When I was a youngster, my brother and I were flying a handsome purple and blue delta wing kite on the beach in Folkestone (at the south east corner of England). We were supervised by my father, but my younger brother stupidly just let go of the reel while he was taking his turn with it. It wasn't pulled out of his hand - he just opened his fingers and let the thing fly away!
I watched with dismay as the reel flew straight and level away from us parallel with the cliffs, eventually disappearing from view.
We never thought we'd see it again and I was furious with my brother. But then when we were on the beach the following day a man came up to us holding our kite! He'd seen us flying it and spotted where it had landed - in a pine tree at the top of a cliff - and had gone to get it.
Since we had been on the same bit of beach every day he figured he'd find us again, and so he did. The delta kite did many more years of fun flying until eventually the fabric tore and it was grounded.
But we never forgot its lucky return to us!