Out on the open sea the wind fills the flying yachts sails as it heads for Hobart town, the race is on and Australia watches from their lounge chairs. Sydney is bidding farewell as they go, from the sky and the ocean floor they have come to watch them go, to wish them well and safe passage across the infamous Bass Straight.
The sea is as restless as the crews that man the billowing white sails of 7, short choppy swell crests in foamy waves and the sky has turned a moody blue. What lies ahead in the perils of the race is anybodies guess, an adventure for the weathered seamen never to be under estimated. The open ocean between start and finish is a fickle moody beast.