Into the Storm

by Dennis N. t. Perkins

  When Ed pulled away too late, the boat would fly off the back of the wave. But if he pulled away too early, the knockdowns were even worse. When the Rambler was at the top of the wave and got caught on the lip, the boat would slide back down the face of the wave. Anyone on deck would be engulfed by a solid mountain of water.

  During one particularly bad knockdown, Ed grabbed onto his harness as a wave swept through the cockpit. The harness was attached to a strong point on the boat, but with the force of the wave, Ed couldn't hang on. He was thrown to the back of the boat until he hit the stainless steel life rail.

  Ed reached the end of his 6-foot harness and was jerked back, just as his ribs crashed into metal. The pain was intense, and he thought his ribs were broken. They were just badly bruised, not broken, and luckily the railing didn't break from the impact. Because of his harness, Ed was still inside the boat—more or less.

  As the boat slid down the wave, everything that was horizontal suddenly went vertical. Everyone, whether on deck or down below, hung on for their lives. Chris, his arm still wrapped around the pipe next to his berth, was glued to his bunk, trying to make sure he didn't fall out and injure himself further.

  Ed was still attached to the boat, but the Rambler was lying on its side and the cockpit was filled with water. The boat had completely lost momentum, and Ed could see another set of big waves coming at them. If the boat didn't get moving, they would be trapped. The next waves could hit the vulnerable, flattened boat, causing it to capsize and roll.

  Floating helplessly in the water, Ed thought, This is it. This time we've gone too far. Desperate to avoid catastrophe, he clawed his way back into the cockpit and grabbed the tiller. Ed got the Rambler pointed in the right direction, and the sail filled with wind. He needed to get enough forward speed before the next wave hit, or it would be over.

  Just in time, the boat started to move. Not fast, but enough to make it over the top. AFR Midnight Rambler had survived the knockdown and continued to sail into the storm.

  18

  AFR Midnight Rambler—Sharing the Helm

  Ed continued to steer, but he was very, very tired. He was mentally and physically exhausted, but he kept going. I'm the best guy to steer this boat. I'm the guy in charge, and these are my six friends. If I can't get the boat through these waves, people will die. Feeling the full weight of his responsibility, Ed fought back fatigue and focused on getting the boat through the brutal storm.

  Under normal conditions, Ed was good at thinking about managing the crew and assessing who should go below for rest. But these conditions were anything but normal, and he had lost track of everything except fighting the waves and keeping everyone alive.

  While Ed was consumed with his job at the helm, Gordon Livingstone was glued to the rail as his wave spotter. Chris had been getting ready to relieve Gordo when he cracked his head open. Now Chris was immobilized below, and Gordo stayed in position.

  Gordo took it for granted that he would fill in for his injured mate. There weren't a lot of alternatives, and in his view it was just a matter of getting the job done. In some ways, he thought, it's better to be up sitting on the rail than trapped down below. Gordo had a spectacular view of the extraordinary weather phenomenon that surrounded them.

  The wind kept building, and the waves kept getting higher. Each time Gordo thought it couldn't blow any harder, it did. It was as if the ocean had lost its mind. The air was saturated with water, and the crests of the enormous waves were being blown apart by the wind and hurled into the air.

  The drops of water hitting Gordo's exposed skin stung with surprising and excruciating pain. In an attempt to protect his face, Gordo put his hand up in front of his face to shield himself and realized he could barely see his glove through the rain and spew.

  Even though sitting on the rail was agonizing, Gordo thought that going down below would be even worse. Not only was it claustrophobic, but being stuck below deck meant losing any sense of what was going on. It was like riding a roller coaster in the dark and blindfolded. At least on the rail, Gordo had some idea of what was coming. There weren't as many surprises. Bad things were happening, but he had some sense of when and how to brace himself.

  With Ed completely preoccupied with steering, Gordo had been forgotten in the confusion of Chris’ injury and the storm. Arthur was the first one to realize what had happened. Jesus, Gordo has been on the rail for almost four hours! Even an hour would have been too much. Gordo needed a break, and Arthur decided to speak up.

  Ed and Arthur had a special relationship. They had sailed together since they were young boys. They were best mates and rivals at the same time. They were close but connected with the prickly competitiveness of brothers. Arthur understood that Ed could push too hard, and he often “had a go” at Ed on this sensitive issue.

  Ed realized he was a lot like Sly Stallone in the Rocky movies. His default mode was a boxer who was flat-out determined even when faced with impossible odds. Arthur thought more about conserving strength. It wasn't that Arthur was soft—he wasn't. But Arthur was always thinking like a marathon runner. Ed saw life as a sprint. In many ways, they complemented each other.

  It was clear to Arthur that they were not going to survive the storm by sprinting. There was no way of knowing how long it would last. Looking at Gordo on the rail, he realized there was a reason Ed had lost track of him. Ed was exhausted after hours at the helm, and he was completely focused on steering.

  Yelling over the noise of the wind, Arthur shouted into Ed's ear. “Dammit, Ed, Gordo's still on deck! We've got to get a grip, we can't go on like this. The crew isn't being managed. It's not your fault, I know you've got to steer, but let me take over and manage the watch.”

  Ed came out of his hyperfocused state. He didn't hesitate. “Yes, just do it!” he screamed back. “I can't even think about it!”

  To the relief of everyone, Arthur dedicated himself to looking after the welfare of the crew, leaving Ed at the helm to do what he did best. Gordo went below and took shelter from the maelstrom, and Mix came on deck to replace him as wave spotter. Gordo felt a sense of relief, but he was also shocked by what he saw below.

  Everyone was visibly shaking, not just from the cold but also from fear. Gordo was battered from his time on the rail. He had been sliding back and forth between two deck fittings, and their shapes were clearly outlined by the dark bruises on his legs. Like everyone else, he was trembling. To warm himself, Gordo crawled into a bunk with Arthur. Arthur tossed a sea blanket over him, but Gordo's quivering continued.

  Arthur was shaking, too. At first he thought he was just cold. That'll go away when we warm up a bit, he said to himself. But an hour later he realized it was more than being cold. He was gripped with terror about what the next wave would bring. And in the back of his mind, he knew he would have to get up on deck again and face the storm. The deep physical and psychological pain of the experience was immense, and it couldn't be fixed with a blanket. Surviving the storm was the only remedy.

  Everyone, whether up on deck or below, confronted the very real possibility of death. There was a point at which Arthur came close to despair. We've done everything we possibly can do to survive in these conditions; I can't see a way out, and it's actually getting worse.

  He thought about his fourteen-month-old daughter. At this really low point, he couldn't help but think, I just didn't have a chance to have an impact on her life. It was a waste, and he felt angry. If only he had a chance.

  Mix didn't know if it was fear or because he was completely drenched and cold after spending hours wave spotting. Maybe it was the aftermath of having waves constantly breaking over him, washing him down the deck against the safety railing. Or maybe it was the horror of watching the storm intensify around him. But Mix just couldn't stop shaking. In the background, the radio was blaring with distress calls. It all added to his feelings of isolation and terror in the middle of the Bass Strait.

  Mix kept thinking about his family. His wife, A
nnabel, was expecting their first child. He wondered if he would ever see her again or get to meet his unborn child. What is Tink seeing on the news? What does she know about our condition? Does she know we're in trouble? Does she know we are still okay? The questions raced through his head, unanswered.

  Everyone thought about their loved ones. Ed thought about Sue and their two boys, Ben and Matthew. He reflected on how he could have been a better husband, all the things he didn't do that he could have done, and how he could have been a less grumpy father and spent more time with his family.

  None of this was spoken aloud. Ed felt that keeping these dark thoughts to himself was important. As the skipper, he couldn't let the others know he thought there was a chance they might not make it. But he knew they were in serious trouble, and he was the leader. He would do what he thought was right.

  The airwaves were filled with distress calls. The men below could hear radios broadcasting the plight of boats just a few miles away. They were surrounded by disaster.

  Gordon listened in horror. He kept thinking, We can't go into that water because there's no way we can survive. The boat can't turn around and come back and get us; it's physically impossible. Then at 5:21 p.m., a Mayday call from the Winston Churchill made his blood run cold:

  WINSTON CHURCHILL: Mayday. Mayday. Mayday. Here is Winston Churchill, Winston Churchill.

  ABC HELICOPTER: Winston Churchill. Winston Churchill. Winston Churchill.

  [This is] ABC chopper. Go ahead with your position. Over.

  WINSTON CHURCHILL: Twenty miles southeast of Twofold Bay. Over.

  ABC HELICOPTER: Winston Churchill. Two zero miles southeast of Twofold Bay. Nature of your Mayday? Over.

  WINSTON CHURCHILL: Affirmative. We are getting the life rafts on deck, ABC chopper. We are holed. We are taking water rapidly. We can't get the motor started to start the pumps.

  ABC HELICOPTER: Roger. How many onboard?

  WINSTON CHURCHILL: Niner. Niner.

  The content of the Mayday was terrifying enough, but the despair coming through the voice of the skipper, Richard Winning, made it worse. Gordo started to shake even more. He knew the crew of the Winston Churchill was in very serious trouble.

  Everyone dealt with their anxiety in different ways. Arthur was angry and fearful, but he realized that this emotional state was not where he wanted to be. It wasn't effective. There was no sense in thinking about if only. He needed to focus on what they were going to do to get out of this mess. Arthur had descended into a state of despair, but then—by force of will—he brought himself out.

  Like the rest of the crew, Mix had private thoughts about whether they were going to get out alive. But he still felt completely confident in the team, and in their ability to fight the storm. Buoyed by this sense of connection with his mates, he pushed his doubts into the back of his mind. He decided to focus only on the present, about the things he could influence, one moment at a time.

  Jonno didn't allow himself to think that they might not make it. To some extent, he felt that their fate was in the hands of the gods. He thought, If the boat gets knocked down, we'll just have to hang on and see what happens. Then we'll deal with it.

  Each time AFR Midnight Rambler recovered from a knockdown and righted itself, Jonno gained more confidence in the boat. His only concern was that if conditions continued at the current intensity into the night, there could be gear damage. But until it happened, there was no need to focus on the unknown.

  Jonno marked progress by doing a rough calculation of the amount of time they were “in control.” When the boat was knocked down on its side, they were completely out of control. But even when the boat wasn't sideways in the water, the winds were so strong that they were rolling all over the place. They were still not in control of the boat.

  A sense of control is the most important thing, Jonno thought. If we have some control, we will have some way of predicting the outcome. Intent on measuring their power over the storm, Jonno developed a metric.

  His scale was simple. If they were in control less than 50 percent of the time, that was bad, demoralizing. Being in control half of the time—exactly 50 percent—was a good thing. If they were half in control, then they were doing all right. Being in control more than 50 percent of the time was really good.

  There were long periods when Jonno calculated they were in control less than half the time. Every ten to fifteen minutes, he would gauge their situation. Tracking the degree of control became an engaging distraction. It provided a way of marking progress and, paradoxically, a device for feeling in control—even when they were out of control.

  In spite of the scare that came with his injury, Chris found his own way of dealing with the uncertainty. He framed their situation quite clearly. We, as a crew, are pretty good at what we do. We've all been doing it for a while. We're all doing what we all agree is the best thing we can do right now, to make sure we get through this. If we still lose, then we've given it our best shot, and there were no lost opportunities.

  In Chris’ mind, there was nothing else that they could do. That freed him to be philosophical about the danger and to get on with doing what could actually help them. The alternative, he thought, was running around in a blind panic or curling deep in the corner of the boat and crying out, “We're all going to be killed!” It was a liberating way of thinking about their uncertain and dangerous condition.

  Though each person found a personal strategy for dealing with fear, they also found ways to support one another. They were all conscious of visibly showing each other that they were doing the best they could under the circumstances.

  The crew focused on short-term goals, making sure the equipment on the boat was working as well as it could be. They kept the boat “tidy,” helping to impose a feeling of order on their chaotic state.

  They monitored watch changes to make sure that people on watch were relieved and rotating on time. They made sure that the helmsman steering the boat had water. They did everything they could to make sure that they were taking care of the boat and that they were taking care of each other.

  Those coming off watch would get a pat on the back with a congratulatory “well done.” Everyone below knew what it was like up there, and anyone who stuck it out on deck had given it their all.

  On deck, they made sure that the mainsail was tightly rolled up and lashed to the deck with the boom. They wanted to be certain that everything was properly secured so that if they did capsize, no one would be hit by loose equipment, adding injury to the mayhem.

  Everyone was scared, but negative thoughts went unspoken. No one said, “Be positive.” But they all concluded, privately, that they shouldn't be talking about doomsday when doomsday could come at any time. Catastrophic possibilities were imagined, but spoken comments were optimistic.

  Some of the positive banter was transparently artificial. Arthur would say, “The clouds up there are clearing, the skies coming through are blue,” or “The seas aren't quite as big now, I think we're getting through it.” Half the time, Ed thought, This is a load of BS. But then he thought again and concluded, That's beside the point. It's reassuring to hear him say that we're going to be okay. It helps.

  Everyone had their peaks and troughs—moments when they utterly excelled and moments when they couldn't push themselves any harder. The crew was acutely sensitive to this ebb and flow of ability, and they all were willing to step into the breach and pick up the slack when somebody else had reached his limit.

  Gordo had done this for Chris when he did a double watch without complaint. Chris was inspired by the thought of Gordo staying up there and simply doing what had to be done. The team also took notice when Arthur stepped in to take over crew management from Ed.

  Establishing a watch system with people on deck for only an hour at a time and below deck for two hours, was critical to sharing the burden. There were three ways in which the system helped them maintain stamina.

  One hour on deck meant that they could physical
ly deal with the exhausting task of fighting the cold, rain, wind, and waves. In addition, the psychological impact of this system was equally important. They were much more resilient knowing that their time in hell would end after sixty minutes. Finally, Arthur's intervention was also symbolic. It demonstrated in a tangible, concrete way that they were aware of each other's needs—and that they would find a way to take care of each other.

  In spite of everything they were doing to help each other, by the end of the day on Sunday the storm had taken an enormous toll. Ed had been steering for most of the afternoon. Bob had done his share to relieve Ed, and he had been washed off the helm twice by the gigantic breaking waves. Bob was willing to do whatever needed to be done, but Ed was the best driver and everyone knew it.

  Ed was doing a truly extraordinary job, but even he had limits. Dusk was coming on and he began thinking, I'm at the end of my tether. I'm not telling the crew, but if this continues, I can't keep going like this, and there's no one else that can steer this damn boat, so we're in serious trouble.

  Arthur sensed what his brother was feeling. And the thing that struck him about their situation was that the storm was getting worse—and it was still daytime. What would happen when it got dark? This is not good, Arthur thought. Our best helmsman is Ed, and we've got to get him to rest before it gets dark. The last thing we need is to have him exhausted and fatigued at night.

  Arthur huddled with Bob and agreed on a plan. It was critical that they get Ed down below for a couple hours before it got dark, and that would mean they needed three helmsmen. The only way that could happen was if Arthur took a turn steering.

  Climbing up on deck into the storm, Arthur shouted at Ed: “You've got to get off the bloody helm and get some sleep. If this thing keeps going through the night, it's going to get much harder—we might not see daylight! Get off the bloody helm and get down below!”