Fatal Storm (24 page)

The EPIRB was located once more and a debate started as to whether or not it should be activated.

“Well, we’ve got no radios because they’ve been flooded; we don’t know if the engine’s going to work; we’ve got no mast; we don’t know what the structural integrity of the yacht is, and we’re halfway across Bass Strait in 50 knots of wind and bloody big seas,” said Oxley the navigator. “Yep, this is severe and imminent danger. Yes we should let it off.”

The EPIRB was activated.

The crew on deck assigned to getting rid of the rig were thankful for the solid pre-race preparation. Special effort had gone into ensuring the pins in the rigging
screws could be easily removed in an emergency and consequently the mast was consigned to the ocean in a very short time. Not long after the EPIRB was activated a fixed-wing aircraft, working off
B-52
’s EPIRB signal, appeared overhead. Flares were fired and the plane “waggled its wings” in acknowledgment. It then disappeared as quickly as it had arrived.

At about the same time some crewmembers on deck thought that they saw another race yacht in the distance, but it was difficult to tell because the waves were higher than most yachts’ rigs. It was always a case of “now you see it, now you don’t”. Regardless, flares were fired in the hope that something might be there. Nothing more happened. Millar and two other crewmembers then tried to start the engine. They turned the flywheel over to make sure the oil hadn’t risen above the pistons when the yacht was upside down. They tested the electrics and then sprayed the terminals to displace any residual water. Just as the engine fired into action the crew on deck heard another noise. A massive grey Navy Sea King helicopter, emblazoned in numbers and with lights flashing, came charging towards them out of the storm clouds.

The Navy helicopters, with their night search and rescue capability, were an invaluable asset for AusSAR’s operation on the night of December 27. It was highly commendable that the Sea King
Shark 05
had gone from a 12-hour stand-by notice at HMAS
Albatross
at Nowra to being in the air and fully operational in just two hours. When the machine launched out of the Nowra base at 7.45pm, Lieutenant Alan Moore was the aircraft captain; the second pilot was Lieutenant Commander George Sydney (then Commanding Officer the Sea King’s HS817 Squadron); Lieutenant Philip “Wacka” Payne was
observer and Petty Officer Kerwyn Ballico was the aircrewman. It was carrying its maximum 5000 pounds of fuel; burned at 1000 pounds an hour and regulations required it to land with 500 pounds in reserve. This represented a four-and-a-half hour limit.

The initial task was to assist
Business Post Naiad
, but AusSAR redirected them to
B-52
with orders to assess the situation, make contact and ask the crew to turn off the EPIRB if they were out of immediate danger. East of Merimbula the Sea King hit heavy rain, extremely strong winds (60-plus knots) and a low cloud base.

“The aircraft was just washing around everywhere, we were being buffeted all over the sky,” said Payne. “Because the winds were so strong we were drifting left at around 35 degrees, so to stay on course we were crabbing our way south. After a brief search we found them. We established ourselves in a hover – or more specifically, attempted to establish ourselves in a hover – and put some lights on them. We saw the yacht was dismasted and were pleased to see so many crew mustered on deck. Just looking at the conditions I knew immediately there was no physical way we could get them off the yacht. It was way too dangerous. I knew the limitations of the aircraft and of the personnel.

“They had no communications at all so we tried to get a line to them – a Hi-line which had a monkey’s fist at the end. We had written a note and put it into the monkey’s fist then lowered it to them. That got swamped and the note couldn’t be read. Then we created a waterproof one and as we lowered that the line parted. It was extremely difficult to get the line to them, remembering that it was also dark and raining. While we were hovering we saw our altitude go at one stage from 80 feet to 10 feet – that’s how big the waves were. Obviously we were in our own danger. We could have hit the sea.”

Eventually a waterproof note was lowered to the crew who in turn responded they were distressed but not in immediate danger. The conditions were so bad and the yacht was in such a precarious position that the rescue would be extremely tricky. It was decided sending a man down would be overly hazardous and even getting the crewmembers into the liferafts could prove disastrous. Given that the yacht appeared to be relatively stable, the difficult decision was made to leave
B-52
for the moment and go to
Sword of Orion.

While the Sea King thrashed about overhead in the stormy night sky, the crew on board
B-52
had planned, if it was possible, to put Lindy Axe into a harness and send her up to the helicopter. She could explain to the chopper crew the situation and that there was hope that the motor would eventually be fully operational. Also, Axe could be flown to shore and receive medical treatment for the wound on her head. They knew that to have her lifted off the yacht was extremely dangerous but they felt it would have been suicidal to have put her in the water to be picked up.

But there would be no rescue for the time being. They were on their own. “Watching the helicopter fly off was like arriving at a cab rank late at night and seeing the last taxi leave,” said Byrne.

After several attempts the motor started and it was decided the safest place was Eden. That course put the waves at about 45 degrees to the bow. Occasionally
B-52
, which was already suffering from considerable structural damage to the cabin, would be almost submerged under the weight of white water that continually pounded it.
With windows cracked, the companionway cover gone and fissures in the deck, water poured freely into the cabin each time a wave hit.

“It was then around 2am,” recalls Byrne. “People were sleeping through exhaustion. They were lying on the cabin floor in wet weather gear with water leaking in through the roof, pouring on top of them. I’d been lucky enough to get a fair bit of rest during the day so I just figured it was time I stepped up to the plate and did some steering. We decided to leave the EPIRB on because we knew that being a satellite EPIRB then AusSAR in Canberra would have been tracking it and, we thought, they would see we were making some progress against the wind and towards land.

“When you were on deck you would have to stand up every few minutes and have a good look around. There were other racing yachts out there and the last thing you needed was to have a collision. At one stage I looked behind us and I saw the red and green masthead navigation lights just at the right angle to be a yacht. They appeared to be only a quarter of mile behind us. At that moment the masthead lights did about 200 knots straight over the top of us then banked and flew off into the night.”

Although
B-52
had been stabilised, the cracks in the deck were getting bigger and all on board were acutely aware that another freak wave could easily roll them again. The yacht had been so badly damaged in the first roll-over it was twisting with every wave, and every time it twisted the cracks were expanding. Then a complete window popped out and fell into the cabin. It was obvious that if a big wave dumped on them the deck could well cave in.
B-52
would be swamped and more than likely sink.

Oxley took the timber locker covers from the bunk mouldings and fashioned crude stormboards. He put
them on the cabin side where the broken windows were located and then lashed them together across the inside of the cabin using webbing sail ties. That, along with sleeping bags stuffed in some of the cracks, helped stem the water flow. While they continued to make progress towards the coast, the
B-52
crew were unaware that grave fears were still held for their safety. Their EPIRB was activated and the authorities believed they were still in serious trouble. It wasn’t until the ABC helicopter located them and reported that they were heading for Eden that those fears were allayed.

At 8am the coast was sighted. In many ways it was a huge relief – a sign of sanctuary and safety. But, as Byrne explained, it was also a tease. “I actually wished that that part of the coast was really, really flat. Because it was so mountainous we seemed to take forever to get there. After what we’d been through we wanted to see land and be there that minute. It took another five hours to get to Eden. As we got closer to shore we started to feel pretty good about ourselves and what we’d survived. Everybody started to peel their wet weather gear off. That made a nice old smell in the cockpit. When we got into mobile phone range we called AusSAR and advised we were going to turn off the EPIRB. Straight after that, when it was realised we were within phone range, there were eight people on deck calling family and friends at the same time. It was a ridiculous sight.”

The damage to
B-52
was so extensive that experienced sailors who saw the ruined yacht were awed that it had managed to limp back to shore at all, let alone in such horrendous conditions.

After going through the horrific experience of being entombed inside his inverted yacht, all the time not knowing which way the pendulum of fate would swing for him and his crew,
B-52
’s owner, Wayne Millar, not surprisingly returned home to Townsville a changed man.

“I didn’t suffer any emotional trauma as such,” he explained, “but it did change me. The experience led to me holding a greater appreciation of life and the people around me. The fact that I had a very sick eight-year-old son at the time accelerated this change. He was deteriorating because of a condition affecting his oesophagus and had to have emergency surgery just after I got back, so for five months I was totally engrossed with him and my family. That kept me focused.

“Most important of all, the Hobart race experience gave me a greater appreciation of my three sons, and how valuable it was to spend time with them. It also changed my demeanour and attitude in business. I came back a lot calmer; I used to ‘carry on’ a bit in business, ranting and raving, and I used to yell quite a bit when I was yacht racing. That’s something I very rarely do now. I’m just a much calmer person. I think that’s because you reflect on the fact that you were lucky to come back with your life.”

Millar also spent considerable time keeping a careful watch over his crew after they returned home and made sure that they received any help, should it be needed. Everyone pulled through OK.

The company that insured
B-52
wanted to rebuild it, but eventually they were convinced that the damage it had suffered meant it had exceeded everything it was designed for; the hull had been twisted during the roll-over, there were major structural cracks throughout the structure, the deck was compressed 10 centimetres, and all the internal furniture was smashed. It was eventually declared a write-off.

Millar subsequently purchased a similar style of yacht, the 41-footer
Zoe
, and returned to racing. By 2001 the “unfinished business” bug was biting – he knew it was time to go back to the Hobart race: “I worked very hard to get as many of the crew as possible back together for the race that year. Five of the 10 came while the others, for understandable reasons, simply chose not to return.

“We completed the task, and when we reached Hobart it was a very quiet, reflective moment for all of us. I remember sitting in the cockpit in Constitution Dock having a quiet beer, and all I could say to myself was ‘I’ve done it. I’ve finished it. That’s enough’. I’d done four Hobarts at that point, and that was enough for me. I don’t plan on doing any more.

“My passion in sailing has now gone back to the fun races, like the Pittwater to Lord Howe Island race, and Hamilton Island Race Week. That’s where the fun is these days.”

Millar did admit that deep down there was one problem he faced subsequent to the ‘98 Hobart: “It took me 10 years to sit down and read
Fatal Storm.
Only this year have I read it from front to back. Every other time I’ve tried to read it I’ve put it down almost immediately, telling myself I didn’t want to read about the race. It was just too hard to do. There were too many bad memories.”

F
or most people a weekender is a cosy little cottage tucked away somewhere beyond the outskirts of town. For Dr Brian Emerson and his wife Pamela, their weekender came in the form of the 42-foot yacht
Miintinta
, which is Polynesian for turtle. It had many advantages over the average weekender. For a start it had 360 degree water views and, if you didn’t like your surroundings at any particular time, you could move.

In reality it was more than that for the Emersons – it was their retirement project. At 60 years of age, Dr Emerson was looking forward to retirement. He was a former university lecturer and was currently providing expert opinion in engineering for court litigation. He and his wife had long harboured dreams of leaving the big smoke and spending their days leisurely sailing from port to port.

In 1998 Emerson decided to race “the weekender” to Hobart. He knew it could be a tough course, but he also knew the yacht had the pedigree to cope with just about anything. It was designed by Ron Swanson, a legend in yacht design in the sixties and seventies.
Miintinta
was a “Swanson 42” double-ender, built in 1976 and had since cruised to America and back and done two Hobarts, in 1976 and 1977. Swanson created the design as a go-anywhere
world cruising yacht. It was constructed primarily of solid fibreglass and weighed in at more than 12 tonnes.

Emerson had owned the yacht for little more than 12 months. The 1998 event was to be the third Hobart for a highly experienced yachtsman who had been sailing everything from small boats to ocean racers for more than 30 years. He went to great lengths to ensure the yacht was race ready, taking time to install new pumps, do a thorough rigging and electrics check and purchase some new sails. He chose five crew to join him – Lisa McKenzie, Uli Thiel, Bill Vukoder, Peter Volkes and Robert Gordon. Thiel, a master mariner, navigator and radio operator, had sailed around the world. She had spent 13 years at sea as a professional and was part of that exclusive band of sailors who had rounded the notorious Cape Horn.

Emerson and his crew’s main objective was to finish the 1998 event unscathed but they also fancied being the first cruising division yacht from the CYC over the line.
Miintinta
was definitely a cruising type of yacht, and from the start, sailed more like a tortoise than anything else. Emerson’s calculations had them second last out of Sydney Harbour. But once outside, and with the big multi-coloured spinnaker set, it began to gain ground. In fact, as the wind strengthened,
Miintinta
was running faster than it ever had before.

As they neared Eden on the 27th, Emerson was pleased with the yacht’s placement – 21st out of 38 in its division. And
Miintinta
was revelling in the rough going. The only problem was that McKenzie, an experienced harbour sailor, was not enjoying the rugged ride at all. Seasickness had hounded her from soon after the start
and things were only getting rougher. When they heard the radio call from
Sword of Orion
during the 14:05 sked, alarm bells started ringing. Those bells got louder as the afternoon progressed when distress calls and announcements of decisions to retire started crackling across the airwaves.

Emerson had decided some hours earlier to prepare the yacht for the worst possible weather. The mainsail was lowered completely and secured and the storm jib and trysail set. Emerson decided it was too dangerous to press on across Bass Strait. The yacht would be tacked and head for the coast near Eden where they would shelter.

“I didn’t expect a cyclonic bomb and I didn’t expect waves of those proportions,” Emerson said. “As we started to head towards shore – it was around 5 o’clock – there was just mayhem on the radio. There were distress calls seemingly coming from everywhere. We pushed on towards the coast for a while then I decided that with conditions deteriorating so much we would start the diesel and motor towards shore. That meant we were out of the race, but it also meant to me that we were probably safer. Soon we were dropping off backless waves; waves of ridiculous proportions. They were 10 metres at least and there were probably some bigger than that. Twice we experienced monumental crashes off waves. The yacht just shuddered when it landed.

“We had the trysail set but still we didn’t seem to have enough power. Sometimes, when the worst waves hit us, we did complete 360 degree turns. One minute you would be heading on 270 degrees towards the coast and then the next minute you’re heading on the reciprocal back out to sea. I reckon we got to within 20 miles of Eden when the damn diesel ‘carked it’. It just stopped. Why? I don’t know. All I know is that steam was coming out of the engine compartment and filling
the cabin. It was just like blowing up the radiator on a car. I went straight to the engine and as soon as I took the rear compartment cover off I shouted, ‘God, there’s a lot of water in here’. It was stinking hot so I couldn’t do much but I did check all the hoses.”

It was the amount of water in the yacht and not the failed engine that was the focus for Emerson. First he thought a skin fitting – a through-hull fitting – might have ruptured. He rummaged through the yacht checking every one. They were all secure. Crewmembers manned buckets and pumps but buckets soon broke and pumps either clogged or simply busted. Emerson could not believe that a new heavy duty pump he installed specially for the race had fallen apart. Soon cut-down plastic milk containers became bailers and only one pump remained functional.

All this time Emerson was trying to find the source of the leak. It seemed that the water was coming in fast at times then, a few minutes later, more slowly. He surmised that the greatest volume of water entered the hull when the starboard side of the yacht was taking a pounding. His conclusion was that the hull was badly fractured, probably in an area behind a fixed settee berth near the mast. It appeared that when the yacht heeled over with the wind, and waves were on the starboard side, the weight of the keel led to the crack opening up. It was possible that the hull had fractured at the point where a steel frame was built to take the loads of the mast. Because of the way the yacht was constructed however, he could not get into the area to confirm that.

Thiel was at the wheel and was having difficulty holding the yacht on course.
Miintinta
kept being blown back out to sea. Some time between 11pm and midnight Emerson radioed Eden Coastal Patrol and stated although their bilge pumps had failed and they were
taking on a substantial amount of water, they were still in control. He refrained from calling a mayday and instead requested a tow. Emerson followed the Coastal Patrol’s directions to fire flares. These were sighted by Don Mickleborough aboard
Southerly
and the yacht’s approximate position was confirmed with the coast station. Emerson was then advised that the container ship
Union Roetigen
had been diverted to stand by
Miintinta.

The crew were glad to see the big ship appear in the background and were even happier when they were told the trawler
Josephine Jean
was heading toward them as well. Emerson felt there were most probably other yachts in more dire circumstances and radioed in that
Miintinta
was stable and would not require immediate assistance.

Just 45 minutes later he was back on the radio. “We’re now taking too much water. We can’t control it. Are you able to stand by us again?” To their delight,
Union Roetigen
soon returned to keep watch. About an hour after that, the
Miintinta
crew saw the trawler crest a wave. Their tow had arrived but time was running out for the now badly breached hull.

Lockie Marshall was still in his office with Eden police sergeant Keith Tillman late that night coordinating the rescue of
Team Jaguar
by the trawler
Moira Elizabeth.
The two-way radio in the office was almost jammed as search and rescue operations for so many of the Hobart race yachts went on incessantly. The pair heard the request from
Miintinta
for a tow. Deep down both knew that if any vessel was to leave Eden in answer to the call it would have to be one of Marshall’s trawlers. Most were tied up at the dock – secured by double ropes and anchors to cope with the surge that the storm was sending into the small harbour.

Few trawlers worked that time of the year, but those that did usually reaped sizeable financial rewards. It was the summer high season, and prices were up to three times above their norm. Marshall did have one trawler out that night, the 70-foot wooden-hulled
Josephine Jean.
The rough weather had forced it into trawling close to the coast.

When the call came in, Marshall assessed the situation and realised that with the yacht sinking the quickest response would come via the diversion of
Josephine Jean.
Marshall also knew that if anyone could cope with the weather that was devastating the race fleet then it was the trawler’s skipper, Ollie Hreinisson. He was a native of Iceland, and an extremely good seaman who had worked the big North Sea trawlers before coming to Australia.

“We could tell by the way the
Miintinta
crew were talking on the radio that they were physically and mentally exhausted. They seemed to be losing their ability to rationalise the situation, and that led us to believe the position they had given to the Coastal Patrol was wrong,” said Marshall. “I calculated that they weren’t quite as far out as they thought they were. I proved that to them when the ship went to stand by them. We then knew exactly where they were. We plotted that and worked out it would take between two and three hours to get there.”

Just over two hours later the crew on
Josephine Jean
had
Miintinta
in their sights. Manoeuvring the lumbering trawler over and around massive breaking seas in the dark and getting it close enough to
Miintinta
so that a towline could be thrown took great courage and skill. Hreinisson made it look easy.

“It was brilliant seamanship on his part,” recalls Emerson. “He circled us about three times with his big searchlight on us and then he moved in. It was the most
amazing situation to be in. One minute the trawler was 50 feet above us and the next thing it was 50 feet below us.”

After considerable effort Emerson and Gordon secured and lashed the towline to the bollard on the foredeck, but not before
Miintinta
stuck its bow into one big wave and a three-metre wall of water picked up Emerson and hurled him over the side. His safety harness saved him. The next wave washed him back over the lifelines and onto the deck. Through it all his main worry was losing his seaboots.

Emerson knew that they would have to continue bailing to keep the yacht afloat, but he was quite confident they would be able to save it. Volkes, a man in his fifties, ate and drank while he bailed.

“He cut off this blooming great slab of salami and then, while chewing on it, he drank a beer and kept bailing,” recalls Emerson. “It was all too much for McKenzie. Her seasickness went from bad to horrible.”

The crew didn’t know
Josephine Jean
was making less than one knot headway back towards the coast. It was going to be an exhausting effort to keep the yacht afloat during the time it would take to reach Eden. An hour into the tow the last of the bilge pumps broke and both crews were faced with the frightening possibility that the yacht might still be lost. As
Miintinta
became heavier with rising water, the load on the metal bollard at the bow increased dramatically until it simply disintegrated. The towline went with it. Hreinisson did a phenomenal job getting the towline back to the yacht but even then, Emerson knew that his yacht was destined to sink.

At 3am Emerson radioed Coastal Patrol in Eden and advised that the only alternative for the crew was to abandon the yacht. “For God’s sake don’t fool around. If you have to get off then get off,” was the response from the radio operator. Emerson then spoke with Hreinisson
who suggested the crew jump onto the trawler, but the state of the seas and the thrashing propeller blades ruled that out. The liferaft was thrown into the ocean and inflated at the stern of the yacht. The crew scrambled into it then Emerson followed – just. The umbilical cord between the raft and the yacht broke as a big wave washed through. Emerson threw a line from the yacht and it was grabbed by crew in the raft. They struggled to hang on, the line all the time cutting into their hands.

There was only one thing to do – take a flying leap. He did just that, crashing on top of those in the raft. They then watched patiently – for 45 minutes – as
Josephine Jean
began a long and slow loop back to the raft, all the time with
Miintinta
wallowing along behind like a half-submerged duck. The trawler was easy to see, its decks brightly illuminated by large lights. After circling so that he was positioned directly downwind of the raft, Hreinisson once again showed his skill by edging the trawler close. He recalls that the second the big boat was within reach, the Miintinta crew scrambled up the side “like drowned rats”.

The first light of day was appearing to the east when the six exhausted sailors, still soaked and in their wet weather gear, collapsed in a bedraggled heap on the aft deck of the trawler. Soon after they heard Hreinisson shout, “The tow’s broken off!” As
Josephine Jean
continued on its slow passage towards Eden the crew watched in vain as their yacht, then very low in the water, began to list to one side. It hadn’t sunk when they lost sight of it on the eastern horizon, but it would have gone under soon after that.

When they reached Eden later in the day, Emerson went straight to Marshall and thanked him profoundly and profusely for what he and the crew of the trawler had done to rescue the
Miintinta
sailors.

“Look, I’m a professional fisherman,” replied Marshall. “We make our livelihood from the sea. If I ever get caught in the way that you were, I just hope to God that someone would do the same thing and come and get me.”