Fatal Storm: The 54th Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race - 10th Anniversary Edition

PREFACE TO THE 2008 EDITION

It was a contest that went to the threshold of being the worst sporting disaster the world had seen – 40, possibly 50, competitors on the brink of losing their lives! Still, it was a terrible tragedy.

Now, it is 10 years since those fateful 48 hours – two days where the nation, and much of the world, focused on a few hundred square miles of cruel ocean off the southeast corner of the Australian mainland. This was the scene of a massive search and rescue effort that was almost beyond comprehension; one where sinking and damaged yachts were scattered like unwanted debris across a heinous, storm-lashed ocean, while helpless crews – men, women and youngsters – prayed for salvation, all the time knowing that the next mountainous wave coming their way might claim them.

Sadly, for some, that is what happened.

Just 24 hours before the storm struck, these everyday individuals were among more than 1000 serious, and not-so-serious, yachties who had set sail ever so innocently on one of the world’s truly great ocean adventures – the Sydney to Hobart yacht race. They were in eager anticipation of the excitement and challenges that lay ahead on the famous 630 nautical mile passage – and as an added attraction there were the equally legendary dockside parties that would follow in Hobart.

Fatal Storm chronicles their story and that of the race; a saga that details an abominable, hurricane-like weather cell that exploded in the path of the fleet and generated conditions that anyone without salt in their veins would struggle to visualise – nefarious waves shaped like sheer mountain ranges that were on the march; at times more than 30 metres (100 feet) high, and breaking! (Look from the street to the top of a building at least 10 storeys high and things come into perspective.) However, one must also appreciate that there was far more to this equation – the wind at the time was screeching at near hurricane force.

Today, 10 years on, there is more to tell. It’s about the people who realised that death’s door was ajar, and lived to tell their story. It’s also about the positives that have come to the world as a consequence of the tragedy. And this new edition continues to stand as a tribute to so many brave rescuers, and competing sailors, whose heroic deeds saved the lives of others while they risked their own.

The original story that made Fatal Storm an international bestseller remains intact – it is as it was when first written on a massive wave of adrenaline when we were all a decade younger. However, as one would expect, remarkable stories of exceptional heroism and miraculous escapes continued to surface for a considerable time after the event, and fortunately this new edition of the book has presented the opportunity to record some of those amazing revelations. It’s something that gives readers an even greater insight into this tragedy.

For example, there is a spine-chilling expansion of the extraordinary rescue of the American, John Campbell, the first competitor mentioned in the book on the opening page. The pilot of the Victoria Police Air Wing helicopter, Darryl Jones, who weaved a web of aerial magic in manoeuvring his machine to where the extremely dangerous rescue could be executed, reveals just how incredibly close he, his two fellow crewmen and Campbell went to crashing into the ocean after the American had been winched aboard the chopper. And there is wonderful news from Campbell himself in his native Seattle; he has moved on, married, is the father of two beautiful daughters – and he has never been back to offshore yacht racing.

For Steve Kulmar – who saw friend and crewmate Glyn Charles perish when the yacht, Sword of Orion, was overwhelmed by a giant wave – his desire to go ocean racing again has also been extinguished. Until this race I kind of assumed I was indestructible, he said when casting his mind back to 1998. It took me a long while to put Glyn’s death aside. I ended up sitting on a couch for seven or eight months talking to a psychologist about how to get over it. It was quite shattering.

It’s a similar story for Garry Skippy Schipper, who was at the centre of the first incident in the race; he was hurled overboard the first night out, and then recovered thanks to an incredible set of circumstances. His demons are still present after 10 years: As recently as a month ago I had nightmares and woke up in a cold sweat, he revealed. Yet Bruce Gould, who had three crewmates lose their lives after the classic cutter, Winston Churchill, was smashed by an enormous rogue wave and sunk, regained control of his life by confronting the demons head-on. By the end of 2007 he had sailed in eight of the nine Hobart races that had been staged since the disaster.

As calamitous as this storm was, it has, in the true sense of the old adage experience is the best teacher, made the world a better place. This tragedy was again a reminder for everyone that Mother Nature always holds the upper hand, just as has been seen during the past decade with the huge tsunami that overwhelmed parts of Indonesia in 2004, and the powerful earthquake that struck central China in 2008. The ramifications from the Sydney to Hobart race storm, and the associated rescue effort, reverberated worldwide. The events were in some cases so unique that they had not previously been considered possible by the sport, or search and rescue organisations.

Today, new safety standards have been set internationally for ocean racing, some aspects of search and rescue operations changed, and maritime weather forecasting improved…all because of a single-minded, wicked storm that formed in Bass Strait and hit a yacht race fleet on December 27, 1998. Australian-based international yachting meteorologist Roger Badham, the man who rang the first alarm bells relating to the magnitude of the storm 24 hours before it hit, tells how the 1998 Sydney to Hobart race is now seen worldwide as a classic example of how things can go wrong, and has led to a far more conservative forecasting procedure, and a more cautious approach by race organisers towards the starting of events when rough weather is predicted.

Beyond all this, search and rescue organisations across Australia have directly benefited as an extension of this calamity. Within months of it having occurred, officials from the Cruising Yacht Club of Australia, which organises the classic, created the CYCA Sydney Hobart Yacht Race Safety of Life at Sea Trusts (SOLAS), with three principal aims: to assist the needs of immediate family of those lost at sea during Australian Yachting Federation sanctioned races; to provide assistance to search and rescue organisations; and to foster research and training to improve procedures and equipment for use at sea. The trust has also, in a very low profile way, been active in supporting families directly impacted by a loss of life in the tragic race. By mid-2008 more than $430,000 had been raised, primarily from CYCA members, and distributed to a wide range of worthy causes. We say with pride that a significant donation was also made to the SOLAS fund from a special Fatal Storm sales promotion.

Now, we step back a decade to the original story of what was a Fatal Storm…

PREFACE TO THE 1999 EDITION

It was always known that one day the ultimate storm might be delivered to the Sydney to Hobart yacht race. And that is exactly what happened in the 54th staging of the classic.

Since its inception in 1945 the race has stood as an Australian sporting icon. Each year, from the start on Boxing Day, December 26, until the yachts reach the finish line 630 nautical miles away, Australians have devoured news of its progress via television, newspapers and radio.

Like so many other on-the-edge sports, ocean yacht racing has always contained an element of danger. That is part of its appeal, especially in today’s world where an ever increasing number of laws, rules and regulations have stripped our society of much of its spirit of adventure. The fact that the notorious waters of the Tasman Sea and Bass Strait are part of the challenge provides added excitement for competitors and spectators alike.

Having been a sailor all my life, and with this being the 30th time I had covered the classic, I knew soon after the start that there was a potential for disaster. That was confirmed the next morning when a weather station at Wilsons Promontory, a knuckle of land that juts out into Bass Strait, registered more than 90 knots of wind from the west.

This book details what happened in the ensuing maelstrom – literally a weather bomb exploded over the fleet. It led to the largest peacetime search and rescue effort ever seen in Australia. Of the fleet of 115 yachts only 44 reached Hobart, 55 sailors were winched to safety and five yachts sank. Six sailors died.

I have deliberately stayed away from the controversies that some have seen associated with the race. Instead, I have told the story of what happened in the hope that, if necessary, others might ask questions. It must be stressed that there were 1135 competitors in this race. It is inevitable that almost every one of those sailors has their own unique story. Fatal Storm, however, deals with the major incidents. It is the result of more than 300,000 words collected in 124 interviews. My research leaves me in no doubt it was nothing short of a miracle that at least 40 competitors did not die in this race. Heroic rescues, superb seamanship, the location of the storm, the air and sea temperature and, perhaps, divine intervention, all influenced the final toll.

Part One

ONE

Are you doing the Hobart this year?

Christmas 1998 was fast approaching and the long talons of an icy winter were creeping across the northern half of the United States. While families were busy preparing for the festive season, John Campbell’s mind was on the warmth he would soon be experiencing almost half a world away. It was going to be tough not spending Christmas with his loved-ones; fortunately they all understood why he wouldn’t be home.

Campbell was due to fly out of Seattle, Washington, on December 23 on a frog-leap trip to Vancouver, Honolulu then Sydney. The day he would lose crossing the international dateline meant he would arrive in Sydney soon after sunrise on Christmas Day. That didn’t matter. December 26 was far more important.

He couldn’t take much gear with him for there would simply be no room for excess baggage aboard the yacht he’d be joining. He knew though, that he must take his seaboots. Bulky as they were, the boots were essential for keeping warm should cold conditions prevail as the fleet approached the coast of Tasmania. His thoughts turned to the old yellow boots he had worn on the odd occasion when sailing on Puget Sound. They were too tight. Over the years Campbell had learned that one of the many safety factors you apply to your personal equipment for ocean racing was oversize seaboots. If they are too big they are relatively easy to remove should you fall overboard. If they are too tight and can’t be taken off, you might as well be swimming with a house brick on each foot. New boots were indispensable for this adventure and Campbell’s priority in the precious little time he had left at home was to get to the marine store in downtown Seattle and buy them. He did just that. He bought size 12 boots – one-and-a-half sizes larger than he would normally wear.

At only 32 years of age, John Campbell had tried but failed to complete the Sydney to Hobart yacht race on two previous occasions. On the way to the airport, John and his father mused that this would be the third time lucky. John had been assured by his Melbourne-based sailing friend, Peter Meikle, that the yacht in which they would be racing, the 42-foot sloop Kingurra, was one of the more robust among the 115 entrants. Kingurra’s owner, Peter Joubert, was the designer, and the yacht’s long racing record included no fewer than 14 Hobarts.

With nearly 20 hours of travel behind him, Campbell exited Sydney’s international air terminal bleary-eyed and jet-lagged. The sky was clear and the new day was already warm. As he travelled to the Cruising Yacht Club of Australia (more commonly known as the CYC) on the eastern outskirts of the city’s CBD, he was reminded Christmas was a very different beast in the Southern Hemisphere. A 28 degrees Celsius (82°F) day didn’t seem to gel with the artificial snow and winter Christmas scenes painted on shop windows. There was one familiar thing though…effervescent and smiling children clutching their new toys.

The docks at the Cruising Yacht Club were among the busiest parts of Sydney at that early hour on Christmas Day. The atmosphere was almost carnivalesque. Race yachts with colourful battle flags flying bobbed at the docks like impatient thoroughbred horses tethered to a rail. Crewmembers from out of town, who were staying aboard their race yachts, were shuttling to and from the showers in the clubhouse. Breakfast was also on the agenda on the wooden deck that extended out over the waters of the harbour. For most it was a hearty feed of bacon and eggs. For others it was a meal that helped soak up the liquid excesses of the Christmas Eve celebrations at the club.

John Campbell felt at home as he made his way along the narrow timber dock to where Kingurra was berthed. Campbell was warmly welcomed – old as well as new friends appreciated his effort in joining the crew for the big race. As he stepped aboard he quickly realised what Meikle had meant when he said it was the sort of yacht that would get them to Hobart. He took his bag below to be stowed and the dark timber interior, just like the exterior, said solid. This was a sea-boat. He noted the sturdy bunks, the sensibly-sized navigation area and the compact overall layout. There was always something within arm’s length to hang on to in rough weather. Even the toilet – the head in nautical terms – was as comfortable as it was well designed.

Seventy-four-year-old Melburnian Peter Joubert was taking part in his 27th Sydney to Hobart. Around mid-morning he and his crew guided Kingurra away from the dock and headed for a secluded bay on the harbour. Once the yacht was at anchor Joubert disappeared below to the galley and began preparing the massive roast meal he had been planning the previous two days. While the crew relaxed on deck and absorbed the peaceful surroundings – a tree-lined bay dotted with impressive terracotta-roofed homes – they talked about the great race that was set to commence in just over 24 hours. The forecast suggested it would be a bit rough the first night out, but that was nothing unusual.

Wonderful aromas wafted from the galley reassuring the regular crewmembers that this would once again be a memorable Christmas feast. John Campbell knew that it would be a heck of a lot better than airline food.

A few miles from where the Kingurra crew was enjoying Christmas lunch and praising their chef, another Hobart race crew was enjoying a similar day afloat. Bruce Guy’s Business Post Naiad, a 14-year-old Farr 40-footer from Port Dalrymple Yacht Club in northern Tasmania, was one of many yachts at anchor in bushy Quarantine Bay, just inside North Head at the entrance to Sydney Harbour. The yacht had arrived a few days earlier and Guy had been joined by regular crewmembers Rob Matthews, Phil Skeggs, Peter Keats and Jim Rogers. Greg Sherriff, brother of crewman Matt, hooked up with them for the passage across Bass Strait and up to Sydney.

We had a southerly buster on the way up. It was a great ride, said Matthews. We hit 20 knots a couple of times. At one stage we were going so fast that Bruce, who was up forward in the toilet, was hit by a fountain of water that was being forced up the spout in the vanity basin. For a second he couldn’t work out where it was coming from.

It was the first trip to Sydney for 34-year-old Phil Skeggs, an athletic former footballer who worked as a locksmith in Launceston. He and wife Stephanie were back-fence neighbours to Bruce and Ros Guy. The Skeggses had been married 14 years and had two children – Joshua, aged six, and nine-year-old Kirsty. Skeggs had been sailing for only five years but his fitness and sporting prowess made him a valuable member of the experienced Business Post Naiad crew. The local Launceston media was abuzz with the news that one of their own boys had entered the Sydney to Hobart. The stories that had appeared were accompanied by photographs showing the crew on deck and Bruce and Ros Guy at home in front of the Christmas tree preparing for the adventure.

Phil was ecstatic about being in such a big city, said Matthews. He had an absolutely fabulous few days. He went around taking ‘happy snaps’, as he called them, of the Harbour Bridge, the ferries and Darling Harbour. We just plonked him on the train and let him go off by himself sightseeing for the day. He loved it.

Christmas Day was a chance for family reunions for some of the Tasmanians. Bruce Guy had his nephew, his wife and his children aboard. Crewmember Peter Keats, whose children Karen and David were living in Sydney, grabbed the opportunity to treat them to something special.

It was a great day, said Keats. Lots of laughing. Everyone really enjoyed it. We all jumped in the water and swam around. It was beautiful and warm – a bit different to home. We even gave the bottom of the boat one last scrub. Then someone jokingly suggested there might be sharks around – so that was it. Everyone got out of the water. It was time for lunch and a couple of quiet drinks.

That evening, with Business Post Naiad tucked safely away back at the dock at the CYC, the crew headed for the crowded outdoor bar to relax over a few beers. The mood was buoyant yet anticipatory, and almost inevitably, the conversation turned to the weather forecast.

Go easy on the Christmas dinner if you don’t like sailing to windward. That was the early advice from leading yachting meteorologist Roger Clouds Badham in The Australian on December 17, 1998. It all depends on a low that looks like forming off the New South Wales south coast late next week. Badham was basing his predictions on the current American model – a long-range weather forecast developed from a computer analysis of the existing world weather patterns. Any forecast outside six days for these things can only be described as ‘fuzzy’ at best, Badham said. There have been intense and sometimes cyclonic lows active in the Tasman Sea over the past six weeks.

It was mid-November 1998 when prominent Australian sailor David Witt went to Rarotonga, the capital of the Cook Islands and Witt’s newly adopted home. He had an agreement to train young local sailors and in return he would be able to represent the Pacific island nation in the Sydney Olympics. He also had a sponsor for the entry of a maxi yacht for the Sydney to Hobart and he wanted the yacht to represent the Cooks. Witt and his Olympic crewman, Rod Howell, headed to the home of Papa Tom – the man who had opened the way for them to Olympic competition. His real name is Sir Thomas Davis and he had been the nation’s Prime Minister for 10 years from 1978. He claims he still does not know why the Queen knighted him.

Papa Tom, a very large, powerful, grey-haired man is, to say the least, a colourful character. He has two passions – sailing and riding his Harley Davidson motorcycle. Everyone knows him and everyone waves each time he blasts down the dusty roads. When not riding his Harley he drives an old Jaguar – the only one on the island. His home is at the edge of the foothills on what the locals call the back of the island. It has been built in the style of a chalet with a high-pitched roof, and is sited on a large area of lush green lawn dotted with tall, coconut-heavy palms. The interior of the home is spacious and open, and surrounding it is a wide verandah – features that maximise the air-flow while minimising the heat.

On the day of their visit, Witt and Howell were warmly welcomed by Papa Tom onto the large verandah. The trio settled back into the comfortable chairs and within seconds the loquacious Witt was divulging his plan. Papa Tom liked the idea.

Witt then took it to the next stage, recalls Papa Tom.

He came to me and said, ‘If this plan succeeds will you sail with us?’ I was stunned, said Papa Tom. I said, ‘Hey, I’m 81 years old. I’d only get in the way. I can’t pull any ropes.’ But inside me the sailor said, ‘Do it’. If you have the ocean and sailing in your blood you cannot refuse an invitation to sail in a great race like the Sydney to Hobart – even if you are 81. For me it was a dream come true.

Papa Tom had been educated in New Zealand and Australia. In the winter of 1952 he sailed a small yacht with his wife, two children and two crew across the Pacific from New Zealand to South America, en route to Boston where he was to become a lecturer and researcher at Harvard.

That was a horrendous trip. It was in a 44-foot ketch and we were sailing in mid-winter – the first small yacht ever to sail west to east in the roaring forties at that time of year. It was a 7000 mile voyage and we had 14 days of hell.

He spent 20 years in America and went on to become a civilian researcher for the military where he was closely aligned with the American space program. He pioneered much of the research into life-support systems for America’s first astronauts.

"In the early 1970s I was asked by the Chiefs of the Cook Islands to come back home and straighten up the place because they were in all sorts of trouble. They had enormous social and economic problems. After seeing the problems I decided that I definitely had to do something about it. I then went on to become Prime Minister from 1978 to 1987.

I say with pride that I took the country from near the bottom of the economic barrel among the independent states of the Pacific to the very top. Then it was decided that they could do it all themselves – so I went out. Now they’ve gone all the way back to where they started. That’s life.

Papa Tom built two large Polynesian sailing canoes between 1992 and 1995 and sailed them extensively around the Pacific. The voyages were to prove his theories on the migratory and trading routes taken by his ancestors centuries before.

On December 18, 1998 Papa Tom flew into Sydney and began preparing for his newest adventure – the Sydney to Hobart race.

After representing Great Britain in the Star class two-man keelboat in the 1996 Olympics in Atlanta, Glyn Charles and crewman Mark Covell turned their attention to Sydney and the 2000 Olympic Games. They were proud of their 11th placing outright on the Olympic course off Savannah, an historic and very beautiful city on Georgia’s Atlantic coast. They had taken out third and fourth places in two of the heats against some of the very best sailors in the world, and were suitably encouraged to mount a strong campaign for the year 2000.

Charles was an accomplished yachting coach who dreamed of one day winning an Olympic medal, and his life was going exactly the way he wanted. He was one of the fortunate few able to make a career out of the sport he enjoyed so much. He was born in land-locked Winchester in 1965 and it was on Chichester Harbour, south west of London, that he began his sailing career. His talent for racing emerged when he joined the Royal Yachting Association’s Youth Squad. Charles was considered a late starter in the world of competitive sailing, having adopted the sport at the age of 13.

Although ranked in the top three, his desire to be selected for the British team for the World Youth Championship was frustrated by other talented sailors. Undeterred, Charles pushed himself even harder and eventually he won the national championship in one of the world’s most competitive Olympic classes – the 14-foot single-handed Laser dinghy. It was his first major step up the international sailing ladder.

The Olympic Games were his target, but in 1988 and 1992 his efforts to represent Britain in the three-man Soling Keelboat class were foiled by the talents of his arch rival Lawrie Smith. In 1996 this hurdle was finally cleared when Charles beat Smith for the Olympic Star class berth.

His ability to win in a wide range of boats – from dinghies to dayboats and ocean racers – brought Charles to the attention of yacht owners. His was a talent they craved. But Charles wasn’t into sailing just any old boat and he raced according to a time-honoured adage – to come second in a yacht race was like coming second in boxing. It’s no use sailing some crummy old shitter, he explained in plain terms to British journalist Bob Fisher in 1998. That gets nobody anywhere. Charles wanted boats with some potential that could be developed.

Olympic class sailing and offshore racing yachts soon became the mainstay of his life. He sailed for Britain four times in the Admiral’s Cup, the unofficial ocean racing team championship. In 1997 however, he would change camps and race for Australia.

Steve Kulmar, the skipper of the Mumm 36 class Australian Admiral’s Cup team yacht, Sea, and a veteran of 16 successfully completed Sydney to Hobarts and five Fastnet Races out of England, got to know Charles through prominent Sydney sailmaker and yachtsman Grant Simmer.

I knew that as part of the Australian team, and wanting to do the best we possibly could, we would need some local knowledge for sailing on the waters of the Solent and off the coast of England, said Kulmar. "The perfect situation would have been for us to carry both a local navigator and tactician, but we realised the weight of two extra people would dull our performance. So we ended up looking for somebody who could navigate and also had really good local knowledge and great tactical skills.

Grant mentioned Glyn Charles and gave me his number. I called him. It was about two months before the series. After a bit of to-ing and fro-ing he decided he would join us. He was an absolutely terrific person to have on the boat in that he would be there worrying all the time about making it go fast. He was always putting his heart and soul into it. We had a terrific series. Glyn was a very energetic guy on the yacht but laid-back in an almost Australian sort of way when on shore.

Glyn Charles’ partner, Annie Goodman, was equally passionate about sailing. The comfortable cottage they shared in Bosham, on the shores of Chichester Harbour, reflected a lifestyle closely aligned to the sea. It was a perfect base for both because it was central to much of England’s sailing activity.

Checking his emails one day, Charles found one from Steve Kulmar. Kulmar had committed to sailing on Sword of Orion in the 1998 Sydney to Hobart, and during some lead-up races it had become clear the crew needed more depth – someone who could comfortably slip into the role of tactician or supervisor.

Ironically, I was talking to Grant Simmer again and he said Glyn was planning to come to Sydney to coach the British Olympic Soling contender, Andy Beadsworth, in preparation for the world championship, Kulmar recollects. So I emailed Glyn immediately and asked, ‘Are you interested in doing the Hobart?’ He said he’d have a think about it. Information went backwards and forwards and in the end he said, ‘OK, subject to final discussions in Sydney’.

Charles met with Kulmar and Sword of Orion’s owner Rob Kothe at the CYC the morning he arrived from London – December 10. They talked at length and outlined their plans for the race. About two days later Charles agreed to race – but only in the Hobart because he had the Olympic Soling coaching program organised from December the 11th to the 22nd.

Glyn Charles already had four Fastnet Races to his credit. He had now committed to his first Hobart.

Well-known sailing figure, John Steamer Stanley, had done it all. At 51 years of age, he had been a champion in the famous 16-foot and 18-foot skiffs that race on Sydney Harbour. His keelboat experiences had led him to the Admiral’s Cup ocean racing championship in England, 16 Sydney to Hobarts, and the oldest trophy in the history of sport, the America’s Cup. He had also had the pleasure of indulging a dream of so many other sailors – a cruise around the planet on a small yacht.

Steamer was a remarkable battler, both on and off the water. There was a touch of irony in that his nickname had come from the legendary Stanley Steamer steam engine, a machine known for its strength and reliability. He was born with two dislocated hips and for much of his life he didn’t walk, he hobbled. His condition was greatly improved after a dual hip replacement, but still he moved with a noticeable limp. More recently, his left kidney was removed after a cancerous tumour was found, then a malignant melanoma was taken from his arm. That would have been enough to slow most people, but just when things looked to be taking a turn for the better, in fact only months before the 1998 Hobart race, Steamer was found to have asbestosis on one lung – a direct result of his years working as a builder. All I can say is that life can only get better, he commented after hearing of his latest medical ailment.

His plan was to do another Hobart race, once again aboard the classic 55-foot cutter Winston Churchill, a yacht built in Hobart in 1942 by the legendary Percy Coverdale. It took its name from the great man himself – but only after Coverdale wrote to Churchill and received his written permission. After being used to service Tasmanian lighthouses during World War II, the yacht contested the inaugural Sydney to Hobart.

In 1959 a Bass Strait storm went close to claiming Winston Churchill. As the yacht crashed off a large wave, the mast was dislodged from its step and speared through the bottom of the hull. Owner Arthur Warner, a Victorian Government minister, saved the vessel by wrapping sails around the damaged hull and beaching it at the aptly-named Wreck Beach, near Wonthaggi.

Steamer was an authority on sailing in Australia and the vintage Winston Churchill held a special place in the history he loved to recount. That tie was strengthened when he worked on its restoration for six months in Sydney after it was purchased by Richard Winning in 1997. It was a labour of love as the traditionally planked wooden hull was returned to pristine condition, the Huon pine timbers stripped bare then repainted and the heavy timber mast replaced by a considerably lighter and slightly taller aluminium section. When Winston Churchill was relaunched she was nothing short of a magnificent tribute to yachting and yacht builders of bygone era.

Steamer saw Winston Churchill as a real boat, a classic yacht; a yacht designed to go across the ocean. It was the style of yacht he enjoyed racing: Ocean racing as such is something I’m not really interested in these days. I’m not into sitting on the rail any more – those days are long gone. I like to enjoy my sailing with a bunch of mates.

Richard Winning decided to enter his gleaming, meticulously-restored yacht in the 1997 Sydney to Hobart for the thrill of it. We look at it as a bit of recreation, he told Business Review Weekly. He added that Winston Churchill will be here long after we have all gone. John Steamer Stanley was at the head of the queue for a crew position. Winning had no hesitation in taking him; after all, he was a racing yachtsman, a seaman and a boatbuilding craftsman.

They were justifiably proud of their result that year, given that