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The Quiet American - By Tim Platt
As Printed In, And Courtesy Of Australian Yachting

Tim Platt travelled from Marblehead, Massachusetts, for the chance to race to Hobart in 2004. This is his story of the great race viewed through American eyes.

On a hot early morning three days before Christmas, I made my way slowly by bus and train from Sydney International Airport to board the 38' yacht Epsilon at Rushcutters Bay. My objective: the Cruising Yacht Club of Australia, a co-host along with the Royal Yacht Club of Tasmania of a veritable icon of Australia's summer sport, the 60th running of the Sydney-Hobart Yacht Race.

My seven new crewmates, a versatile group of Aussie blokes with combined experience of more than 100,000 miles of offshore sailing and racing, extended a unique greeting to me as the boat's only full-blown Yank.

A picture from a cherished Lipton Ice Tea advertisement would foretell my imminent immersion in the Sailing World of OZ: "More refreshing than a quiet American."

The crew gave me my first lesson on the importance of being quiet, when they sincerely incorrectly heard the word "racks" when I pointed to the hazard that earlier this fall had upended the yacht Financial Times in front of the Sydney Opera House. Apparently, my reference, with a proper Bostonian twist, to "rahhhks" did not comport with the expected Aussie pronunciation, "rawwwks". Thereafter, they rarely missed an opportunity to joke about the racks. And of course, they laughed at my buoy to their "boy" at all roundings.

We would spend the remaining time before Boxing Day in earnest preparation for the race. This much we shared in common with the other boats bobbing quietly alongside pontoons protruding westerly from the CYCA's pier.

In many respects, however, our experience would differ from the higher-end campaigns of the other 115 boats in the fleet, many of which had corporate sponsorships and most of which were backed by ROs courting coverage in yachting's largest annual media event.

Michael "Trompy" Tromp

Epsilon's owner is Michael "Trompy" Tromp, a soft-spoken world-class 33-year old sailor who had built the boat by hand in his own garage over a three-year period, following his return from sailing a different vessel around the world. Trompy had been kind enough to invite me to fill out his crew after he and his regular Hobart crew Amy Jordan had joined me last summer in the '04 Newport-Bermuda Race. As had been the case in 2001 when Trompy scored a Division C win in the Hobart Race, we would launch this effort sharing expenses and without new sails and halyards. Accordingly, the crew slept on board both before and after the race, and we ignored the cool damp weather on Christmas Day to enjoy a daylong picnic in the nearby park.

The weather prospects and bluebird skies of race-day morning were considerably brighter than the Bureau of Meteorology's preliminary forecast of only two days earlier, whose calls for a southerly buster had left skippers and crew anxious and family members tense with inevitable comparisons to the tragic 1998 race. Thus, when we checked in with a race committee vessel at 1130 hours near Chowder Head and across from Shark Island flying the required trysail and storm jib, hundreds of spectator boats and thousands of shoreside fans shared our excitement and enthusiasm in looking forward to a spinnaker run before northeasterly breezes of 20+ knots for the first 24-30 hours.

GLOSSARY OF TERMS It has been said that the United States and Australia are two English-speaking countries separated by a common language. This is how Tim Platt translated some Aussie terms for North American readers. Racks or Rawks: rocks Boy: buoy Buster: storm with high winds Heads: steep rock cliffs at eastern mouth of Sydney Harbor Skeds: periodic radio reports of yachts' positions Daks: shorts; underwear Brekky: breakfast Scroggin: trail mix; GORP Beanie: wool or fleece hat Puffed: tired Jumper: sweater or fleece jacket Torch: flashlight Spew: throw up, especially from seasickness Milo: an instant hot chocolate brand Tim Tams: chocolate covered wafers Boag's: superior Australian brewed beer Brace: spinnaker guy

As a smaller boat, Epsilon started on the fleet's second line, 200 yards behind the super-maxis and the other Division A and B yachts. A blatant foul by a barging boat moments before the gun largely wiped out the advantage we had created by being at the line with a clear lane and accelerating boat speed. When coupled with the lowest handicap not only in our 19-boat Division C but also lower than any entry in Division D, our slow start gave us time to observe not only the supermaxi Nicorette place her bet on an easterly strategy by banging a left after she was the first to round the glorious Heads at the eastern end of Sydney Harbor, but also a long parade of chutes setting in front of us that, following the other supermaxis Skandia and Konica Minolta, would mostly pursue a rhumb line course of 182°.

The initial forecasts called for the wind to shift gradually to the southwest by Monday evening, so we decided to play the trailing East Australia Current approximately 10 miles offshore but otherwise favoring the inside or western lane down the coast.

The favorable northerly continued through Monday sunrise, but as the wind swung to the west and we exited the trailing current, we decided to head southwest in towards the Coast, both to obtain relative shelter from the expected storm swell but also to leverage our advantage to come from the forecasted southwesterly winds.

Paid dividends

Initially, this strategy paid dividends. It appeared that, as one of the western-most boats in the fleet, we would be well positioned to ride the storm and the waves on a long starboard tack as we headed east, back across the rhumb line. By Monday afternoon, we had found the storm that, over the next 60 hours, would bring sustained breezes between 40-60 knots, average swells of 5-7 meters, top waves of 9-10 meters, and steady rain and even hail. In typical Aussie fashion, "pretty strong breeze" became the understated label for the storm. During some of the first squalls on Monday, our B&G wind instruments would display steady readings between 75-87 knots!

Given the wind direction and storm conditions, the trip log would be considerably longer than the approximate 200-mile rhumb line distance across the Strait. Trompy took this responsibility seriously, and it was only after full consultation and careful deliberation that we left Gabo Island behind us on Monday night as we ventured out in to Bass Strait, rather than seeking shelter in Eden, a small fishing village on the southerly coast of New South Wales.

Unlike boats and landbound spectators with Internet access, we would not learn until much later that this choice would soon advance our relative Class and fleet position, as the Race would become one of attrition.

Under Trompy's watchful eye, our priorities were preservation first, racing second: sail the boat fast and hard while preserving the crew, the boat, the rig, the sails and the running rigging, in approximately that order of priority.

We would be puffed, wet and bloody cold for more than two days, making it a time for uncommon determination. We set the storm jib, and usually carried three full reefs in the main. The night watches were particularly difficult, with low temperatures ranging from a low of 7°C (@ 43°F), so we limited their duration to three hours. Minimum dress included polypro Daks, thermals, jumpers and other middle layers, Gore-Tex® foulies, sea boots, beanies, offshore winter sailing gloves, and water-resistant torches for night work.

In the trying physical and emotional conditions of the storm, three members of Epsilon's crew would become seasick, but each performed full duties on- and off-watch despite spewing regularly over the side, sleeping poorly and feeling nauseous - all in an Aussie-day's work.

A more pervasive malady was gunwale bum, which in a midnight moment induced by sleep deprivation was shortened amid hearty laughs to "Oh sailor boy, I have a Moist Arrrrssse." The stormy seas also shortened our appetites, which was fortunate, because the galley and its contents were pitching and heaving for the duration of the Gale. We feasted on such Aussie staples as Milo and biscuits for brekky, scroggin and Tim Tams for supper, and fruit and granola bars for snacks.

Tuesday's skeds brought reports that Skandia had been compelled to retire due to extensive damage to her hull.

Bet on the wind

Elsewhere, Nicorette's early Eastern strategy seemed to be vindicated by the 55' Jason-Ker designed British yacht, Aera, which had also bet on the wind going left and benefited from a late-storm shift to ride the southeaster in to Hobart to win Division A, beating Nicorette on corrected time by over 4 hours.

Shortly before Aera finished, we sustained our only significant injury of the Race, when Trompy's uncle, having recently gone off-watch, was propelled off his starboard bunk when Epsilon crashed off a quartering wave and ricocheted off the cabin ceiling to bang his head on the dinette table on his way down.

With nary a wimper, he pulled himself off the cabin sole and woke me and his other watch-mates with the simple plea, "Tim, move, I have a hole in my head."

The weather forecasted that Wednesday's southeasterly gale-force winds would swing back to the southwest as they moderated, so Epsilon was confronted with what turned out to be the strategic turning point: maintain our newly acquired eastern advantage over the rest of our division by continuing on the starboard board, hoping that the 24-36 hour winds would stay left, or instead follow a logical option based on the public forecast and sail a long port tack back in toward the coast of Tasmanian

In the absence of a pre-race strategy to stay east, we opted for the latter course, and switched over to the port board and headed West, in search of better pressure and leverage from the predicted southwesterly breeze.

Thursday morning's sked from Hobart Race Control, the successor radio relay vessel, brought good news: the storm was over; the southerly breeze had moderated to 25 knots; the forecast continued to call for a steady southwester; and we had cleared Flinders Island, which marked the southern bound of Bass Strait. The midday sked on Thursday put us in an even better mood: we had climbed to second in our division, and the Four Seasons forecast continued to call for a major shift to the southwest.

Rock on

With renewed spirits, we were ready to rock on. The Tasmanian wind gods had other ideas, though. Instead of steady pressure, they served up declining and then light and variable winds for the balance of the race. Worse still, the wind never went right. Through mid-morning Friday, the wind swung back to the southeast, and Epsilon's luster faded quickly. The only thing that was rocking on Thursday night was the hull, in the gradually fading post-storm swell, as we struggled to make way in the direction of the Southern Cross.

Friday after sunrise, we finally rounded Tasman Island, the first major turning mark of the race - some 550 miles from the Heads.

Shortly before the rounding, the crew awoke my off-watch with the command, "Mate, some Rack there, eh?"; and, "Sailor, where's the turning 'Boy'?"

The weather forecast called for a midday windshift to the northeast, but it never came. Instead, we flew the chute before a gradually building southerly through Storm Bay and then up the Derwent River, making our last call-in to Hobart Race Control at the river's mouth.

We were fortunate to finish during daylight, because the approach is truly majestic: the finish line at Battery Point is in the foreground of Hobart's glittering skyline and is framed by Mount Wellington to the West and the Hobart Bridge to the northeast, with thunderous applause from thousands of well-wishers lined up on shore and at the docks -- a perfect ending to a grueling 628.3 nautical mile endeavor. Following our fateful strategic call Wednesday afternoon to head West, we never had a shot at a podium finish, but we celebrated the triumph of our arrival with gusto, good cheer, and cases of Boag's and Mount Gay, capped by an awesome fireworks display that happened to coincide with a New Year's Eve harbourside celebration.

Nearly half the fleet-57 boats-retired rather than risk further or major damage to life, limb or property; finishing times were relatively slow; and the last boat, Gillawa, did not reach Hobart until Monday morning January 3, 2005, taking a total of 7 days 19 hours to complete the Race.

Fellow yachties from other small boats tied up to Constitution Dock after the Race confirmed that our damage tally was typical: we blew out two kites and repaired one of them; tore, stripped and repaired two halyards in several places; caught a brace wrapped around the propeller; poked a hole in and repaired the mainsail during the storm; ascended the mast twice; and threw in numerous reefs, reef shakes, and headsail changes, often in miserable conditions, but always in the name of fun.

My only directly comparable prior offshore experience had been in the 1982 Newport-Bermuda Race that took us through the Gulf Stream in the tail end of a tropical storm. Although my memory is clouded by the passage of time, I recall the '82 race as being very challenging, but would say that the '04 Hobart Race was tougher in almost every respect.

The author races Etchells from his home port in Marblehead, Massachusetts, and has successfully completed many ocean races off the East Coast of the U.S. This was his first Hobart; Epsilon finished sixth in its Division and 43rd overall. Next up for Trompy, Tim, and mate Amy Jordan: the Fastnet Race, of course, to complete the trifecta of sailing the globe's big three ocean races together.

Enduring lesson

One enduring lesson from this year's edition of the Race - safety counts. The CYCA and RYCT should be commended for overseeing and assuring that safety is the number one priority in all aspects of the Race, including the following: requiring personal EPIRBs and crotch straps for all sailors; implementing a rigid safety inspection regime; mandating that all yachts carry a tracking device to enable the organizing authorities to monitor their location; assuring heightened awareness before boats entered the dangerous Bass Strait (which likely played a large role in the record number of yachts that sought refuge in Eden); mandating continuous participation in the daily skeds (and penalizing at least one boat for its failure to do so); and arranging for the orderly evacuation by a police rescue boat of the Skandia crew before it capsized and then turtled on Tuesday morning.

When I left the States for Sydney before Christmas, I was opposed to the Australian mandates that sailors wear crotch straps attached to their PFDs and wear a personal EPIRB at all times during the Race. Despite the discomfort and apparent burdens of these requirements, I have now become a convert. Thus, I recommend that US Sailing review again the ISAF Offshore Special Regulations 2004-2005 with a view toward conforming them where appropriate to the more stringent and specific requirements of the Yachting Australia Special Regulations (eff. July 1, 2005).