(Atoll East Side, Raroia, Tuamotus, French Polynesia)
Today I saved Gregory’s life and he won’t admit it. Complete bullshit!
Let me explain.
This morning’s kiting excursion started unlike any other. We decided to launch the kite off Oceanna. Kind of one of those things we had to try at least once and it worked relatively well, though I doubt it will become the norm. With all the kite’s lines, and all Oceanna’s rigging and bits to get hung up on, it’s not necessarily a walk in the park. Explanation aside, Gregory and the kite took off and were water bound for hours.
Yesterday Gregory kited for over three hours before I got the signal to head into the beach to pick him up, so today the hours flew by without a worry. I would casually check once and awhile to spot the speck that was the kite flying somewhere down the atoll and know all was still good. Then after a bit, of what I must admit was unmonitored time, there was no longer any speck to spot. I gave it some time incase the kite was just down and he was working to relaunch it, though there was still no sign of Greg.
I hopped in the dinghy and went searching for my lost flyer. As I made my way down the atoll I scanned the beaches for the kite. I had gone farther than I’d seen Gregory boarding when I decided just a minute more before I turned around. Then from between the brush and coral emerged a moving figure. Gregory and a folded up kite were trudging their way back, crossing the channel between two motus.
I rushed in on my gallant steed, swooped Gregory up into my arms, and returned him home to safety.
That’s how I see it anyways. His view is a little different.
He simply says the wind died out, he couldn’t make it back near the boat, so he packed up the kite and was walking home on beautiful white sand beaches, not a care in the world when I showed up as I rightfully should have and picked him up.
Pfft, I like my version better.