Into the Storm by Dennis N.t. Perkins

Author:Dennis N.t. Perkins
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: AMACOM

23

AFR Midnight Rambler—A Commanding Position

At 8 p.m. on Sunday, the crew of AFR Midnight Rambler could actually talk to each other on deck without shouting. It was astonishing to go so quickly from the hell they had been trapped in to this moment of relative tranquility. One by one, the crew below climbed up on deck to see what had happened.

The Ramblers took in their surroundings and looked up into a clearing sky. It was surreal. They talked about stripping off their wet-weather gear, even joking about changing into shorts. Then it dawned on them. This was just the eye of the storm. As the rolling cloud formation from the other side of the storm closed in, they realized they had made it only halfway. They weren't going to be in the sanctuary for long.

Soon they were back in the fight, though this second round wasn't quite as punishing as the first. The wind had dropped to speeds of 45 knots, and the waves were now only as tall as five-story buildings. But the crew was still in survival mode.

Most of the Ramblers were still seasick and vomiting. Eating was out of the question. And because their eyes had been pounded by the saltwater spray and spew, their vision was blurry. In spite of it all, however, there was a sense of relief. With the drop in wind and the easing of the storm, these horrible conditions seemed almost normal.

At midnight, AFR Midnight Rambler was sailing in pitch-black darkness. Except for the compass located at the forward end of the cockpit, they had no navigational equipment. Mix and Chris took turns squinting at the tiny compass light and relaying the boat's course to Ed, who was back at the helm.

At 2 a.m. Monday, they still had no way of plotting their exact position. Fearful that the boat may have been blown too far east to have any chance of winning the race, Ed and Arthur took stock of their situation. As they talked in the darkness, a clear picture emerged. It finally began to sink in that they really were through the worst of it. And the boat was still in good shape. It was time to switch gears—to move from survival back to racing.

The transition back to racing was remarkably smooth. Gordo thought they were all so bloody relieved to be out of the storm that everyone needed to focus on something else, anything, to occupy their minds. And the faster they went, the faster they would get to Hobart. This time, getting to Hobart would mean more than having a “quiet little drink.” It would mean that they had made it through this ordeal together and beaten the storm.

The crew started racing again and taking more chances. They raised the mainsail part way, and the Rambler began to pick up speed. By 3 a.m., they were in the middle of the Bass Strait and sailing well. It was just starting to feel right, when they began to hear reports of what had happened to the rest of the fleet.

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