The America’s Cup: Auld Mug’s Game

On a wild strip of sea called Gage Roads, 22 sailors perform exhausting, dangerous and precisely choreographed routines. Pitching through the lumpy seas, skippers lean into the wind trying to see if the opponent is tacking. Sewer men, who work below-decks, clamber about readying sails; tacticians rinse salt from their eyes to scan computer screens. Muscle-bound grinders, crewmen who trim sails with highly geared winches called coffee grinders, grunt and puff against tons of load.

For decades the America’s Cup was a millionaire’s mannered contest played on wood decks in the light winds off Newport, R.I. But when a wicked winged keel helped sweep Australia II to victory in 1983, the upset permanently transformed the long-running naval battle for the knee-high trophy affectionately known as the “Auld Mug.” In the wind-whipped seas of the Indian Ocean, the races between Stars & Stripes and Kookaburra III are the culmination of a three-year high-tech battle that has involved corporate fund raising, sailing strategy worthy of a war room, computer-designed boats tuned to fighter-plane perfection and crews conditioned to the physical and psychological preparedness of elite commandos.

While the limelight naturally focuses on the saltwater sovereigns Dennis Conner and Iain Murray, the crews have labored in shadow. But their contributions to winning are critical in Fremantle because the strong winds and heavy seas mean a faster clip than at Newport. “The boat will hit a wave, travel two boat lengths and then hit another,” says Mainsheet Trimmer Jon Wright. “So you constantly have to adjust the sails for the waves.” Observes Skipper Tom Blackaller, whose USA was eliminated in the challengers’ semifinals: “If the crew makes an error, it can be absolutely disastrous.”

Most U.S. hands are veteran amateurs; Conner’s crew’s average age is 31, and Murray’s is 26. Having enlisted simply for love of the sport and for whatever honor may come their way, the $75-a-week American crewmen endure a brutal, monastic regime. Most have been working uninterrupted for nearly two years, and the crew had to push Conner before finally getting Sundays off. In the final months at Fremantle, their training day began at 5:45 a.m. with an hour of heavy weights for grinders, aerobic exercises for the others. After a breakfast that would horrify a cardiologist — heaps of bacon, eggs and pancakes — they were at the dock just after 8. At sea by 10:30, they endlessly honed tacking and sail-changing drills that they already knew by heart. After a drink and dinner, most forgo Fremantle’s night spots. “With the sort of day we put in,” says Wright, 38 and on his fifth Cup campaign, “you don’t feel much like anything else.” Even after sundown the team effort does not stop. For every hour of sailing there are 2 1/2 man-hours of maintenance, much of it done overnight by sailmakers.

Pounding around Gage Roads in 25-ton yachts is more than just physically punishing. It is perilous. The blinding glare of the sun and the continual shower of salt spray are so forceful that both skippers have had serious trouble with their eyes. Conner was forced to consult a Perth specialist. Says ( Murray: “In the early races I was coming in every day with double vision. It’s like having a saltwater hose going flat out into your face.” Murray and crew now wear sunglasses, which must constantly be cleared of caked salt with squeeze bottles of fresh water. Kookaburra Mainsheet Trimmer Peter Gilmour, known as “Crash” for his aggressive tactics as Murray’s starting helmsman, sometimes wears an industrial dust mask to protect his face from sunburns and windburns.

Boat design has been critical in Fremantle. Murray and his co-designer, John Swarbrick, relied on hours of tank-testing models with Dutch Wizard Peter van Oossanen, who helped develop Australia II. As for Conner, he and his syndicate president, San Diego Businessman Malin Burnham, put together what Burnham calls a “mini-NASA” of more than 20, including aerospace scientists and hydrodynamics researchers. “Having the wrong fit between boat and local weather would have been fatal,” explains Design Manager John Marshall. In search of the ideal hull, the team used a computer analysis of wind and wave conditions on the Indian Ocean while turning out four prototypes, the last of which was Stars & Stripes. As for the keel, Marshall allows that it has a “shorter set of wings than Kookaburra, which means that there is less drag downwind.” The U.S. boat is also extremely fast when headed into the wind — an important advantage given that four of the eight legs of the 24.1-mile triangular course are sailed in that direction. Just to be extra sure, there is also one no-tech installation in the bow: a bag of garlic, an old Portuguese sailor’s good-luck charm.

Not all the planning has been invariably on target. The winds have been particularly tough to gauge. Meteorologists on both teams have been double- checking their computers because the steady high drafts of the antipodal summer begin to fade in February. The big blows alternate with periods of gentle breezes. The day after Conner won the challengers’ finals two weeks ago, the wind dropped from 25 knots to 15. That was unfortunate for Stars & Stripes, which Conner has likened to a “fuel dragster” since it was specifically built to excel in winds above 18 knots. The more maneuverable Kookaburra was expected to gain an edge in lighter breezes. But that prediction too may not hold in the water. Subdued winds marked the boats’ first confrontation, but did not help Kookaburra.

A winning campaign does not come cheap. Two weeks ago the San Diego tax- exempt foundation formed to raise $15 million from individuals and sponsoring companies found itself $4 million short. That is about the same amount that the New York Yacht Club syndicate spent on its entire 1983 defense. Burnham appealed to the press, and the stories have helped bring in $1.3 million, including an additional $250,000 from an early backer, Budweiser.

Self-made Perth Millionaire Kevin Parry, whose Parry Corp. has assets of $180 million from gold mining, TV productions and real estate, has spent some $10 million on his three Kookaburras. But he did not decline a $66,000 check handed over last week by 1983 Winner Alan Bond, his rival Perth wheeler-dealer whose Australia IV was beaten in the defender trials. Before that peace offering, though, the two had exchanged a squall of nasty words following Australia’s defeat.

So in a way it is still a game of toy boats played by millionaires. But no single millionaire, no superstar skipper, can dominate alone. “You have to delegate,” says Whidden. “This is a team sport and not a single man’s quest for victory.” He believes Conner’s greatest growth since 1983 has been in his ability to get good people and allow himself to rely on them. Will his team win? Or will Parry and Murray’s Kookaburra mates refuse to yield the Cup? As the racing began, most experts favored Conner, but Australian Skipper John Bertrand, who won the Cup in 1983, loyally picked Kookaburra, 4-3. Ronald Reagan and Australian Prime Minister Bob Hawke could not stay out of the guessing game. In a phone call two weeks ago, the President offered the PM a “proposition on a matter of importance and some common concern to the people of both our nations.” He bet “my favorite cowboy hat” on the U.S. entry. Hawke responded by putting a wide-brimmed bush hat on the Kookaburra. Whoever wins, all hats will be off to the men of both teams. Then after a few weeks they can start revving up for the next Cup encounter.