Into the Storm (2 page)

  A team that fails to execute flawlessly can lose a race. There are winners and losers in the sport.

  Winning a sailing race requires clear vision, a cohesive and committed team, and the ability to learn and adapt.

 

The demands placed on a crew of ocean racers are strikingly similar to those faced by any team working to overcome tough challenges. And I believe that, by understanding the things that make ocean racers successful, we can draw useful insights for a broad range of team challenges.

Having a superb team doesn't guarantee success, and every challenging adventure involves an element of chance. But I believe that the kind of teamwork exhibited by the best ocean racing teams changes the odds. Every race will still involve rolling the dice, but the dice can be weighted in favor of teams that strive to get everything right—crews that excel in
Teamwork at The Edge
.

After sharing the story of the
AFR Midnight Rambler
and the 1998 Sydney to Hobart Race, I'll explore the strategies that I believe provide the foundation for their success, and for the success of other ocean racers. Then I'll suggest ways that these
Teamwork at The Edge
strategies can be applied to your own challenges.

M
y primary goals for this book are to highlight the role of teamwork in organizations facing adversity and to explore ways in which leadership can be shared by team members. In today's challenging environment, the burden of leadership can be extraordinarily heavy—often more than one person alone can shoulder.

An additional goal is to explore how expectations about the nature of leadership and teamwork may have evolved since Shackleton's age of exploration. Team members in today's organizations are likely to be far better educated than they were in 1914, and perceptions of hierarchy are different. People are more informed, and they expect to play a greater role in decision making than they might have even a decade ago.

The story of the
AFR Midnight Rambler
seemed to be an ideal laboratory for understanding new forms of
distributed leadership
. For one thing, the culture of the Ramblers was inherently more egalitarian than that of the crew on the
Endurance
Expedition. In addition, the contemporary nature of the story enabled me to study the roles and personalities of the team members in considerable depth. I could do more than read expedition journals; I could personally interview each member of the team.

In my zeal to shift focus from leadership to teamwork, however, I encountered an unexpected hitch. The issue was framed perceptively by a friend and colleague, Chuck Raben. Chuck was concerned about the absence of leadership in my approach. As Chuck put it in an e-mail:

Exceptional teams do not emerge naturally or in a vacuum. Someone, notably the leader or skipper in this case, sets the tone and starts the ball rolling in so many ways. How can you go from “all about Shackleton” to almost “nothing about Psaltis”? I realize that you're focusing on teams in this piece, but the role of the leader was conspicuously absent.

Chuck was right. I had been looking at the world in a binary way, as if leaders have the choice between being Ernest Shackleton—a charismatic, legendary figure—and something far more pedestrian. With this alternative view, the leader was more of a group facilitator than an Ernest Shackleton.

These insights led to a lively discussion about a well-known author who has argued that the word
leadership
was no longer needed in today's world. I attended a seminar in which this expert proclaimed that
leadership
should be expunged from the dictionary in contemporary society. Leaders weren't needed because work would be accomplished by
self-organizing systems
. These systems would evolve over time, and groups would essentially lead themselves.

For people who have spent time at
The Edge
in life-and-death situations, this view seems hopelessly naïve. For me, the thought of a Marine rifle company in combat evolving as a self-organizing system was both ludicrous and terrifying.

Listening to this expert, it also seemed inconsistent that the speaker who was railing against leadership was, in fact, leading the group: calling on individuals to speak, setting time boundaries, establishing breaks, offering expert opinions, and making pronouncements.

As I reflected on Chuck's comment and my own experience, I decided that I needed to be less rigid in thinking about teamwork. My perspective on
Teamwork at The Edge
needed to be one that acknowledged the reality that leaders—including skippers on boats—have a very special role.

There is no requirement that the leader must be as prominent as Ernest Shackleton. For that matter, in my previous book I did not suggest that every leader try to become “The Boss.” But I do believe that the skipper has a special role to play. In Part Two of the book I will point out specific ways in which leaders can help ensure that their teams are able to succeed at
The Edge
.

PART ONE

The Story of the
AFR Midnight Rambler
and the Sydney
to Hobart Race

This has the reputation of being the toughest race in the world, and it is. It's considered to be the Everest of sailing and no race is more difficult on men or the boats
.

—George Snow, Owner and Skipper,
Brindabella

F
or those unfamiliar with ocean races, they may all seem pretty much like the one described in a satirical article published in
The Onion
. Emblazoned with the title “Rich Guy Wins Yacht Race,” the piece features a photo of a smiling, self-satisfied sailor with a caption reading “The rich guy who defeated an estimated 75 other rich guys in Monday's Regatta.”

Some sailing races do, in fact, fit the stereotype. There are some races—such as the America's Cup—that really do cater to rich guys, because it takes a lot of money to build the boats and find the sailors capable of winning the competition.

The America's Cup originated in 1851 with a race between the schooner
America
and seventeen British boats. It is still governed by pretty much the same rules that applied when
America
first brought home the trophy. The winner of the cup picks the race venue, and challengers engage in a survival-of-the-fittest process until one boat remains to take on the winner.

Though the America's Cup is the oldest international sporting trophy in the world, only a wealthy person could ever hope to claim it. The expenses are enormous. Marketing, salaries for champion sailors, research and development, and boat construction require millions of dollars. Many, many millions of dollars.

A single sail can cost hundreds of thousands of dollars, and the contest doesn't always take place on the water. The 2007 race set off a bitter legal battle between billionaires Larry Ellison and Ernesto Bertarelli, two of the richest men on the planet. Bertarelli, a biotech heir, took home the cup, but Ellison was unhappy with the winner's proposed rules for the next race. Thus ensued a nearly three-year court battle that had many race enthusiasts shaking their heads.

While the America's Cup may be the iconic race for many people, not every ocean race is a rich guy's sport. The Rolex Fastnet Race, for example, is a different kind of competition. Held in the United Kingdom, the Fastnet is a challenging technical race covering 608 nautical miles. The race begins in Cowes, on the southern coast of England, rounds the Fastnet Rock off the southwest of Ireland, and finishes at Plymouth in the south of England.

The rules of the classic Fastnet Race are different than those of the America's Cup, and it doesn't take the same level of wealth to compete. That's because the Fastnet Challenge Cup is awarded to the overall winner based on
corrected time
. Each boat is given a handicap based on a mathematical calculation of its potential speed, and the boat with the best corrected time based on its handicap is the winner.

Of course, there will always be a boat that makes it over the finish line first. Winning
line honors
is not an insignificant accomplishment, and sailors compete to be first. But winning line honors is different than being the
overall winner
.

Like the America's Cup, the first boat to finish will undoubtedly be an expensive boat with the latest technology. Anyone with enough money to build a state-of-the-art boat and hire a world-class crew has a chance at being first across the line. Enough money, perhaps, and maybe enough Dramamine. But the handicap system of the Fastnet levels the playing field, and it gives great sailors on smaller boats a chance to take home the Challenge Cup.

The Fastnet is a tough race. It also gained a worldwide reputation for being a dangerous race when, in 1979, 303 yachts were hit by 60-knot winds. The unexpected storm slammed into the fleet, bringing 40-foot waves that smashed into boats and sailors, ultimately claiming fifteen lives.

The Fastnet is a demanding race that's not just for rich guys. It takes skill to win, and it can be a treacherous undertaking. But there is another race that's not just for the wealthy. It is a race that many call the Everest of ocean racing. That event is the Sydney to Hobart Race.

The Sydney to Hobart Race may not be widely known throughout the world, but most Australians are familiar with “the Hobart,” and many are at least acquainted with its history. In 1945, Peter Luke and several Australian sailing enthusiasts who had formed the Cruising Yacht Club invited Captain John Illingworth, a visiting British Naval Officer stationed in Sydney, to accompany them on a cruise to Hobart. Illingworth thought it was a superb idea but persuaded them to make the cruise a race, and so the Sydney to Hobart was born.

The Sydney to Hobart soon became an annual event. It was exciting and could be dangerous. The Sydney to Hobart soon took its place alongside England's Fastnet and America's Newport to Bermuda as one of the three “majors” in offshore racing. All three events demand the highest skill and endurance no matter what the conditions. Australians come out in the hundreds of thousands to watch the start in Sydney Harbour, and sailors throughout the world watch for news of the race with great anticipation. As one newspaper put it, “It's a disease, not a yacht race.”

Ocean races are classified by categories that calibrate them according to the degree of difficulty. The most challenging are
Category 0
races, defined as:

Trans-oceanic races, including races which pass through areas in which air or sea temperatures are likely to be less than 5° C other than temporarily, where yachts must be completely self-sufficient for very extended periods of time, capable of withstanding heavy storms and prepared to meet serious emergencies without the expectation of outside assistance.

The Volvo Ocean Race is a
Category 0
race. Although the route may vary, boats sail some 37,000 miles through some of the world's most treacherous seas. Crews have no fresh food and take only one change of clothes. It is not for the fainthearted.

Neither is the Sydney to Hobart Race, which is a
Category 1
competition. It is not considered transoceanic, and temperatures are not below 5°C “except temporarily,” but it is long distance and well offshore. The rest of the description is precisely the same as a
Category 0
race.
Category 1
competitions include:

Races of long distance and well offshore, where yachts must be completely self-sufficient for extended periods of time, capable of withstanding heavy storms and prepared to meet serious emergencies without the expectation of outside assistance.

A race like the Fastnet is a tough, demanding race, and it can be perilous. Some believe it is the most technically demanding race in the world. But it is a
Category 2
race, held “along or not far removed from shorelines or in large unprotected bays or lakes…” A high degree of self-sufficiency is required of the yachts, but it is different than an offshore race in which boats have to be prepared to deal with serious problems with no outside help.

The path of the 628-mile Sydney to Hobart Race runs from its start line in Sydney Harbour to the finish line in Hobart, Tasmania. As I discovered, the race really ends in one of the many drinking establishments in Hobart—most particularly, The Shipwright's Arms.

The
rhumb line
—the most direct path, having nothing to do with alcohol—angles down the eastern coast of Australia and crosses the Bass Strait, a body of open water that separates the continent of Australia from the island of Tasmania.

Many people are familiar with Tasmania only because of the Looney Tunes Tasmanian Devil. But there is more to this island than the cantankerous, spinning cartoon character. The island is noted for its wines and is an attractive destination for vacationers. Hobart, Tasmania's capital, is a lovely, scenic spot. It's easy to get to Tasmania by airplane but not so easy by boat.

Sailors traveling south can take advantage of the East Australian Current—an ocean current that moves warm water down the coast of Australia. Some Americans are likely to have heard of the current only because of
Finding Nemo
. In the Disney/Pixar film, fish and sea turtles use the current as a highway to rescue Nemo, and ocean racers can take advantage of the current's movement in much the same way. Although the current can flow as fast as about 7 knots, it provides only a 2- to 3-knot advantage in most races. But 2 to 3 knots is a huge benefit in sailing, and skilled navigators carefully calculate the gains of sailing east to catch the current against the alternative of hugging the coast.

As sailors pass the southeast tip of Australia marked by Gabo Island, they enter the notorious Bass Strait. Named for the surgeon-explorer George Bass, the reputation of this dangerous stretch of water is created by three different forces of nature. First, the East Australian Current creates a vortex in the Tasman Sea separating Australia from Tasmania. The water of the East Australian Current collides with the West Wind Drift.

The second factor is the Antarctic Circumpolar Current, the largest of ocean currents, driven by strong westerly winds from the Southern Ocean that begin at a latitude of about 40°. Because there is little land to blunt the force of the air, the Roaring Forties in the Southern Ocean are fierce and have a well-deserved reputation for being turbulent.

Both of these forces make the Bass Strait's 130-mile stretch of water formidable, but there is a third feature that makes the conditions truly unique. The Bass Strait is shallow, and big waves from the Southern Ocean plow into the strait, like waves hitting the beach. These waves move quickly from a depth of 3,280 feet to around 150 feet, and the bottom of the wave slows dramatically. The result can be a maelstrom of flat back waves that create a dangerous cocktail for sailors. Each year, racers feel the anticipation of leaving the safety of the Australian mainland and dashing across the strait.

Those who make it to Flinders Island encounter the third leg of the race down the East Coast of Tasmania. They're closer to shore, but anything can happen with the wind. It can be cold, I discovered, because you are sailing toward Antarctica. It is unpredictable, and the wind can be fickle. Boats have the relative safety of land, but they can fall into a “hole” and be slowed to a near halt by heavy air. Or they can be propelled like a rocket, all depending on the whim of Huey—the Australian weather god.

In the final stretch, sailors are treated to the stunning sight of the Tasmanian Organ Pipes—columns of dolomite stone that do indeed look like the pipes of a giant organ. And then there's the hard right turn into Storm Bay and up the Derwent River.

The Derwent. Safety. The race is almost over. But it's far from finished. Now the wind gets even more temperamental, and sailors who have their eyes set on the Tattersall's trophy know that their fate can be determined in the last few hours of the home stretch. They can see the lights of Hobart in the distance as they pass the famous lighthouse called the Iron Pot. But seeing the lights of Hobart is not the same as crossing the finish line.

All sailors know the times they need to win and where their archrivals are located. Tensions rise at the end as sailors will their boats across the finish line, trying to pick exactly the right sail to match each gust of wind. In a long race, in theory, no mile is more important than any other mile. But it doesn't seem that way to a crew in contention to become the overall winner of the race. Minutes can crawl like hours as the boats edge toward the finish line near Battery Point.

Crossing the finish line brings a sense of accomplishment and success, but crews are tired, sleep deprived, and physically exhausted. Gear must be stowed and the boat squared away, but those mundane tasks are often accompanied by cases of beer brought aboard by friends and family.

From the beginning, the Sydney to Hobart Race has always had an
Overall Handicap Winner
. Like the Fastnet, each boat is given a handicap rating based on a calculation of its estimated potential performance. The boat's actual time is multiplied by its handicap number to produce a corrected time. For example, if a boat took two days to complete the race and its handicap was 1.5, the corrected time would be three days. The boat with the best corrected time is the Overall Winner.

Mark Richards—skipper of
Wild Oats
, a boat that has won both line honors and overall—shares a view held by many sailors: “It's a bigger thrill for a boat to win on handicap than to get line honors. Line honors…is between four or five boats, really. Handicap is between the whole fleet…From the sailor's point of view, that is the real trophy, to win the Tattersall's Cup.”

The Tattersall's trophy—more formally known as the George Adams Tattersall's Cup—has been presented to the overall winner of the Sydney to Hobart Race ever since the second contest in 1946. The name of the original race winner in 1945,
Rani
, was later engraved on the trophy.