A male kite venturing out into Pakpao territory is any female?s game and vices versa. Sometimes the male is the aggressor, choosing from the pool of flirting wallflowers the Pakpao he thinks he can bring home, like choosing an unknown partner at a dance,
and often with as calamitous a result. At other times, a Pakpao may find herself in a position for a Leap Year approach and will swoop down and lasso an unsuspecting male.
No male dies without a struggle, nor does any female, but the wails of anguish are greatest at the Chula end of the field when one of its members is in jeopardy. Thus, for the spectator, the best position for viewing a competition is a close as safety and the
and the officials will permit to a Chula team.
The team members work under the directions of a captain who indicates his will by
blowing a whistle. The Chula captain takes over at critical moments during a catch, with the team standing by, slack end of rope in hand, waiting for the moment when the bamboo barbs take hold. When a catch is made a specially-designed brass pulley
is snapped over the flying line and, to the rhythm of his whistle, the Chula is raced home with its prey.
When a Pakpao succeeds in throwing her loop around a Chula, or when, as often happens, the agile little creative takes the wind out of the Chula?s big sails by laying herself flat against his surface and causing him to loose his balance, the Chula captain immediately sounds the alarm. His whistle shrills faster and faster, driving his team to pull harder and race each other out and back on the rope for the final desperate and
heroic effort to keep their ensnarled warrior in the air and bring it back to the safety of its own territory.