Celestial V70 - Rolex Sydney Hobart Yacht Race - Tattersall Cup - photo © Carlo Borlenghi / ROLEX
Dear Recipient Name
Is it the wrong way? Some even think it might be the right way! Hobart to Sydney. Yes. The delivery home. It has always struck me that it does not get anywhere near the attention of the way down, but back up needs just as much care and consideration, especially if you are on a rocket.
Now many moons ago, we had a printing rep who called on us at the agency. Wonderful guy. Former ocean racer. Navigator, as it turns out. Out on everything I could at the time, I asked him why he gave up. He simply said to me that when he started enjoying the trip back more than the race there, he knew it was time.
Through the passage of my own time, I can see much more of what he was saying to me than I ever could back then. Moving on to today, and our very good friend, the swift witted Bill Macartney, has been kind enough to share his time on board Celestial V70 as it made a very brisk passage home. Yes. They were on a mission.
"At around 2.30 pm on the 31st, we set sail for Sydney: the return journey. Sitting comfortable now at home, I feel like the bloke hoicked up on the back of a wild African rhinoceros for a thrill-seekers' charge through the jungle, with the Park Ranger saying: 'Don't worry Bill, he's a nice Rhino..."
"Before departure, Jack distributed scallop pies to the 10 of us. Mine fell in love with my upper digestive tract, and for 24 hours, swam hard against the tide. I have bragged nauseatingly about my ability to sustain horrendous seas without yawning in technicolour; talking loud, talking proud. But of course, pride goes before destruction, and a haughty spirit before a fall. Not that I chucked - I truly did not - but me and the scallop pie, we had a good old 24-hour wrestle."
"The journey began beating up into a solid southerly, and as we turned the first corner at Fort Direction, Jack said, 'Here, you take the wheel.' So, the Rhino's reins were in my hands, and the force of a mighty beast radiated through me. For my non-sailing friends I explained that Celestial is 70 feet long, and built to go flat out in the Southern Ocean. She's as powerful as.... well... a Rhino, and if you hang tough she'll deal with a storm of challenges and tricky moments."
"Thus it was, after bearing away to be on a fairly tight reach, we went hurtling across Storm Bay hitting speeds of 22 knots plus. With me totally committed to impressing Jack and the team with my ability to tame the best and yet, set her free. I called on every ounce of strength I had, which is quite considerable after wrestling my wife Shez for 55 years, and fought hard to keep her on track."
"Having all that power and pace in my hands thrilled me to the core.... and scared up a very tight sphincter. So tight that it was only when we hit dry land at the Cruising Yacht Club of Australia that it relented. At one point a particularly strong gust arrived and she reared up to windward, becoming precariously poised between super-fast, and a catastrophic round-up. 'Press on it, dad' Jack said in his gentle, but commanding way. 'I'm pressing Jack, I'm pressing...' I replied, applying every relevant muscle I could find to the job at hand."
"Losing grip could have been truly awful, and the prospect of a broken mast, or lacerated sails, or worse indeed, busted bodies, delivered one of those moments of total resolve. That in itself made the whole journey bloody marvellous."
On board, David Burt (the Boat Captain who had also raced South) proved a tower of strength. He and Jack headed up two teams of five, rotating every three hours. There was no mucking around - Jack and DB wanted to see Sydney Harbour Heads with alacrity. Same for fellow professional sailor, Sean. He had a date with his young son he would have wrestled a crocodile to keep."
"Now at 204 centimetres tall, and 100+ kilos, 24-year-old Krish had his new love waiting in Sydney, so he was stamped urgent too. Krish was also super-smart muscle on board Celestial for the actual race. So, we went flat out all the way and for the first 24 hours we had 15-28 knot southerlies sending us firing up the Tasmanian coast."
"It quickly struck me how rusty my sea-legs were. Historically, I figured I could dance about a sea-going vessel like Fred Astaire, but 77-year-old sea-legs reminded me that Fred's been back in the ground since 1987. The modern ocean racer is a high-tech masterpiece, made of carbon fibre designed to deliver massive power to weight."
"Tight reaching in 8 knots of wind, she'll hit 12 or 13 knots of boat speed, through whatever seaway Neptune hurls. Her exceptional speed is partly a product of the immense stiffness in the hull - a stiffness this 77-year-old can only envy. That stiffness makes for little give, so hitting waves and sudden changes in direction created movements like little earthquakes (for me), and balance was as tricky as threading the needle in the dark."
"I banged my head moving around below decks. It felt like 100 times, but perhaps it was 10. Alarmingly, I kept banging it on the same spot adjacent to my bunk. Once again, these head-bangs failed to knock some sense into me. I lamented my lack of ease with the movement as twin sisters Lucy and Kristy - in fact pretty much everyone else on board - moved effortlessly about the vessel, delivering noodles and soup, cups of tea, bread rolls, lots of chocolate, and thankfully for me, apples galore. Chelsea too, onboard for the journey back, taking a break from her mechanical engineering studies and training at the CYCA to compete at the highest level."
"Marvellous to have such an impressive young Aussie woman on board. The sense of companionship and shared experience was greatly enhanced by experienced sailors and absolute gentlemen Mat and Rusty, and then Jack with his ability to lead without people knowing he is leading. (And treating his dad with great care, like a precious antique.)"
"The seaway got mighty lumpy and aggressive. We were sailing with it, but that means at an angle to the breeze to maximise speed, or more specifically, Velocity Made Good. That is, the speed generated if measured on a straight line between Hobart and Sydney. I noted that Jack doesn't just steer the vessel, he wrestles it. Asserts his will over the forces at hand, which means efficiently climbing up the back of one wave, and then flying down the face of the next."
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"However, this creates a plethora of those little 'earthquakes', and every time I stood to move alarm bells rang, and I envisaged myself tripping and catapulting over the side. For a while I crawled and slid around on my arse. Then I thought, bugger this, I'm walking. I had just gone off shift to below decks, and as I went to take the next step, Celestial feinted like Chad Warner stepping around opposition players.... and I was launched. Time slowed: I knew a busted collar bone, or re-knackered shoulder was imminent. Alarm. Alarm - when suddenly one of the rope handles strategically positioned below decks came into view. I grabbed for it... and all my years of being monkey-like bore fruit. I just hung on and a bashing was avoided. From there I got to love crawling and sliding around on my arse.... more and more."
"My bunk was directly below the winch managing the foresails. When it was fresh and a crew member above eased the sheet, it made a noise like the devil had stood on a nail. It was truly alarming, and thoroughly unnerving."
"The nausea initiated by the scallop pie persisted. So too, a sore neck and a determined background headache. They came and went for the first 36 hours, and cruelled my experience somewhat. But being a dopey old Baby Boomer woos-bag determined to look tough.... and didn't say too much. I must have said enough however, because Jack insisted I take a travel calm tablet, and that was transformational."
"We had a 'doldrums' period, a burst of rain, and then a benign easterly and placid sea beneath a stunning Wolf Moon made for some oceanic magic. The Rhino was pleased as punch to canter along, smooth as can be. Nice Rhino."
"It was a marvellous experience, and one you had to embrace the difficult stuff to fully enjoy. Just like life, eh? It was one of those experiences that just gets better and better with the passage of time. We sustained nothing like the bashing the fleet copped in the race proper, and to anyone who competed: hats off."
Right way? Wrong way? Probably more like, best way. Id est, keep going, never surrender, embrace, adapt, improvise, and conquer, in order to kseep all systems functioning at maximum capacity. You hear it all the time, sailing is a sport for life, but in this, hopefully everyone can see that it is not just for, but also of.
So, thanks Bill. For this and a whole bunch else. You're a great person to have in one's corner...
Thanks for being a crucial part of Sail-World.com
John Curnow
Sail-World.com AUS Editor
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