Australians call it the Great Race for good reason.
The annual Rolex Sydney Hobart Yacht Race, which starts on Thursday, takes sailors on a 628-nautical mile race that exits Sydney Harbor and plunges south along the New South Wales coastline before crossing Bass Strait, rounding Tasman Island, crossing Tasmania’s Storm Bay and pushing up the River Derwent to Hobart.
The race has a history of often challenging teams with brutal offshore conditions that have cost lives, sunk yachts and broken dreams. Yet race veterans said that it was these challenges, along with the chance to win the race’s top trophy — the Tattersall Cup — and the friendships that were forged, that repeatedly drew them away from their families over the holidays.
The race, which is run by the Cruising Yacht Club of Australia, began in 1945 with nine yachts. This year, more than 100 yachts plan to compete.
While veterans said that every year was challenging, some years were rougher than others. The East Australian Current generally flows south along the New South Wales coastline at about one to four knots. When the wind blows from the north, sailors enjoy fast passage toward Hobart, but when it comes from the south — pitting wind against water — things can get rough.
“At some point in time in the race, the chances are you’re going to get what we call a southerly buster,” Lindsay May, a three-time Tattersall Cup winner who has competed in 50 consecutive races, said in a phone interview. “That wind is going to come in at plus-30 knots, maybe 40 knots, maybe a lot higher.”
May called 1984 his roughest race. “We had extraordinary seas,” he said. “I was greatly concerned for boat and crew.”
Other years have also been ferocious. About two-thirds of the fleet abandoned racing in 1993, and six sailors were killed in the 1998 race and five yachts were sunk.
Even on a good year, the race departs a usually warm and sunny Sydney under great fanfare and takes teams on a course that’s often wet, cold and, for some, punctuated by seasickness.
“This is a race that sorts out people,” May said. “If people are not team players, people that don’t handle this sort of thing, they get ‘eased’ as we call it.”
Others become lifers.
To recognize this commitment, the Australian yacht club created the 25 Hobarts boards and the 40 Hobarts board, which are mounted on a wall at the club’s headquarters.
“When I got on that, I was so proud of myself because there are so many legends whose names are up there,” said Tony Kirby, who plans to start his 39th race this year aboard Tenacity, a Mills 41. “Now my challenge is to make it to 40.”
There are 152 sailors who have been recorded competing in the race at least 25 times, and 16 who have sailed it at least 40 times. Four sailors — May included — have competed at least 50 times.
“It is a really addictive race, it’s very hard to explain, but there’s something about it that drags you back, or it drags people like me back,” said Jim Nixon, who plans to start his 30th race this year aboard Wings, a Dehler 46. “You can be part of something that’s the pinnacle of the sport, and that makes it incredibly attractive.”
Dr. Sam Haynes, the club’s commodore and the skipper of Celestial V70, a Volvo Open 70 that will race this year, described the race as a “bit heroic.”
“People look at you as a person which does Hobarts — it characterizes you,” Haynes, a veterinarian, said, noting that how participants conduct themselves was also important. “The event’s bigger than any single ego.”
The sailing conditions also add gravitas.
Nixon described a “magic day” racing aboard the yacht Azzurro, a Sparkman & Stephens 34. “The boat was just unbelievable, like it was just like a surfboard going down these waves all the way across the strait,” he said.
Haynes, who is preparing for his 13th race, described similarly epic conditions in the 2022 race while running down the Tasmanian coast, at dawn, in big waves and strong northerly winds.
“Everyone was just pushing their boats as hard as they could,” he said. “The boat was fully wet, underwater, big waves breaking over us, combing waves coming in over the side.”
Fair-weather sailing this is not.
This is especially true for the smaller, slower boats, which face longer exposure to the elements.
“It’s a tougher race in a small boat,” said Nixon, who prefers racing with amateur crews aboard smaller boats than racing with professionals. “You’ve got a potential of facing more adverse weather than the bigger boats,” he said. “That’s part of the attraction.”
For Nixon and others, the race’s difficulty is a feature, not a bug.
Duncan Macleod, who is preparing to start his 27th race aboard No Limit, a Reichel/Pugh 63, said that he really enjoyed getting out on the ocean and pushing himself for a couple of days. “It’s very rare that you would actually physically push yourself in this sort of day and age to that sort of capacity,” he said.
Others agree.
“You’re just out there in the elements, sailing in a beautiful part of the world,” Haynes said. “You don’t get those sort of experiences that easily, and I cherish that.”
While veterans described Tasmania’s beautiful coastline as a highlight, they also said that the race’s fierce competition was part of the draw.
“It’s a great challenge of mental fitness and stamina, that’s for sure,” said Kirby, noting that he came close to winning the Tattersall Cup — and the accompanying Rolex that is awarded with the cup — aboard his yacht several times.
“I’d never buy a Rolex watch, but I want to win one,” Kirby said. “It would have been much cheaper to go and buy one in the first place.”
Haynes, who won the Tattersall Cup in 2022 after a near miss in 2021, said winning the race was hard. “There’s so many things that have to align to be able to win.”
Some of these — like the pre-race preparations — are controllable, while others aren’t.
“You’ve got to have a really good boat to win the Hobart race,” Kirby said. “You have to have really good crew, you have to go the right way, and then the final decider is God — he wiggles his finger around and says it’s your turn.”
May pointed to the generally out flowing River Derwent, where the wind often dies at night, as a place where dreams were broken.
“There’s been many people over the years — self included — who have been in a fabulous position at Tasman Island and then the whole thing just turns to custard,” said May of the race’s final hurdle.
Should the winds die, even the fanciest boats wallow.
“There’s also an element of luck, which is quite amazing,”Macleod said, noting that outspending rivals didn’t guarantee results. “The battler can still win the race.”
Trophies and timepieces aside, all the veterans spoke of the bonds that the race forged.
“The thing for me is the camaraderie that is built up within crews,” May said. He called it a privilege to spend days in trying conditions in wet, cold and confined spaces — sometimes hungry — with a group of people and finish as best mates. “You have been in situations where your life depends on them, and their life depends on you.”
Take the storm-tossed 1993 race.
May’s boat lost its mast and retired, yet he called this his best experience.
John Quinn, the skipper of the yacht Mem, had fallen overboard. “We found him after he had been in the sea for five hours, and we saved that man’s life and got him back to shore,” May said.
Flash forward to the 2006 race, which May won as skipper of Love & War, a Sparkman & Stephens 47.
Quinn, May said, “was one of the first people on the dock to congratulate us.”
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