Are modern boats good value?

It’s a long, long time since I posted.  I must be getting mellow in my old age.

What got me thinking this morning, is reading (in the excellent Marine Quarterly) about Eric and Susan Hiscock’s first circumnavigation, in Wanderer III.  The boat cost them £3,300, which seems a risible sum these days.  However, I recalled that in 1952, boats were considered to be extremely expensive – compared with a house for example, the average price of which was £1,891, as I discovered when I did a bit of homework.

In today's prices, the hand-built, ‘one-off’ Wanderer III cost £80,322 – quite a bit of money by anybody’s standards, to be raised without a loan.  However, the Hiscocks had no children and, being the organised sort of people they were, had probably planned all this for a long time and carefully saved for the voyage around the world and the vessel that they needed to do it.  They knew they would be living on board for 3 years and in those days, not only was it a problem taking money out of the country, it would also have been a problem reprovisioning in a lot of places.  Tinned food would have been an expensive luxury in islands like the West Indies and the Pacific Islands. Thus their decision to buy a larger boat than their beloved Wanderer II.

The Second World War was not long over: rationing still existed in Great Britain and there was still a dearth of good materials available for boat building.  However, 60 years on, this great boat is still going strong.  True, Thies Matzen has replaced all the iron floors, knees, etc with bronze, but he writes of her: “Of course, she had to be well built, and she is. Wanderer III is traditionally planked and caulked and is well kept.”  And after nearly 300,000 sea miles, she is still crossing oceans – and not just in the Trade Winds:  Thies and Kicki have spent many years sailing south of 40°.

So how much would a new 30ft boat cost today, I wondered.  Well, apparently if I were to buy a 31ft Benéteau, it would cost me £83,000 ‘on the water’.  I gather that one needs to spend some £24,000 over and above the basic cost of the vessel to equip her for ordinary weekend sailing.  However, that probably includes a heap of electronics that we could do without; on the other hand, I suspect a lot more ‘real’ gear would be required to circumnavigate, so let’s take the £83,000 to be what it would cost – about half the price of an average house in the UK (I checked).  And we are talking about a cheap and cheerful production boat, here, not something designed for crossing oceans.  (I’m not sure if any production boat builders would build a 31ft boat for crossing an ocean, because most people appear to think that 40ft is the minimum one could take offshore. I’m way out of touch with production boats, so had to make do with my Beneteau as an example.)  However, in real terms, this somewhat indifferent cruising boat would cost more than Wanderer III.  It makes you think, doesn’t it?  

But what makes me think even more, is the thought that for all our technological improvements: will our Benéteau 31 still be tramping over the world's oceans in 60 years, having been a floating home to two couples for most of that time, and with only one major refit along the way?  Somehow, I very much doubt it.  There are still a large number of good, honest wooden boats alive and well and going about their business, particularly in Great Britain, where the climate is kind to carvel boats.  However, the modern sailor’s demands for space, comfort and large diesel engines will probably spell their demise long before the little ships themselves are no longer fit for duty.  Every now and then you read about them or see one up for sale: what a reflection they are on the honesty and integrity of their builders.  May they long be loved and cherished.

The Devil in the Chartroom.

I'm sure I've gone on about EPIRBs, SSB and all the other acronyms that people load their boats down with, so that they can bleat for help when things go wrong, they get seasick, or it all just gets too wet and uncomfortable.  You will gather I don't have a lot of time for them.

If you decide to go wandering over the sea in a small boat, it is ridiculous to think you have a right to be baled out when it all goes to custard.  Fair enough when you're pottering around the coast within VHF (or mobile phone!) range: the boys and girls who come to pick you up will probably enjoy the challenge and it won't cost the taxpayer too much money.  But to institute a full Search and Rescue in the middle of the ocean is really making yourself out to be far more important than you actually are.  I'm sure the world will continue to turn and society (more or less) to function without your valuable input; just accept your fate and drown like a gentleman.  All that money spent on picking you up out of the 'oggin could be much better spent on a lot more people who are actively contributing to society.

The latest in the line of devices to help you bale out, are the little trackers that normally-self-sufficient sailors are adding to their boats.  The theory is that friends and relatives will be able to follow them across the ocean, so that everyone can feel 'in touch'.  And, supposedly, said friends and rellies won't be worrying.  Yeah right.  This year, two of my friends fitted these devices and, in my opinion, the results have been from bad to disastrous.

One friend's device stopped transmitting for the simple and sufficient reason that there was no money left in the account.  Those following his track, instantly went into panic mode and only the fact that they first debated the issue prevented them from contacting the Coastguard to 'see if they had heard anything'.  How could they have?  The self-sufficient friend in question does not carry an SSB.  Needless to say, a few days later, he turned up safe and sound explaining why he'd 'gone off the air'.  Now the damn transmitter is playing up again.  He's had enough and it's soon to be on its way to the recycler.  Friends and family will just have to go back to the good old days of hearing nothing of him when he chooses to traverse an ocean, and he can go back to enjoying his peace and quiet.

The incident with the second friend was far worse.  These wretched transmitters allow you to send wee text messages and, of course, your location.  So you can shout for help.  Now my friend had had some truly horrendous weather, he was getting very tired; he'd had a few issues with water ingress and rig malfunction.  All things he has dealt with in the past.  He had a little device on board with a blinking light that said to him 'You don't need to carry on with this, you know.'  They should be fitted with horns and a pitchfork, for they are surely little devils in disguise.  If you can't give up, you won't, but the devil spake and he was tempted.  So he called for help and, in due course, along came a ship and, when the wind had moderated to less than 45 knots (the conditions were appalling) he was picked up.  He was very nearly crushed during the transfer from perfectly seaworthy yacht to the large ship and his brave little boat, that had looked after him loyally for tens of thousands of miles, survived being lifted up and repeatedly flung against the steel hull of the huge vessel alongside, and was last seen drifting disconsolately into the murk.

My friend has physical injuries that will take months to heal.  As for the mental ones: 'I can't believe, now, that I felt things were so bad that I needed to abandon the boat.'

As Bill Tilman once said: 'we were distressed, but we weren't in distress'.

Without that little devil, my friend would probably be happily anchored near waving palm trees, the storms a fading memory and doing some minor repairs to his stout little ship.  Now,because of that devil's insidious influence, he has lost his uninsured home, his joy and his freedom to roam the world.

The Gentle Art of Staying Afloat

I have recently found all Roger Taylor's books are now available as ebooks.  I love ebooks - my bookshelves are already stocked to overflowing with old friends and until recently, when I came across a writer of books I just have to own, such as Roger Taylor, the only way I could indulge myself was by getting rid of one of my other treasured volumes.  No More!!  (www.thesimplesailor.com links you to paper books: I bought my ebooks from Kobo.)

Roger Taylor has my unalloyed admiration.  I love the way he writes, the way he sails, the way he thinks.  I appreciate his attitude of sailing with minimal outlay, but still being prepared to spend money on good equipment to do the job properly.  Not economy for economy's sake, but thinking long and hard before parting with money and buying something that has caused even more resources to be wrested from Earth.

One of the more interesting aspects of Mingming  is that she is unsinkable.  Generally speaking, if you want your boat to continue floating once holed, you'd better have a multihull (and it never ceases to astonish me that people think in such a woolly way, that they will build these essentially-unsinkable craft out of a heavier-than-water material.)  Even a lightly-ballasted wooden boat will have a tendency to go glug-glug-glug if she gets a hole in her and of course metal or GRP are only kept afloat by the volume of air within.

Now Mingming, being a mere 20ft long, does not have a huge amount of spare volume to be given over to flotation.  On the other hand, Roger doesn't live on board and (it has to be said) does rather camp out.  (Forgive me for saying this, Roger, in the extremely-unlikely event you will ever read this.)  He also, obviously, has a considerably better mind than I do, and can go for long periods of time with only his thoughts and observations to occupy him, whereas I need my books at the very least. But as he is also prepared for all eventualities that he has envisaged (and his powers of concentration are impressive) and carries the wherewithal to deal with those, he still requires room for quite a lot of gear.  Of course Mingming, is so simple that there aren't that many things to go wrong, and he doesn't need, for example, a comprehensive tool kit, spare filters, etc, etc for the engine.

What am I wittering on about, you ask?  Well, I'm wondering how much foam I would need to fit in my boat to make her unsinkable.  I get the impression that Mingming would stay buoyantly afloat, but that's maybe too much to ask for.  Especially in a boat with 50% ballast ratio.  But what if I do a bit of weeding of possessions - always good for the soul (but not my precious books!)?  I could possibly fill in the space under the forward part of the V-berth and certainly under the two quarter berths.  How about putting a floor in the lazarette and filling in under there?  No room under the floorboards - that's the water tank.  Most of the other lockers are full with food, clothes, tools, batteries, etc.  I'm not, I regret, prepared to forgo my engine.  This is a shame because it is a large beast and if I filled in all the area presently taken up by the engine and its ancillaries, I could add a lot of flotation.  But I day sail, I'm constitutionally lazy and I like being able to motor 3 miles to an anchorage, rather than staying out half the night or sculling madly for hours. So unless I'm prepared to make many more compromises, I can't do a Mingming on my little junk.

But I wonder if even a little foam, a little additional buoyancy is anyway a good idea?  Anything at all that helps us stay afloat?  Because like the wholly-admirable Roger Taylor, I do not wish to be baled out of my own folly, at the expense of the already-beleaguered taxpayer, and at the risk of endangering other peoples' lives.

Back again!

Hah!  I guess you thought - hoped even - that I'd gone away for good.  No such luck. Life had dragged me by the scruff of the neck into a busyness that seemed to provide no time for musings of any sort, certainly subversive ones.  I was living a life full of Things To Do, hectic schedules - even airline flights, which I hate with a passion.  Unless in a small, propeller driven aircraft, where I can have a window seat and admire the beautiful land unfolding beneath me. But long distance 'plane flights are terrible things, made worse, for me, but the continuing knowledge of the damage I'm doing to this wonderful earth, by such greedy consumption.

But finally I am back on my boat and in peace.  I cannot begin to describe the pleasure I have in my little ship, in her grace and simplicity and the near-luxury of my little home.  Sometimes I can hardly wait to go to bed because my berth in the forepeak is so comfortable, and in the winter, with the down quilt wrapped around me, it is inconceivably snug.  And oh! the luxury of sleeping alone - of having a bed entirely to myself, with no-one else to think about if I want to stretch out, or to turn over, or to cough, or giggle at some silly thought that crosses what I laughingly call my mind.

On a cold, clear night, I lie there with the hatch partly open, gazing at the stars.  That hatch is both a necessity and a gross extravagance.  Its predecessor, the original fibreglass one, was, of course, completely opaque, which was bad enough: it also leaked and was impossible properly to dog, which was intolerable.  A great friend went and sold his soul to the manufacturer on my behalf, and obtained, at cost price, an enormous hatch, large enough for a super-yacht.  It was still heart-stoppingly expensive, but the original had a complicated moulding that would have been very difficult to incorporate in the same-sized alloy hatch.  With this mega hatch, however, I could build a frame outside the old one and simply drop the new hatch on top.  It is such bliss.  Several people have been puzzled that I should want a hatch that lets in the first light of day, but to me it is a necessity to be able to follow the phases of the moon, as I lie awake at night.  A lifelong insomniac - such things are important.

And we move aft a little to my superb galley.  Has any 26ft boat ever been blessed with such a fine place in which to cook?  I love to cook.  I love, particularly, to cook for myself: carefully-planned and light meals, for enjoyment rather than repletion.  Sometimes I will make the starter, eat it slowly with a glass of wine, and then prepare the main course from scratch, sipping away as I cook.  It may be an hour from one course to the next, and I enjoy every second of it.  I sit down at my varnished, mahogany table, laid with attractive cutlery, hand-made pottery and Waterford Crystal glasses, bought second-hand for a pittance.  As I savour my food, I can gaze out of the window at the passing scene.

The table is something I made myself, to replace the rather ratty plywood one that wobbled around on an ugly pedestal.  Originally it had - I suppose - had the facility to rise up and down like a Pantomime Demon, in order to accommodate a loving couple in connubial bliss.  A small, loving couple, I would have to say, as my whole boat is designed around hobbits.  Fine for me at 5ft 1in and weighing about a hundredweight, but a little constrained for more normal-sized people.  Yes, this bunk is 6ft long - once the cushions are removed fore and aft and assuming your tape measure hook is not particularly thick.  I have dozed on the outboard half at sea and not found it any too long.  I never did try the original table top, because the bed thus formed would have been too narrow for comfort.  At least in my V-berth (and only a couple ardently in lust would call it a double) I can't fall out of bed!  A friend thought that my replacement table (constructed in traditional manner, of one-inch wood, with fold-down leaves) should be made in the same manner as the old one 'in case', but I reckon two people on my boat is getting perilously close to a crowd and cannot imagine sharing with a couple.  Who want to sleep together.  So I did it my way.  Which is why I bought my own boat in the first place.

The other change from the original is that my new table has no fiddles.  I love to write - as you may have guessed - and the fiddles made this awkward.  Occasionally I like to write by hand, with a fountain pen, and the fiddles made this almost impossible.  I could understand fitting them for and aft, but athwartships?  So my new table has no fiddle.  Anyway, this is the 21st century, the era of sticky mats.  There is no need for such a thing 90% of the time.  In the galley, yes.  On the bookshelves equally so, but the saloon table?  But if ever I get the guts to go offshore, I shall fit removable ones fore and aft.

So here I sit in my comfortable little boat, looking up occasionally to admire the scenery, able in one short stop to reach the coffee pot and brew up.  One day I shall sing the praises of my cockpit, but at present it is too cool to enjoy it.

Why, oh why, would anyone want more?

Small Is Beautiful

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I love my little boat. She is not what I would have chosen, but I have put a lot into her and she has rewarded my efforts and now I think that maybe she chose me. But one of the things I like most about her is her size – or lack of it.

I remember, in my very early twenties, standing in the bedroom of the house I was then living in and thinking ‘all this space. For a bed?’ It seemed daft then (it seems daft now) and my next thought was, ‘it’s so much better living on a boat.’ Within a few months I was living aboard once more and in the intervening, heaven know how many years, I have spent less than 12 months between walls.

I live in a space of less than 11 sq metres – 120 sq ft – and that is at shoulder height. My feet, legs and hips manage in less. I have a wonderfully comfortable and cosy bed. It has its own space sacrosanct to lying and sleeping.  It does not have a room entirely to itself, but there is plenty of space under it to stow gear. And in summer, when I don’t want to be cosy, there is a large hatch over it that lets in the fresh air. It also lets in the light, to encourage me to get up and see what the new day has to bring. At the forward end is a clothes locker and on either side are book shelves, with my cherished friends therein.

There is a small toilet, so that I have a certain amount of convenience and outboard and above is a locker that contains my sewing machine and beer barrel. Opposite is a cabinet with storage for toiletries; beneath is a locker for sewing stuff, toilet rolls, laundry pegs, etc and under that is a shoe locker. Moving aft we come to the saloon and galley. I cook in my living room; or live in my kitchen, depending on how you look at it. The settee and table are comfortable and can fit 4 with ease, 5 in comfort (as long as no-one is fat), and 6 for a party. I have fridge (hmm – this came with the boat, can’t be removed without dismantling the galley, but is a bit of a mixed blessing to say the least), sink and cooker, and plenty of storage. Good lockers protect my locally-made crockery and cup hooks support the fine china mugs that I prefer for my tea. I have plenty of room for pressure cooker, pans, storage containers, etc. The saloon provides lockers for longer term food supplies.

If the party is getting on the large side, each quarter berth has a seat at its head and we can comfortably seat another couple of people there. The grog locker is here, too and my little heater.

Many houses have a deck or verandah, where one can enjoy lunch in the sunshine, or unwind with a sundowner at the end of the day. My cockpit provides the same amenity. Two people can sprawl luxuriously in the sun. Four can sit at ease. It’s a bit of a squeeze for eight. Around and abaft this space are more lockers for things like paint and rope.

Really, what more could anybody want? And yet I manage to pack all this comfort and convenience into a boat that is probably shorter than a lot of living rooms. And this wonderful home cost me less than many people would spend on a motor car.

All this is rather wonderful when I am tied up alongside a wharf, but what is even better is that after a day, a week, a month or maybe even a year, I can slip the warps and head off for somewhere quite different. Perhaps even somewhere I’ve never been before. But while I'm getting there, I have my lovely home with me. Then, I drop my anchor and there I am – in a completely new place that is still home. And this little, compact home is so easy to handle, to paint, to find room for, to manage. Why would I want anything bigger?

Small is definitely beautiful.

So what is the ideal cruising boat?  Well, most of the time we are not under way, so she has to be a comfortable home.  When we are underway, then she has to be seaworthy and reliable.  You want her to look after you, and that is one of the reasons that, when the chips are down, I don't want a multihull.  Then, she has to be inexpensive to run.  Steel is a bit of a problem here.  Wood/epoxy - honestly built - is probably your best.  Ferro-cement has a lot going for it.  A decent carvel-planed wood boat from long-lived woods won't let you down.  Horses for courses.

But now and then you see a design that makes you shout: YES!

Look at this sweet, little ship:

SWAGGIE

by John Welsford

LOA 5.5 m - 18 ft 2 in
Beam 2.4 m - 7 ft 10 in
Draft .8 m - 2 ft 8 in
Sail Area 22.5 sq m - 247 sq ft
Headroom 1.7 m - 5 ft 6 in
Headroom under dome 2 m - 6 ft 6 in
Displacement 1200 kg - 2650 lbs bare ship, rigged
Displacement 1750 kg - 3850 lbs normal full load
Displacement 1900 kg - 4180 lbs maximum safe

A mighty, miniature long range cruiser

Swaggie: (Australian slang) A tramp, or itinerant who carries his bedroll, or “Swag” upon his back.

My client loves small craft and has long had an ambition to cruise a very small cruiser that would be capable of blue water voyaging from his home on the Southern Coast of Australia. For those not familiar with the area that’s roaring 40s territory and there are very long stretches of coast without shelter or refuge. In a storm the best option is to get as far out to sea as possible, close the hatch and get into your bunk but of course few very small cruisers are designed to survive this sort of treatment.

We’d corresponded about ideas for more than a while, and we seemed to have similar ideas if slightly different approaches so I drew a study proposal and sent it off to see what he thought.

Bingo, a cheque arrived by return! Hit the jackpot and rang the bell!  So here is Swaggie!

The basic premise of the boat is that she is sailed from inside. Her Junk rig is the key to this, the sail being able to be hoisted, reefed and sheeted from the main hatch means that a conventional cockpit and sail handling areas are not really required. This is a huge help as at less than 18 ft she is not big enough to have both a useful cockpit and a spacious cabin, seeing as she is a cruiser and needs to be comfortable the cabin is the priority.

Her accommodation is as follows:

Double bunk forward, sorry but the big free standing mast intrudes but the bed is still better than most you will find in a boat this size. There are large lockers underneath the double with room for a substantial battery bank, 25 gals of water and dry storage for extra clothing and stores.

There is sitting headroom over the after end of the double, a small locker port and starboard, a galley bench one side at the after end of the bunk and a general purpose bench on the other with storage under both.

There is a lot of storage in this area, a long voyage with two crew needs a lot of stores and provisions, so I have designed in enough space for lots of water, stores, equipment and spares.

Aft of that, and still under the low part of the cabin are port and starboard armchairs, its important to have some really comfortable places to sit when off watch or just relaxing and these are as good as you will find, handy to the bookshelf and the galley stove, near the on watch person but separate enough to nap in when taking a break from the helm.

Step aft slightly and there is a single bunk down each side, sitting here your eye will be up at window level, with your hand on the inside tiller you have 360 deg vision and a view of the sail through the Polycarbonate “astro” dome in the main hatch. You can sit in here in full control of the vessel and be totally sheltered from sun, wind or rain.
More water tanks and extra storage goes in under those bunks and the armchairs, I’ve allowed for 180 litres of water which is consistent with the boats planned 30 days with 2 persons range.

Cruisers spend a lot of time anchored in company, the boats functioning as floating accommodation while their skippers explore paradise, and such mundane issues as privacy for body functions need to be considered. I have drawn in a portable heads of the type sold for caravan use, stowed in under the after deck it can be drawn forward into the cabin, used and slid back without disrupting the rest of the boats functioning.

Similarly it would be practical to divide the boat across the fore and aft cabin sections with a curtain to allow a sponge bath for a modest crew.

There is also space in the same area for a valise packed inflatable liferaft, compulsory for some countries if the boat is to be sailed beyond territorial waters.

Her deck layout has a large anchor well up at the sharp end in which the main anchor and warp can be stowed, a cabin top organised so that a custom designed 6ft 6in dinghy can be carried on the forward part of the cabin top where it protects the big skylight while at sea, and a flat between the cabin and the transom which is large enough to lie down and stretch out on, or to sit up and steer with the outside emergency and self steering tiller if the weather is clement. For nice weather I would carry one of those little folding beach chairs and fit some cleats to stop it sliding around, real comfort in any sized boat.
She has a permanent pushpit railing aft which not only reduces the chances of man overboard, but trebles as the mainsheet horse and the self steering vane mounting.

I have drawn wide enough side decks to allow access forward and suggest that a secure line be run forward around the mast and back so anyone going on deck can be secured by a safety harness at all times.

The hull form is that which my smaller Houdini design has so well proven, a narrow flat bottom, steep deadrise chine panels and well flared topsides, the fine entry gives a nice easy motion and the cross sectional shape gives a gentle roll with very high ultimate righting moment, both safe and comfortable in a boat that is intended for long voyages where one cannot duck into a sheltered spot when the weather turns foul.

Construction is simple two skin ply over sawn frames and stringers, very easy to build and extremely tough, there is nothing here to bother a keen amateur with reasonable tool skills, Her ballast is 450 kg of lead some 550 mm down below the waterline, and heeled to 90 deg she will lift something like 60 kg with her masthead which is a huge righting moment for a little boat.

Swaggie's plans are detailed for real beginners, very basic woodworking skills, a good attitude and an ability to read is about all a Swaggie builder will need to begin with and the other skills will come as the project progresses. I anticipate a lot of builders will be people who find themselves trapped in a soulless desk job which condemns them to commuting for hours in heavy traffic, living in a thin walled and crowded apartment and dreaming with longing of the freedom of the seas, golden sands and warm breezes.

The space and resources needed for building a Swaggie are not beyond the city dweller, and with determination the dream can become reality. I am really looking forward to reading of the adventures of Swaggie builders who have made the voyage to paradise. It's not so far away!

Now if this little boat doesn't make your knees buckle - at least slightly - then you have no soul.  This is not one or your little big ships - loadsa displacement, but still only a tiny boat.  This one displaces what you need for your water and food, but is not in essence a heavy vessel.  Of course, I have a couple of cavils:

The dome: fine for seriously bad weather, but for anything under F9 or about 10 deg C, fit a Hasler pramhood, details of which can be found in Practical Junk Rig.  There is no better way of keeping a lookout underway, or a perfectly-ventilated cabin in harbour.

Why not build her with a full-width cabin?  She would be even bigger below and, with a junk rig, you only have to go forward to anchor.  Security on deck isn't a big issue.

I shall have more musings on building vs buying.  My opinions are not exactly what they used to be on this vexed issue.