger, seemingly unaware of my latest ordeal.

Five days later, kangaroo and emu carcasses sprinkled the edge of a parched landscape. Eventually we reached a road two kilometres inland that ran parallel to the beach. There was not a tree in sight, just waist-high scrub to the horizon. We'd travelled 1100 km and finally here it was; the near perfection found only through word of mouth and persistence.

The bay was suitably vast and had a section of super-smooth chest-high water protected from the swell by a small spit. I've never seen water so clear. Unfortunately, every other kiter in west Oz must have heard the tale of this spot and retold it to every other kiter since. It was fantastic though, and we enjoyed weeks of seriously solid kiting alongside eight Swiss couples, two Austrians, a Geordie and countless day-tripping snorkelers. The Park Ranger was all we had to remind us that English speakers hadn't vanished completely.

A carefully paced routine and two weeks in dream-like conditions saw me steadily building on my progress. I had earned my place on the water, and the chorus of European support, if not grammatically correct, had proven very encouraging. It wasn't uncommon to see Karin the Swiss or the big breasted topless Austrian (her name escapes me), run the length of the beach, Baywatch style, to congratulate me on my latest achievement. Pleasant as these images were, it was time to find some civilization. We needed to check the forecast, have my monthly blood test and make plans, so we vacated the camp and headed into Exmouth.

CAPTION - The pink waters of Lake Macleod

Three days of zero wind passed amidst forty-five degrees and a very negative grapevine filtered down from the north. We were having trouble nailing down some likely destinations and were reluctant to drive the 300 km to the next outpost without even a whisper of good kiting. A U-turn seemed on the cards until we picked up a copy of the local rag: 'FLOOD AND TIDAL FEAR AS CLARE LASHES NORTH'.

Clare - AKA Cyclone Clare - was all we needed to convince us that Exmouth and indeed anywhere beyond may not be all that enjoyable. This brought about the most important question - what are my needs? Flat, shallow water, a good cafe and a shady campsite... although not necessarily in that order. A peninsular about 700 km south seemed the likely option. An hour and a half off the highway it boasted tales of a 20 km downwinder in three-feet of water, and a small town with a beachside camp fronted a vast beginners' playground.

Three weeks on and the 'Sting Ray' effect was subsiding. The first time I bounced and wobbled over the top of mum and her two kids I frightened myself into an edge and release that almost looked convincing. Thankfully the sharks seemed to be satisfied circling the outer reef and beyond.

I owe the progress I've made though, largely to Denham's ideal conditions, a great board and the confidence I've gained from having the safety features of our bow kites.

Once a huge issue, my lack of flexibility made getting the board on my feet difficult. The answer to this problem lay in the corner of a local pet shop. Attaching a semi-rigid dog leash to the handle of my Underground 142 bridged the gap nicely. By this time my water starts were second nature and carving upwind had become my new objective.

"All of a sudden something clicks." People have been telling me this for some time and finally I felt this was the day it would happen. An onshore breeze seemed adamant it would block my progress however, and this was a new challenge. I asked Perry for words of wisdom. His reply: "Don't stuff up."

CAPTION - Cheryl Fully lit

A beached fish farm festered to my right and two overweight fishermen had narrowed the gap considerably to the left. Diving the kite I concentrated on using my body weight to my considerable advantage and leant back, digging my heel in as I fended off the approaching beach. Time after time Perry failed to disguise his concern with a wide-eyed expression as I skimmed through the shoreline chop, soaking him with my rooster tail. I smiled and carved out into deeper water, truly feeling like I was leaving all the beginner's antics, the wobbles and the supermans behind me. Oh what a lovely feeling!

I started out twelve months ago with no illusions. Rheumatoid arthritis and kitesurfing don't tend to go hand in hand, but I resolved to be a beacon of optimism and enjoy every moment of the process, however challenging. Why else would I wrap myself in spandex and adorn the world's beaches as the fine figure of a woman that I am? After the last three months of searing sun, you'd think I'd begin to bear the classic bronzed Ozzie look, all be it pear shaped. But after all the knocks, scrapes and water aerobics I look more like a bruised aubergine.

I find myself waking up each morning to a different kind of pain that not even steroids can mask. My best guess is that this is my two-pack dividing into four, or heaven forbid, six! I stretch out and smirk to myself...this kind of pain I can handle.

THE FINAL STOPS: WEST AUSTRALIA SPOT GUIDE

POINT MOORE, GERALDTON 425 km north of Perth. A very nice spit makes for good kiting on both sides. Some flat areas but mostly chop and nice waves. Just 3 km from the centre of Geraldton it's very popular with pole dancers. Renowned for some of the windiest conditions in the country, Geraldton constantly tops 20 knots and beyond throughout summer. Mainly southwesterlies, but the afternoon sea breezes can kick in from the north.	CAPTION - Point Moore
PORT GREGORY 580 km north of Perth. A small cray fishing town on the way to Kalbarri. A bay nicely sheltered by reefs from the ominous swell make this is a great little spot. Shallow and flat through to moderate chop and similar wind conditions to Geraldton. Don't miss the vivid pink waters of Lake Macleod on the way into town - very cool.	CAPTION - Port Gregory
KALBARRI 640 km north of Perth. You can kite the river here (Murchison River). Very gusty wind makes for amusing spectating. 5 -25 knots (all at once) funneling inland from the huge swell on the outside looked scary to me. Set up on the grass right by the beach - very civilized.	CAPTION - Kalbarri
DENHAM 1050 km north of Perth. This spot was perfect for me: the beginner/intermediate just beyond the body dragging stage. Not everyone's cup of tea though as it is very shallow at low tide (2 - 4 feet), and has no waves. Boosting can be tricky at high tide when it gets quite choppy (so Perry tells me). We experienced every wind direction here from on to offshore, but it's predominantly southwesterly (cross-on) 15 - 35 knots May to January.	CAPTION - Denham
THE LITTLE LAGOON 10km beyond Denham. Don't be lured by the calm of this, the most idyllic of kitespots (seriously forbidden fruit). We were practically pumping up the kites before we noticed the STONE FISH warning signs. The locals will delight in telling you that it's "full of 'm". Very nasty little critters indeed. Venom from their spikes will cause excruciating pain and can even be fatal. You gotta love this country!	CAPTION - Little Lagoon
EXMOUTH 1260 km north of Perth. This place is full of surprises, and pleasant ones at that with too many spots to mention throughout the Cape Range National Park. Good for all forms of riding, although we were warned to be careful if lured out to the breaks as the tidal flow is very strong. Drop your kite and there isn't too much between you and Africa. Very consistent 20 - 35 knots, mostly southwesterly (cross-on) and sea breezes kick in around 11 am May to January. We are told August to November is best.	CAPTION - Exmouth