‘I remember the 1998 Sydney to Hobart tragedy’

Saturday, December 26, 1998. It was hot in the Harbour City that Boxing Day for the start of the 71st Sydney-Hobart Yacht Race, with a gusty blow coming in through the Heads. The wind blustered and created white caps on the deep blue harbour waters. It was a spectacle to behold for the thousands who lined every harbour vantage point, as it was for probably millions who, like I, hundreds of kilometres away, watched it all unfold on a television screen. There was nothing to indicate the awful trauma lying less than a day ahead.

The 25- to 30-knot north-easterly, coupled with a 4-knot current pushing south gave promise of records to be broken in the run down the coast. The first of the yachts rounded South Head and began its run to Hobart. The ballooning spinnaker of Sayonara straining before her, white and easily identifiable with its large crimson disc like that on a Japanese flag, leading the fleet.

That stirring sight buoyed everyone and did much to diminish any concern there may have been over a pre-race warning of a strong southerly change the fleet might meet as it entered Bass Strait. The change eventuated, and the first of the yachts encountered winds now exceeding 40 knots.

It was a Sunday many Australians — and others around the world — will never forget. Through much of the day we were inundated with pictures too dreadful to watch, yet held us glued to our television sets. With many a heart in mouth as we looked on from the comfort of our lounge rooms, we were concerned for those caught up in a maelstrom so confused it’s almost beyond belief that anyone was able to survive. But, then, what must the experience have been like for those involved?

Helicopters and other aircraft flew overhead. Enormous swells reared up to create foam-topped waves that smashed down against and over broken yachts. Spume and spray, driven by 65- to 75-knot winds (they peaked over 80 knots) constantly obliterated the devastation below, with liferafts and smoke from flares whipped about willy-nilly while, unbelievably, brave souls dangled on ropes from helicopters and entered the treacherous water in rescue of others.

I felt physically ill that day, watching brave people in, on and above the heaving ocean doing all in their power to protect themselves and to save others. Despite the number of yachts destroyed and others abandoned, left to their fate, the brave souls who participated in the rescue mission managed to save all but six who were lost to the elements. Perhaps the greatest tribute to the work they did that day is that we never forget their herculean task.

Meanwhile, as all of this was going on, one of the smallest yachts in the fleet, a 35-footer named Midnight Rambler with her experienced crew was fighting her own fight. Knocked over several times but managing, somehow, to right herself again and again, she pushed on into the teeth of the angry storm. Many of the yachts that got into trouble had attempted to save themselves by running with it, a common enough procedure.

In the end, battered and bruised by 75-knot gusts and 50- to 60-foot foam-topped waves, then having to manage the ridiculously fickle light airs of the River Derwent, Midnight Rambler brought her crew, ultimately safely, to Constitution Dock. Incredibly, 10th across the line overall, the gallant little craft had won the race on handicap. Sadly for her, the victory is pyrrhic, effectively forgotten in all that went before.
__________

In tribute to the six who died that day.

On Business Post Naiad: Phillip Skeggs, drowned, Bruce Guy, heart attack;
Winston Churchill: Michael Bannister, John Dean and James Lawler, all drowned;
Sword of Orion: Glyn Charles, drowned.

Every one of them understood the words of Masefield:

“I must go down to the sea again,
For the call of the running tide
Is a wild call and a clear call
That may not be denied…”

Rest in peace.

Do you remember the Sydney to Hobart yacht race of 1988? Are you a fan of this annual Boxing Day event?

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