Free Into the Storm by Dennis N.t. Perkins Page B

an array of computer models and developing scenarios of what might happen. There was the American model, which predicted the most dangerous outcome. There was the Australian model, which seemed less threatening. And there was the European model, which had been most accurate in the past and was of less concern.
    Clouds typically ranked the models A, B, or C, in accordance with his assessment of how likely they were to be right. This year, it was a gamble. But twelve hours prior to the start of the race, Clouds decided to go with the regional Australian model, which predicted that the oncoming low-pressure area would be south of the Bass Strait. There was still some uncertainty, however, and he made that clear to his clients at a last-minute briefing on Saturday morning.
    Not everyone had the budget to afford Clouds’ services, but word of a worst-case scenario started to spread. John Mooney, skipper of the 38-foot Avanti , saw Clouds talking to one of his clients. 2 Mooney maneuvered into a position to eavesdrop on their conversation. He learned that one of the models was predicting more than a southerly buster. It was forecasting a southerly bomb , with much higher wind speeds. Clouds hastened to add that this was not the most likely option, and he thought that the fleet would get winds of 40 to 50 knots. But the possibility of a weather bomb had Mooney's attention.
    Putting aside any thoughts of the days ahead, the crew of the AFR Midnight Rambler began stowing provisions. Water bottles were frozen so no ice would be needed. The meals, which consisted of sandwiches and precooked cold dinners, were packed and marked in chronological order of serving. Had weather forecasting been an exact science, however, they would have saved themselves the trouble of thinking about meals. Food would be a very low priority during the next thirty hours.

9

AFR Midnight Rambler— And They're Away!
    T he morning of the race, Ed and Bob were down at the boat early. One by one, the other Ramblers showed up. Chris was first, as usual, followed by Mix, and then Gordo, then the smiling Jonno. Well after the designated arrival time of 11 a.m., all the remaining crew had arrived. Everyone, that is, except for Arthur.
    Arthur had planned to catch a flight from a family Christmas vacation in the town of Dubbo, in central New South Wales, over 300 miles away. It would be a tight schedule in a perfect world, and travel from the outback is far from perfect. Now Arthur was late and everyone started to get concerned. Ed was particularly upset. Just as Bob was about to ask Ed if he should be worried about a coronary, Arthur showed up. He walked briskly up to the boat and enthusiastically asked, “What's all the fuss about?”
    With that hurdle crossed, the crew stowed their bags, a relatively simple task. In keeping with Ed's “travel light” philosophy, only one spare shirt was allowed. After the foul-weather gear was hung up, the nearly empty bags were stowed at predetermined spots, where their almost negligible weight would be of greatest value as ballast.
    With everything stowed, the crew said the first of their good-byes to family and friends, then gravitated to the Cruising Yacht Club for the last hot cup of coffee they would enjoy for days.
    With that final taste of civilization, the crew headed to the boat, which was conveniently docked right in front of the clubhouse. There were the usual additional farewells, and Ed's father, Bill, gave his traditional rousing pep talk. Then the Ramblers cast off the dock lines and began their journey, playing a game of “dodgem-boats” through the marina and out into the harbor.
    Sue Psaltis and the others waved good-bye from the dock. She continued to wave as the boat motored out into Sydney Harbour. She watched as her husband, her brother, her brother-in-law, and her good friends disappeared from view. Sue relaxed a little, but the relief was mixed with worry.
    In previous years,