Hellbent on Hobart
If you’d rather not surf on a 35-knot tailwind inside a real 40-foot yacht, then hop on board the vicarious version.
To celebrate the Sydney-Hobart race, kicking off every Boxing Day, I’ve just attached a feature from a few years back, the result of a mad voyage I took in 1999, the year after the lethal race that claimed half a dozen sailors. I’m no sailor myself, despite my Dad’s maritime pedigree, and the years I spent yanking ropes on Herons and Lazy Es off Clontarf. Hurtling to Hobart, my nickname was either Media, or Ballast. And unless you fancy mutiny, you usually have to cop your nicknames.
So as genuine sailors risk their own lives this week, running the Bass Strait gauntlet, whack on your sou’wester and take a virtual voyage with SYDNEY-HOBART on the starboard side of this page. And Merry Xmas to landlubbers and scurvy dogs alike.