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Sayonara—A Thousand Years

At 8:03 on Tuesday morning, AFR Midnight Rambler was still scooting down the coast when Larry Ellison and the Big Yank Tank crossed the finish line in Hobart. It was not the victory that Ellison had expected.

Sayonara was first across the line, about three hours ahead of its closest competitor, Brindabella. Hundreds of people were waiting at the docks, and Ellison had achieved his goal of winning line honors. But unlike the usual victory celebration, the mood in Hobart was different.

As Ellison crossed the finish line, he was met by the plaintive sounds of a bagpiper. The melancholy notes intensified what was already a somber atmosphere in Hobart. Australian flags were flying at half-staff in honor of the six sailors who had died. The traditional welcoming fireworks had been canceled.

The media throng was eager to hear Ellison speak, and an emotional Ellison wanted to talk. His remarks were tearful. After crediting the inspirational work of the crew, he went on to make a statement that would forever connect Larry Ellison and the Sydney to Hobart Race:

Never again. Not if I live to be 1000 years old will I do a Hobart race. This is not what it's supposed to be about. Difficult, yes. Dangerous, no. Life-threatening—definitely not.

Ellison went on to describe the race “nightmare,” and to offer prayers for the search crews and the people still in the water. And he gave himself credit for making the decision to tack Sayonara, telling the media, “We got in under the lee of Tasmania, otherwise I'm not sure the boat would have lasted.”

Ellison's assertion that he had saved Sayonara by tacking the boat may have rankled some of the crew. But it was his statement about avoiding the race for a millennium that resonated throughout Hobart.

Lachlan Murdoch, who had stood almost all of his watches in spite of his sickness and amateur status, agreed that the experience was like watching a disaster movie. But he was steadfast in his commitment to continue racing. The race had simply reinforced the importance of preparation and the critical role played by skilled sailors.

When Brindabella arrived, the crew's comments about the storm contrasted with Ellison's. After George Snow was asked about Ellison's vow to avoid the Hobart for a thousand years, Snow responded with a terse “His call.”²

Scott Gilbert, a crew member on Wild Thing, was more vocal:

What I really don't like is when someone gets to Hobart and says, “This is the worst bloody race I've ever been in, I'm never coming back.” That guy should be seriously kicked up the a—…. Regardless of what he thinks about it, it's not up to him to tell the world that the race is no good…and that he'd never do it again.³

Gilbert did not speak for everyone, but his view was consistent with that of many veterans of the race. After his unequivocal statement, Ellison was not a popular figure among many Australian sailors.

Not that it mattered. Less than an hour after he stepped off Sayonara, Ellison was on a private plane headed to Antigua, where his 250-foot motor yacht, Katana, was waiting. Katana was fully equipped with a two-story apartment, giant movie screen, basketball court, and wraparound glass balconies. Ellison was done with the Sydney to Hobart Race and ready for some relaxation.

His rapid departure further annoyed many who stayed in Hobart to reflect on the race and to wait for the results of the search and rescue. Geoff Cropley, an unofficial crew spokesman for Brindabella, acknowledged that the professionals like the crew of Sayonara were good for competition, but he found it difficult to understand how professionals:

…can just fly in, get to Hobart, grab their kitbag and get on the next plane out without hanging around for lunch or a few drinks and reflect on the race…. On Brindabella we're all mates, a bunch of guys who are good sailors. We pay our own way and have a good time.

Cropley's remarks underscored the reality that there are very different worlds of ocean racing. One is a rock star world with wealthy sailors who can hire professionals to crew their expensive boats. Another is a world of talented amateurs who want to experience a challenge with their mates and have a good time.

Nothing precludes a sailor with money from entering the second world of talented amateurs. But sailing alongside friends is far different than hiring rock stars and ensuring their loyalty with lavish retainers. Both worlds come together in the Sydney to Hobart Race.

After the 1998 race, there was no doubt in anyone's mind about Ellison's resolve to avoid future Hobarts. There was also little doubt that he had been shaken by the experience. In Softwar—an “intimate portrait” of Ellison—Matthew Symonds wrote that Ellison “was traumatized by the experience” and “has sworn never to enter the race again.”

In an unusual agreement for a biography, Larry Ellison was given an opportunity to comment on everything in the book and to counter anything that he thought was wrong. In his rejoinder, Ellison insisted he “wasn't ‘traumatized’ by the race.” When he wasn't in his bunk trying to sleep, Ellison wrote, he was “busy in fight mode.” According to Ellison, he simply didn't have time to think about being scared.

With respect to his thousand-year retirement, Ellison remembers making the statement but then recalls a follow-up:

I remember saying, “No, not if I live to be 1000.” Then I thought about it for a moment and said, “Hold it, wait a second, if I live to be 1000, I'll come back…. Mark this down, 1000 years from now we'll be back.”⁴

Perhaps that's what he said, or what he would like to have said. Since 1998, however, Ellison has limited his sailing to the America's Cup. In the America's Cup “you just go out for a few hours, race around the buoys, and come back for a nice seafood and pasta dinner.” It's all “very civilized.”⁵