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surfers were incredible to watch: they could catch a wave just right and have the wind lift them in their harnesses and take them ten or more metres up into the air before they landed at high speed to chase the next one. With the boards attached to their feet they could go astonishingly fast. I sat for a moment to watch the kite’s progress, just as it caught the wind and the surfer leapt into the air.
    He arced gracefully around to land at high speed on the next wave. With the wind behind him he was flying towards me. As I watched he got closer to the shallows and I heard his board hiss on the water as he drew level with where I was standing. He was so close to the shore that I thought he was about to jump off his board and run up the beach, but he was going too fast for that. He whipped past me, the bright kite almost glowing in the early morning sunshine. Smiling at such an obviously showy manoeuvre, I turned away to continue my walk but I hadn’t gonemore than a couple of paces when there was a horrible cracking noise. Spinning round I could see the kite collapsing about fifty metres further down the beach. There was no sign of the surfer. I watched for a moment, wanting to check that he was OK when he surfaced, but nothing happened. All I could see were the ropes from the kite disappearing under the water.
    I quickly scanned up and down the long beach, but it was still deserted. Long seconds passed and there was still no movement from under the waves. “Oh, please, no!” I exclaimed under my breath as I realised something was badly wrong. I ran as quickly as I could through the soft sand until I was as close as possible. Dumping my shoes and my phone I splashed into the water. It was cold at that time of the morning, and I gasped as the waves soaked me. I was soon wading waist deep to reach the nearest part of the kite. The leading edge was still inflated, and the whole thing looked as if it could take off again at any moment. There was still no sign of the surfer. He had to be trapped or unconscious or something, but he would still be attached to the end of the ropes. I needed to find him quickly. Praying that the kite stayed on the water, I grabbed handfuls of it, pulling it towards me as I half waded, half swam through the surf. How long had he been under? Was it too long?
    “Where are you?” I started screaming. “Help me!” I bellowed, wasting precious seconds to look up and down the beach again. There was still no one around, and the ropes seemed endless as I pulled and tried hopelessly to run through the dragging surf.
    Finally I realised I was pulling against a dead weight, and as the water reached my chest I gave a last heave and dragged the surfer back into the air. The tension in the ropes loosened for a moment and I grabbed him by the shoulder. “Come on!” I shoutedat the motionless body, trying to get a grip on the slippery wetsuit. Finally I got hold of his arm and with a superhuman effort lifted him up and over so that his face was out of the water. I was just reaching over to cup him by the chin and drag him towards the shore when he suddenly started thrashing wildly, coughing a great plume of water up into the air. Gasping for breath he finally found his feet, looking around wildly and pushing his wet hair off his face so that he could see. It was Max.
    “Max!” I screeched. “Max, are you OK? What on earth are—”
    “Quick, get to the top of the kite!” he interrupted me, spluttering. “We have to stop it flying again.” His voice was rough and hoarse, but still recognisable.
    “But how did you—”
    “No time,” he shouted. “I’m hurt. Quickly, keep it in the water.” There was no doubting the urgency in his voice so I turned and thrashed my way as quickly as I could through the waves to the great folds of material that were now billowing ominously on the surface of the water. Praying that it wouldn’t lift off with me hanging on to it, I grabbed the inflatable section of