Shortly before 5 a.m. on Wednesday the 30th, the Ramblers began to grasp the possibility that they could actually win the race. About 2 miles from the finish, Arthur became convinced that they were going to make it. He said to anyone within hearing distance, “I think Huey is going to let us through.”
Ed had a superstitious feeling about Huey. Huey was temperamental. He brought them good luck and he brought them bad luck. In the last few days he had given them an incredible test and had been fickle when they finally reached the Derwent.
In spite of their ordeal, they had kept at it. Now they could see the finish line. Arthur looked at his brother and said, “You know, Ed, our father's sailed in this race for years, and we've tried for years. I think we're going to make it. I think we're going to do it.” Arthur was close to tears. It was such an incredible achievement, such a relief to be alive.
It was an emotional moment for Arthur, but Ed was quiet. He just continued steering the boat. Somewhat taken aback by Ed's silence, Arthur started trimming the sails. About forty-five seconds later, Arthur felt a big hand on his shoulder. He turned around and looked at Ed. His hand had said it all.
Ed was deep in thought. This is going to happen. We're going to do what our father tried to accomplish eighteen times without success. We're not doing it for him, but we can be proud of the fact that he has left us a legacy. He taught us how to sail. Now we can, in our own way, repay him with the glory of winning the race.1
AFR Midnight Rambler sailed across the finish line at 5:04 a.m. There was no kilt-clad bagpiper, not even the traditional sound of “Midnight Rambler” playing on their tape player. Because of the tragedy, the Stones were silent.
The Rambler was the smallest boat in ten years to win the Tattersall's Cup. And she was the tenth boat to cross the finish line, close on the heels of many of the much larger maxis.
As the Ramblers took down their sails, they saw a number of big maxis docked off to the side of the river. Because of their size, the boats were much too long to fit at Constitution Dock, where the smaller boats tied up.
The sailors on the maxis stood up when they saw the Ramblers. Bob was surprised. He couldn't imagine that the maxi boys even knew that they were alive, much less took notice of the little boat. But it was much more than that. The maxi crews came to the bows of their towering boats and began clapping. They gave the crew of AFR Midnight Rambler a standing ovation.
The maxi boys waved to the Ramblers, shouting, “Tie up with us!” Bob thought it would be fun to see their 35-foot boat tied up with an 80-foot boat on either side. But Bill Psaltis had always ended the race inside Constitution Dock, and the Ramblers would follow that tradition.
As unexpected as the standing ovation was from the maxis, something even more surprising was in store. Sue had gotten the news about the Rambler some ten minutes after they crossed the finish line. By the time they were headed to their mooring, she was waiting at the edge of the dock.
The sun wasn't yet up, and the light was dim. Sue was bouncing and jumping frantically, shouting, “Go the Rambler! Go the Rambler!” Ed peered through the darkness, trying to figure out just who was making all the commotion. Perplexed, he turned to his brother and said, “Who the hell is that?”
Arthur looked back amused and said, “Ed, you'd better start thinking about what you're going to say to that woman, because that's your wife.” Ed looked closer and saw that it was, indeed, Sue Psaltis. It was the perfect capstone to the victory. His wife was there in Hobart to greet him, standing next to a case of Cascade Lager—their favorite beer.
The crew was still groggy and dazed. There was some leftover tension from their arguments in the Derwent. Sue's cheers cut through the stress, and everyone started to smile. As they pulled alongside the dock, she jumped on board and gave everyone a hug. She put her arms around Ed and gave him a kiss. Then she went up to her brother, Jonno, and gave him a kiss—followed by a punch in the stomach.
“What did you do that for?” asked Jonno. “The kiss and the punch were both from your wife,” explained Sue. “That punch was in exchange for all the stress that you put her through.”
In the midst of the commotion, Arthur handed Ed a cell phone, saying, “Listen, Dad wants to talk to you, quick. Talk to Dad.” Ed took the phone. He was taken aback to hear his father sobbing. Ed could hear him crying on the other end of the phone, something he had never heard before in his life.
Bill Psaltis came from an era when men didn't cry, and Ed was always taught that crying was soft. It was so strange for him to hear his father being so emotional. Between tears, Bill said, “Thank God, you're both alive. You survived the storm, and you're safe. Thank God, thank God. I'm glad you made it, Ed.”
Ed wanted to say, “Dad, calm down, it's okay.” But before he could get the words out, his father said, “And you've actually won this bloody race that we tried to win for so many years.” It was uplifting for Ed to hear those words and to hear the elation and relief in his father's voice.
Then Bill said, “Before the reporters start talking to you, you must understand that Jim Lawler has died. There are people missing, and they aren't going to find them. Please be humble and take that into account when you talk about the race.”
The conversation was a jumble of emotions—the elation that Bill felt about his sons surviving the lethal storm and winning the race, mixed with the devastation of losing such a close friend. It was a conversation that neither Ed nor Bill will ever forget.
It was an extraordinary moment. Against all odds, the Ramblers had won the race. But because people had died, they couldn't rejoice and show obvious pride in their accomplishment. They were proud, but they were quiet because of the tragedy of the last few days.
For the media, the extraordinary accomplishment of this small boat was completely eclipsed by the disaster. The fact that AFR Midnight Rambler had won the race was almost insignificant. The scene of their tiny boat alone at Constitution Dock—a dock that, in previous years, would have been crowded with dozens of other boats—went unnoticed. The press were focused on death and destruction and had little interest in the teamwork and triumph of the Ramblers.
The press may not have cared, but there were people in Hobart who understood exactly what the Ramblers had accomplished. Many of those who got it were at the Shipwright's Arms Pub, off Battery Point.
Ed had been going to the Shipwright's Arms ever since his first race when he was 18. All the greats had gone there for a drink—the heroes of the Hobart, as Ed thought of them. He had followed the tradition of going to the pub after every race, and this night would be no exception.
All the Ramblers walked in together, ready for a drink. Because people had died, they were in a somber mood. But they were inwardly elated. They had won the race, and it was a huge achievement.
As the crew walked in, everyone at the packed bar looked up and saw their Midnight Rambler shirts. Roger Hickman, a tough competitor and a good friend, started the applause. Soon everyone in the pub was standing up and clapping. It was their second standing ovation, but this one—in a pub filled with people who were Ed's heroes—meant the most to the crew. People who had been doing the race for years—ever since he was a kid—were clapping for them.
Seeing the recognition directed at Ed, her brother, and all the Ramblers was a magical moment for Sue. She remembers, “People knew that they had won. It was an acknowledgment, and they were beaming.”
It was a moment that none of the Ramblers will ever forget. For Ed, having sailors he respected stand up and say, “Guys, you've done it” was better than any trophy he could have possibly imagined.
26
Wake of the Storm
Six sailors perished in the race. Aboard Business Post Naiad, Bruce Guy died of natural causes from a heart attack and Philip Skeggs became entangled in his equipment and drowned when the boat capsized. On Sword of Orion, Glyn Charles died after being washed overboard when his harness failed. And from Winston Churchill, John Dean, Jim Lawler, and
Michael Bannister drowned when their life raft was struck by a wave and they were washed away.
On New Year's Day, a memorial service was held in Hobart to honor the six sailors who had been lost. More than 2,000 people attended, and four planes flew overhead in a “missing man” formation. Friends and relatives of the six who had died had an opportunity to speak. For each lost sailor, a wreath of white daisies and a single red rose was set adrift in the harbor.
Richard Winning, who heroically risked his life as the skipper of the Winston Churchill, offered these words of solace: “May their loved ones find some comfort in the knowledge that these men died doing something that they loved.”
The Commodore of the Cruising Yacht Club, Hugo Van Kretschmar, spoke as well. “We will miss you. We will remember you always. We will learn from the tragic circumstances of your passing. May the everlasting voyage that you have now embarked on be blessed with calm seas and gentle breezes. May you never have to reef or change a headsail in the night. May your bunk always be warm and dry.”
Not surprising after a tragedy of this magnitude, the memorial service ended neither the mourning for lost comrades nor the remaining questions about the race. The Cruising Yacht Club of Australia launched its own investigation and, after six months, released a 180-page report with recommendations intended to improve race safety.
The report found that “no one cause can be identified as responsible” for the multiple incidents that occurred during the storm. Acknowledging that no one measure could by itself be significant, the report went on to suggest a series of incremental changes. Taken together, the investigators argued, these changes could have a substantive impact on the safety of the race.
Changes recommended in the CYCA report included specific measures such as compulsory reporting on strong winds above 40 knots (the “Sword of Orion protocol”); compulsory safety equipment including EPIRBs and personal strobes; increases in required experience of crew; and compulsory attendance at prerace weather, safety, and search-and-rescue briefings by at least 30 percent of each crew.
Though the events of the 1998 race were tragic, the CYCA report concluded that the dismastings and rollovers were caused by extraordinarily large waves. Whether one of these “rogue waves” struck a particular boat was, ultimately, a “matter of chance.”
A second investigation was conducted by New South Wales Coroner John Abernethy. The coroner's inquest was initiated because five of the deaths did not occur from natural causes, and Abernethy felt that an incident involving five or more people should be considered a “disaster.” Thus, the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Race was a disaster that warranted further investigation.
This coronial inquest produced a document with evidence and findings more than 350 pages long, not including hundreds of additional pages of appendices. Acknowledging that “the window of hindsight is the clearest window of all,” the coroner's report made a number of additional recommendations about safety and equipment.
Abernethy recognized that implementing these recommendations would create extra work and expense. One specific requirement, for example, was that at least half of the crew complete a safety and survival course every three years. Abernethy explained that, from the evidence of the survivors of Winston Churchill, it was “indisputable that trained crew have a greater likelihood of survival than untrained crew.”
After hearing testimony from two expert witnesses, Abernethy concluded that the missing caulking “Mega” Bascombe had reported before the race was not a factor in Winston Churchill's sinking. Damage from the wave that hit the boat created problems so severe that the yacht foundered. Any small amounts of putty that may have come loose would have had no impact on the Churchill's fate.
The investigation did reveal some specific shortcomings in the screening process for qualifying boats. For example, the limit of positive stability (LPS) for Business Post Naiad was inadequate. The LPS is a measure of how far a boat can tip over and still recover.
The minimum requirement for the race was 115 degrees, or 110 degrees for boats that had been “grandfathered in.” Business Post Naiad had a limit of positive stability of 104.7, which would have made it ineligible to race. Whether that would have made a difference is unknown. A number of other boats with qualifying stability metrics met disaster when hit by the enormous waves of the storm.
The coroner's inquiry also probed deeply into the communication between the Bureau of Meteorology and the Race Management Team (RMT). The report was especially critical of the RMT's lack of understanding about the significance of weather forecasts—in particular, predictions about wind speed and wave height.
Abernethy had harsh words about some aspects of race management. But by the end of the inquest he was satisfied that the CYCA had, on its own initiative, achieved radical changes in time for the 1999 race. A number of the club's recommended changes were, in fact, incorporated into the coroner's report. One specific measure was that Bureau of Meteorology personnel would be more involved with the Race Management Team throughout the race.
Newspaper and magazine reporters had a field day with the disaster, and their investigations ran parallel with official inquiries. Looking for scapegoats, the press pointed fingers at anybody and everybody who could be blamed for the deaths of six sailors.
The rescue effort was expensive and lives were put at risk, but fascination with the race seemed to be about more than the number of fatalities and the cost of the rescue. The end of the year is historically a news drought in Australia, but in 1998 reporters had everything they needed to write vivid, shocking stories. The reporter's expression “If it bleeds, it leads” seemed to fit perfectly. It was a target-rich environment for anyone who wanted to find a villain.
Scathing words were spoken about “the captains who went out in the storm when it was blowing a gale,” and “their recklessness that cost lives.” Though the sailors weren't the only ones to blame, critics argued, “they had the final responsibility about the decision to launch or not.”
For many sailors who had started the race prior to the storm warning, and who were expecting only the usual “southerly buster,” these statements seemed odd. They were trapped in a situation that ultimately became a race for survival. Their view was that “you can call off the race, but not the storm.”
All this controversy and scorn came as a surprise to the Ramblers. They had made a series of decisions, each of which they believed to be reasonable at the time. They had faced everything that nature threw at them with courage and equanimity. And there were no cowboys, hotshots, or rock stars aboard AFR Midnight Rambler.
The Ramblers’ view of the storm was very different from that of the derisive public critics and many in the media. As Ed Psaltis saw it, “In the end, only the storm is to blame. There was a very volatile low forming, and it could have moderated or it could have intensified. Well, it intensified—but that's ocean racing.”
With all the debate, analysis, and investigation surrounding the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Race, the story of the smallest boat in ten years to win the Tattersall's Cup went largely unnoticed. Many newspaper articles were satisfied to write that “Sayonara won the race,” with no mention of AFR Midnight Rambler as the overall winner of the Tattersall's trophy.
Though the victory of the Ramblers was largely overshadowed, their story provides an extraordinary metaphor for understanding Teamwork at The Edge. And it is a story that has continued long after 1998.
Larry Ellison declared that if he lived to be a thousand he would never do another Hobart. But for the crew of the Rambler, it's always “next year.” AFR Midnight Rambler has sailed in the Sydney to Hobart Race every year since 1998, with many of the original crew members aboard.
Their passion for sailing, and for each other, keeps bringing them back. Ed Psaltis put it this way: “To my mind the Sydney to Hobart is a chance to maintain the spirit of adventure—of ‘having a go,’ which is part of the average Aussie. I'll certainly keep doing it. It's part of my life, and I'm still
aiming for that second victory.”
27
Blue Water, Short Ocean—The Ramblers’ Record of Sustained Success
After their triumph in the ’98 Sydney to Hobart Race, the Ramblers continued to win tough races against the best competitors. These victories have been achieved not only in individual races but also in competitions that require consistent performance in a series of demanding events.
The year after taking home the Tattersall's trophy, the Ramblers took on another hard challenge: the Lord Howe Island Race. Like the Sydney to Hobart Race, the Lord Howe is a Category 1 race that takes the fleet well offshore. Lord Howe Island is 450 miles northeast of Sydney, and there is nowhere to hide if the weather gets nasty. The Lord Howe can be a three-and-a-half-day race, and as tough as the Hobart.
Weather conditions in the ’99 Lord Howe were reminiscent of the ’98 Hobart. The fleet was hit by another East Coast low and 45-knot winds pounded the fleet. AFR Midnight Rambler won the race by a substantial margin. Coming on the heels of their Hobart win, the Lord Howe victory added to their momentum.
In 2001, AFR Midnight Rambler scored again in the Bird Island Race. They knew the course well. The 100-mile sail to Bird Island had been their qualifying race for the ’98 Hobart. The Ramblers took first, with a double win on two handicap systems. Buoyed by these successes, AFR Midnight Rambler continued to excel. By 2009 they had won every East Coast ocean race in Australia, except one: the Sydney Gold Coast Yacht Race.
Promoted as the “great winter escape,” the Gold Coast race was second only to the Sydney to Hobart in its reputation as a tough, tactically challenging ocean race. Like the Hobart, the race begins in Sydney, but then the fleet heads north to Queensland. The 384-mile race is not only demanding—the competition is tough, too. All the hot boats turn up for the Gold Coast.
Into the Storm Page 17
