Going Place: from Sydney to Hobart the race is on

The most famous — and dangerous — route from Sydney to Hobart is via the oceans, during the annual yacht race. Yet the road trip, taking in historical sites and some spectacular scenery, can give the boats a run for their money.

Hobart Harbour

The Rolex Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race is one of the most prestigious and exciting events on the high seas, with multimillion-dollar ultra high-tech vessels and multi-member crews from around the sailing world competing for up to five days in some of the coldest and most treacherous waters found anywhere on the planet.

Starting in spectacular fashion from Sydney Harbour on Boxing Day (the day after Christmas), the competing yachts take off together, accompanied by any number and manner of boats from dinghies to pleasure cruisers, toward the mouth of the harbor in a traditional send off. The racers then tack to the south and set sail for Hobart, Tasmania, hoping to avoid the infamous winds and 60-meter waves of the Tasman Sea that have caused maritime mayhem and mourning in years past.

As it turns out, I was also leaving Sydney for Hobart on the same day as the 2009 race. Albeit I began with a lot less fanfare as my uninsured rent-a-car eased into the Down-Under traffic and I had to be content with an engine backfire as a starting gun.

The streamlined yachts, including one of the race favorites, Alfa Romeo, were going a more direct route by sea and had to vie with all that King Neptune chose to throw at them. I was going by terra firma in Hyundai and had to contend with the infinite Aussie pubs and cafés en route. There was also to be an incident involving gay ferrets at a family bar in Cootamundra, a farming town in New South Wales, but as far as I was concerned, the race was on!

But first, a little history…

In 1945, early Cruising Yacht Club of Australia (CYCA) members were planning a cruise from Sydney to Hobart around Christmas time, near the beginning southern summer. At a meeting that included the CYCA co-founders, Peter Luke and Charlie Cooper, the well-known British ocean-racing yachtsman Commander John Illingworth was invited to join the cruise. Illingworth is alleged to have said, “Why don’t we make a race of it?”

A fleet of nine yachts eventually took the starter’s gun on Dec. 26 that year for the first Sydney to Hobart Yacht Race.

The ruins of a church in Tasmania’s Port Arthur, former penal colony and now a popular tourist site.

One day later, they ran into winds of 50 knots accompanied by blinding rain and rising seas. Many sought shelter along the coast. Peter Luke and his crew on Wayfarer sought refuge behind Broulee Island, went ashore to phone home, then got back aboard and cooked up their 12 pounds of fresh beef (before it spoiled — they had no refrigeration in those days) and had a hearty stew before retiring for the night. They may have been racing in the ocean, but they were not yet “ocean racers”.

The RAAF plane following the fleet reported not sighting several yachts. The race made headlines, with yachts feared missing. The drama captured the imagination of post-war yachtsmen in Australia, and the Sydney Hobart Yacht Race (SHYR) and other ocean races became the main focus of the newly formed “cruising” club.

Peter Luke was one of the first four CYCA life members elected in 1957, an honor he renounced along with his club membership when Hitachi was appointed the major commercial sponsor in 1976, a move he described as “an unpardonable crime”. Luke felt that the sponsorship killed the spirit in which the CYCA was founded. He was finally persuaded to re-accept his life membership at the time of the 50th anniversary SHYR in 1994, when he sailed to Hobart at age 79 aboard Charisma.

Despite Luke’s misgivings, the SHYR became Australia’s first real carnival, with one of the largest live audiences of any single sporting event anywhere in the world, attracting up to 400,000 spectators to Sydney’s foreshores at the start.

In 1960, a friend of Luke’s wrote him a letter of appreciation: “Should you never have the opportunity to give Australia any more gifts such as the start of the Sydney Hobart Yacht Race, it will not matter, as you have cast the traditional die of celebration on the sea and brought to fruition a thousand sails of the line.”

The Sydney to Hobart race is now an icon of Australia’s summer sport, ranking in public interest with such national events as the Melbourne Cup horse race, the Davis Cup tennis and the cricket tests between Australia and England. Other than the America’s Cup and the Volvo Ocean Race, no yachting event in the world attracts such huge media coverage as does the start on Sydney Harbour.

Nearly 70 years after the first race, I too was cruising to Hobart, with visions of kangaroos and Tasmanian devils in my head, not to mention some world-famous wines, ales and meat pies. Bringing out the charts found on Google, I set out for Melbourne.

To make the race fairer, I first followed the coastal route to the charming town of Berry. OK, that’s not quite true; I had originally planned to head quickly inland and I only reached Berry because I was lost. Several sightings of vast ocean expanses and pristine beaches to my port side rather than farmland and sheep were the first indication of my poor chart reading.

However, as on any adventure, getting lost is sometimes a good thing. After I received new bearings from the kind proprietor of a tourist shop and taking on ballast of tea and crepes smothered in rich cream and Berry berries, I set a new course to the west via Kangaroo Valley Road via some of the lushest and most mystical eucalyptus forests and farm country in Australia. Remnants of a passing rainstorm added to scenery that could have been from The Hobbit, Bilbo Baggins and all.

Thrown off course at the outset, I was sure the Alfa Romeo and her like would now be several leagues ahead of me. However, news from the SHYR website indicated that many of the speedy racers were becalmed in very light winds. This was a chance to make up time before the yachts’ sails filled again.

Yet no sooner had I begun to make progress when a major headwind developed in the form of the Goulburn Brewery, the oldest of its kind in Australia. Since 1836, the brewery has served real ales brewed to traditional recipes with top-fermentation in open-top vessels.

No sugar, preservatives or carbonation is added, just barley malt, ale yeast and local water. Perhaps most importantly, and this is why I had to drop anchor in Goulburn, is that the ales actually promote well-being. The yeast remains in the brew, maintaining its traditional function of keeping the liver healthy. In other words, it’s good for you. Take that, Bintang.

After a few Goulburn stouts and a hearty repast, I continued windward to Cootamundra, a sheltering port between Sydney and Melbourne, where a welcoming committee, including friends from Jakarta, was waiting to treat me to a night of hospitality Aussie style. Robust rounds of “Waltzing Matilda” and even some table dancing in the garage went with multiple rounds of Victoria Bitter until stumps. The aforementioned ferret incident is still under investigation and there will be no further comment until the society papers have their say.

The post-party dawn arrived too soon and it was time to pull up anchor for the last tack to Melbourne.

By the time I arrived, however, line honors for Alfa Romeo were only hours away once she passed the Bass Strait on her starboard side. There was no way I could catch up. However, the Sydney to Hobart race not only goes to the fastest boat; a handicap system allows slower crafts to take a share of the spoils.

Yet to stay in contention I had to take a plane, which is possibly against CYCA rules. As I wasn’t sure, I took to the skies anyway after deciding to put myself at the mercy of a race “committee” that could be found raising the roof at the Hobart Customs House pub on any given morning after the first and last boats came in.

When I finally did arrive at the race media center, I found it curiously empty of anyone who would give me my media credentials. Perhaps they had heard of my exploits “reviewing” golf courses around Indonesia or else news had traveled from Cootamundra and beyond.

After finding my media pass, I ventured out into the wilds of Hobart, a city showing off its best for the race and the brave sailors who tempt fate every time they take it on.

Not only does Hobart host the finish of the SHYR, the increasingly renowned Tasting Festival at the same time features endless booths of local brews, wines and delicacies from around Tasmania that attracts thousands of people in a holiday mood. The New Year’s Eve fireworks over the water rival those anywhere for their setting — especially while viewed from a boat out in the harbor as I was fortunate enough to enjoy.

Hobart is also close to some of Tasmania’s grander coastlines, natural wonders and fauna from fur seals to penguins and albatross. The area’s fresh ocean breezes and clear seas are evidence that there is nothing south of Tasmania’s southern sea cliffs, the tallest in this hemisphere, till you reach the Antarctic.

Although I may not have won the race, except perhaps in my own self-determined class, reaching Hobart and its beautiful harbor with all the Rolex Sydney to Hobart race yachts safely at their jetties was reward enough.



Source : The Jakarta Post