Sail Blazers
On board with the sail gazers and trailblazers amid the windblown action of Tasmania’s legendary Three Peaks Race, an idiosyncratic adventure event that marries yachting and mountain running with chaotically colourful consequences WORDS Krystle Wright with Chris Ord IMAGES: Krystle Wright
As we set off from the jetty at Beauty Point, near Launceston, headed for the start line of the Australian Three Peaks race, the change in mood among the crew and runners on board our 48-foot catamaran is palpable. Last night’s laidback atmosphere, punctuated by tall stories and rounds of drinks, has been replaced by crisp and competitive approach. I’m surrounded by focussed race faces, and all talk is of prevailing winds, strategy and, for the trail runners, the mountains they’re now facing – both literal and figurative.
This is a seriously competitive race, contested by teams made up of yacht sailors and trail runners. The challenge: to sail between three significant mountain peaks and send runners to the top of them. This is not your average adventure race. Small wonder then that the concept was dreamt up by an utterly unaverage man.
AS FAR AS ADVENTURERS GO, they don’t come more legendary than Harold ‘Bill’ Tilman. By any measure, he was an extraordinary man: a highly decorated soldier of two world wars, he fought through the bloody Battle of the Somme, survived Dunkirk and El Alamein, and parachuted behind enemy lines to fight alongside Albanian partisans. He once rode 5000km north across Africa from Kenya, just to get home to England. Climbs of Kilimanjaro, Mt Kenya and Ruwenzori sparked Tilman’s career as a mountaineer of great repute, and his exploits were often undertaken with celebrated climber Eric Shipman, who he met in Kenya as a coffee grower.
Prior to 1950, Tilman held the record for the highest mountain ever summited by man (Nanda Devi, at 7816 metres, the second highest mountain in India). He pioneered routes throughout the Himalaya, including some on Mt Everest that prepared the way for subsequent successful climbs.
Tilman’s adventurous spirit eventually turned to a seaward horizon, as he taught himself to become an expedition sailor, taking advantage of the wind to carry him to yet more unclimbed peaks around the world. In a series of three wooden pilot cutters, the hardened Englishman voyaged nearly every year for more than a quarter century to the waters of the Antarctic and Arctic in search of new peaks and blank parts of the map to explore.
As climbing and sailing partner Bob Comlay writes, “[Tilman’s] climbing and sailing achievements rank amongst the greatest in the fields of twentieth century mountaineering and deep sea cruising, and his books remain essential reading for many who embark on similar ventures.”
His first biographer, JRL Anderson, judged Tilman to have: “contrived to live a life on a physical scale unmatched by anyone in this century.”
It is in Tilman’s exploits that we find the genesis for at least four events around the world that incongruously weave together competitive sailing stretches with mountain running legs. Yet, as much as Tilman was a competitive type, he wasn’t the racing type – his style was more about conquering a challenge than other men.
The original Three Peaks race, held annually to this day long the west coast of Britain, was conspired following Tilman’s telling of his many adventurous tales to his good doctor, Rob Haworth, back in his home port of Barmouth in Wales. The ripping yarns led the good doctor to consider a journey sailing up the English west coast, docking to climb each of Wales’, England’s and Scotland’s highest peaks: Snowdon, Scafell and Ben Nevis respectively.
Discussing the idea with his colleague, Dr Merfyn Jones, around the kitchen table on a winters evening in 1976, the pair evolved the mission into a race. They set out a rough map using kitchen utensils and bottles to represent the mountains, a bottle of Scotch for Ben Nevis (of course) and worked out the logistics.
Merfyn then spent his spring break checking out the course. A committee was formed from local people interested in sailing and Bill Tilman himself was invited to be the race president. It was an appointment that immediately set a bullish tone. When the race rules came up for discussion he quipped: “Why not just let them get on with it?”
And so they did. There were some elementary rules, of course: crews were limited to five; the use of yacht engines was not allowed, except when entering or leaving a navigable harbour; boots had to worn on the land sections; and no transport was allowed.
Essentially, however, the original Three Peaks was a truly amateur event with very few rules, offering everyone the chance of a real adventure within home waters. Tilman often met with the race committee, his Spartan attitude being reflected in the rule that allowed any form of human power. Big boats weren’t the favoured type because of the extremely shallow entries to the small fishing villages that marked the start of the running legs.
In June 1977 seven yachts set out to create Three Peaks folklore. In bad weather the yacht Aurantes put into Barrow, and the mountaineers, as they were then, took two days to go to the top of Scafell Pike and back, camping overnight.
A man named Frank Davis from The Climbers’ Shop in Ambleside, who was competing in Mumascara, realised that this was a race for fell runners and that a village called Ravenglass was the nearest possible landing point to Scafell. He arrived off Ravenglass in pitch darkness and in a horrendous gale, but there was not enough water to get down the channel and into shelter. The runners suffering from seasickness made the decision to take to the dinghy and try to get ashore.
Three of the crew went: the two runners and a sailor. After only five minutes an enormous wave capsized them. Unable to right the dinghy two of them lay on top of it, and one remained in water being held by the scruff of his neck and hanging onto the dinghy. Huge waves battered them for an hour, after which time they were fortunate to be washed ashore onto the artillery range. They withdrew from the race never to put to sea again.
Only four yachts completed the first event. The skipper of the first winner – a Royal Marines team who used it as a training exercise – thought the race was “mildly eccentric” but found the mountain running a great cure for seasickness. Bill Tilman was in Fort William to present the winning trophy. Sadly, he wasn’t to attend the second event.
That same year, Tilman set off on what was his last voyage. He disappeared off the coast of South America, aged 80, en route to the South Shetland Islands, while working as a crewmember for a group intent on climbing the islands’ highest peak. Their ship, the steel hulled tug En Avant, left Rio de Janeiro headed for the Falklands and was never heard of again.
IN PRESENT DAY LAUNCESTON, TILMAN’S LEGACY, if not his laissez-faire approach, lives on in the Australian edition of the Three Peaks race, one of at least four currently held independently worldwide (UK, Scotland and Hong Kong – with the latter actually being a four peaks race).
Now in its 22nd year, The Australian Three Peaks Challenge became the first edition run outside the UK in 1989, after Tasmanian Martin Pryor got wind of the event while on a working holiday in 1987. He immediately rounded up another four Tassie expats to enter the UK race. He and his crew performed well – leading the race at one stage – until a broken rudder forced retirement.
During the planning of that campaign, Pryor came up with the idea of a sister event in Australia and figured its coast and geography made Tasmania the obvious place to replicate the British race. On Pryor’s return to Australia planning began in earnest, three peaks were chosen – Mt Strzelecki, on Flinders Island, and Mt Freycinet and Mt Wellington on mainland Tasmania – and the inaugural race was held over Easter in 1989, with the UK race originator, Dr Haworth, competing.
“Once you’ve sailed Three Peaks once, you’ve got the disease,” observes veteran competitor, Nick Edmunds, who competed in that first race and every event since. This year he’s sailing Haphazard, a 14-time contender, also crewed by David Wright, who is the only other person to have experienced every Australian Three Peaks to date, both as a sailor and runner.
As second-time competitor David Jones, crewing the appropriately named VisitFlindersIsland.com.au, explains: “Normal life is so secure that you gotta do something slightly adventurous. The race is relatively safe but things can go wrong, such as running aground or potentially getting lost whilst running through the night. It’s an event that still allows for some genuine adventure.
“That’s what really sets Three Peaks apart from the rest: compared with most other sailing races, all competitors are up against the elements more so than each other.”
Although not a registered competitor, I get special dispensation to hop aboard the 48-foot Crowther catamaran Deguello to experience the 335-nautical mile (sailing), 133km (trail running) course first hand. The yacht competed in the very first Australian Three Peaks in 1989 and again in 1990. It has since had a major refit including a new mast and took line honours in another recent event held in fresh conditions. Deck talk is of line honour potential in the Multihull Division.
This year the event is hosting its smallest ever fleet of 10 boats, but it may as well be a Sydney-to-Hobart fleet for all the energy that buzzes across the water. A southerly wind blows in from our stern and the official start explodes in an impressive array of spinnakers. The fleet races up the Tamar River in a thrilling display of tactical manoeuvres.
It’s intense onboard Deguello as the crew frantically winch sails over and back due to a shifting southerly. All the while local well wishers in small boats and dinghies zigzag among the racing boats before the fleet disperses into the Bass Strait on course north east for Flinders Island and the first, arduous mountain run.
All eyes are on skipper Nick Edmunds on board Haphazard as he leads the charge for his 22nd attempt at Three Peaks glory, but it’s skipper Terry Travers of Westbury-Mersey Pharmacy (WMP) who cleverly tacks to snatch the honour of the First Out of the Heads trophy.
The exhilaration of the start soon wears off as the crew are forced to deal with frustratingly calm conditions in Bass Strait, an expanse of ocean usually notorious for rough seas and high winds. At an almost standstill on glassy calm seas, sailors Alistair Mearns and Bill Rostron retreat to the oars – the human power Tilman advocated as legitimate – until the forecasted fresh southeast winds start to tickle our sails.
Things not going to plan is almost the rule rather than the exception at sea, says Deguello’s skipper John Brieley, and it doesn’t always go all that much smoother on land.
“Two years ago, Deguello had a father and son running duo,” explains John. “First they got lost at Mt Strzelecki, on Flinders, adding an extra 25km to an already-brutal 63km course. It took them an excruciating 12 hours whereas the record for that leg is only five hours.”
Ever-determined, John and his crew then set a new fastest time from Flinders Island to Coles Bay in hope of catching up.
“But while we sailed, the son skulled down two litres of coke,” says John, who rightly questioned him at the time. “During the Coles Bay running leg, he ended up dehydrating, forcing us to retire.”
Despite the growing swell, it’s a welcome relief when the fresh southeasterly blows in. Deguello’s runners, Mal Grimmett (Victoria) and Allan Hood (Tasmania), prepare for the first run leg on Flinders Island, stealing whatever sleep they can as the roughening conditions toss them about on cramped bunks below.
In the early hours of the morning, we arrive into the village of Lady Barron on Flinders Island, via a risky navigation in Adelaide Bay due to a dropping tide. One wrong move would mean being beached on a sandbank until the tide turned high or possibly crashing into rock islets. Mal scurries about deck, shining the torch to light up the navigational signs for the skipper. We pass through cleanly, but even as the stress of impending disaster seemingly evaporates, an accidental slip has our only torch disappear overboard.
As Deguello nears the jetty we are genuinely surprised to hear reports that after 15 hours’ sailing, we’re in the lead: somehow Travers (WMP) and Edmunds (Haphazard) have lost their leading positions overnight.
As soon as the boat is close enough, Mal and Allan leap to the jetty and head for a compulsory five-minute briefing before setting out on the 65km trail run to the top of 742-metre Mt Strzelecki and back. All the peaks have to be taken on from sea level, remember, while anxious crews pace back at port, mentally pushing runners on faster than they may otherwise tackle the mountains.
Within an hour of Mal and Allan setting out on course, WMP and Haphazard dock and hurriedly offload their runners in hot pursuit. I wonder about WMP’s runners in particular – their sleeping quarters are extremely small, almost non-existent. How did they get much-needed rest in those rough conditions?
I’m not left wondering for long. Skipper Travers tells me how their boat had been launching off waves while Launceston triathlete Tim Piper was retching his guts over the side.
Getting up, down and around Strzelecki is the equivalent of running one and a half marathons, off road. Tim may well be cursing the two more sailing legs ahead, not to mention the further 68km of road and trail he has yet to run, and the 1890 metres of total ascent that Mt Freycinet and Mt Wellington will chuck at his landlubber legs.
It’s not just team glory that’s at stake here either. Aside from overall and divisional honours, the runners also vie for Kings of the Mountains titles, for the team of runners who post the fastest cumulative time for the three run legs.
For now Tim concentrates on just surviving Mt Strzelecki. Standing at 742 metres, it’s no easy task to trek to the summit, let alone run up. Slippery pine needles on slick rock and moss-covered roots extend onto the track and runners are put to the test navigating fallen boulders. Hearts pound like relentless breakers out to sea and thighs ache with each step up.
Coming down is an entirely different challenge again. Whistler’s runners Jacqui Guy and Michael McIntyre tell horror stories about legs that won’t work the way you intend. Too much speed and you end up off track, a tangled mess lying in the bushes.
Mal and Allan lose ground on the mountain as Tim Piper and Jim Finlay overtake them, creating a short lead for WMP as she slips ropes first and points her bow for Coles Bay on the Tasmanian mainland. Deguello and Haphazard follow suit out of Lady Barron and all three boats race within contention down the east coast.
At some point during the night Travers and the WMP team are forced to retire, leaving Deguello and Haphazard to tussle for the second leg lead. I hop a short plane flight from Flinders to watch the leading pair go tack for tack down the east coast.
The wind dies off around midday, testing the sailors’ patience yet again, and it isn’t until early evening that Deguello glides into Coles Bay in shifty conditions, Haphazard tight on stern, barely 20 minutes behind.
As the sailors attend deck duties, responsibility shifts back to the runners as they trot off towards Mt Freycinet, regarded as the toughest if not the longest running course of the event. Rather than continually ascending a single peak, runners have to navigate both Mt Graham (579 metres) and Mt Freycinet (620 metres).
Mal and Allan successfully complete the gruelling course in pitch darkness, maintaining their lead. Meanwhile Haphazard’s running duo succumbs to a knee injury, leaving Deguello first to depart Coles Bay for the final sailing leg to Hobart. Pre-dawn glassy conditions hamper our getaway and cut into our lead as I rejoin the crew for the march south to the Derwent. The sun rises over Mt Freycinet to our starboard, and with it come fresh but light winds. With the whiff of a victory in his nostrils, our helmsman repeatedly checks over his shoulder watching for other boats leaving Coles Bay.
The team now has an agonising decision to make on whether to chance going through the racing division shortcut of Dunalley Canal, or to sail around Maria and Tasman Islands. The race has not been won by rounding Tasman Island since 2003. The forecast predicts southwesterly winds and, against winning form, the crew chooses to sail the long way round. The risk in slipping through Dunalley Canal is that if the winds are not favourable – if headwinds prevail or there are no winds at all – the team has to be prepared to row the boat a long way. In the distance Team Whistler has obviously chosen the short cut. We hold our longer – but more exposed and so, hopefully, faster course – and pray it’s the correct decision.
As we round the southeast coast of Tasmania, the shoreline stretches out into a spectacular run of rugged dolerite rock. The winds remain consistent until, as we near Hobart on dusk, dark clouds roll in from the south, soothing the winds down to barely a breeze. The lights of the city sparkle in the distance. Somewhere below the blackened patch that is Mt Wellington, is Constitution Dock. But we remain held off on the glassy bay, becalmed. It becomes another paddle exercise in the hope of docking as soon as possible.
It isn’t until 1.40am that Deguello finally throws ropes on the wharf. News is that monohull Whistler has beaten us, run and all, taking line honours in three days, eight hours and 41 minutes. Skipper David Rees recounts how their risky decision to sail through Dunalley Canal paid off as the southeasterly wind held.
Knowing they held a commanding lead, the entire boat team of five decided to tackle the 33km course up Mt Wellington (1270 metres, the highest of the three peaks) in thick fog, a feat that is rewarded with the coveted Tilman Trophy, which provides special incentive for older crews in slower yachts who, supposedly, do not have a realistic chance of outright honours.
Significantly, the Tilman awards bonus points to each team member (other than the designated runners) who tackles the mountain runs. This is the first time in the race’s history that the overall winner has had all team members complete a running leg and winning the Tilman.
The Deguello sailing crew gather on deck for a celebratory drink – for the sailors, work is done, the event all but over. Second place overall and multihull division winner – it’s still a good result.
After three and half days of straight racing, John, Bill and Alistair are absolutely exhausted. For Mal and Allan there remains a mountain to run. No doubt, as we down a cold Tasmanian beer, they are still hurting as they sweat it out somewhere in the pre-dawn darkness on the slopes of an utterly unsympathetic Mt Wellington.
Postscript
Team Whistler went on to complete a ‘Two Countries, Six Peaks’ challenge by competing in the UK Three Peaks only two months after the Australian edition. They came third in that event.
