In 1998, then-owner of Deerfoot 2-62 Moonshadow George Backhus wrote in this account of slamming into a Tuamotan reef. The following text is from that experience:

The Worst of the Worst

The following account is from Cort’s journal of the trip, written by him in the first person. I have added a few things to fill in some blanks. Thanks Cort, I was in no mood to write at this point.

Friday, May 24

Takaroa, Tuamotus, a.k.a. “The Dangerous Islands.”

Awoke this morning to wind. Are the trades finally back? Our plan was to weigh anchor at 0830 local time as the tide table for the area showed low slack water at that time. WRONG! The tide was still at a slight ebb at 1115, but with the skill of our skipper, we made it out through the pass to the open sea. The winds were fresh and easterly at about 12-15 knots. We were able to sail a direct course to Manihi, our next port of call recommended by friends and in various publications as a great place to dive, with a safe anchorage and an easy pass to navigate through.

I had calculated our ETA (estimated time of arrival) to be about 1600 based upon an 0900 departure, leaving us plenty of daylight to find an anchorage. However, with our late departure, it looked like it would be very close for us to make it through the pass by nightfall.

The day proceeded uneventfully, with a smooth broad reach flying a full main and the 2.2 ounce spinnaker, laying the mark.

As afternoon approached, it became increasingly evident that we would not reach port until after dark. Our choices were to heave to offshore for the night, or continue past Manihi and Ahe and on to Rangiroa Atoll, about 12 hours ahead, which would get us there at daybreak Saturday.

The consensus was that as long as we had to be on watch all night, we may as well press on to Rangiroa, as it had been touted as the best of the Tuamotus. It is the second largest atoll in the world, with great diving, lagoons, beaches, some restaurants and small hotels. We figured that if we grew tired of it we could proceed to the Society Islands (Tahiti & Bora Bora) and spend some time in Moorea before sailing to Papeete, the largest city in Tahiti.

I plotted a new course to Rangiroa, setting a way point giving us approximately 2 miles of sea room southwest of the island of Ahe. From there it was a clear shot to Rangiroa, with no charted obstructions within 28 miles of our course.

It was dark now and I felt uneasy about being close to islands and reefs so I checked and rechecked our progress by Ahe and requested to turn on the radar for a positive ID and to watch the squall activity which was becoming more prevalent.

We had dinner as we passed southeast of Ahe and could see some lights from the village in the distance.

We passed the way point and set our new course of 243 degrees to Rangiroa. My watch was to be from 0400-0600 so after doing the dishes, it was time to turn in. George was really tired and had the 0200-0400 watch and had already gone below. I did a last plot of our course before bed and told Eric, who was the first evening watch, not to sail below 210 degrees for any length of time as there was an island to the south that could be a problem. Albeit way south of our course, he acknowledged and I hit the sack. Shortly after falling asleep, through my earplugs I heard Eric call for George (Eric was having trouble steering in the shifty squally winds and George went up to help out). I could hear their voices and waited for them to call me, but figured they probably wanted me to rest and possibly come on watch an hour early at 0300 to help Fred with his watch.

Saturday, April 25

I did not sleep well at all. It was hot and humid and the hatches had been dogged due to the squalls and my fan was on the blink.

At 0205, Eric came to my room and said they needed me up early as it was very squally out.

I groggily got out of my bunk, put on my shorts (inside out) and made my way to the cockpit and said what’s up? George said that he didn’t want Fred on watch alone in these conditions and that they were about to gybe to starboard tack and needed my help as it was really squally with winds up to 35 knots and would I mind being on watch two hours early as he and Eric were dead tired. I said no problem and asked when we were going to gybe. George said in the next lull. I said that while we’re waiting, why don’t I check our current position and he said fine. I went below and found our position to be 15 degrees, 11 minutes south latitude and 146 degrees, 48 minutes west longitude. In my stupor, I erroneously plotted the 11 minutes of latitude to the north of 15 degrees instead the to the south as one does in the southern hemisphere. This incorrectly plotted position put us approximately six miles to the south of our rhumb line course to Rangiroa. This seemed reasonable to me in view of the fact that we had been having difficulty holding our course due to the winds clocking to the east and squalls driving us to the south.

I came back to the cockpit and George asked how we looked. I replied we looked a little south of course but no problem. I asked him what course we were steering and was told about 210 to 220 degrees and the course to the mark was 276 degrees. This didn’t make sense to me that we could be just slightly south of course with an angle like that. I was wanting to recheck our position when suddenly all hell broke loose. We hit something! At first I thought perhaps it was a whale or a container. The boat bucked and heeled. The sea was full of breaking waves and foam and we could hear surf pounding.

It was like a nightmare! We all exclaimed that we must have hit an uncharted reef as there are rumors of such in these islands. I put on my life vest and went below to send a Mayday. I wrote down our position. The boat was heeled over about 50 degrees and movement below was very difficult. I tried the sideband radio but it was inoperative. I tried the VHF and was able to reach Walkabout, the boat that we had assisted some days earlier. I quickly checked the chart along our route and could again find no charted reefs. Eric said he could see land to starboard close at hand through the night vision lens. The only island anywhere near our route was Arutua, some 28 miles south of our intended track and it should have been to our port side. Nothing made sense. The boat was in chaos, the waves and wind pushing her harder onto the reef. George and Eric deployed the EPIRB (distress signal transmitter), got the abandon ship bag ready and dropped the sails. I attempted to get an E-mail distress message off but was unsuccessful. George came below and was able to get an E-mail off to his mom (the NOAA would call her first when we set off a distress signal) to advise her that we were not in grave danger. I replotted our position (correctly this time) and found that we were indeed 28 miles off course and had struck a reef at the very north-northwest tip of the Arutua atoll.

I surmised we must have hit almost perpendicular and then the wind forced her to lay to starboard explaining how we were now 180 degrees away from our course heading and how the island was to starboard.

I continued to call Walkabout to give them our position and predicament. They offered to come to our aid, but George was hesitant because he did not want to endanger them.

Moonshadow was being pounded unmercifully against the reef and we could hear cracking and groaning against the strain. We were afraid we would lose her as the wind, waves and reef took their toll.

Meanwhile, Walkabout said she would come and stand by, that she was only five miles from us. Through the night vision we saw a light on the horizon to the north and assumed it to be Walkabout. We never saw or heard from them again (until we met them in Papeete.)

We proceeded to shut everything down and secure the boat as best we could, then waited for daybreak. The time passed very slowly but light finally came about 0500. With the aid of night vision we could make out a shore line about 30-40 yards in. I lowered myself gently to the reef and found a solid coral bottom about 2 feet deep. I slowly waded ashore to check it out. It was indeed terra firma with a crushed coral beach with scrub jungle followed further inland by coconut palms.

As the morning progressed we took valuables and personal effects ashore and set up “Camp Moonshadow.” The awning was our tent and shelter, suspended with driftwood and bushes. It was quite warm with lots of bugs and hermit crabs everywhere. Eric and I set out to look for signs of habitation or ships-Eric inland and me up the beach to the west to a point of land. Upon reaching the point, I observed a small bay to the southwest, but no ships or village. We attempted a Mayday call on the hand held VHF to no avail. On returning to camp I tried my aircraft radio, but 121.5 MHz was blocked by the EPIRB signal. At least we knew THAT was working. I tried a Mayday on 128.95 MHZ, the frequency guarded by high altitude jet on Pacific crossings, again to no avail.

I took a look at the chart and saw that a village was indicated southeast of us about 17 miles across the atoll. We took inventory, licked our wounds and waited. We speculated by whom or when we would be rescued.

Moonshadow appeared to be stable, but water was leaking through a crack in the starboard side. The hours dragged by and no boats, aircraft or people were sighted. About 1300, I decided to take a hike up the beach again to the west to look for passing vessels or a search party. I had walked about a half-mile when in the distance I saw two men walking my way. As they drew closer, they appeared to be islanders carrying a fishing float, so my first thought was that they might just be out fishing. However, it turned out that they were indeed our rescue party. They had received our distress call about 0730 from the Gendarmes in Rangiroa, who in turn got it from Papeete, who got it from the NOAA in the USA from our EPIRB. We were saved!

Aftermath

I was still overcome by shock and disbelief as our rescuers arrived. I kept trying to wake myself from this horrendous nightmare. I was not going to wake up, I was going to just have to deal. They say that what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. . . man, this ought to be real strengthening!

One of the men who rescued us happened to be the village chief. His name is Tetai. He was just the first of many incredibly warm, friendly, helpful, and generous people we would meet through this ordeal.

Cort and I decided to go to the village to arrange for assistance. Eric and Fred kept watch at “Camp Moonshadow” to insure that Moonshadow would not be looted. Tetai led us about half a mile through the jungle to the inner lagoon, where his boat was. He drove us to his village, took us to his house, fed us, gave us clean clothes and a shower and put us up for the night. He and his wife Veronica made us feel right at home.

We went to the city hall and called Papeete to arrange a tug to pull Moonshadow off the reef. Because of storms in Raiatea, to the west of Tahiti, the tug had to stay there for at least a few days to assist in pulling a number of boats that had gone aground there. With the prospect of 15 foot seas coming in our direction, my heart sank. The thought of losing my home was too horrible to consider. Tetai felt that he could get some of the large and powerful boats from the village to pull her off.

By the next day, he had mobilized 25 villagers, four boats, chain saws (to cut logs to help roll the boat off the reef) and at least a thousand feet of heavy line. Instead of church that Sunday, the group came out and gave it their all to get us floating again. Unfortunately, Moonshadow’s 26 tons proved to be too much against the resources of the village. It was a huge disappointment, but at least the seas continued to be fairly calm.

We changed the watch at “Camp Moonshadow.” Fred and I went to the village and I again begged and pleaded to get the tug from Papeete out as quickly as possible. They said maybe it would leave Monday. Fred and I passed the time in the village playing pool on one of Tetai’s two tables, reading and enjoying the hospitality of our hosts. Just being with such wonderful and interesting people helped to take the edge off a bit.

Tetai took us out to Moonshadow again on Monday. We changed watches and Eric came into the village for a little R & R. More phone calls to Papeete. The tug boat outfit then informed me that before they would even dispatch the tug, the salvage company would first have to see the boat. More setbacks. More worrying that the seas may build and do more damage to Moonshadow before we could get her afloat. Our hosts continued to do anything they possibly could for us and would not let us help pay for anything with the exception of fuel for the boats on the failed rescue attempt. We were told that the tug would come possibly Wednesday but Thursday for sure. I had begun to lose faith in them.

After breakfast on Tuesday, I again made more phone calls to Tahiti. They said that Wednesday was out of the question for the tug, but that on Thursday both the tug and an expert in pulling boats off the reef would be there bright and early. The salvage expert, Warren told me later that he had pulled 140 vessels off of reefs in French Polynesia in 10 years-an average of more than one a month! We continued to marvel at the hospitality and helpfulness of our hosts. They would not allow us to pay for any food or lift a hand to help with anything. Tetai took us out to “Camp Moonshadow” in the afternoon. All was still well, albeit boring for the duty watch. Cort returned with me. That night we attended a wake of a friend of Tetai’s. It was actually quite an uplifting event with food, drink and festive Polynesian music. After, Tetai opened the “casino” on his front patio. They play a game that is sort of a cross between roulette and craps. At one time I saw equivalent to $1000 U.S. on the table! Even though these pearl farmers are not really busy, they seem to enjoy a decent standard of living and a fair amount of disposable income.

The waiting game continued. On Wednesday, Tetai, sensing our impatience arranged a fishing day for us. In the morning his son took us out spear fishing. I shot a parrotfish and when I jumped in the boat to drop it off, it swamped, getting water in the fuel, gasoline on us and ending the short expedition. Tetei’s son and his friend did get four nice grouper, though. I did get confirmation late in the morning that the tug Aito II had left Papeete and was on her way to rescue Moonshadow. After lunch, Tetai took us out in his boat, a 20-odd footer with a 150-horse outboard, in search of Mahi Mahi. This boat was designed for navigating through reefs, with a standup control station up forward and joystick steering. He took us out through the reef-strewn passes with precision skill. We banged around in the open ocean for about 45 minutes before we spotted some birds diving for baitfish. Tetai sped to the scene, spotted a Mahi and started in pursuit. He was hot on its tail as it leaped out of the water and zigged and zagged to lose us. After a few minutes of high speed chase, the Mahi slowed down and Tetai extended his right hand behind him. His son handed him a loaded spear gun. He continued to maneuver closer to the Mahi until he had a clear shot. Like a cowboy on a bucking horse shooting a rattlesnake on the trail, Tetai speared this fish. As soon as the Mahi (a female) was on board, he took off after the bull. Within minutes the scene was repeated. Cort and I were amazed. Do these guys know how to fish or what! Needless to say we had a great dinner of fresh fish that evening.

I woke up early Thursday morning and my anxiety was running high. Would we get Moonshadow floating that day or would she be mortally wounded coming off the reef? After a typical breakfast of coffee, fresh baguettes, fried steak, chicken and fish, we headed to the airport to pick up Warren and the salvage team from Tahiti. We arrived at “Camp Moonshadow” and the Aito II was already standing offshore. The seas were calm and I felt optimistic. Warren began barking orders to everyone and arranged a harness around the keel of Moonshadow. It took them a couple of hours to get everything ready. They moved Moonshadow slightly to get her away from some bad spots on the reef. We packed up “Camp Moonshadow.” In his matter-of-fact way, Warren said “a bad boat, she breaks up, a good boat, she comes off.”

Around noon, we were ready to go. Cort, Eric, and I jumped on board along with some of the salvage crew. Fred was coming from the village on another boat with MaiTai and our valuables — just in case. Warren gave the order and the Aito II pulled. The scraping sound was horrendous, but in a few moments, all was silent and Moonshadow was dead flat in the water-FLOATING!! The crew was mobilized. The salvage guys put some epoxy patch over the crack in the hull while we manned the bilge pumps. Within minutes the bilge was empty and the leak was just a minor drip. I donned a mask and went over the side to have a look. XShe had come off pretty well. With the exception of the original crack, the scratches she incurred coming off were pretty much just in the fairing. Her keel was fine, but the bottom two inches of the rudder were mangled a bit. Moonshadow would be OK!! She would go to Papeete on her own bottom. Fred, MaiTai and our bags joined us on board. It was time to say so long to our friends in Arutua. My eyes welled up as we waved goodbye and I thought to myself, how fortunate we were to have been in the care of these wonderful people throughout our ordeal.

Other than the towing harness breaking once along the way, we had an uneventful 28 hour trip to Papeete. Fred and Cort left on Saturday and Sunday, respectively and Eric hung out for another week to help me with the massive cleanup job. We got Moonshadow in dry dock on Monday, and on Tuesday afternoon, Eric and I popped over to the island of Moorea for three days of R & R at Club Med. Saturday, we jumped on a Corsair 747 for a quick eight-hour flight to Oakland.

When we started cruising, in the olden days, most cruisers – ourselves included – sold their home to help pay for their new life afloat. This was before GPS, which meant considerable navigation risks, and insurance, if available, was way too expensive for most. Considering that in those days roughly one out of ten yachts crossing the tropical Pacific ended up permanently parked on a reef, you can see where the experience, even when successful, would color your outlook.

When we started building, first for ourselves and then a few friends, everyone felt the same: we wanted the highest factors of safety practical, and were prepared to sacrifice in other areas, if required, to achieve this goal. This process eventually brought us to some basic construction approaches. Our goal in the keel area was four times the American Bureau of Shipping rule, rudder structures were designed to twice ABS, our bow areas had significant added laminate for impact, and the turn of the bilge, where a yacht typically lies on a reef – the grinding zone – had considerable extra laminate. Then there were our watertight bulkheads.

Over the years we’ve heard several yarns about folks testing these features. There was the Deerfoot 2-62 Moonshadow‘s interaction with the Tuamotus, whereupon she T-boned a reef while running downwind in strong trades. After a week ashore she was pulled off by a French tug, and after some repairs in New Zealand, went on to circumnavigate (the chapter detailing this experience in Practical Seamanship is linked here. You can also read the owner’s original account from 1998 on SetSail here).

(The above shot is of Moonshadow‘s keel after another reef engagement late in 2016, with new owners John and Deb Rogers. After this encounter, they cruised 3,000 more miles before having Circa do repairs. You can read the full post here.)

More recently FPB 64-3 Iron Lady had a dalliance with a Fijian reef (see post on experience here), spent six hours pounding in the surf before she got herself off, with minimal damage. FPB 64-3 also had a run in with “The Rockpile” on the Intracoastal Waterway, where she impacted a rock ledge at 9.7 knots, bending a stabilizer shaft, but containing the ensuing leak within the stabilizer coffer dam.

But none of the previous run-ins compare with the record of Sundeer 64 Theta Volantis. She was docked in Simpson’s lagoon at St Maarten when hurricane Irma came to visit last autumn – the strongest hurricane in the island’s history. Sue Grant at Berthon sent us the lead photo and the one above, along with comments below from Theta Volantis‘ salvor:

Bonjour Madame,
In a close future I will, most probably, need your help. Theta Volantis is now in Guadeloupe. I’m a professional seaman and I have never seen a sailing yacht like she. Despite two months under the water, after hard work during two weeks to fix the main problem, I sailed with her from Saint Martin to Guadeloupe with her own sails. This sail boat is so well done that it was a good trip. Now I will have to take care of her.

She was in a marina [during the hurricane], a mast from another boat fall down on her and cause the hole.

From a witness who was looking at her from an apartment, during the hurricane, she sank in the early morning after Irma’s passage. It took all night wave after wave. My plan is to fix and refit her and work with her.

Could you, please, assist me to give a new life to Theta Volantis?
Sailors Regards

That must have been some two weeks of work!

Theta Volantis started her career by crossing the North Atlantic during a late equinoctial gale season, and was caught in what may have been the worst weather one of our yachts has ever endured. There is a chapter in Surviving the Storm devoted to this event linked here.

Additional information on getting yourself out of trouble will be found in Offshore Cruising Encyclopedia and Practical Seamanship. All four of our books can be downloaded for free here.

We mention these instances because we would like to see the marine industry put more effort into making their yachts tougher. Most buyers do not understand the risks they face in the normal world of long distance cruising with conventionally built yachts. We are hopeful that these few examples might lead to more awareness and pressure on the industry to do better.

A final note. Although we have tried over the years to build toughness into our yachts, this post is not making representations or warranties about what may, or may not occur with one of our yachts should it encounter difficulties. Do not assume the same results would occur were you to attempt something similar. There are simply too many variables involved, including age, condition, prior damage history, wind and wave, to make a realistic projection from the data within this post.

FPB 97 Iceberg has been up in North Carolina, where Cory McMahon and his Triton Marine team have been fine-tuning the Wicked 97’s steering and stabilizer systems. Steve has been there as well working on FPB 78-1 Cochise, and joined in on the fun. Yesterday Iceberg got put through some serious paces, driving into steep 8-15 ft seas, then turning around and surfing. Check out the video below to ride along.

This dim photo, taken with available light, turns everything we thought about navigation gear layout on its head. We are in the process of revising the Matrix Deck helm on Cochise, throwing out every design approach we have employed over the past 40 years in the process.

There is a large stack of tried and tossed prototypes in Cory and Angela McMahon’s Triton Marine shop. Each step has led us down a new road of discovery. Normally we would have waited until we had a completed project to show you what we have been doing. But if any SetSail visitors are working on navigation system layouts now, we want you to be aware of this.

This project started as a way to reduce screen and instrument glare on windows, thereby improving our night vision. This was easily achieved by dropping the monitors well below their usual desk top position. Having tried several dozen combinations, we can tell you that the monitor tops at roughly 28″ to 31″ above the deck works well. More on this later.

From the photo above you can see that there is no discernible window reflection.

When we began this quest we assumed we’d always be standing while keeping watch in traffic or in navigational scenarios requiring quick action. After all, we’ve been doing this a long time, and like most mariners, standing up was part of the drill. We never asked ourselves why.

Then, after hours of 3D modeling, prototypes and revisions numbering in the high 40s, an epiphany. If we had good sight lines–now possible with the lowered monitors–and we could comfortably reach the required controls while seated, standing was no longer a necessity. It became an option.

We have been standing all these years because we had to, in order to have a good view and in order to touch all critical controls instantly. Since we were standing, we could spread things out, nav desks were larger, etc. A self-perpetuating cycle .

The first time we sat at the revised controls with Cochise underway, this all instantly came into focus. The “aha” moment.

Here are two views of the console. First at night above…

…And in daylight. We are moving a few thing around to gain even better operational efficiency, and then we are done.

There are now four monitors in the equation. A 49″ touch screen to port, a pair of 32″ monitors center, and a 55″ mounted on a swing arm to starboard (the other monitors rotate on a transverse axis). We will have more to say on many of the details when we have this set up completed.

For now the principles are:

• Lower the monitors to below desk or coaming height, where they can be viewed nearly vertical.
• Cluster controls and instruments where they can be easily reached while seated.
• Keep sight lines forward clear of monitors and instruments.

Fifteen years ago, when we were just starting to build the FPB Series prototype Wind Horse, we put together a video on the design cycle that lead to this new design. There was detailed information on her drag and motion analysis, including tank testing, as well as the historical foundation from which her design was developed.

We hadn’t revisited these videos since we first posted them those many years ago. We enjoyed looking back at this bit of FPB history and thought you might too.

We have been having an internal dialogue about the ever-critical issue of anchoring systems, and the fact is that there is nothing like a real blow with a lee shore off your stern to focus your attention on the subject. It will come as no surprise that we like to sleep well at anchor, and by traditional definition this requires substantial holding power. It’s a given that it takes weight to achieve security at anchor, but beyond this simple postulate there are a plethora of choices. What our experience has led us to evolve into may surprise you.

First some load considerations: windage, hull shape, mass, waves, and shearing all create load. And in spite of our desire for stout anchors, anchoring loads are for the most part surprisingly low (at least that has been our experience with our sailing and power designs). Before you roll your eyes and wonder if we’ve lost it in old age, try this little test on your own vessel.

The next time you are anchored in sub-optimal weather, put the engine into gear at minimum revs and note the fuel burn required to hold station without moving. We tested this with FPB 78-1 Cochise, and found that at 35-40 knots of breeze in a protected anchorage, one engine at idle burned about 1.05 GPH with alternators and hydraulics off. Assume you get about 19 HP/gallon, if you have an efficient prop you are putting 25 lbs of thrust into the water for each HP. So, 1.05 x 19 x 25 = 570 pounds of thrust or drag. Before waves or shearing back and forth that’s the load on our massive anchor.

Here is another example that Steve Parsons related from FPB 64-3 Iron Lady during a short but intense blow at anchor in Fiji. The breeze was a steady 45 to 50 knots and gusting, in a protected anchorage, so chop of a couple feet at most. He had the engine turning over just in case. During the gusts he would put the engine into gear for a few seconds to unload the chain, but would have to quickly go to neutral or he would override the anchor. Idling on the John Deere 6068 SFM 50 in the 64s burns about 7/10ths of a gallon per hour, let’s call it 13 HP (being generous now). 13HP x 25 lbs/HP = 325 pounds of thrust.

The minute you begin to sail at anchor the load jumps dramatically, at the same time the anchor shank is being worked back and forth.

If the loads are so low why the massive anchors and related gear? Several reasons:

• Holding in the tropics is often poor with a thin layer of sand over hard coral pan. The anchor cannot really dig in (see photo above). In which case bigger is always better!
• River deltas frequently have very soft mud where large fluke area is needed.
• It might be blowing 75 knots, and wind force goes up by the square of its velocity. With only 570 pounds of drag on Cochise at 40 knots, at 75 knots that jumps to 2000 pounds. Let’s throw in shearing and four-to-six foot waves, and for fun double the peak loads to 4000 pounds. And of course this is in an anchorage with poor holding.
• We can anchor on much shorter scope.
•  We really like BFAs. They make us feel all warm and fuzzy.

Sail magazine did a story on tests run in 2006 by West Marine. One of the anchors they tested was a Manson Supreme, all 35 pounds of it. The FPB 78 has a similar anchor in design, just nine times the mass at 330 pounds. Before we tell you what the 35-pounder tested at, know that our experience is that holding power goes up in a nonlinear fashion with weight. The increase in surface area and mass gives an increase greater than just the ratio of the anchor weights. The 35 pound Manson Supreme tested at 5000 pounds.

Now let’s consider scope. Old time anchors require five-to-one scope to attain good holding. But the modern types can get by with less. The Manson, Rocna and Fortress showed little difference between three and five-to-one scope. The Manson hit the max test load of 5000 pounds at both three and five-to-one.

Now we get to the free lunch, or lack thereof. There are firm rules against excessive weight in the bow. Penalties for transgression depend on sea-state, length of voyage, and your tolerance for discomfort. This can also become a safety factor in heavy weather, particularly when trying to fight your way off a lee shore.

For the past 35 years we have used big anchors and heat treated alloyed steel chain, what Acco calls System 7. The FPB 83 and the FPB 64s as well as the 78′ ketch Beowulf and all the Sundeer 64s used 3/8″ System 7 chain. The weight we saved here was put into the anchor where it does the most good. On the FPB 78s we switched to 1/2″ high test chain, or what Acco calls G43. The weight of this chain is 2.69 pounds per foot compared to the 3/8″ chain at 1.6 pounds per foot. Safe working load goes from 6600 pounds for the 3/8″ Grade 7 to 9200 pounds for the 1/2″ G43. Of course we are more interested in what the breaking strength is than some bureaucratically determined SWL. In our litigious society break strength data is hard to come by, but the implications seem to be that five times SWL is about where minimum break comes into play.

OK, we’ve got our BFA, our hell for stout chain, and the last question is…how much chain do we carry? Remember the free lunch, or lack thereof? Here is where it comes into play. Let’s start by looking at anchoring risk factors. Poor holding, hurricane or stronger gusts, a bit of sea sweeping in, we’ve got this covered with the BFA. So we don’t worry about dragging. And besides, we can always offset extreme anchoring load scenarios coupled with poor holding with a judicious application of power. What we do worry about is fouling something on the bottom and not being able to recover our main anchor.

Now a bit of exotic math. The area of a circle, or more aptly stated the area of the bottom swept by a given length of chain, is 3.14 times the square of the radius. So a little extra chain on the bottom geometrically increases the swept area and thereby the risk of fouling the anchor. Hence our theorem: (BFA+heavier chain) X (reduced scope)² =  a lot less swept bottom and significantly reduced bottom fouling risk.

How does this exotic math work out in the real world? On Wind Horse and Cochise, with the Rocna on the former and Manson the latter, we have dragged a single time in close to 100,000 nautical miles of cruising. We typically carry about 240′ of chain, although Cochise has a little more at roughly 275′. In shallow anchorages our norm is to set the anchor on three-to-one scope, including the height of the bow roller in the scope equation, and then once set bring the chain back to where we have a two-to-one scope. As the water gets deeper this approach begins to bring catenary into play. We have seen situations where we got reasonable holding in 180’+ of water using 300′ of chain.

Our biggest anchoring issue occurred in Greenland, where one bay had a thick weed on the bottom.

Trying to set on three-to-one scope resulted in the anchor skating through the grass, picking up a huge clump of same and requiring an hour of tedious labor with bread knife carefully lashed to the boat-hook. We reset at five-to-one and then after getting a good bite, shortened to three-to-one. We feel that with the heavier chain relative to loads we are now using, 240-250′ of chain is what we really want or need.

We hope to see you at anchor in the not-too-distant future.

We’ve been out testing Cochise, checking out the many modifications executed for us by Corey and Angela McMahon’s Triton Marine team. There is lots to bring you up to date on…

…and we will be posting regularly on SetSail now that we are afloat again.

Notice anything different in the profile view of Cochise?

The weather has been varied and spectacular, with sufficient force to give us a good test.

Stunning sunrises and sundowns are routine, of course…

…And when the day begins with views like these it makes our hearts sing.

There has even been a bit of lightning to liven things up.

We are on our umpteenth iteration of the revised Matrix deck. The final console design is above. We now have fingertip control of the four monitors when seated on watch.

Our night vision and the ability to operate in sub-optimal weather is greatly enhanced by the new layout.

Stay tuned–there is lots more to show you in the coming days.

We are anchored at Cape Lookout, North Carolina. It has been a very warm humid weekend, the type of weather that typically finds us in cooler climates. We’ve been waiting for the arrival of six new Sunpower 360 watt solar panels, the most efficient available, and very much in demand. Cory and Angela McMahon’s Triton Marine Team have just completed installation, and we are watching as the Outback Mate controller adds up the day’s power creation.

Cory is aboard today fine-tuning the solar charge controller parameters. The Mate controller is prematurely reducing output. Yet the total for the day still comes to 33.4kW hours. That’s 1317 amp hours of electricity for our 24 volt DC system: sufficient to run our air conditioning in normal summer weather, as well as the usual life aboard loads like cooking, lights, fridge and freezer, etc.

These six panels are mounted in a more efficient unshaded position, on top of the Matrix deck roof, which provides accelerated air flow keeping them cooler. We do not like the weight aloft, and just tolerate the appearance. But these six new panels effectively double solar output, making the trade-off worthwhile.

Although the numbers come in as expected, we are just beginning to digest the impact this will have on our cruising. Imagine…34kWh of clean, silent power.

At a point in our lives where we want to concentrate on enjoying ourselves aboard, we just finished a long and costly rework of FPB 78-1 Cochise’s Matrix deck. The original was cut up and carted off. And then we went through a steep learning curve involving dozens of changes. Having just completed a couple of passages and done some local cruising here in Maine, we are now in a position to pass initial judgement.

It’s no secret we are getting older, and to be brutally honest, the rate of decay in our capabilities is accelerating. This rework project started as a way of making Cochise easier to handle, so as to allow us to carry on for longer than would otherwise be possible. The process has taken longer than expected because we kept finding significant ways of improving the functionality.

Essentially we have eliminated all the nav-related furniture and replaced it with large TV screens. At the present this includes a 49″ touch screen to port, which can be rotated from vertical to horizontal…

…and a pair of 55″ TV screens which are mounted to the coaming on the starboard side with standard home-style hinge mechanisms.

We are still working out how these are best used. What we know now is that there is no perfect layout. What we are using at sea is quite different from when we are on soundings. So we have made it easy to change around.

Offshore we will like a combination of nav data on the touch screen with the FLIR night vision camera on the second, and either the engine room cameras or N2K data on the third.

The engine room cameras are easily zoomed and rotated allowing for an easy detailed check. This is a first for us. We have always had a look and sniff once an hour. But with the engine room two full decks below, this time saving feature makes a lot of sense for us.

The console has all controls close at hand when seated. The new Simrad OP50 controller, three of which can be seen above, is very simple to use.

Removing  the previous built-ins opens the feeling of the entire Matrix deck while allowing much better sight lines when seated or standing.

We are very pleased with the way this remodel has evolved.

Some of our cruising buddies, and most of our land-based friends and relatives, lead structured lives where they have a schedule and a plan. We prefer to go with the flow–letting happenstance dictate our options. 

An example of how this is supposed to work occurred this past week. We had stopped in Rockland, Maine so Cory McMahon, who had made the trip North with us, could return home.  

After a long shower and lovely bath, the remaining crew of FPB 781 Cochise decided to do a little land exploring. Arrival at Rockland’s capacious dinghy dock brought us into contact with three couples, long term friends all, who were there for the annual Rockland Blues Festival.

Blues, rock and roll, dancing, sin and corruption…now you’re talking our language. 

Without a schedule to drive us away we immediately put on our dancing shoes! Rockland was indeed rocking. There was a stage set up in the park adjacent the town landing, and concert goers had a view of the yachts anchored for a backdrop. 

Saturday evening and Main Street was closed to vehicular traffic. There were bands on every block. 

The beat was sufficiently enticing that your correspondents were moved to shake their tail feathers, much to the amazement of nearby rockers, who had been thinking we just escaped from the old folks’ home….

Little did they know that our motto is ROCK AND ROLL FOREVER. 

We’ve tried and discarded several thousand dollars worth of so-called cell phone signal boosters. But when tech guru Ben Ellison and GMC founder and CTO Louis Saltero both said they used “SureCall”…
We ordered one. The installation was simple, and it works really well. In Pulpit Harbor, Maine, where Verizon and T-Mobile occasionally had a single bar signal strength, we immediately went up to three and four bars LTE.

Many years ago, while researching ultimate storm tactics for our book Surviving the Storm (free download here), it became clear to us that, whether it was Fastnet 79, Queen’s Birthday Storm, or the 1998 Sydney Hobart Race, heading into the waves is often the best tactic.

Because our yachts surf downwind under control making quick passages, and since in all but one of the serious storms we have experienced our natural course was downwind, we’ve rarely had the chance to experiment with truly dangerous seas on the bow. And while this most recent experience is far from what we would call a survival storm, the unusual sea state did give us a chance to test several FPB specific steering and throttle techniques, along with gathering a couple of ideas for improving our electronics and night lighting layout.

The notes which follow, although aimed specifically at the FPB fleet, may offer some ideas to others who find themselves in difficult seas…

Mariner’s lore is rife with stories of “rogue waves” appearing out of nowhere. This mischaracterizes these sea states. These are in fact statistically predictable, the result of wave trains intersecting with one another, currents, underwater features sometimes thousands of feet below the surface, or “dynamic fetch” (you can read much more on this topic in Surviving the Storm). If you spend enough time on the water you will eventually encounter them – hopefully at a distance from your location.

There are some remarkable photos in this post, the result of having recently installed a series of high-res video cameras and related recording gear. Without this we would never have been able to show you what the sea can be like, and why we feel strongly about certain design aspects of offshore voyaging. Keep in mind that these cameras all have very wide angle lenses (hence the curved horizons), which make the waves look significantly smaller and further away than they are in reality.

Cochise and her crew–the two of us and Corey McMahon–were enjoying a lovely 25-30 knot SW breeze, as we surfed downwind towards Maine from Beaufort, NC. We were headed outside Cape Cod, with a potential stop in Nantucket should our timing make this efficient. Not long after we departed the forecast indicated the chance of a moderate Nor’easter somewhere in the area of Nantucket. A day later two bands of intense squalls, with gusts to 40 knots, torrential rain and lightning announced the arrival of the new air mass. Of course this happened at night.

To us and to Cochise a 40 knot NE breeze, even if against the Gulf Stream, is no big deal. What made this situation different was the occasional head-on collision of SW and NE seas in just the right fashion to produce sets of three waves much larger and steeper than the norm. They were more vertical, and seemed to be moving more slowly than would normally be the case for waves of this size. As such, we think they gave us an indication of Cochise’s reaction to the cascading crests in an open ocean storm where the larger but more widely spaced waves have more fetch and time in which to develop.

The roughest part of this situation took place between 0300 and 0600.

This camera is 17’ above the waterline. The oncoming crest is steep, but not extreme from Cochise’s perspective. Looking at the photo, studying the angles, and knowing the lifeline stanchion top is 12 feet above the water we guesstimate the approaching crest is in the 20-foot range. What is more interesting is the next wave in this series which you can see forming up in the background. How the next encounter turns out is dependent on the reaction of the boat to the present wave as it travels down the hull. If this wave exerts too much force aft, driving our bow down, it will be difficult for Cochise to lift the bow in time for the next crest.

In a few seconds of waves, this event captures the very essence of why we have designed the FPBs with such fine (narrow) bows and sterns. It works in extreme sea states and on more moderate upwind passages.

Above, a photo of the crest from the preceding photo after it has traveled down the hull and is now just past the stern. The camera is set six feet above waterline, on the transom. Rather than lifting, the stern actually becomes more deeply immersed as the preceding crest passes by the hull. This has both rudders and props deeper in the wave making them significantly more efficient.

Comfort is very much a relative concept, and FPB 83 Wind Horse was a revelation to us in terms of comfort compared to sailing, to the point where we thought nothing of cruising direct from Hawaii to Ventura, California, 2000+ NM under the Pacific high and dead into the wind and prevailing seas. A crossing swell from the Gulf of Alaska created a chaotic sea state with wave peaks directly on the bow, yet we still averaged 11 knots for the passage as we marveled at how much more comfortable we were than would have been the case had we been aboard one of our sailboats. A few years later we had become used to this new level of comfort, and when we drew the lines for the FPB 64 she was given a hull even more adapted to making its way comfortably uphill.

There is a design tension between a hull configuration that is comfortable heading into the waves, one that surfs downwind under directional control, and that avoids “locking in” when charging down the wave face. In comfort and safety terms, downwind control is important in heavy weather and normal downwind passages. If your hull does lock in and begin to “bow steer” the next step is a broach.

We picked up valuable bench marks from the FPB 64, and when we started to noodle on the FPB 78 lines we thought we might improve the upwind comfort even more without undue negative impact on downwind steering.

Although the FPB Series look similar, each hull is its own unique blend of design elements. These vary with length of the hull and the wave size and period for which they are optimized.

The combination of canoe body shape, deck shear, mass, topside cross section, and anchor position of the FPB 78s is considerably different than the preceding FPBs. The finer ends, increased mass-to-waterline ratios, and higher shear were the subject of more than a thousand hours of drawing, testing, discussions, and over 500 hull variations drawn and tested. But even with all the design tools we have at hand these days, in the end how these elements are blended is very much a result of instinct, based on our own experience. We ended up with a more efficient hull shape at cruising speeds in the 9.5-10.25 knot range, but pay an increasing penalty above this speed compared to a hull which is more like the FPB 83 and FPB 97 – a cost all of the FPB 78 owners are happy to bear in exchange for the added comfort uphill and benefits when surfing in aggressive conditions (click here for video of Cochise surfing at 14-22 knots).

We are not trying to say that this is the only approach that makes sense. Other designers have different concepts based on the expectations of their clients and the trade-offs between sea-kindliness, the ability to deal with heavy weather, and maximized hull volume that works best at the dock. The effectiveness for the FPB 78 design approach is evidenced by the passages already made against the trades–witness Cochise’s 7000 NM Fiji-to-Panama voyage, and the more recent 4000 NM French Polynesia-to-Costa Rica trip of Iron Lady II.

Now a series of photos of the next crest, where it will become clear how the design trade-offs we have been discussing work in more extreme conditions.

How big is this wave? We are not sure, but we know for sure it is bigger than the preceding wave, so 20+ feet. Think about the wave as the fulcrum of a teeter-totter, with the fulcrum moving aft as the hull penetrates the crest. The relationship of the wave shape to the hull shape below and above the waterline control the outcome.

The three circles just forward of the bow are from spotlights mounted at the top of the mast, another six feet above the camera and about 23’ off the waterline. These spotlights normally hit the water about 80 feet in front of the bow.

There’s another aspect of the FPB 78 design that you can get a sense of in these next three photos. Notice the angle or shape of the spray pattern as the anchor, anchor platform, and wide rubbing strake come into contact with the wave. The relatively flat direction of the spray is indicative of the lift being produced by these surfaces. The substantial upward angle (when viewed from the side) of the forward portion of the hull creates an angle of attack with the wave rushing by that helps these surfaces generate lift.

There is now sufficient light for the cameras to record in color and they automatically shift modes.

The volume in the bow and stern above the waterline, together with the lift imparted by the forward horizontal elements, work together so the stern depresses enough to allow the forward buoyancy to lift the anchor platform over the crest.

Now let’s switch to the camera looking aft mounted opposite the forward camera..

Here is the result on deck from this particular wave one second after the preceding photo.

And this is the big crest we just went through at the stern. Being significantly larger than the preceding crest the stern appears even more deeply immersed.

The bow is a touch lower heading into the next crest, the result of the previous crest lifting the stern a bit. Look at the time stamp on this and the preceding photo. Both are taken within the same second. Allowing for some wave and boat movement this gives us an idea of the distance between crests. Cochise is 86 feet nose to tail so the wave crests are probably no more than 100 and 120 feet apart. Like we said, very steep.

Although this looks like a snootful, in reality there is little water mass. With nothing to trap it the water clears in seconds.

Facing aft from the top of the anchor and steaming light mast will give you a sense of the wave shape. Cochise is pitched up as she lifts to the second crest in this series. Looking around gives a feel for what was going on most of the time; it’s not that bad. However, it’s these transitory events occurring every two to five minutes that are the bottom line. It would not be pleasant to get one of these wrong.

Three seconds later. This encounter’s wave crest and the preceding are clearly visible behind us.

Another important aspect of how your FPB or any other yacht is going to deal with head seas – normal or extreme – is the distribution of mass around the pitch centers of the vessel. These are create what are called “polar moments” and is a geometric function of the distance of the mass from the point around which the hull is gyrating in a given sea-state. This impacts both the pitch and roll period. Careful attention needs to be given to these weight centers during design and construction, and how the payload is stored will pay significant benefits. The right mix of polar moments is what allows a vertical center of gravity sufficiently low to enable capsize recovery, yet not result in a hull that has a jerky, uncomfortably “stiff” motion.

This fun began about 2300 the previous evening and by 0300 it was definitely getting interesting. Every few minutes we’d run into some of these gnarly sets. We began by hand steering using the Simrad AP 70 auto pilot in follow-up mode. With a couple of hours of experimenting under our belts we found the following:

• Operating at the minimum RPM required to maintain steering control helped with comfort and in the steepest seas improved the entry angle to the oncoming crest.
• RPM varied in the worst of this from 950-1100 RPM, slowing to 600-750 for the really big crests.
• We experimented with several of our more aggressive work modes with Simrad doing all the work. The combination of our “heavy running” mode and turning on the second hydraulic pump, as we do when docking, worked best.
• Note the twin pumps give us a rudder travel of 12.5 degrees per second. This very fast response coupled with our two large rudders made it possible for the Simrad AP70 to bring Cochise quickly back on heading, which in turn made it possible to run more slowly.
• Simrad doing the steering allowed us to concentrate on the waves and throttles. In a longer lived and more dangerous sea state this aspect would be critical.
• After 0800 with good visibility and less extreme occasional peaks we picked the speed RPM up to 1300-1450.

Our FPBs have a substantial amount of lighting power forward. While these lights are a great help when looking for ice or debris in the water and closing with the shore, their primary purpose has been to check sea state. Water tends to absorb light and to see effectively takes lots of illumination. With as much LED power as we have now–six very bright Rigid Industry spots and driving lights–we could see well enough forward to change engine power settings as needed with the different sea states in time to keep the boat comfortable. But for larger storms, with crossing wave trains we would like even more light. The idea of doubling what we have is now percolating.

The FPB 78s have emergency steering controls at both helms. Pushing a single button puts us in direct control of the backup hydraulic steering system. The autopilot and primary hydraulic system are disengaged. Our emergency JOG levers are located where useful on longer passages but otherwise out of the way. We are going to move both to where changeover is a few seconds faster.

We were never concerned with Cochise’s ability to deal with this situation structurally. The forward windows are specially laminated glass consisting of three glass and two plastic interlayers, 15mm/5/8″ thick. Side windows are double glass and two layers of plastic, 11mm/7/16″ thick. These laminate statistics have been tested hydraulically up to pressures comparable to what the Lloyd’s Special Service Craft rule requires in the topside slamming zone of the hull.

If anything had gone wrong with steering or the engine(s) lost power, and we were abeam of this series, well, that is why we have seat belts on all bunks and some seating positions. This is not the time you want to be wondering about preventative maintenance! There are simply no guarantees…even for FPB owners.

Our little experience here lasted less than 24 hours. It provided us with insight into tactics we might put to work in bigger blows lasting several days. It also showed us that we have the maneuverability to have a chance to deal with the crossing sea state that comes with a frontal passage and change in wind direction in more severe conditions.

How bad were these seas? In over 200,000 miles at sea we’ve only twice experienced anything similar. Once was running down the Irish Sea off the coast of Wales. It was during daylight, the bow dropped into a hole and a very substantial crest came rolling down the deck. With a harbor of refuge in our lee it took just that one sea to convince us to change direction and enjoy surfing to safety. The other was at night, between North Carolina and the Bahamas. We spent several hours in what must have been violently confused seas. We never saw them, but it is the only time motion has ever been violent enough for us to be totally airborne.

Corey McMahon, who has circumnavigated, crossed the Indian Ocean twice (once west to east with daily 60-knot blows), and numerous other trans-ocean passages has never seen anything similar. Corey likened this to a 100-mile long entrance pass or channel with standing waves. He echoed our own feeling that as long as everything worked we were fine. “I would not have wanted to be sideways. Yet I was comfortable enough to sleep on the Matrix deck couch,” he told us afterwards. Corey went on to say that “The station wagon effect in that breeze was impressive,” referring to the deposit of salt on the aft solar panels from spume. Corey reckons we were seeing a steady 40 knots at times.

You will find the characteristics of each FPB somewhat different. Pete Rossin relates what they found in somewhat extreme conditions in the “Furious Fifties” with FPB 64-3 Iron Lady.

 “We had a similar experience off the Banks Peninsula in NZ in 2012 during our circumnavigation on our FPB 64. No idea what the waves were but an un-forecast storm generated monster square waves right on our nose. We were later told in Akaroa that there was substantial damage shoreside and that they get one of these un-forecast monsters every few years.

As usual, it peaked at 2 AM and the winds were over 50 knots with 60 knot gusts. The whole event lasted about 8 hours and by dawn, it was over. There was so much spume and spray that the visibility was nil so I have no idea what the waves were, but we were literally being thrown out of the water off the tops. Our strategy was to pull back on the throttles and bear off about 20 degrees to lengthen the period between waves and soften the impacts. There was green water on the foredeck and lots of commotion but that was primarily from the anchor flukes busting into the oncoming waves. We never felt in jeopardy but, as you point out, the seatbelts were a must and we would not have wanted to be broadside in these conditions.

I do not remember fuel/water payload but we had just left Queen Charlotte Sound at the top of the South Island bound for Stewart at the bottom and then it was on to the Fiords and up the west coast with no safe harbor, and then around Sand Spit and back down Cook Straight to Queen Charlotte again, so I am quite sure we would have been close to full fuel.  Water load would have been modest to keep the gross down as that is the way we ran the boat.”

With a much longer waterline relative to wave period the 110′ FPB 97 requires more throttle attention and steering in tightly spaced seas. Click here for a post and video showing a bit of this.

We want to emphasize that we do not recommend taking your FPB or any other yacht purposely into what could be harm’s way. On occasion, when the situation presents itself, we will do so, in order to learn. But we have a better chance than most of knowing where the limits lie, where curiosity turns into something potentially threatening, and when a situation could turn deadly. That said we do strongly recommend that you practice your seamanship techniques in situations that are less than benign. Work your way up the ladder of wave and wind gnarliness. If there is a headland, with a steeper than normal sea state, use that to practice steering, pilot settings, and throttles.

Aside from preparation, crew skill, and luck, the best guarantee of success is patience, picking the right weather, and using boat speed to avoid bad weather in the first place.

A word about seaworthiness, what we have been discussing and vessel loading, particularly for FPB crews. The FPBs have massive tankage between fuel and water, and you can easily overload the boat with too much liquid. Those huge water tanks are intended to partially replace the weight of fuel as it is burned. We do not recommend full fuel and water – ever. Excess mass slows you down, more deeply immerses the hull, and makes it more difficult for the bow to lift to oncoming waves. Cochise was carrying 4000 gallons of her 7000 gallon total liquid capacity on this passage. We would not have wanted more. We also advise against seeking out these testing situations yourself. We do it because we need to know how everything is working and if we think changes are needed. However, intentionally putting yourself into potentially dangerous situations makes no sense.

We invite your comments, questions, and to share your own experiences, good and bad…

Painters, photographers and yacht designers have been drawn to Maine for centuries. Between the light and varied subject matter, it can be a visual nirvana.

At some point, the subdued light and fog can become tiresome.

You just have to be patient. The fog will eventually clear..

We are not fans of long-winded slide shows that cannot be politely escaped. But since you can change what is on the computer screen when it pleases you, we will just add a few last images…

We’ll see you out there…

We know readers have been eager for some FPB 70 news. With FPB 70-1 now splashed and undergoing sea trials, we thought we would share some photos with you.

This series of pics, from before and after launch, are without caption, as your trusty correspondents are busy enough with other tasks that if we wait to discuss every photo…

…we’re concerned you won’t see any for some time.

Suffice it to say FPB 70-1 is hitting its numbers as expected.

Congratulations are in order to Stan and Valerie Creighton, proud owners of Buffalo Nickel, FPB 70-1.

Stay tuned…

Before there were Travelifts, before there were marine railways, and even before drydocks, mariners concerned with performance used tidal grids for periodic maintenance.

Judicious use of the rise and fall of mother nature’s tides provided a period in each cycle where the bottom of the vessel in question was dried out. The greater the tidal range, the longer time available for maintenance.

We’ve used grids in both hemispheres over many years to keep our bottoms cleaned and our props polished. Whether it be the 30 ft tides of Darwin, Australia, or a mere 10-12 feet in the Bay of Islands, New Zealand, any tidal range that exceeds your draft by several feet will provide a working period.

Many commercial vessels and some yachts, all FPBs included, are designed to dry out on their own in between tidal cycles. This comes in handy not only for maintenance, but for parking the boat in shallower regions. But for serious maintenance, a grid that supports the hull and prevents it from sinking into exposed ooze is essential.

St. Andrews in New Brunswick, Canada, is a charming village with friendly people, a 20+ ft tidal range, and the most beautiful tidal grid we have ever seen.

While a few posts driven into the mud will help support a dried-out vessel, when you have a stout pier and well constructed grid as exists here, it’s just too good to pass up. You may be surprised to see that there are no fenders between Cochise and the pilings in the photo above. She is designed to lay on her own rub rail (keeping fenders in place can be a real hassle).

Intersleek 1100, the commercial-grade non-toxic bottom paint we have on FPB 78-1 Cochise, is designed for vessels that move all the time, or if parked for more than three weeks have routine bottom-wiping.  Our cruising this summer represents the worst-case scenario for testing the Intersleek. We’ve spent most of the time anchored, traveling only a few miles between harbors, an ideal setup for the local sea creatures to hook on and take a ride with us.

The two photos above illustrate the condition of our bottom. This was three months after her last clean.

We were curious to see just how much work it would take to get the bottom really clean. The Black and Decker pressure washer in the foreground of this photo is the most compact model ($90 US) we’ve been able to find. Its primary job is cleaning the decks, with an occasional de-salting of glass and aluminum after a long passage. We did not expect this pressure washer to do much of a job on the bottom, and were pleasantly surprised to find that 2.5 hours of effort yielded a nearly pristine result.

The propellers were polished using a battery-powered disc grinder with a Scotchbrite pad. With some local help and our own efforts, a total of 5 man hours were required to finish the whole job.

You may have wondered why Cochise has ladders port and starboard just forward of the boarding gates. They work really well on grids and commercial docks.

A couple comments about gridding in general: First, make sure that the subsequent tide after drying out is sufficiently high to get you off the grid. The deeper your draft the more critical this becomes. In our case, with only 5 feet of draft, we can float off with any tide. But with a deeper draft and less tidal range, if you can barely fit on the grid to begin with, you’re liable to get stuck there for a month.

Second, if you have a sailboat and are sitting on your keel, make sure your boat is well-secured to the pilings alongside so it stays upright.

Lastly, if maintenance forces you to take a chance on the tidal range and you’re not 100% sure you can get off, set a kedge anchor so you can winch yourself back into deeper water if required.

There are a lot of Canon and Nikon shooters wondering if Sony has gotten competitive on focus tracking. The following series were shot in Pulpit Harbor, Maine while driving the dinghy and watching the depthfinder.

The 100-400 G Master zoom was wide open and between 300 and 400mm, with the Sony 1.4 extender.  Focus is set to continuous tracking, mainly using lock on spot, medium size.

The photo above was blown up 200% in Photoshop before cropping.

The detail in the following photos are equally sharp.

We think it is safe to say Sony have figured out focus tracking.

With Simrad’s recent update, their forward-looking sonar has become a valuable tool, in particular when used in conjunction with their structure scan. The FLS is giving us an indication of the bottom coming up 350 feet ahead of us.

Three minutes later and water depth has gone from 132 feet to 77 feet, and we still have useful data at 300 feet ahead. The upper left window shows Structure Scan in the down view. The Structure Scan is a record of what is directly under the boat or more properly under the transducer – wherever this is mounted. FLS is looking forward.

A couple of minutes later. Bottom has trended up. Range forward is dropping with the shallower depths, but is still useful at 250 feet.

Here is an extreme crop of the previous photo showing the chart detail, along with the Structure Sound down view.

The conditions are favorable, cool, relatively clear water, and virtually calm.

Is this a direct competitor for Furuno Searchlight Sonar? No. But at 1/20th the cost it is a useful tool.

There is nothing we enjoy more when cruising than meeting up with our designs and their owners. This past summer in Maine was great fun in this regard. We met up with the Deerfoot 2-62 Diva above, now sailed by Christopher Wave and Jennifer King.

Jimmy and Cheryl Schmidt, late of the Deerfoot 70 Wakaroa, are our oldest clients. We first met in the Marquesas Islands in 1977.  Jim keeps in shape and is now working on his planking time – which is up to five minutes. OK for most old duffers (but not in some circles).

They sailed Wakaroa for more than 30 years. Close to 100,000 miles.

They raised their two sons aboard, JP above, and Mike who wasn’t yet around when this was taken (sorry JP – we just had to use this photo).

Cochise is currently anchored next to Carol and Mike Parker’s much traveled FPB 64 Avatar, at Triton Marine in Beaufort, NC. Carol and Mike are also the former owners of the Sundeer 64 cutter Raven. Carol is the finest photographer we know and an inspiration for us. Mike is a world class glider pilot with numerous international and national records. Mike was our inspiration for chasing glider records, albeit at significantly lower levels of difficulty.

Cheryl, Jim, Carol, and Mike shared an anchorage with us in Fiji some years ago (above, along with FPB 83 Wind Horse).

While anchored in Rockland, Maine this summer we were delighted to see Sundeer 60 Pelican Express with Bill and Jeane Crew aboard. They have put 100,000+ miles on Pelican Express since she was launched 20+ years ago, including several laps around the globe. It is wonderful to see them still enjoying their life afloat.

We also love to hear what our floating family is up to. Stedem Wood sent us this photo of our own Intermezzo II moored nearby Stedem’s FPB 64 in Whangarei, New Zealand. We launched Intermezzo II in 1981, and it is good to see her still going strong after 37 years.

The photo above was shot in 1982 off Fort Lauderdale, Florida.

If  you have one of our yachts, shoot us a note from time to time and maybe some photos. We’d love to hear from you.

With all the engineering tools at our disposal we still use gut instinct, based on years of experience, to size ground tackle systems. The wind speed graph above provides a glimpse at one end of the benefit spectrum. Grey Wolf II is cruising in Tierra del Fuego at the bottom of the world, and recently experienced wind gusts in excess of 100 knots, more than 116 mph, at anchor.

The screen shot above followed a message from Peter Watson aboard his FPB 78-2 Grey Wolf II to FPB 78-3 Iron Lady II, also cruising in Southern Chile: “Pick your anchorages with care. We had 100 knots at anchor last night in gusts. We were in 15m with 90m of anchor chain out. Dashew anchor good!!! Bit bumpy but safe.”

The Manson Supreme anchors aboard the FPB 78s are 150kg/330 lbs, connected with 12mm/15/32″ chain. Adding the height of the bow to water depth (15m depth + 3.3m distance of chain roller off the water) is a scope ratio of 90/18.3= 4.9 to one.

In more benign conditions this setup can be used with much less chain veered, resulting in a smaller risk of fouling and dramatically reduced swinging room.

Our old scientific proof of anchor suitability still holds. To wit: if the experts in your marina laugh at the excessively huge anchor on your stem, you know you are on the correct path.

When you see these anchors in their chocks the size is not immediately apparent. But with a model for scale you can see the FPBs use BFAs…

For more details on our anchoring system logic click here.

And for data on FPB 78-1 Cochise at anchor in 75 knots of breeze click here.

Stan and Valerie Creighton, proud owners of FPB 70-1 Buffalo Nickel II, have a brand new post published on their site about the trials, tribulations and triumphs of breaking in a new boat. 

Head over to BuffaloNickelBlog.com for all the juicy details on systems orientation, electrical panels, prop testing, and why it’s so hard to remember to run the generator.