As days advanced we were getting closer and closer to that one single incredible moment: the start of the four-day-race from Sydney to Hobart. Yes, in my path towards becoming a Yachtmaster down under, I was offered to be part of it on Arctos, the boat I’d been sailing pretty much all of the time there. During this time we had developed a love-hate, but in any case, close relationship. She had become, in the course of more than a thousand miles, the stage for the most incredible moments in the journey. She had been our company in those endless night watches, our only safe fortress in the middle of the fiery oceans, our couch in those sunrises and sunsets during our voyages. Sometimes, while cleaning her after a sailing week, I had the impression that we were looking after her. A moment later I would realize, shaking my head while making a pause of scrubbing, it was actually her that was taking care of us in every single adventure, always matching the courage of the crew, always looking gorgeous. And it made me feel like John Crichton on Moya, as if the ship was alive and we actually shared a symbiotic relationship with her. She was the first boat on which I skippered a passage in Australia. She was even home for a while, as I stayed on it while training for the big race. Every little bit just making me more bonded with the ship’s soul, and I found it just idyllic to join her also in this challenge.
It also seemed to me a good test to challenge my learned skills during the previous months. More than just skills, probably the capacity of enduring an ocean journey. Of being without a taste of land for days. And, according to the forecasts, the weather would also be a challenge. Arctos is a 55-foot, ocean-racing designed cutter. When I learned that 14 of us would be crewing on it, I knew it was going to be tough. On top of having to manage yourself and your mood in a -let’s say it this way- not very comfortable, wet boat, we would also have to share bunks with another member. Lucky enough I teamed up with Dean for that, a friend with whom I had shared the previous three months of my traineeship. Dean is an ex-submariner of the UK navy. I guess as such, he is a very straight forward, no-bullshit, lovely piece of a man. Dean only has one face -unlike me I must admit, that I change mood quite easily. But we are both very much independent and self-managed, and few words are required to get along very well with him. Apart from being both motorsport addicts, and thus being able to share with someone, in the middle of this sailing-only environment, my passion for motorcycles and cars. Other than us and Marcus, everyone else were people from outside the course, which made it a bit more interesting after sharing virtually 24h a day with the same people for three months, in very close quarters.
Jason Cummings was the skipper. Surprisingly enough, there weren’t many pure-blood racers crewing for the race. Jason was no exception, and we soon found ourselves speaking about old school, seaworthy cruising little boats to go on exotic single-handed adventures. Jason is right there in the top of the people who have inspired me on the way. We have so much in common, the way we understand sailing, boats, traveling, work. His experience was very much a picture of what I would love to do for a living.
Next was Alex Martin, first mate. I don’t have enough words to express how much respect I have for Alex. He had been my instructor for most of the passages we did in the course. He is a top sailor and top person. He does not only have the finest sailing skills, but also the right attitude. He is probably one of the people who knows Arctos best. As two men of few words, it took time to gain some informality between us, but I think of him as a very good friend now. And I think I will have a very hard time finding someone I would trust better on a boat, as well as having as much fun surfing with.
I could go on with all the people with whom I shared this journey, but I think I will just focus on the experience, and let the names slip through while telling all the little stories that I can remember. After several days of properly fitting Arctos, the test begins. 23-24 of December, 24h offshore trip to nowhere to test the boat, the crew, and our foul weather resistance. Those 24 hours were hard. I think now what was weighting us down was the sense of no purpose, of no destination. We were just doing a big loop in the middle of the ocean. And a sailor knows, any real challenge at sea is one’s mind. The weather was not so good, on top of that. Some of our crew were having trouble managing their seasickness, and my only sight of them as I passed through the saloon at 30 degrees of heel, holding onto everything I could, was them lying in their bunk, throwing up all over the place. It is one of those things that make up great sea stories, except for when you actually have to deal with them. It is always a good laugh, having beers afterwards, to remember all the puke-dodging, the monkey-like climbing and trying to sleep while being lifted one foot from your bunk just before hitting it as the bow hits water and the whole boat shakes violently head to tail. There is something with the sea, this sense of achievement when you reach land again, and you run away sick of being on board, only to miss being in the water half an hour later…
I remember now, in these 24h, casually discussing on top of our lungs a sail flake with Jason on the bow, pounding close-hauled into 25-30 knots of wind. Suddenly, the bow dives down into a coming wall of water that sneaks through my salopettes as I was kneeling with my back against it. It just took for me to stand up again, and all the water went to my boots and socks and thus, I had wet feet the rest of the journey. Funny eh? Ask me about it then… The good side was that, after those 24 hours, everyone had a good idea of what to expect in the actual race. The forecast looked quite ugly, the worst Sydney to Hobart since 1998. Great.
And so Christmas came and went, with a little present from Jason, in the shape of a book about everything you need to know about blue water sailboats and how to fit, maintain and handle them in and for the big seas. I still cannot emphasize enough just how much silent support I received from Jason, maybe even without him realizing. But to me, 17000km from home, at Christmas, away from my family and almost everyone I loved, that little detail meant the world. It is funny how being in a boat sometimes puts everything in perspective. For me, sharing the way we understand sailing with the skipper had much more weight in terms of building trust towards him than any other much more logical factor, such as experience, skills or racing background. So it is, I would prefer to go sailing alone or with my most loved ones than with a top-of-the-world race team. And having a skipper that looks after you as a person first, and then as a crew member, is essential. And I looked forward to join him in this adventure.
And along came boxing day, the 26th of December. And there I was, ready this time with a couple of wool sock pairs, in case we got wet feet. And we would… A cold front was expected to come through from the south at some point during the night of the first day. This meant a very tough race, as we would get wet, tired and miserable at the very first night, and it would be our duty to manage this situation the rest of the days…
The start of the race was everything we were told it would be, and more. It was pure pandemonium of yachts tacking at the very last moment not to hit others, crew working like crazy, juggling about trying to stay focused and at the same time admiring the scene. I was there myself trying to keep up with Alex and Jason’s decisions of tacking and jibing as I was continuously jumping from leeward to windward to trim the mainsail, and at the same time trying to watch the whole picture of nearly crashing boats and screaming people. Despite our efforts, Arctos was the very last boat to leave Sydney Harbour. But she sure would make it up to us…
Just after clearing the heads, we set up the spinnaker and Arctos starts flying down, taking advantage of every bit of the North Easterly before the Southerly front hit us. Due to the lack of maintenance by Flying Fish (something I am very sorry to say, did not surprise the ones that had been with them for a while) the spinnaker blew up in a matter of hours. So did the asymmetric after that. The sails were in such state that any attempt to repair them would fail, as it was tearing itself apart just by finger force when stretching it. It felt just like dry paper. Jason came up with an alternative, fly the number 2 jib along with the number 3 loose luffed and poled out. Flying again with top speeds of 16 to 18 knots, having a blast at the wheel and surfing down the waves…
This was the bright side of Arctos. Downwind, it was a fun, fast, dry boat. But the Southerly did not allow for us to continue for much longer. I was in my bunk, off watch when around midnight I started to hear the rush on deck. The other watch were setting the boat up for upwind, and the pounding and sound of the waves hitting the bow did not take long to come either. Brace yourself for action. Arctos is about to become a pounding, leaking, wet boat. And us, the crew, the most miserable wet bastards in the Tasman sea. The fact that someone in the crew had the incredibly great idea of cooking ‘Chili con carne’ without meat (which, translated to english, chili con carne means ‘Chili with meat’) did not help with my mood and seasickness… But this is how you do it at sea… You complain as few as possible, and manage yourself while trying to still be competent. Sounds easy? Try it.
Jason was sending and receiving quick updates through satellite iridium. We received some good news that cheered up the crew. We were making great progress and slowly catching up with the fleet of our division. And this is where Arctos’ sturdiness came to shine. She was just unstoppable, taking everything the weather would throw at us. She would climb waves that seemed more like mountains with their white crests on top, before the eyes of this poor sceptic helmsman. And time after time we would be right in the valley between two giants, and see the black wall of water approaching, and every time she would just charge up the slope and tame the summit, rewarding us for a second with the view of our surroundings. Even being at the very top of those waves, and watching the sea around us, would make us feel like the nothing we were in the middle of that mess of angry waves…
And so we did it through that night and the next day, and carried on to the Bass Strait. The first third of the journey was done. And along with it the worst of the race (or the best, if you ask me now) went away. The Bass Strait did not stand up to our expectations. Instead of that, it was a pretty constant reach. My memory is not accurate enough to remember how many days in we were in the race when we saw land again. Tasmania, at last. And with it the toughest stretch of the race. As we advance southbound along the coast of Tasmania, we receive very good news. We are leading the fleet of our division. And suddenly all the suffering, seasickness and being wet pays off big time. A very nice stew from Julie (this time, loaded with ‘carne’) even brings my digestive apparatus back to life and the world goes from black and white to beautiful technicolor again.
But the fair weather comes with light winds, and so big, solid, sturdy Arctos started to struggle to keep her speed up to standard. This is when the real hard work began. Long cold night sitting in the windward rail to keep the boat straight. At some point even in the leeward rail, to keep the sails filled up. We were in Storm Bay, but it felt more like Calm Lake. Not that I had any complaints of Storm Bay not making justice to its name after the Southerly front experience… But some more wind would have helped us maintain a good position through the finish line. It was a whole night of struggle to go up the bay and Derwent river, and I could feel all the eyes of the crew focused in every inch that Arctos knocked off the distance to go. People at the helm were, at this point, very cautiously selected, as any mistake would lead to losing the precious apparent wind we were trying to generate.
After those long hours we finally could see the finish line. A small rib comes to greet us, taking some pictures. It has been 4 days, 22 hours and 52 minutes worth of race. It has been tough until the last minute, and we have faced the worst of weather and the worst of no weather at all. We’ve been sleeping in wet bunks. Eating from dog bowls, sometimes with a bit too much salt water on them. We’ve been battling with every bit of balance while trying to reach the deck or our sleeping places. And so we are greeted when we enter constitution dock, as heroes. And after doing the race, you can tell no one deserves any less after finishing it.
It is finally time for us to celebrate, to enjoy a well deserved dive by the boat when arriving. For some of us, to reunite with their dearest ones. It is time to drink beer, to explain all the little stories. To give a good scrub to beautiful mighty Arctos. To get away from it as soon as possible, so we can start missing her shortly after, and long again for blue water while we reflect on our achievement. And yes, I won’t lie, also to shed a tear of emotion.
Oh yes, I said I would mention each one of the team while explaining the story, but as always, I beat around the bush… Here’s a picture of us, ready to go at Middle Harbour Yacht Club.
Thanks to (from left to right) David, Dean, George, me, Paul, Cormac, Jason, Jules, Russell, Alex, Jenn and Dave. Oh wait… Let’s try again, because two crew members are missing… Here it goes:
Andrew, David, Dean, Alex, Jules, Paul, Cormac, Jason, Marcus, Jenn and me.