Kite Surfer Under Duress

The wind was already rising when I reached the beach. Grey sky, hard light, the kind of day most people read from behind a window. But the kitesurfers were already out—lines taut, boards skipping through the chop.

What always strikes me about this scene isn’t just the colour of the kites against a flat sky, or the sharp angles they carve into the wind—it’s the resolve. They know what they’re getting into. The cold. The salt in their eyes. The bruises. And they do it anyway. Because this is when it’s real.

That’s what drew me to raise the camera. The same drive, maybe. You don’t wait for golden hour. You don’t ask the sea for better contrast. You shoot when you can, when the moment lines up—whether or not the weather cooperates.

I was standing waist-deep in wind. Hands stiff, viewfinder fogged, water already soaking my boots. But the image started to come together: the curve of the kites against the sky, riders low and fast, framed by churned surf. It felt like a quiet rhythm—man, machine, and sea, each pushing back.

There’s something honest about photographing people who move through discomfort without flinching. It strips everything down. No glamour, no filters, no spectators. Just the craft and the weather it rides in on.

And maybe that’s the link—between the rider holding the edge of the wind and the person holding the lens. Both looking for balance, both a little out of control, both chasing something invisible.