6

The Aussie Competitors

The Ramblers were not the only ones preparing for the Sydney to Hobart Race in 1998. As usual, the fleet comprised a diverse mix of vessels—including one venerable boat that had been competing since the first race in 1945.¹

The Winston Churchill was a strong wooden boat, and Jim Lawler, a close friend of Bill Psaltis, was on the crew. Jim was one of the finest sailors that Bill had ever met, and the Winston Churchill was the kind of boat that Bill felt good about. If he had been asked to sail on it that year, he would have done it in a flash.

Richard Winning, the owner of the boat, had spent a quarter of a million dollars rebuilding the famous yacht. Since its inaugural race, the Winston Churchill had sailed in fifteen Hobarts and circled the world twice. Built in Hobart in 1942, the yacht symbolized classic sailing at its best.

With its teak deck, brass fittings, and white hull, the boat stood in stark contrast to the Rambler's fiberglass surfboard. With the latest modifications—including a heavy timber mast fitted with a lighter aluminum section and a brand-new set of sails—the Winston Churchill seemed to represent the best of the old and the new. Bill Psaltis would have been much more confident had his boys been aboard a boat like that instead of their sleek racing machine.

Winston Churchill was an imposing boat, but its real power came from its distinguished crew. In addition to Jim Lawler, John “Steamer” Stanley was aboard. Stanley had sailed in fifteen Hobarts and had quite a record. He began his sailing career at age 11, sailed in numerous long-distance races, and had crewed in the America's Cup. He worked for six months on restoring the vintage boat, and Steamer had recruited others to form a first-rate crew. Two of Richard Winning's childhood friends, John Dean and Michael Bannister, had even joined the crew for the race.

Although a huge amount of time and money had been poured into the boat, the restoration effort may have been imperfect. A former Navy sailor, Greg Bascombe, had just finished scrubbing the bottom of several boats when he noticed something unusual along the waterline of the Winston Churchill. Bascombe—aka “Mega” because of his 300-pound weight—swam closer to examine the boat more carefully. To his practiced eye, it appeared that a small section of caulking, used to seal the wooden planks, was missing.

Bascombe was alarmed at the sight of what seemed to be a flaw in the Churchill's watertight integrity. Though the gap was small, perhaps a quarter of an inch, it could expand in heavy weather. He got out of the water and walked over to the Churchill's dock. Approaching several men he thought were members of the crew, he warned, “There's some caulking missing. You should make sure the owner knows about it.” Bascombe then left, satisfied that he had shared his concerns with the crew. Richard Winning, however, never got the message. Later, no one who sailed on the boat could recall the conversation.

The Sword of Orion, owned by Rob Kothe, was a very different design. It lacked the classic lines of the Winston Churchill, but it was a superb racing boat. Like Richard Winning, Rob Kothe was a successful entrepreneur. Unlike Winning, however, Kothe was a relative newcomer to the world of sailing.

Kothe bought his first boat in 1997 and achieved some measure of success in that year's Hobart. Buoyed by a second place in his division, Kothe was eager to join the ranks of the sailing greats that he had heard about as a small child. Kothe purchased the Sword with the intent purpose of taking home the Tattersall's Cup.

On the surface, there were a number of similarities between Sword of Orion and AFR Midnight Rambler. Sword was longer—43 feet to the Rambler's, 35—but both boats were balsa core fiberglass construction with Kevlar sails. They were typical of the modern boat designs that worried Bill Psaltis.

As on the AFR Midnight Rambler, some members of Sword's crew were expert racers with extensive sailing experience. Like Ed Psaltis, Rob Kothe insisted on a disciplined regimen of training and preparation. Sword's schedule included at least two races and one practice sail each week. Kothe required crew members to be on time, to exercise, and to lose weight. And like Psaltis, Kothe was focused on everything that might add a few additional pounds to the boat. He replaced the Sword's brass barometer case with a plastic one, and he was always looking to improve the boat's equipment. Finally, like Ed Psaltis, Rob Kothe was a perfectionist. The similarities ended there.

Kothe not only lacked sailing experience, he was also new to the world of team sports. He had flown gliders in airborne regattas, which he saw as similar to sailing because it was competitive and because gliders rely on the wind. But gliding is an individual sport. The pilot controls everything, and the aircraft obeys the pilot's commands without question. Ocean racing is an entirely different sport, one that demands the highest level of coordination among team members with diverse roles.

Though Kothe may not have fully grasped the importance of teamwork, he understood the need for sailing talent. Kothe recruited Darren “Dags” Senogles to take care of the Sword, and used his athletic skills in the demanding position of bowman.

Even more important than a talented bowman, Sword needed an experienced helmsman. In late September, just months before the race, a mutual friend introduced Kothe to Steve Kulmar.

Kulmar had the kind of sailing pedigree that Kothe was after. Kulmar had been sailing since childhood and had won Australian and world championships. He had done seven Fastnets and seventeen Hobarts—including three in which his boat had won the Tattersall's Cup. The two seemed to hit it off, and Kulmar agreed to join Sword as its principal helmsman.

Kulmar wanted to win as much as Kothe, and he aggressively sought additional talent. In 1997, Kulmar had sailed in the U.K. Admiral's Cup with an enthusiastic Olympic sailor named Glyn Charles.

Charles was an accomplished sailor who had aspirations of representing Britain in the Sydney Olympics and eventually winning an Olympic medal. He had impressed Kulmar with both his sailing ability and his personality. Charles’ specialty was small boats. But he had competed in four Admiral's Cups, and he had sailed on boats ranging from dinghies to ocean racers.

In 1998, Charles was headed to Australia as a sailing coach for the British Olympic team. As soon as Kulmar found out that Charles was going to be in Sydney, he e-mailed him an invitation to join the crew. Charles replied with a tentative acceptance, to be finalized after discussions in Sydney.

On December 10, just a little over two weeks from the start of the race, Glyn Charles arrived from London. The morning he landed, Charles met Kulmar and Kothe at the Cruising Yacht Club in Sydney. After an extended conversation, the British sailor said he would think about it, and two days later agreed to join the crew. Because of prior commitments, however, he would not be able to train with the crew until December 22—just four days before the race. This would be his first Hobart.

Kothe's decision to bring Charles on board was not universally acclaimed. One young sailor, Tracy Roth, had planned to do the Hobart on Sword. She was an accomplished sailor who had done five Atlantic crossings, but she was not a sailing heavy like Glyn Charles. Tracy was cut from the crew, a casualty of Kothe's search for rock stars.

Others who remained on the team were also upset by the decision to bring Kulmar and Charles on board. These crew members had sailed together to train for the event, and they had followed Kothe's strict rules. They hadn't even met the new rock stars.

Their status on Sword had now been altered, and there were disagreements about decisions that had already been made. Should they take two mainsails, or stick with one? Should they use a two-watch system in which half the crew was on duty and the other half free, or should they use a three-watch system in which only a third of the crew would be completely free to rest?

The crew of the Sword would begin the race with disagreement about these and other questions. Opinions were split. Perhaps most critically, they would sail with unanswered questions about who was leally in charge of the boat. Was it Kothe, the official skipper and owner? Or was it Steve Kulmar, the sailing rock star? And where did Glyn Charles fit into the decision-making hierarchy?

By race time on the 26th, 115 boats had registered for the Sydney to Hobart Race. Their names were as assorted as the design of the boats themselves: Atara, Business Post Naiad, Miintinta, Pippin, Renegade, Siena, Solo Globe Challenger, Team Jaguar Infinity III, T42 Solandra, VC Offshore Stand Aside, and Secret Men's Business. Bearing a name that would later cause heartbreak and confusion during the race, a boat called the Midnight Special would be competing alongside AFR Midnight Rambler.

As in every race, the biggest boats—the maxis—would be competing for line honors, trying to be the first to cross the finish line. The largest boat in the fleet was Nokia, an 83-foot maxi ketch. Almost every other boat in the race was rigged as a sloop, with two triangular sails. Nokia had three, with an extra mast and small sail in the back.

One local favorite was Brindabella, skippered by Australian financial executive George Snow. Snow had begun sailing on a man-made lake in Canberra and had moved to Sydney so he could be closer to the water. He developed a reputation as a tough competitor who truly enjoyed the camaraderie of the team sport. A coach as well as a skipper, he was dedicated to ocean racing and had persisted despite setbacks.

In the 1996 race, Brindabella did so well that it appeared she would win the esteemed trifecta: crossing the line first with line honors, being declared overall winner on handicap, and breaking the race record with the shortest time to Hobart. When all seemed to be going so well, the mast broke and Brindabella was out of the race. Although discouraged, the next year George Snow was back. And in 1997, he achieved what had been a lifetime dream. Brindabella crossed the finish line first.

At 75 feet, Brindabella was more than twice the size of the AFR Midnight Rambler. Like the crew of the Rambler, however, Snow's team of twenty-one comprised primarily amateur sailors. They were not novices, and many in the crew had done the Hobart before. But Snow did not hide his disdain for other skippers who might show up at the last minute to step onto a boat consisting of paid professionals. For Snow, “buying the team” was not an option.

Others in the race did not share Snow's reservations about using wealth to buy hired guns and rock stars. Brindabella's biggest threat to a second line honors win was anything but amateur. The crew of Sayonara consisted of twenty of the best professional sailors in the world.