How size doesn’t count in the Sydney to Hobart race

Since then, I’ve been on the maxis, which went from 80 feet to 100 feet in 2009. As one of 24 crew on Andoo Comanche, I’m responsible for all sail changes – from headsails to spinnakers and vice versa.

You have to be on your game the whole time and mistakes can be catastrophic. It’s a real team effort, especially when making sail changes. Practice makes perfect, and the aim is not to lose boat speed.

Racing on a maxi versus a smaller boat requires a totally different mindset. We’re more of a sprint, but we still have a watch pattern in groups of five – four hours on, four hours off. Sleeping, or resting, is done on hinged pipe cots.

Everyone looks after their own fitness. Aside from doing all the blue-water races from the CYC, I do Pilates and go to gym. We reach boat speeds exceeding 30 knots – you can get washed down the deck, so you’ve got to be able to hang on.

I don’t drink alcohol in the months leading up to the race and on Christmas Day I eat lightly. But when we get to Hobart it’s party time.

The race start is a real buzz, it must be similar to what it feels like running onto the field for a football grand final or a Test match; the adrenaline is supercharged. I suppose it’s why we keep coming back – and the people in Hobart are incredible.

What makes the Sydney to Hobart different from other races is that it’s so long and the conditions are so varied. Typically, when you leave the heads, it’s a northeasterly wind and some time on the first night you get belted by a southerly. The smaller boats will expect to go through two or three weather patterns.

The start is definitely more chaotic, and there’s more pressure to be first out of the heads to clear the harbour. We do notice the smaller boats and that makes it more complicated.

The Sydney to Hobart is also more of a navigator and steerer’s race than a crew race where you’re rounding buoys. Getting into the right weather at the right time and evaluating currents is critical.

This year is special because my son is doing his first Sydney to Hobart, on a 50-year-old timber boat called Love and War. He will take three days, about 2½ days behind us, but he might beat me on handicap. We’ll all be in Hobart to see him arrive.

Ed Psaltis

This will be Ed Psaltis’ 41st Sydney to Hobart, which he’s nearly always done aboard smaller boats. In the catastrophic 1998 race, in which six sailors died, he skippered his 30-foot AFR Midnight Rambler to win the coveted Tattersall Cup for overall victor. This year, the 62-year-old Hobart-based veteran will be skipper and No. 1 helmsman aboard a different Midnight Rambler, his Sydney 36-footer designed and built in Australia.

The biggest boat I’ve done the Sydney to Hobart on was Ragamuffin, a Peterson 45-footer owned by Syd Fischer. That was in 1982.

Why didn’t I keep sailing bigger boats? I couldn’t afford one. I’ve always co-owned or owned my boats and never paid any of my crew. The gap between the haves and have-nots has increased hugely. It’s more of a business on the big boats.

Our crew of eight just did the 180-nautical mile Cabbage Tree Island Race off Port Stephens, which is the big lead-up event, and I reckon we’re in good form.

The big boats get so far south so quickly, they’re basically sailing a different race. For us, it’s three or four days, so we’ll get hit by more weather. This latest Midnight Rambler I own is a modern-style boat; we can get to 24 knots surfing down a wave with the spinnaker up, then come off it quickly. It’s pretty scary stuff.

Us older guys have to concentrate on staying fit. I’ll ride mountain bike tracks, go to the gym and swim laps at the pool. Certainly, the Sydney to Hobart is a race where, if you’re doing it hard, it’s going to bash you up, so you need endurance.

I usually have a quiet Christmas Day. It’s a selfish sport – I’m there in body but not in mind. My father did 22 races, so it’s what I’m used to. Boxing Day is always nerve-racking. I’m just happy to get off the marina and get out on the boat.

The start of the race in Sydney Harbour, with all the spectator craft, helicopters and boats everywhere, is amazing. I still get nervous and a case of the butterflies; there’s always the risk of collisions and protests. The aim is to get out of the harbour before your rivals and without hitting anyone. That really sets you up well for the race. The whole crew’s spirits lift if you’re in a good position by the time you get to Bondi. It’s a real mind game.

Once we’re under way, we do shifts of three hours on deck and three below. There are four or five crew on deck at any one time. The navigator and I are on call – we float. For sleeping, we have alloy racks that hinge up and down, and when you’re exhausted, they’re a very nice place to be.

Our food is nothing flash. We try to bring a cooked scotch fillet roast that’s frozen and when it thaws we eat it cold with tomatoes. Otherwise, it’s noodles, and freeze-dried meals and fruit. More important is to keep the hydration up. It’s easy to forget to drink water.

The Sydney to Hobart is a tougher race than the other blue-water events. Bass Strait is notorious, the southern NSW coast and the Tassie coast can be horrendous. The fact we’re out there so long and will get beaten up somewhere for sure means sailing the smaller boats takes more commitment.

Arriving into Hobart is always special, although 1981 was pretty depressing when we got becalmed on the Derwent and at midnight on New Year’s Eve we could hear the fireworks and celebrations in the distance.

What keeps me coming back is intangible. I’ve said ‘never again’ a lot, but because it’s one of the hardest races in the world, it’s a challenge. It has a certain aura.