Go fly a kite

Maybe you’ve already figured it out.
If not, let me state it for the record: I believe an outdoor column should allow for all things outdoors. And I feel appreciative that sports editor Karl Zinke (as well as his bosses) have given me leeway in occasionally writing about things that are “outdoors” but not traditionally found in these kinds of newspaper venues.
I love hunting and fishing. And like any outdoor writer, I certainly have my favorite versions. In the spirit of full disclosure, I prefer the bow. And I’d say it’s a toss up between the largemouth and the rainbow that will cause me to call in sick.
But I gotta tell you I also have an equal love affair going with my Stumpjumper mountain bike, pitching wedge, bottom-scarred kayak, grow-native garden, finch feeders and, certainly, the conservation mission that our state is so admired for. So thanks to Karl, but most of all you, for supporting my divergence from the conventional consumptive topics.
OK, with that disclaimer, let me also declare how fascinated I am with kites, whether they be the simple paper ones or the monstrosities that have to be anchored down by steel cable. Kites make us all children, evoking a time when we were first introduced to this mesmerizing magic of launching a vibrant triangle into a parrot-blue sky with a mere string and a wisp of a breeze.
Tie on a tail of rags, dash head long into the wind … and let go. Up, up … it was as though you yourself were suddenly darting skyward, the spool of string whirling madly. Then after the frenzied lift-off, that eventual moment of calm suspension; your tailed vessel leisurely swaying from right to left. Seemingly, time became suspended as well. With the slight tug of the line in your hands, one had the feeling you and your kite could remain aloft forever … or as long as mom was not calling you for dinner.
As you can tell, my interest in kites is more poetic than scientific. I subscribe to the magic, not the physics. I don’t want to know the comprehensive components of either construction or technique. I don’t want someone to tell me you’re not supposed to run to launch a kite. I like the feel of the outdoors on my cheek as I do so.
And when my string broke on my Superman kite while it was 500 feet in the heavens, I chose to believe it was forever to be lost in space … not the maple on the other block.
Yes, I know there are all kinds of kites, from parafoils to stunt to fighting to box to snowflake kites, and I love them all. But my favorites are the simple, fragile kind that ultimately you see stuck in the branches of a tree. My two favorite kites, in fact, have never been flown nor will they ever be. They are from Pakistan, sent to me by my son while he was in the region on a reporting assignment. He knew of my interest in “The Kite Runner,” the amazingly touching story by Khaled Hosseini.
There are many devotees of kite flying, though, that have made it the better part of their off-hour lives. They write the books, join the associations and put on the exhibitions for the rest of us.
In fact, there will be just such a demonstration on Saturday, June 7 at Bass Pro’s Outdoor World when Independence celebrates EcoFest. Members of the Kansas City Kite Club will have some of their airships up that day. Earlier this spring, they were flying their colors at Longview Community College in Lee’s Summit.
“They’re not just kites anymore,” explained Bill Timmerman, a spokesman for the club.
In fact, the skies over the community college that afternoon looked more like some surreal aerial circus of invading spaceships. Myself and others simply stood with our heads tilted upward, gawking in disbelief at the subject matter and graphics of these wind socks the size of Zeppelins.
“See that black-headed thing? It’s called a TriloBite. That’s a small one.”
“Wait a minute,” I shot back. “Are we looking at the same thing? That looks like the size of the new Centerpoint Medical Center. Nothing small about it.”
“No, take my word for it … that’s a small one. The world’s largest is called MegaBite and it’s over 10,000 square feet of fabric. You could park 20 buses in it.”
Or what nations took to battle in World War I.
One of these colorful blimp-like kites would be curious enough, but to see dozens of them flapping and filling the space above Longview Lake was almost overwhelming.
“Really, this is not extreme,” he said, gazing at the dragon, sea-monster and cartoon characters floating lazily above us. “This is just a reason to get out into the fresh air.”
My sentiments exactly. Only this is what I consider taking kite flying to a new height. Literally.