June Kite Fly, Ocean Shores WA
18 June 2000
I write this report with a touch of sadness, since this will be my last official report as the NFKA scribe. I have accepted a position as chairperson on the Governor's Safety Conference, and immediately following the Conference, in October, I am up for re-election in November. I plan to relinquish my quill to Sir Dennis Crowley, a.k.a. "d", and I sincerely hope he enjoys this position as much as I have.
And now, back to Ocean Shores for an update.
It was a sunny day at the beach, not a cloud in the sky, the wind blowing at 5mph or less. A peaceful kind of day; kids playing, a lone dog running in and out of the water. The kind of day most parents just kick back and nap while the kids play in the surf.
Suddenly, and with out warning, the beach is the scene of a gruesome fight, the likes of which we hope and pray the world will never have to witness again. Blood was spilled (from fingers sliced open by the pitiless string) men cried for mercy, though none was shown, the air was filled with much swearing, and cursing, and gnashing of teeth, as fantastical flying apparitions dove and rose and dove again, sometimes flying straight across the sky, parallel to the ground, mere inches above it, in a dog fight melee, that made children flee and grown men tremble with excitement.
Into the middle of the fray strode Sir Bruce, smooth, confident, a faint smile on his lips, and a definite swagger to his gait. Would Sir Bruce emerge triumphant? Nay, it was not to be so, this day.
King Charles walked up, calm and regal, knowing he was the man to beat.
And verily I say. . . he too was vanquished.
Dennisthebukakingandflyerextrordinaire, would this be his day in the sun? Well, shucks, as usual, he was the one to knock this author out of the round robin. A pox on you and your family, Dennis you cur. I shall get you for this. I know, I will conspire to make him the next scribe. Yes, yes, "d" revenge is sweet, and ever sweeter. Take that, you dastardly spoiler, you. But alas, it was not to be his day to rule either.
Obviously, if you read the last sentence, you know it was not this lowly scribe's day for glory and fame, either. Curses!
A new fighter had emerged on this day. He walked calmly to the field, he brazenly commandeered kites from the best of the builders, he spat in the face of danger, and then, like those before him...John Rusher...rushed into defeat. Damn, John, you were so close.
Jim, the "New Joisey Kid", was the next to fall. All of our icons, all of our heroes, all of our Goliath's were being vanquished. Would a David emerge and win all the marbles? Would this lowly scribe ever run out of mixed metaphors? Would he stretch this report out forever, for the sake of a little suspense? Would he never turn loose that damn quill? Jesus, man, just get on with it.
One by one, they fell. Steve, the Okie from Muskogee, Marlin the Magician, all lay strewn by the wayside, like so many cast off dolls. Carnage was the only word to describe the events of the day. And who were these masters of mayhem? These ogres who could dash another human's spirit as if it were a bug? Who were the men who stood tall as those around them fell? Who were the conquerors?
Sir Richard the Third, Prince Jeffery the Second, and King Brian the First were the best of the best, the crème de la crème, the cats meow, the bee's knees. These three men stood the tallest, on that sunny day, and took no prisoners. Congrats, to all of you, and especially to Flyin' Brian, and his "little wonder" of a kite. Low wind, no wind, or when the winds finally picked up, Brian's kite handled it all.
I was asked to make a special mention of Rich's kite. He was flying a black orcon kite of his own design; he named the Ying & Yang. Rich's Ying & Yang kicked the yingyang of all but two competitors.
Jeff...ah yes Jeff, was armed to the teeth with an orcon "Goldie". My gawd man I didn't think you could ever improve on that kite. But you just had to push the envelope. Nice kite.
In the words of Jimmy Morrison, "what a long strange trip it's been". Thanks for your indulgence, your time and friendship. See you on the battlefield.
Your Humble Scribe