Into the Storm (13 page)

On deck, they made sure that the mainsail was tightly rolled up and lashed to the deck with the boom. They wanted to be certain that everything was properly secured so that if they did capsize, no one would be hit by loose equipment, adding injury to the mayhem.

Everyone was scared, but negative thoughts went unspoken. No one said, “Be positive.” But they all concluded, privately, that they shouldn't be talking about doomsday when doomsday could come at any time. Catastrophic possibilities were imagined, but spoken comments were optimistic.

Some of the positive banter was transparently artificial. Arthur would say, “The clouds up there are clearing, the skies coming through are blue,” or “The seas aren't quite as big now, I think we're getting through it.” Half the time, Ed thought,
This is a load of BS
. But then he thought again and concluded,
That's beside the point. It's reassuring to hear him say that we're going to be okay. It helps
.

Everyone had their peaks and troughs—moments when they utterly excelled and moments when they couldn't push themselves any harder. The crew was acutely sensitive to this ebb and flow of ability, and they all were willing to step into the breach and pick up the slack when somebody else had reached his limit.

Gordo had done this for Chris when he did a double watch without complaint. Chris was inspired by the thought of Gordo staying up there and simply doing what had to be done. The team also took notice when Arthur stepped in to take over crew management from Ed.

Establishing a watch system with people on deck for only an hour at a time and below deck for two hours, was critical to sharing the burden. There were three ways in which the system helped them maintain stamina.

One hour on deck meant that they could physically deal with the exhausting task of fighting the cold, rain, wind, and waves. In addition, the psychological impact of this system was equally important. They were much more resilient knowing that their time in hell would end after sixty minutes. Finally, Arthur's intervention was also symbolic. It demonstrated in a tangible, concrete way that they were aware of each other's needs—and that they would find a way to take care of each other.

In spite of everything they were doing to help each other, by the end of the day on Sunday the storm had taken an enormous toll. Ed had been steering for most of the afternoon. Bob had done his share to relieve Ed, and he had been washed off the helm twice by the gigantic breaking waves. Bob was willing to do whatever needed to be done, but Ed was the best driver and everyone knew it.

Ed was doing a truly extraordinary job, but even he had limits. Dusk was coming on and he began thinking,
I'm at the end of my tether. I'm not telling the crew, but if this continues, I can't keep going like this, and there's no one else that can steer this damn boat, so we're in serious trouble
.

Arthur sensed what his brother was feeling. And the thing that struck him about their situation was that the storm was getting worse—and it was still daytime.
What would happen when it got dark? This is not good
, Arthur thought.
Our best helmsman is Ed, and we've got to get him to rest before it gets dark. The last thing we need is to have him exhausted and fatigued at night
.

Arthur huddled with Bob and agreed on a plan. It was critical that they get Ed down below for a couple hours before it got dark, and that would mean they needed three helmsmen. The only way that could happen was if Arthur took a turn steering.

Climbing up on deck into the storm, Arthur shouted at Ed: “You've got to get off the bloody helm and get some sleep. If this thing keeps going through the night, it's going to get much harder—we might not see daylight! Get off the bloody helm and get down below!”

Ed shot back, “No, no, don't be stupid! This is tough, tough right now. I'm okay, let me go.”

Arthur didn't flinch. “You're not okay. You're already knackered. You've got to let me have a go at steering this boat. I think I can do it. You're tired. Dusk is only an hour away, and we need our best man in the dark if we're to going to survive this. Get the hell down below and get some rest!”

Ed looked at his brother. He realized that Arthur was right. He had been pushing, pushing, and pushing, but he was struggling to keep going. He had to rest before dark. Exhausted, Ed went below and collapsed.

Arthur sailed superbly. Sprawled on a berth below, Ed began to understand what had happened. If Arthur hadn't stepped in, he would have been steering at night, physically and emotionally drained, with ragged reflexes. The thought of that was too horrifying to think about. Ed drifted into a half sleep. He was thankful that his brother had given him such a hard dose of reality. Then everything went fuzzy.

T
ension had been building all day on
Sword of Orion
. Some time before 12 noon on Sunday, December 27, Steve Kulmar confronted owner-skipper Rob Kothe and said in no uncertain terms that conditions were unlike anything he had ever seen in all his sailing experience. Gusts of over 80 knots were hitting them on a regular basis, and Kulmar was concerned about the safety of the crew. He was convinced they should retire.
¹
In fact, Kulmar thought they should have turned around much earlier—at 9 a.m. But Kothe resisted, saying “We need to wait until the twelve o'clock official radio broadcast.” Kulmar wasn't happy, but he agreed that they would hang on and try to get a fix on the exact position of the low-pressure system. When the twelve o'clock forecast came, it wasn't much help. The broadcast said only that the low-pressure system was in the Eastern Bass Strait.

Leaving aside the question of where in the Eastern Bass Strait the center of the low-pressure system was located, the forecast was clear about the
storm warning
. Kothe believed that he had better knowledge of meteorology than anybody else on
Sword
, and Kulmar, like many others in the race, did not fully understand the implications of the forecast.

Based on the storm warning, Kothe believed that they should be prepared for winds of 40 to 50 knots, with gusts up to 60 or 65. The extreme weather they were experiencing was far beyond his expectations. It was a puzzle that Kothe wanted to unravel. He was intensely focused on the radio, hoping for any weather information that would help him make sense of the mess they were in.

The roles and decision-making structure on the
Sword of Orion
were as confusing as the weather. Rob Kothe was the owner, the skipper, the navigator, and the resident meteorologist. Steve Kulmar was the most experienced Hobart veteran and the principal helmsman. Glyn Charles was a sailing rock star who had done the Fastnet and was considered a senior helmsman. But his experience was largely in small boats, and he had never sailed in weather remotely close to this. Added to the mix was Adam Brown, the third member of the crew qualified to drive the boat as a senior helmsman.

There are conflicting accounts of exactly what happened on
Sword of Orion
, but there is consensus about the confusion and lack of alignment. Brown had been steering
Sword of Orion
since 8 a.m., and conditions were so unmanageable that he often needed help turning the wheel. Glyn Charles had been below since 10 a.m., incapacitated by seasickness. Kulmar continued to lobby Brown and other crew members to turn around, while Kothe stayed below at the nav station trying to decipher the mystery of the storm from radio transmissions. He hadn't been on deck in hours.

Brown had been on the wheel for five hours when he was finally relieved by Kulmar. Trembling and shaking with exhaustion, Brown went below. He was sitting “like jelly” on the bottom of the stairwell. Seeing his condition, Kothe said, “He's going into shock, for God's sake, give him something to drink.”

Glyn Charles emerged from below deck around 1 p.m. and spoke with Kulmar. Charles had joined the increasingly loud chorus of voices arguing that they should retire from the race, and he asked Kulmar to try to get Kothe to pull out. Kulmar agreed, and Charles took over the helm while Kulmar went below to, once again, confront Kothe.

Even with the added weight of Glyn Charles' opinion, Kothe wasn't convinced. Kothe hadn't had a direct conversation with Charles about the weather, and he felt that Charles was being “lent on” by the others. So in spite of growing resistance,
Sword of Orion
continued onward with Glyn Charles at the helm.

Charles was not in good shape. Before he had gone on deck, Kothe suggested that Charles take another seasick tablet. He refused, thinking that the pill would never stay down. Just before climbing topside to take the helm, he had vomited on the shoulder of another crewman.

Charles was not in top form, but he felt guilty about not doing his part. He was, after all, a rock star and a paid helmsman, and he needed to be earning his keep. In spite of his nausea and weakened condition, Charles was determined to do what he had been paid to do.

With Charles driving the boat, Kulmar approached the exhausted Brown and continued his lobbying efforts to get
Sword
out of the race. Kothe finally agreed that the decision about whether to continue should be made by the three helmsmen, and Brown had one vote. Brown wanted out, but, exhausted, he crawled into his sleeping bag and focused on recovering from his ordeal at the helm. A formal vote was never taken.

After the 2 p.m. sked—when
Sword
broadcast the weather warning to the fleet—Kothe had intended to go on deck and speak with Charles about the weather. But he became preoccupied with a new assignment: acting as a radio relay for boats whose broadcasts weren't getting through to
Young Endeavor
.

It wasn't his choice
, Kothe thought,
to spend time passing messages back and forth
. He just happened to notice that some transmissions weren't getting through and thought that his interventions were important. One boat,
Ausmaid
, had been out of touch for two skeds, and he relayed their status to
Young Endeavor
. Kothe believed that he may have prevented a needless search-and-rescue effort. Whether or not he was right, the transmissions required his full attention.

Finally, around 3:45 p.m. the weather shifted. Blue sky appeared over
Sword
, and the winds dropped to about 15 knots. The crew thought that this was the center of the storm, but it is more likely that
Sword
had simply entered a corridor of lighter winds. Still uncertain about what was happening with the storm, Kothe finally made an announcement: “If the wind goes back above 65 knots, we're going to go home.” Kothe never did speak to Charles about the weather.

Soon after Kothe's declaration, the winds did increase, and he made good on his commitment to turn around. In Kothe's mind,
Sword
was not “retiring,”—that is, pulling out of the race for good. They were simply turning back for shelter, hoping to continue the race after the storm. For the crew, there was a significant emotional component to the decision. Safety aside, it was a huge relief to be headed back toward land.

Sword
was now only 90 miles from a safe haven, but steering toward Eden would put the waves almost directly behind them. This was the dangerous scenario rejected by
AFR Midnight Rambler. Sword
would now be running ahead of the monstrous waves, and the potential for losing control greatly increased. Aware of the danger, Kothe suggested going west. They could then take the waves at an angle and be less vulnerable to a knockdown.

Kothe broadcast their decision to seek shelter at 4:44 p.m. He knew that the announcement would be heard by other skippers, and he hoped that they might follow suit. If
Sword
was later able to get back in the race, it would improve their competitive position if other boats had dropped out as well.

Turning
Sword
around was not easy. It required a sailing maneuver known as a
jibe
, which involves turning the stern of the boat into the wind. In the process, the boom could swing around quickly and violently, sweeping across the cockpit.
Sword
jibed, but without a hitch. Charles may have been seasick, but he executed the about-face flawlessly.

Sword
was now on a new course, but not the westerly track they had agreed on. Instead, Charles was heading north, directly toward Eden. Darren Senogles—Dags—who had just congratulated Charles for his brilliant work in turning
Sword
around, was now concerned. He asked if Charles was okay. Charles brushed aside his worries and seemed concerned only about the time he had spent below. Feeling guilty about having let the team down, Charles continued to steer the northerly course. The waves continued to pound
Sword
from behind.

Dags became increasingly concerned about Charles, and anxiety intensified as he watched him hunkering down inside his foul-weather gear. Charles could barely see past the hood of his jacket. Shouting over the deafening noise of the wind, Dags volunteered to steer. But Charles refused the offer. He seemed fixated on the instruments, almost in a trancelike state. Dags continued to insist that they needed to change course to avoid surfing uncontrollably as waves hit them from the rear.

Charles seemed oblivious to Dags'advice, instead focusing on the miserable conditions and his leaking wet-weather gear. Dags thought that Charles needed to be relieved at the helm, but the only one with that power was Kothe, and Kothe was down below at the nav station, where he had been all day.

Other crew members felt the boat sliding down the waves and were worried enough to confront Charles. Carl Watson decided to brave the weather on deck, and he made his way to the rear of the boat to complain about the dangerous course Charles was steering. It was no use. Charles insisted that he had experience with the Fastnet, and he knew what he was doing.

Down below, Brown felt the boat spinning out of control. He yelled to Kothe that they had to change course or get Charles off the helm. But Kothe, believing that Brown was still recovering from exhaustion, insisted that Charles be left alone.

Brown felt otherwise. He stuck his head out of the hatch and shouted to Charles and Dags. With the noise of the wind, neither could hear what he was saying. Dags moved closer to Brown, who again shouted that they needed to change course. Then it happened.

It was the catastrophe that the crew had been trying to avoid. An enormous wave, its face a vertical wall of water, picked up the stern of the boat. Traveling almost 35 knots, the wave turned the boat sideways, covered the deck with foam, and tossed
Sword
on its side.

The boat tumbled down the face of the wave and hit the bottom of the trough with tremendous force. Dags saw the top of the mast hit the water, then submerge as
Sword
lay on its side. Dags panicked as he realized that he was underwater and was still attached to the boat by his safety harness. He thought he would drown. He tried desperately to unhook his tether, but failed. A few seconds later
Sword
was hit by another wave and flipped back up, having been rolled 360 degrees.

Dags was now above the surface of the water and still connected to the boat. Had he been able to unhook the safety harness, Dags would have been carried away by the waves and almost certainly drowned. Thankfully, he was still attached, and Dags dragged himself back into the cockpit.

As with
Stand Aside
, the 360-degree roll nearly destroyed
Sword of Orion
. The deck and cabin top were damaged, and the cockpit had been compressed into the hull. The mast was broken and lying in the water, and the spokes from the boat's wheel were buckled. The boom, which normally would be used to secure the bottom of the mainsail, had been lashed to the side of the boat. But it broke free and swept across the deck, smashing the wheel and everything in the cockpit.

Below deck, Kothe was trapped, with an injured knee, under a pile of sail bags. Looking around, he saw smoke and sparks coming from the long-range high-frequency (HF) radio. Fearing an electrical fire, he managed to turn off the radio and pull the cables from the computer. This left only their shorter-range VHF radio operational.

The cabin was flooded to the crew's knees, and the hatchway stairs had broken away. The housing to the motor had collapsed. With the broken stairs, debris, and sails floating around, it was difficult to get on deck.

In the cockpit, Dags recovered from his brush with death and looked desperately for Glyn Charles. He saw only the bright orange strap of Charles' safety tether, with one end attached to the yacht and the other draped over the side. Dags ran to the lanyard, grabbed it, and pulled it in. There was nothing on the other end except broken stitching where the lanyard had been attached to Charles' harness.

Dags frantically scanned the water and saw Charles floating about 100 feet behind the boat. He screamed at Charles to swim back, but
Sword
was being driven away by the water and the wind. Charles tried to swim. He did all of six strokes, but he could barely lift his arm out of the water. He appeared to be injured, and he couldn't swim as fast as the boat was moving.

Dags called out for the others to get on deck. Oblivious to the fact that there were injured crew down below, he couldn't understand why only a few people responded. Desperate to rescue Charles, Dags shouted for a rope. He thought that if he could swim toward Charles, and Charles toward him, they could meet somewhere in the middle and both would be dragged back into the boat.

It took a few precious minutes to find a rope long enough to give them any chance of reaching Charles. When they finally found one, Dags climbed outside the lifelines, preparing to jump into the water. Before he could launch himself,
Sword
was hit by another bad wave. The boat was pushed more than 300 feet farther away from Charles. The situation now looked hopeless.