FPB 64-6 has just completed a winter crossing of the North Atlantic, which at one point featured hurricane strength compression storms in east and west regions. She did so in classic fashion, taking advantage of the weather when possible, but always with a bailout option if the forecasts turned negative. There are a number of lessons for us in this passage.

The normal approach to crossing East to West in the Northern Hemisphere winter is to depart from the Canary Islands, plot a course well under the North Atlantic High to protect yourself from the storms further north, and ride the trade winds to the West Indies. We did this along with the ARC in FPB 83-1 Wind Horse (for more info on that passage click here).

The weather this winter across the North Atlantic has been as complex and risk-filled as we have ever seen. So when Steve Parsons began passage preparations, he had been watching the patterns since before topping off the fuel tanks in Gibraltar. We chatted with Steve while he was still in the Canaries.

Parsons (shown above mid-passage) uses a mix of on-board forecasting based on observed conditions, radio fax products, together with raw GRIB files. We aided the late stages of the passage using PredictWind.com Pro, along with the 500mb data from various sources.

The key to this routing is the average speed a vessel can maintain for a given portion of the passage.

The tricky part of the latter half was a sweet spot of westerly flow which was aimed almost directly at Parsons’ destination, St Augustine, Florida. But just north of this the wind was on the nose, with various swells from storms on both sides of the ocean potentially mixing in.

There was also the threat of an upper level trough rotating in and creating compression storm force wind, possibly “cutting off” and staying in the area for several days.

(Above: Stopping during a calm period to check the bottom and prop for growth shows that although conditions to the north were seriously ugly, FPB 64-6 remained primarily in a sweet spot of weather.)

On December 6th, while FPB 64-6 had the option of heading south and away from potentially dangerous conditions we sent the following email:

Sue Grant at Berthon is running a series of posts written by the Berthon apprentices who are aboard FPB78-2 Grey Wolf II. They are both informative and entertaining, and cover their experiences right down to the bottom of South America, and eventually to the Antarctic where Grey Wolf II is at this moment. To read about these intrepid apprentices click here.

It is finally done (and we mean it this time)! In the post that follows we will detail the logic that lead us to to this new paradigm for navigation stations, and the details that evolved.

Most things to do with boats require compromises; lots of them. Nowhere is more true than when you start to work on the”perfect” helm or navigation area. If you are working with a static layout of information the varying operational modes (inshore, on passage, day or night, good charts or feeling your way, good visibility or rain/fog) make it impossible to have the right presentation all of the time.

In the olden days with less information, the options were fewer, and the answers simpler. But now we have so much data potentially available that information overload is a definite issue. When you add up the features of an integrated nav system, multiple radars, depth sources, sonar, night vision cameras, video feeds, and N2K data, and then throw in a bit of stress and fatigue, it is easy to see where the sum of these parts can be a negative. On the other hand, if the data is displayed in a user friendly manner that works well in different situations the benefits are significant.

Moving from the very simplest approach – paper charts and celestial navigation at the start, to where we are today – we have been acutely aware of the downsides of this information revolution. We have seen ourselves make errors based on misinterpreting this more complex array of data; mistakes that would not have occurred with simpler methods.

As designers we are always wary of decisions made by habit, choosing the same approach to a requirement because it has worked in the past. When we started to work on the Matrix deck for the FPB 78s we looked at this critical area as a development of what worked so well on the FPB 83 Wind Horse. This was habit.

On Wind Horse (above), and the FPB 64s (below) the forward end of the great room was where we had the full array of electronics.

If we were conning in an area requiring optimal visual observation as well as electronic info Linda would typically run the latter below and I would be above with the better sight lines. She would then feed the electronic info to me.

Compared to what was considered state of the art with our sailing yachts the early FPBs were like sci-fi. The 78’ Beowulf had the electronics inside of the small deck level pilot house. The efficiency, function, and joy of navigating from here was unsurpassed. Yet our FPB world took this to a totally new level.

The FPB 97 Iceberg heralded the birth of the Matrix deck. With the weather protected space this created we were able to combine optimal view with all of  the electronics. The multitude of monitors and processors made for a panoply of information.

During the design cycle for the FPB 78s we looked at a variety of layouts for both the Matrix and great room levels.

With Cochise we had a relatively simple approach to the Matrix level nav gear (Michael and Nancy Morrell on watch below).

There was a single 32″ monitor supplemented with one or two tablets. Nancy is using an 18″ Samsung Galaxy View as a chart plotter in the photo above. The nav desk stretched clear across the full width of the space.

There was a notch to port that allowed us to get close to the windows if required. Compared to the FPB 64s and Wind Horse this approach was a major improvement. We did not think there was anything better around.

During our passage uphill from French Polynesia to Panama we did a bit of experimenting in the great room. We switched the Simrad NSO2 processor output from a monitor on the nav desk to the big TV.

We were pleasantly surprised by how well this worked. Included in the benefits was a reduction in window glare, the result of a vertical TV with an overhanging lip of furniture above it.

It was a dark, rainy night working our way through a very narrow part of the ICW when we began to realize there might be a better approach to the instrumentation. The two of us are approaching extreme maturity and our night vision is deteriorating. We also no longer have the stamina to spend five or six hours standing on watch, noses pressed close to the forward windows, straining to see in rain and fog.

As frequent Set Sail visitors will know this lead to the removal of our traditional bridge in search for something better. Normally changes of this magnitude in an existing boat are against our personal rules. But as Cochise is our last big yacht, we felt an imperative to see if we could come up with an improved approach.

Now a slight diversion.

Although Cochise surpassed our hopes motion wise, particularly up hill and at anchor in sloppy conditions, after 20,000+ miles aboard we felt there might be a slightly different approach to the distribution of mass that would yield an even more comfortable outcome. A series of factors came together in a most fortuitous manner.

Take a good look at the photo above. Notice anything different? The long booms with which the FPB 78s began life are shorter, about half their original length. We found Cochise so comfortable at anchor that the flopper stoppers were rarely used Those original booms were optimized for roll control at anchor. With this no longer required why pay the weight and windage penalty?  Reducing the length was a big gainer. This got us looking at what else could be improved in terms of enhancing the stability curve. It turns out there was a lot of which the biggest of all was making the Matrix level mods we have been discussing. Add in a modest change in how we positioned tools, ship’s stores, and spare parts and the sum of these three modifications was significant.

One of the goals of this revision was to better isolate our data so it could be more easily assimilated.

We have been back and forth over the past year with size, placement, and number of monitors. What you see here is the result of much experimentation. The process that has led to our eventual answer, seen in more detail above, has been long, difficult, costly, but also productive. When we started we thought we could make major improvements with a fairly simple revision. But each new version of the helm area opened our eyes to further possibilities.

The benefits of these big screens is hard to overemphasize. The information almost jumps off the screen at us. When we are on soundings, and needing the clearest understanding we keep radar, chart, and depth related data isolated, each on its own screen. This means that any time we want to change something, radar range for example, we only need to turn a single dial on the Simrad OP50 controller. This is one or two keystrokes faster than if we had multiple windows open, and reduces the chances for making an error under stress.

The monitors are hinged and can be rotated up for access behind. Each monitor has two operating positions; vertical at night to minimize the light reflected off the screens and onto the windows, and slightly angled, to make them easier to view when standing close by.

Daytime glare from low sun angles is significantly reduced by the combination of  low placement and near vertical angle. We have seen no situation in which the TV screens could not be easily read.

The port monitor is a 49” touch screen that can be comfortably reached from the nearby helm chair. While we are not big fans of smaller touch screens offshore this large scale touch screen works really well for many tasks.

There are three Samsung 55″ TVs on the starboard side. The data array here is oriented towards offshore passage making. The aft TV (right side of the photo) has a view of the engine room, with access to other views by mouse. The diagonal screen shows our N2K system data. And the screen closest to the console is showing radar in two windows and the FLIR night vision camera in the third.

All four of the monitors are controlled with a single remote (stored horizontally at the top of the photo). We turn them on/off,  dim them, and change source with this handy little device.

The new Matrix deck is easily moded to the best layout for each set of conditions. Here we are set up for thin water navigation in the Bahamas. The screen adjacent to the console is split between radar and chart plotter. The diagonal screen has three depth sources made up from Simrad’s Structure Scan, Forward Looking Sonar, and a simple depth trend. The video input on the aft TV has been switched to external view cameras.

In most situations the video camera system is focused on the engine room when we are offshore..

We have found these views helpful in assessing the sea state.

As mentioned, whenever practical we keep each monitor dedicated to a single window. But the large screens make multi-window displays much more palatable in our opinion. Above we have a local chart with sonar strip on top.

Our seated views are now as good or better than before when standing.  

This is console number eight that we have tested. It has all of the controls normally spread out across the width of the Matrix deck. They can all be reached from either helm chair. There are steering controls in each corner of the console. Locally fused and switched items are on the port side, with overhead light switches opposite. The aft face has the emergency steering control, AIS head, and VHF.

The revised Matrix deck has several other new features. We have come up with a combination table, staple rail, and chart table assembly that does a number of things at once. Most important, it is a brace/handrail to use when walking forward  from the stairs to the helm chairs. It provides a place to stand behind the helm chairs and be held in place between the staple rails.

When you are getting up from or sitting down onto the sofa it helps to keep your body under control and makes sitting/standing a lot easier.

The foam wedges are wonderfully comfortable on our feet. In cold weather there are three heater duct pipes behind the TV ready to jump into action warming our feet.

We have our recumbent bike for exercise when we are on watch offshore, with a good view of three of the TVs.

The bottom line is that we now have better sight lines, monitor glare on the inside of the windows has been eliminated improving night vision. We can operate Cochise seated, and moving around at sea is safer. In the very worst weather if we want to be really close to the windows we can do so more easily than before.

Enough with the boat building already. It is time to do some cruising…

For those of you who want to experience cruising at its best, if you live in Europe or the East Coast of the US, in your back yards is some of the very best cruising on this planet. We speak of the Exhumas group in the southern Bahama Islands.

Georgetown is cruising central, one of those locations where cruisers congregate and use as a base for regional exploration. We happened to be present for the annual Bahamian regatta.

The big attraction for us has been the wildlife. Within 100 nautical miles of Georgetown are a series of Bahamian national parks with stunning, typically uncrowded anchorages, and wonderful critter viewing.

The next three photos are of the Conception Cay welcoming committee. They came out to say hello to us when we were riding in the dinghy.

We’ve photographed dolphin all over the world, but this is the first time they have come to play in the dinghy bow wave.

It is late spring, and the weather has been typically mild, with occasional periods of thunderstorms and lightning displays livening up the scenery. The recent evenings tend toward warm and humid so we have been running the air conditioning while we are sleeping, powering through the evening on the battery bank.

Travis Gomez, who we met last summer in Maine, is taking a break from his Fox Island Charter business to help us out aboard Cochise.  He shares our love of photography.

Travis has excellent hand eye coordination and a good sense for composition. It is a good thing we are not into photographic competition!

Travis is also skilled drone operator.

The solar array aboard FPB 78-1 Cochise has been doing its job creating electric power to run our systems. Output has varied between 23 and 31 kWh.On most days this is sufficient to power all of our systems, including battery operated air conditioning during sleeping hours as previously mentioned. We have been experimenting with various combinations of natural air flow, fans, and our air conditioning.  We shall report in detail in the near future.

We have been pleasantly surprised by the variety of bird life (an osprey above).

We had to look up this red egret who overflew us when we were exploring the local mangroves at dusk. It is the first we have ever seen.

The combination of light colored, clear water, and wildlife is hard to beat.

Even the crabs are lovely to contemplate.

There is one small negative, mosquitoes, and similar bugs. The early evening and morning hours are definitely to be avoided when viewing the mangroves unless covered with insect repellent and are wearing protective clothing. However, the insects have one redeeming characteristic; they provide incentive for night hawks to demonstrate their aerobatic flying skills.

We will leave you with a few more of our favorite photos of this short cruise through the Bahamas.

Thanks to Pete Goss who took this sunset photo of Cochise  under a full moon, with his cell phone.

It is late spring in the Bahamas, water temperature is 83/85F and air that or more. Humidity often is in the 80% range. We are making water, staying comfortable with air conditioning in the evening, generally leading a carbon neutral existence. Welcome to the new world of solar panel cruising.  What follows is a bit of data and several suggestions that might help on your own vessel.

FPB 781 Cochise has 16 solar panels with an average output of 340 watts each. The six on top of the Matrix deck roof are unshaded 100% of the time. The other ten, at each end of the Matrix deck roof we think are producing 65% of the time. Our present output varies between 18.5 and 31.9kWh per day. That is a lot of electrical power.

If you discount HVAC (air conditioning) from the energy calcs this solar array easily handles all of the rest of the loads. With temperatures and humidity levels a touch lower we are energy neutral. But now that it is warming up we need a bit of air conditioning for cruising equanimity.

The FPB 78s have excellent natural air flow at anchor. Couple this with massive insulation and normally just the sleeping cabins need air conditioning in the evenings. Our 1600 amp hour traction battery bank has the capacity to take us through several evenings. But when the breeze becomes light, as it is now, natural air flow needs augmentation. Step one is to run the air conditioning during the sleeping hours. With one guest cabin and the master suite in use our basic solar array takes care of 95% or more of our needs.

The last couple of days have been warmer, with light winds, and high humidity. This calls for more air conditioning. Before we bring the genset online aboard Cochise we:

• Drop window shades or rig awnings to keep sun from making direct contact on hatches and windows.
• Assuming six knots of wind, or more, we open the foredeck hatch, swim step door, and great room door to enhance natural air flow.
• The four large in coaming Dorade vents in the great room are opened.
• Air flow in the great room is enhanced with a 16″ Vornado fan, powerful and quiet.
• We may spend most of the indoors time on the Matrix deck which has the best air flow aboard due to its elevated position and multiple opening, doors and windows.

When the breeze drops off in the evening some  nights we run the great room air conditioning. We start off with the two 12,000 BTU units, and once at a comfortable level often drop to a single 12,000 unit. During the period the sleeping cabins are being used these are air conditioned. In this mode the solar array has power left over for a bit of clothes washing, possibly with electric drier in use. Depending on vessel orientation and cloud cover the genset will not be used, or if needed run for no more than an hour a day.

The last couple of days have been warmer and more humid with the breeze often below six knots. We also have some cruising friends aboard. From mid-day on we have been running one of the 12,000 BTU air conditioners in the great room. The dorade vents are closed. The air con dehumidifies, moves air around, and drops the temperature a couple of degrees.

If we go exploring in the dinghy and close the boat up while we are away, Cochise is much warmer when we return. In this situation we will fire up the second great room air conditioner (another 12,000 BTU unit) and possibly the 24,000 BTU unit as well. These in concert will quickly bring the temperature down to the 78/80F range, and the extra BTU capacity drops off as temperatures come down.

Keeping electrical loads neutral now requires an hour or so of genset time. With the large traction battery bank – 1600 amp hours/24 volts using a C2o discharge rating, we can go three or more days without running the genset, using battery capacity to offset lack genset operation. We will sometimes defer the genset if we have a passage coming up, as the engine mounted alternators can bring the batteries up on capacity.

At some point comfort makes a bit more genset time necessary. What we often do is to run all the air conditioners at once, late in the evening, dropping temperature and humidity below norm. When its time for bed the genset is shut down and we run just the cabin air conditioners.

We are back in Beaufort now. It is much cooler. Here the solar array easily handles any air conditioning needs – so far.

We are standing at the forward end of the great room aboard FPB 78-1 Cochise. It is eerily quiet as we watch the steam gauge climb from 13 to 20 knots, linger for a moment, before peaking at 22. A fast-rising SE gale has kicked up a steep sea, now confused with a reflected crossing wave pattern as we rapidly close with the Southern entrance to New Zealand’s Bay of Islands. This 60 metric ton motor yacht is surfing under autopilot control. The seas are perfect for Cochise and she rides the better waves for several minutes at a time, at speed length ratios above 1.6. Cochise is the most recent iteration of the perfect yacht, at least for us. Aboard Cochise, and the rest of our yachts, the key design ingredient upon which all else rests is steering control. We are warm, dry, and very comfortable. 

It wasn’t always so.

Linda, my partner in all things, is laughing about how times have changed. We met on a fateful Labor day weekend in 1965, when Linda, then teaching in Salt Lake City, Utah, made a spur of the moment visit to her sister in Malibu, CA.

As it turns out Sonnie and her husband Charles were planning on spending the long weekend at Catalina with our family aboard my folks’ Hu Ka Makani, a 58’ cruising cat. I had sailed my 20’ Shark catamaran over with Charles.

Above: Linda, left, with Sonnie that fateful weekend.

Linda went for a sail with me on Beowulf, and it was obvious that, even though a “mountain girl”, she was a natural. It was Sunday morning when Linda and I took a walk from Cat Harbor to the Isthmus, and then hiked up the trail towards Fourth of July cove. Along the way our hands brushed, and then fingers entwined, and the sparks flew. It has been ever thus. We decided to sail back to Marina del Rey together on my little cat, but fate intervened in the form of her older sister and my step mother, and I was left to bring Beowulf back with Charles.

Linda came down from Salt Lake for Thanksgiving and we entered the Cabrillo Beach Yacht Club Turkey Day Regatta. We rounded the weather mark well ahead in the Cat Portsmouth handicap class, but alas my mind was not totally on the race details, and we took the weather mark to starboard rather than port as called for in the sailing directions. The entire fleet followed us around the wrong way except for the very last boat. That left us with a DSQ and two firsts, and a second place trophy, very embarrassing.

Fast forward to the next summer, Linda has moved to LA, and we are now driving to Charleston, SC for the Shark Catamaran National Championships. The plan had been arrive a week early, check out the local knowledge – the race course is where two rivers come together around the island on which sits Fort Sumter – but business had kept my nose to the grindstone. In those days we built large fiberglass displays for various businesses. Linda, above, is modeling a 12-foot Sinclair dinosaur. This was the only stop we made other than for gas, potty breaks, and one short rest. We barely made the start of the first race.

This is Linda’s first serious regatta. Her crew work is so good that observers comment on how we seem to gain on every tack, jibe, and mark rounding. Halfway through the regatta we are allowed to haul our boats to clean and work on them. We’re last out as we’d been doing a bit of sail testing. There are a few competitors watching and chit chatting prior to the annual class dinner. One of them asks how we’d met and I reply that Linda had been hitchhiking in Texas and as I needed crew I picked her up. Being the olden days, before sin and corruption was widespread, there is somewhat of a scandal – or maybe it was envy – surrounding our sleeping arrangements. Word flies about that we are sharing a room. This was the truth, as being on a budget we needed to conserve. By the time we reach the dinner, the hitchhiking story has spread.

No doubt the discombobulation that follows on the race course behind us is due in no small way to the other sailors’ envy. We win easily, and I quickly recognize that if I don’t marry this talented crew someone will steal her away.

We need to stop here for a moment and give props to a man who directly had a major impact on our life at several critical junctures. Swede Johnson was Saint Cicero’s number one sailmaker at Baxter and Cicero. It was Swede who had made the sails for our second Shark. Since the Shark was overweight, which we did not realize at the time, Swede’s sails were the major reason for our boat speed and victories.

The boats on which we raced in those days were wet, usually cold, and did I mention wet? On a beautiful calm morning we would trudge down the dock wearing full foul weather gear, boots, and trapeze harnesses. Linda did not know any other way existed. We avoided the contamination of comfortable boats.

Here’s a shot of one of our C-class cats, this one Beowulf III. She was a much more “comfortable” boat and quicker too. Notice how the lee bow is fully immersed in spite of our weight being all the way aft. This locked in the bow and made steering response to changes in apparent wind force and angle problematic. But everyone had this issue and we accepted it.

Wing masts were now de rigueur in the C class, and not wanting to deal with the handling negatives we opted for something different for Beowulf IV. She had an 8” diameter light aluminum tube for a mast, with a pair of awning tracks riveted tangentially, to each of which was affixed a mainsail. If this sounds familiar, the 36th America’s Cup is using a twin luff mainsail. Beowulf IV had canted lifting 65 series laminar dagger boards and was very light, just a single skin of six-ounce boat cloth over 1/4″ end grain balsa core for hulls, with chemically milled aluminum cross beams. When everything was in the groove she showed flashes of real pace. We were invited to the Yachting Magazine one of a kind regatta on Lake Michigan, and Linda being seven months pregnant, we decided that I would take another C-Class sailor, Dave Bradley, as crew.

Competitors had begun to arrive the week before the regatta. It was fun eyeing the other class champions and all-star sailors. Between testing, chatting, and checking race course conditions there was a lot going on. First race was Monday following the skippers meeting.

Sunday evening, just before dark, in rolled a massive A scow. The crew quickly stepped the rotating mast, towed out to a mooring, then retired to the bar. If this was meant to intimidate the opposition, it worked with us.

In the first race a wind shift favored the leeward end of the line. We were perfectly placed, reaching down the line for the start except for the 38’ A scow on our hip. This was the machine that was then considered the fastest sailboat on the planet, and we expected them to roll over us after the start. With the leeward end favored we were going to need to tack to port ASAP to cross the fleet and lock in our initial gain when the wind shifted back. If the scow was close enough on our hip to hold us, we would be sucking gas from a large chunk of the fleet.

The slapping sound of that scow close by still rings in my ears when I think back.

We hardened up after the gun working the double sail main carefully as high as we could, trying to pinch off the scow. Dave was adjusting mainsail twist in the oscillating breeze. I was driving, watching the waves, concentrating on the shift we knew was coming.

After a couple of minutes Dave said,  “I don’t hear them.”

“Have they tacked?”

“No. They are four boats back and dropping into our wind shadow.”

We were first to the weather mark with the 32’ D class Wild Wind close behind. Wild Wind did a number on us downwind with her spinnaker and we ended up second. The scow came 4th, with the new Olympic class cat Tornado ahead of them.

The next day a norther was blowing. On the way to the start we broke a daggerboard and decided to try and pick up a spare before the race started. We were running almost square into the Belmont Shores harbor entrance, main fully stalled, when a shift hit us, we accelerated, and the bow depressed. With the steering locked in by the bow and rig powered up in the steep seas reflecting back from the shore, a pitchpole was inevitable. Dave and I were okay as was the boat, but in the ensuing rescue attempt Beowulf IV’s rig went to the bottom along with much of the rest. My main concern was Linda’s reaction. I was afraid she would go into labor.

With a family started, we decided to try something smaller and more easily managed by the two of us. We chartered a an old Tornado cat and went to play in the first World championships held in Melbourne, Florida. Linda and Elyse managed base camp and Steve Harvey crewed. We were nowhere near as good as when Linda was aboard, and managed only a third overall in the tune-up regatta and tenth in the Worlds (I dislike light air).

Neither of us were inclined towards giving up our joint approach to racing, but now with Elyse on the scene we started thinking about the perfect boat for our new station in life.

Enter Beowulf V, our first family cruiser. If you know any C-Class cat sailors you know they have garages full of boat parts. Masts, sails, dagger boards, rudders, even cross beams. We fell into that category, which allowed us to play “Frankenstein” with our new ideas.

A friend in nearby Venice, California, Skip Hawley, was building the new Tornado cats using the tortured ply method. We looked at the system, and decided to do something a little longer. Skip added 12 feet to his deck jig, we called Gordon Plywood in Los Angeles and ordered 12 sheets of unbalanced 3/16” aircraft grade spruce ply, and soon thereafter Beowulf V was winning local regattas and setting records. The main in this photo turned out to be by far our fastest. It was a left over C class sail, just 300 square feet (D class cats could carry 500 square feet).

Check out the wind strength above. The wind sock on the committee boat is hanging. There are no whitecaps. It is blowing eight knots. We are at a true wind angle of about 135 degrees. The apparent wind is so far forward the reacher is being flown to leeward! Notice how the mainsail is sealed to the trampoline, creating an endplate, resulting in a significant boost in performance. These hulls weighed 152 and 154 pounds each. All up Beowulf V tipped the scale at 702 pounds.

Here we are holding the Victor Tchetchet perpetual “World Multihull Championship” trophy. There are five Beowulf plaques attached thereon.

This 32’ D-class “mongrel”, totally created from castoffs except for the hulls, turned out to be a rocket. During a Pacific Multihull speed trial in 1971 Beowulf V was timed over 500 meters, averaging 30.95 mph. She later pushed this to 35.6 mph, good enough for the Guinness book of records and the New York Times yachting column to think she was the fastest of all.

In smooth water and stable wind pressure Beowulf V could bootstrap herself with apparent wind until she ran out of steering control. As the wind pressure increased the lee bow would depress, and Beowulf V would lock in. At this point you better be pointing in the correct direction. The helmsman had to anticipate the puffs and pull the bow downwind or up prior to an increase in wind force.

If you were late, the only avenue for reducing heeling force was easing sheets. When you are sailing at 1.5 times true wind speed the slightest error – and this included easing sheets – would quickly cut speed in half or more.

One more Beowulf V story. We were headed to Ensenada, above, during the annual D-Class cat cruise to Mexico. (That this happened over Cinco de Mayo weekend and coincided with the Ensenada race, then the largest yacht race on the planet, was purely a scheduling coincidence. The catamaran powers-that-be had said we were not safe and we would not be allowed to play.) This particular year, a front came through. It caught us as we were in light airs working the back wind of the beach break, about 40 miles north of the finish. It was pitch black, we had no sea room, the coast to leeward was iron bound, capsize had a terminal connotation, and we were close to finding out what the the term scared shitless meant, for real.

We stayed upright by feathering into the breeze. We could not even see waves, let alone the horizon. We knew when the weather hull was flying because the long tiller would drag in the water to leeward and the driver would know to push, bringing the bow into the wind.

The front passed, we finished the course, and went to sleep. I had sailed down with our friend and sailmaker Ric Taylor. By the time we’d eaten breakfast Ric and I had decided it hadn’t been such a big deal. As the fleet began to straggle in though, we saw numerous damaged sails, spreaders with kelp trailing, and in the Bajia Hotel bar some very haggard faces. Fred Miller’s story from the Orange County Register is scanned above.

A current photo of Beowulf V above, now in its 50th year, and still winning races in the San Francisco Bay area under the careful hand of Alan O’Driscoll.

With Elyse now joined by Sarah, we got to thinking about a family cruiser with more creature comfort. None of our previous boats had been “designed”, rather they had evolved. But what if we could control the hull shape in such a way as to reduce or eliminate the bow depressing as we picked up speed? Then we could steer more easily, which could make a whole new world possible.

Norm Riise, a sailing competitor and often crew, whose day job was designing solar simulators and hypersonic wind tunnels at Cal Tech’s Jet Propulsion Laboratories, had a potential answer. This self-taught engineer, a one-time torpedo bomber pilot in the Pacific during WWII, was working on the very first yacht performance prediction program. Norm ran his code from punch cards on the JPL main frame computer at night, when time was available. We’d helped Norm tune his VPP by giving an opinion on various computed scenarios. Norm felt he was far enough along that we should give it a try.

Norm’s software allowed us to do a detailed parametric analysis of what would become Beowulf VI. We would vary hull prismatic, percentage of displacement, dagger board design, while investigating length, mass, percentage of total mass carried on each hull, and of course various rig permutations.

This was an early concept that we did not use, but the only example we can find…from 45 years ago.

Here is a cutting table for making a foil template.

And one of the construction drawings. The hulls were a simple box, with rounded foam sections glued to the bottom.

XXX One of the ongoing structural problems of this era was the connection of the beams which held the two hulls together to the hulls themselves. With typical cat hulls, those with unbalanced lines that split the displacement between the hulls, once you began to fly a hull, or were driving hard downwind, the bows would depress. The only thing you could do was move the crew weight aft. In order to transmit the righting moment of the crew to the leeward hull the cross beams had to resist twist. Therefor the cross beams had to be rigidly installed. The bending loads combined with the twist created complex stresses which were not easily dissipated. But with full displacement hulls that maintained a constant center of buoyancy as more load came onto them, the tendency to drive the bow under was eliminated. So the cross beams no longer had to transmit aft moments from crew weight to try and hold the bow up.

All of which lead to the method shown above of connecting the beams. The beams are round, and the connection system did not try and hold the hulls firmly in a torsionl mode. Rather, the hulls were free to rotate around the round beams. A very savvy engineer, Gerry Magarian, came up with the concept of using a pin which ran in a slot that kept the beams in place on the hulls, so they could not slide in or out on the beams, but allowed the beams to rotate.

The system worked well, and allowing the hulls to flex had motion benefits. Removing the twisting torque allowed us to reduce the strength and weight of the beams.

XXX The beams were carefully engineered with areas of chemically milled tapering pf wall thickness. One evening after a hard day at the office  was getting ready to drill and tap the holes which would attache the tangs for the dolphin striker stay.Lack of attention lead to a hole being drilled in the wrong spot. Round holes are stress risers, and this one would have reduced the local strength by 500%.The beam was saved by carefully creating this elongated oval around the errant hole. The oval reduced then stress concentration almost entirely.

We quickly learned that there were enormous wetted surface benefits to sailing on a single hull optimized to carry the full mass of the boat. Beyond this the design basically boiled down to build the longest, lightest hull practical, reducing displacement length ratio to where wave drag was negligible at all speed length ratios, after which the goal was minimizing wetted surface.

Beowulf VI ended up with 37’ long hulls that were 19” wide, and had just 21” of freeboard forward. Because she had full displacement hulls that were exceptionally narrow, she was designed to penetrate waves rather than riding over when pressed going to windward or close reaching.

The hull box structure was made up of a deck, a mid-height horizontal shear web, and a flat bottom that represented the waterline. All three were exactly the same shape. Onto this bottom were glued a series of 4” thick semicircular structural foam sections. Mickey Muñoz, one of the world’s preeminent surfboard shapers, spent a weekend smoothing things down, after which we applied two layers of 6-ounce boat cloth. Each hull, with hardware attached, weighed 375 pounds. The entire boat, with full required gear for offshore racing but before crew, was 1,770 pounds hanging from a single point scale. With a crew of four, the displacement length ratio was 18.

Without a great deal of effort on the part of the helmsman she could maintain an easy 1.6 times wind speed–up to 1.95 in perfect conditions–until 26 knots of boat speed, after which the sea state forced us to back off. The key to all of this was steering ability, and the secret to steering was a hull that did not depress its bow. This photo, taken by Mary Edwards during the 1974 Ensenada Race, has Beowulf VI moving at 20+ knots in 16-18 knots of breeze. The ORCA fleet is already hull down on the horizon behind us. Aboard are Norm Riise who you can see in the yellow slicker, John Rousmaniere, then West Coast editor for Yachting Magazine, and Ric Taylor.

Beowulf VI had sufficient buoyancy in each hull to carry the boat’s full mass. Driving hard on one hull was not a problem because the bow did not depress, as you can see in the photo above. These slim, full buoyancy hulls were like knives and would slice right through the chop going to weather. The lee hull could be driven through steeper waves with little sensation of deceleration.

Her little cabin, six and a half feet square, had two bunks, a porta potty, stove, and ice box. All the comforts of home. She would fly a hull in seven knots of breeze – we never cleated anything – and was a great cruising boat according to our ideas on the subject at that point. We would sail to Catalina for a hamburger with our two daughters, then aged two and five. Yes, we were a little crazy, in retrospect.

Elyse, at five, is demonstrating the cozy confines of the forward half of the “great room” aboard Beowulf VI. Note the needlepoint pillow. Fancy interior decor.

During this period, our first paid design gig came about somewhat accidentally. Hobie Alter was a long time friend when he showed up at a 1967 Pacific Multihull Association championship regatta with his Hobie 14. This slow talking surfer dude was one the sharpest minds we have ever known, although for the most part he kept that under wraps. As a surfboard maven Hobie was at the top. But his technical expertise in regard to cat design was lacking, or so we and all the other “experts” on that subject agreed.

But it turns out the H14 had some design features that nobody had thought of before. It was optimized for beach launching as opposed to crane hoists or launching ramps. Hobie’s and our paths crossed from time to time but we had more interaction with Mickey Muñoz and Phil Edwards who were surfer/sailors par excellence. Both were better known for their big wave riding and were, or I should say are, legendary in the surfing world. Phil worked full-time with Hobie in the R&D department at the Hobie cat company, Mickey more occasionally. We often raced against each other in our respective catamarans.

In 1969 Hobie was at the Yachting OOAK regatta where we lost Beowulf IV. Hobie and his little 14-footer and the mighty 32-foot Wild Wind were the only finishers in that windy norther. A double-page photo of Hobie literally airborne appeared in Life magazine with the caption “Hobie – The Cat That Flies” and they were off to the big time.

Art Hendricksen was Hobie’s partner. Smooth talking, a Stanford graduate, Art thought he was business savvy compared to Hobie and didn’t mind letting you know it. As the business grew they hired a day-to-day president. By 1974 Hobie and Art were not speaking. Hobie was focused on projects that were not on Art’s wish list.

I got a call one day and was asked if I could do a new boat for them. I responded in the affirmative, but only if Hobie approved and was involved.

Hobie 18 drawing, above.

We agreed on a fee and I drove down to Dana Point to meet with Hobie, Phil and Bud Platt. We sailed the 16s a bit, in and out of the surf, and up the beach. We chatted, scribbled some sketches, and then drove to the factory to see the boats being built.

A week later I had the design finished, sent it off and within a month they had three sets of hulls floating on which to test rig configurations. Thus was borne the first paid design of our career. That the Hobie 18 was a commercial success was due mainly to the real world practical know-how and configuration testing of Hobie, and his R&D crew.

Back on Beowulf VI, after being allowed to officially enter the Newport to Ensenada race, as an entrant but not a contestant, and breaking the long standing Aikane elapsed time record in the process, Linda and I had a leisurely cruise back up the coast. (Beowulf VI, above, is rafted with Micky and Peggy Muñoz’s Malia at Todos Santos Island off Ensenada). We enjoyed the cruising so much that we started thinking about doing more of it. ORCA’s twisted handling of our entry, the result of trying to keep the prestigious first to finish trophies for the establishment catamarans, had lead to embarrassment when the press – John Rousmaniere among them – had tried to untangle our status. ORCA instructed us we must apologize to the board of directors for this problem, which we politely declined to do. We were thereafter banned from racing in the offshore venues which they controlled. I was depressed, Linda was, well, pissed. Beowulf VI had been built to break records and now we had nowhere to officially play. We weren’t sure what to do next.

And now a little background on how we’d gotten to this point…In the olden days before we were married I had a great little business called International Fiberglass, making giant fiberglass figures.

I had gotten into this almost as an accident. In an effort to smooth out the work flow in my tiny yacht maintenance facility in San Pedro I had “designed” a 14-foot outboard powered ski boat, a compact version of the flat bottomed drag race and ski race inboards popular on the Colorado River. The learning curve had been exceptionally steep. After the careful and expensive creation of a mockup or plug, as it was called, I had hired two fiberglass “experts” to help us make a hull and deck mold. Except that my experts forgot to use mold release, and we ended up removing the plug from the mold with steel wedges and sledge hammers. You might say that the Incomparable Eliminator, as we modestly named this vessel, had been through a difficult birth. (This was the first of several near death business experiences.)

We finally figured out the mold making process, sold a few boats, and moved away from yacht maintenance. One afternoon I got a call from my Dad, who had seen an advertisement in the classified section of the Los Angeles Times he thought might interest me. There was a fellow named Bob Prewitt who built horse trailers, and had a sideline of making fiberglass displays as a fill-in for his laminating crew when they weren’t making parts for his horse trailers. Prewitt was an old cowboy, seriously into the rodeo competition circuit, and wanted time now to concentrate his efforts.

His molding process was centered around the use of Jay Johnson’s fiberglass “chopper” guns. We had used several of Jay’s prototype chopper guns for bonding in plywood reinforcements in our Eliminators. I made a deal with Prewitt and was suddenly in the display business.

We were making a few fiberglass figures, selling a ski boat now and then, and growing slowly but steadily. Then one afternoon the mail brought a new issue of a trade magazine aimed at gas station operators. On the front page was a photograph of our Paul Bunyan, standing in front of an American Oil gas station, with a headline declaring that Larry Smith’s AMOCO station had doubled the gallons of gasoline sold in the week following Mr. Bunyan’s arrival.

Violet Winslow, “Granny Vi” as she was known to our kids, joined our team to promote this giant display business.

Our 20-foot tall Paul Bunyans were best sellers. Derivations of Paul became the center of marketing programs for oil and tire companies like Texaco, Phillips, Standard Oil, Uniroyal, to name a few.

A key part of the success of these programs was the ability of local marketing reps to move the figures between retailers. The sketch above is of our first patent of a tilting trailer that made this possible.

It was the era of the Mustang, Humble Oil Tiger, and the Sinclair dinosaur. This wonderful, fun, and profitable business had resulted from trying to find something to keep my little boat business working in the winter. (For a more detailed look at what we produced in those days check out RoadsideAmerica.com.) 

I was traveling constantly, which was fun. But once Linda moved to LA the travel lost its allure. We took our fiberglass “technology” into the construction business looking for a more conventional business model that did not require constant travel. Hubris combined with inexperience is not a good combination in the rough and tumble world of US commercial construction.

Married now, and not knowing how to quit, we persevered. Eventually we dug ourselves out of a very deep hole and we learned quickly. Inexperience did have one big advantage–we did not know what we could not do. That allowed us to see inefficiencies in concrete forming methods others had missed, precisely because we were not blinded by training.

Formal education had been a waste for me. In high school and college I did not have the required discipline to study anything I considered boring. Sailing, surfing, hot rods, and the fairer sex were what held my attention and where my energy flowed. The one thing I had learned in school was how to ask questions, a skill used whenever possible to embarrass whomever it was standing at the head of the room. A pain in the ass student? Definitely.

This impudent behavioral streak combined itself with a disposition that hated to lose. In the construction business it lead to the development of something called the “flying form”. In a normal business cycle in the construction industry these patented labor saving forms would have been a historical footnote. But in the late 1960s, with REITS booming and a tight labor supply, there was a brief opening to penetrate the market. We were moving as much as 1,200 square feet of formwork at a time, often with pan or waffle forms attached, occasionally even with spandrel forms integrated. Give us a tower crane for a couple of days a cycle and we could reduce labor force by 80%, move at a much faster pace, and eventually reduce material weight and cost with proprietary structural designs.

Our background in fiberglass led us to take on some technically difficult contracts. The most challenging of these were the concrete forms used to build the outer columns and waffle slab soffits for the Hirshborn Museum in Washington, DC. (Your authors above five decades later.)

By the time the market began to cool and the major subcontractors came gunning for us we were established with large inventories of our own, superior system.

Growth was rapid, profitability good, and capital requirements significant. But aggressive expansion on my part left us vulnerable. One day I awoke to the realization of just how shaky things were. That this occurred concurrent with an increase in interest rates, an industry wide slowdown, and the gods of Ocean Racing Catamarans banning us, lead to an epiphany. Between having lost our official playground with ORCA, and grown tired of the long hours and constant battle of our little enterprise, a sudden decision came upon us. Let’s sell the business, buy a boat, and go cruising. Timing was not good but Patent Scaffolding wanted our inventory and portfolio of patents. They took us off the hook at the bank, paid enough so that our investors got out okay. We had to stick around for a while, and sign a five year non-compete agreement, but after that we were free! The decision to sell at a low point of the business cycle had not been easy. But we were young, and had ideas of what we wanted to do next. Although our financial return from this foray had not been what we’d hoped, there was one significant asset we did receive. Survival in the construction industry required me to chase the details, be anal about every aspect of whatever I was involved in, and to question everything. (Linda already had the details obsession skill locked in. ) This would serve us well in our future endeavors.

For going cruising, we thought about building a 60’ version of Beowulf VI, but quickly realized we wanted something that would recover from a capsize, i.e a monohull sailboat. We talked to Bill Lee and paid him a small fee to do the preliminary design of a 12′ x 60’ monohull. Fortunately we came to understand that our prior racing experience did not mean we were qualified to make the right decisions, and we stopped in time.

Good fortune lead us to Intermezzo, a Bill Tripp designed racer/cruiser, that had been custom built by Columbia Yachts. This was her original owner’s second C50 and it showed. She had 24 bags of sails, was loaded with electronics, and had a market value of roughly three times our budget. But her current owner had a problem, he had a margin call, needed cash within a couple of days, and was willing to accept our offer. We called two people to see what they thought about Intermezzo. First was Swede Johnson. Swede had helped design the rig for the original owner, and had sailed aboard. He confirmed she had been raced hard. Second was John Rousmaniere. Both Linda and I vividly remember looking at this enormous yacht with John from her dock behind a home on Newport’s Linda Isle, wondering how we’d ever handle such a beast (in those days 35 feet was considered the right size for us). John calmly stated the obvious–we did not have to use all that sail area. We could sail reefed down and still be quick. We arranged for a haul-out at Newport Harbor Shipyard two days hence, surveyed her ourselves, and five days after our initial viewing she was ours.

We were aware that the CCA waterline rule-influenced design was sub optimal, but we could afford her, and she got us away with minimal investment.

Our first trip to exotic Catalina was a big hit, except for a little seasickness. We quickly learned that the 160% overlapping genoa was not going to make the grade, and that we really did not need five spinnakers, three mainsails, and a host of big jibs.

Our comfort, boat speed, and safety were all constrained by the crankiness of the long overhangs and unbalanced hull lines that were part of racing rule formula. In short, it was steering control limitations which set the parameters for everything else.

Mind you we were not complaining. We were out in the South Pacific cruising, living everyone else’s dream.

Even if the engine was located beneath our feet in the salon, or the hull pitched uncomfortably upwind, had almost no ventilation, 24 through-hull penetrations any of which could have sunk us, and no lightning grounding protection, we were cruising. This boat was a leaner, the slightest puff and she’d be on her ear. She pitched badly uphill and had one speed to weather–full on. Her one virtue was light air speed, she was quick then compared to our neighbors. We partook in numerous unofficial “races” and a few real ones. With one exception, our anchor to anchor time was never beaten in any passage.

In those early days we relied on celestial navigation, which was great when you could get sights, but it was often overcast. We quickly learned that high speed reduced navigation risks from current and drift.

Two close calls with reefs taught us another lesson: a comfortable watch-standing position with good sight lines was essential in these waters. The first near miss occurred at the end of a rough passage from Bora Bora to Suvarov Island. We’d been without a celestial fix for several days, relying on advancing single lines of position from sun shots. We were within an hour of giving up on finding this difficult landfall and heading due north for a day to make 100% certain we had cleared the surrounding reefs, when a faint smudge appeared ahead along with a slight change in the color of the cloud bottoms. The pass into this low lying atoll was dead ahead. The working jib was poled out to port, the main to starboard. The pole foreguy and main boom preventer went to the bow docking cleats.

I had been on watch worrying for five hours. Relieved, I started below for a late breakfast. Then, for some reason decided to wait a bit longer. Two minutes later I was staring at the barrier reef between us and the pass. We were well south of where my running sun fixes had indicated. We jibed over, reached along the reef edge to the pass and entered the lagoon. It had been a close call.

In Tonga we rigged the foreguys and main boom preventers so they came aft to the cockpit.

The passage between Tonga and Fiji still not easy today. In those days it was downright dangerous. Midway you had to thread your way through several groups of open ocean reefs and islands. Shortly after departing Vavau an overcast had rolled in, and we’d not had a single celestial observation in the ensuing days. The full moon spread enough light through the clouds that I could see the waves breaking on Horseshoe Reef. We had been set 60 miles north of our assumed position. The combination of a watch on deck to keep an eye forward and the control lines lead aft enabled us to escape. Linda and I vowed from then on we would always have someone standing watch on deck in potentially dangerous waters.

Lest you think we were living in extreme discomfort by the standards of the day, it was just the opposite. Before leaving Southern California we’d hired a local boat builder, Lou Varalay, to help us make some changes. The forward port side pilot berth was removed to create a better lounging area, and a niche forward and outboard for our radio gear.

The kids slept in the starboard pilot berths.

And the parents were forward in a queen-sized bunk that had formerly had been pipe berths and sail storage.

In New Zealand we decked over the big cockpit, a vulnerability we wanted to be rid of, and created a double cabin for the kids.

Nothing else we’d seen since leaving Southern California was sufficiently alluring to get us to quit cruising long enough to get into a boat design and build cycle.

Then one afternoon in Auckland’s Westhaven marina, everything changed. Our neighbor on the adjacent end tie to the east invited us to go for a sail. Bernie Schmidt, like many Kiwis of that era, had designed and built Innismara himself. She was 60′ long overall, gave away little to overhangs, had a ten foot beam and little freeboard. In some ways she reminded us of Beowulf VI. Innismara looked huge compared to our diminutive Intermezzo, but as we charged down the harbor at ten knots, with just the main and boomed staysail, it was apparent that she would not be that hard to handle. Innismara’s balanced lines, the result of her long skinny hull, made her a delight to sail with virtually no weather helm, even though we had the full main up.

We started kicking ideas back and forth. What if we got rid of the trunk cabin and made her flush deck, and then added just a touch of beam? We would have a large interior, we’d be fast, and the kids would each have their own stateroom. Rather than fill up the hull with stuff we could leave the forward quarter open and stow sails and ground tackle there. We could leave the aft quarter empty (the aft engine room idea had not yet come into being), and keep the interior to just the center where it was easy to build and motion was minimized.

Our friends from the cruising fleet, Jim and Cheryl Schmidt, were enthusiastic as they joined in on our dream sessions. My dad became enamored too, and before long we were hard at work on the first of the Deerfoot Series–not that we ever thought there would be more than three boats.

Now a psychological digression. We cruised uninsured–almost everybody did in those days. Intermezzo represented our house capital. There had been 24 through hull fittings. She had no watertight bulkheads, huge cockpit locker hatches opening to the interior, and no lightning bonding system. In those days, one out of ten yachts crossing the South Pacific ended up on a reef. We had several very close calls. On the other hand, Jim and Cheryl were cruising on a steel plated yacht with five watertight bulkheads. You can see where this is going. The combination of these experiences formed our design and construction philosophy.

The 68′ Deerfoot was the first afloat. She was 14′ wide, drew eight feet, and had a somewhat larger trunk cabin than Innismara. A mistake in the early design calculations by Doug Petersen, who drew the lines, had Deerfoot with her longitudinal center of gravity too far forward for the hull already constructed.

Although we did not recognize it at first, the solution turned out to be moving the engine all the way aft from the traditional position under the salon floor. The benefits of this approach were so great that almost all of our yachts have been done this way since.

Jim and Cheryl’s Wakaroa was next. With her flush deck configuration she was closer to our ideal, offered more usable interior volume, and a somewhat higher, dryer deck, that had benefits in terms of the inverted stability curve.

Wakaroa would average an easy 9.5-10 knots when reaching and would do even better with the kites up.

These photos don’t begin to do the interior justice.

At sea, if necessary, you could live between galley and adjacent dinette, and nav station…

…with its highly functional layout…

and a pair of aft cabins, with your body constrained from falling. After that, a couple of steps and you were in the cockpit.

Back in time to New Zealand, and we and the Schmidts tarried a bit that fall before departing for New Caledonia. The beautiful Indian summer held us captive. The warmth and quiet, not to mention the delicious steamer clams nearby, made us linger a couple of extra days. When we both left Whangaroa harbor it was into a light breeze and calm sea. The Schmidts powered over the horizon in their 70′ WinSon while we waited for the breeze. The next day, the center of high pressure that had given us such a glorious few days had been replaced by the back side of the high with a cold front compressing in. It was blowing hard, on the nose, and we had one of the worst passages imaginable. Everything was wet.

Formalities having been completed with the Gendarmes in Noumea, and after consuming the requisite fresh baguettes, cheese, and of course ice cream, we set about to dry the boat out, rinse bedding, and try and remove salt water from bunk cushions.

Med moored alongside was a flush deck 50′ steel cutter, with a final leg across the Tasman left to complete their circumnavigation. Commenting on our laundry hanging around on deck I made an innocuous statement to the extent that all boats leak at sea. “Not if they are metal and you don’t drill holes in them,” came the response.

We don’t seem to have any Noumea photos around but the shot above is Sarah working while we were anchored near Havana Pass.

Havana Pass took us to the Loyalty Islands just north of New Caledonia.

And then on to the New Hebrides…

…Solomon Islands, and New Guinea.

In those days this was a fascinating area, still amazingly remote, and the locals were as curious about us as we were about them.

While on passage to Santo in what is now called Vanuatu, we were sailing downwind in broad daylight, keeping watch forward, reading a new book by Henry Kissinger, when the water color suddenly changed from blue to green to white in less than a minute. By the time we had grabbed control of the steering from the wind vane, we were amongst the stag coral. Intermezzo still had momentum, and we turned onto a close reach so that she would reduce her draft by heeling over. Linda came racing up on deck, took the helm, and I climbed to the lower spreaders to try to find a way clear. There was simply no path out that did not involve breaking through coral. We maintained sufficient speed to force our way through. Finally free, we stopped for a moment to catch our breath, check the boat, and detour around this area of shallow water.

When we finally reached Santo, we learned that the ocean floor had lifted in this area a few years earlier, the result of a major earthquake. Aside from our shaken psyche, Intermezzo was basically okay.

During our stay in Melanesia, the ferro-cement ketch Heart of Edna made a mistake in the Louisiade Island group off eastern New Guinea and found herself permanently stuck on a barrier reef. Friends on the steel Australian ketch Makaretu headed off to help with the salvage operation. Sadly, the hull was a total write-off but they were able to remove the rig, hardware, and engine, and along with John and Jan Nichols brought the lot back to Australia.

We were getting periodic updates via ham radio from Makaretu and when it was all over I asked our friend Brian what lessons he’d taken from the situation. “Have a metal boat,” was his reply.

From New Guinea you traverse the Torres Straights to Australia’s Darwin, with its 20’+ tides. Big tides make using grids for maintenance a possibility, which offers all sorts of advantages to serious cruisers. So “gridability” was added to the desired hull characteristics list.

A month-long stop in Bali, Indonesia, and we were ready for the ocean once again.

Crossing the Indian Ocean, particularly in the southern trade winds, is not for the faint of heart. The trades are typically boisterous–30 to 35 knots from the SE with a crossing SW swell.

The hops are long, Christmas Island is the first stop with an open roadstead. Next comes the atoll Cocos Keeling.

The anchorage in the lee of Direction Island is a welcome respite, if surprisingly crowded.

The social scene on the beach is busy. It is not easy to leave an anchorage like this when you know it is going to be rough on the next leg, but the hurricane season in the western region of the Indian Ocean is not to be trifled with, so we were forced to move on quickly.

On long passages Linda maintained the school routine, allowing the kids to have more free time when we were at anchor.

School was in session in spite of the sea state.

It was a good thing too as Rodrigues, the next stop, was a fascinating little island, with caves to explore, and interesting folks ashore with whom to mingle.

The harbor was tiny. The entrance pass, blasted out of solid reef limestone, was not much wider than our 12-foot beam.

At sea again after a short stay, school was back in session. And our tradition of reading stories aloud continued.

Long term cruising revolves around a floating, ever changing social scene. Seasonal weather patterns herd you into groups that tend to migrate together. You might go different ways for half the year, but eventually boats in your group tend to end up in certain locations. Mauritius is one of those. When children enter the equation the groupings tend to be even tighter. This eight-foot dinghy is carrying a cargo of Elyse and Sarah, Tara and Eric Naranjo, Veronica Hast, and young Vinaka with his dad John Wishnovick at the helm.

In Mauritius we met Yves Betuel, a local sailor who ran the Taylor Smith Shipyard. We needed to do some welding on our spreader brackets, and as Yves took us across the boat yard to his welding shop I noticed they were constructing a tug and some barges. That immediately got us thinking and we asked Yves if they might be interested in quoting on a steel version of our dream boat. The idea was to get the basic hull finished, rig it, and sail back to New Zealand for the interior.

Yves gave us an attractive quotation and then told us that as the steel had to come from South Africa we would get a better overall price there.

The 1,500 nautical mile passage between Mauritius and Durban, South Africa is one of the roughest in any circumnavigation. You are heading west into a collission with the prevailing weather systems that move east, there are the shoals that influence the sea state as much as 200 miles south of Madagascar, and then the infamous Agulhas current waiting at the end. Our trip was typical, with four gales and then a final black southwester into the current with continuously breaking seas. One yacht in our neighborhood was rolled over, and a second was severely knocked down. We had no problems other than our usual leaks.

In Durban, we became friends with a local accountant and asked him for advice about doing business in South Africa. When he heard our goals he suggested we apply to the Reserve bank for what was then known as Financial Rand, a discounted currency, used as an incentive for those starting export-oriented businesses.

Our application was approved and eventually we found a builder in Cape Town to do the metalwork. We also met a talented naval architect, Angelo Lavaranos, who did the basic design work for us on what became Intermezzo II.

The three dimensional rendering of Intermezzo II above first appeared in Sail Magazine. It was created by the late Steve Davis, a good friend, talented artist, and over the years an important sounding board for our ideas. Steve helped us to develop our ideas, and he also did the artwork for almost all of our books.

Our concept of the perfect cruising yacht had evolved further. Nirvana now lay in metal, with aluminum preferred over steel. Shallow draft, no more than 5.5′ was next. This was not only to expand our potential cruising area, but to reduce the risk of unexpected groundings. Aft engine room, separate forepeak, with isolating watertight bulkheads were all non-negotiable.

Discussing the hull lines with Angelo we both wanted to do away with overhangs. However, re-sale considerations at that point dictated that we have at least short overhangs. Even so, the hull shape was considered radical when launched.

In order for us to pay for a new boat we needed to sell Intermezzo. We had just enough set aside to get the metal work started, and although we had other assets, these were in the form of real estate and we did not want to touch those investments. We advised the hull builders that they might have to stop work if we were delayed in finding a buyer. We were within a week of making that call when a new owner for Intermezzo came along.

It’s funny how some people keep cropping up at important points in our lives. Once again here was John Rousmaniere. John had asked us to write our very first article in 1975 for Yachting. He’d encouraged us to continue writing while cruising. While we were living in Fort Lauderdale waiting for Intermezzo to sell John had introduced us to Eric Swensen at W.W. Norton, John’s own publisher. This resulted in us writing our first book, Circumnavigators’ Handbook.

When we had begun our cruising life, although I had grown up afloat, and by the time we bought Intermezzo we were both competent sailors, as mentioned earlier we did not have a clue about the real world of long distance cruising. The same would be said for 99% of the “experts” with whom we’d had dialogue. The learning curve was steep. Just a few examples: our boot stripe was too low, we did not have a single fan aboard and it took multiple hours a day on our little diesel engine to keep the tiny fridge and freezer cool. But by the time we’d arrived in Fort Lauderdale we did know something on this subject. Circumnavigators’ Handbook was our attempt at passing what we had learned to others at the beginning of their own learning curve. The book was a success in the marine context. We received a small advance, which covered the cost of the second typewriter we needed to purchase, along with a stack of photography expenses. When the Dolphin Book of the Month Club subsidiary picked our book up as a monthly selection we received a few hundred dollars more.

In those days our cost of life afloat was modest. Living on a yacht sounds expensive but if you mainly anchor out, stay ahead of maintenance issues, and do most of your own work aboard this is a very frugal lifestyle. Our real estate investments were not yet cash flowing, so working as freelancers, writing about sailing, provided us with most of our cruising kitty.

We worked with several talented editors at various sailing magazines. The one who taught us the most was Patience Wales at Sail. A story Linda had written for Patience about cruising with children turned a light on for us. When the story appeared in print, it was somehow different, stronger, more descriptive. We could not figure out what had been done. Patience kindly allowed us to see her edit. We were surprised by what we found, to say the least.

By moving just a few words around, changing tenses, and making a few minor edits she’d made a huge difference. Showing us how’d she done it was a wonderful writing lesson for us.

Returning now to Cape Town, we made arrangements with a local boat yard to rent their facility and hire their crew directly. This allowed us complete control. These local workers had good work habits and a reasonable degree of skill, and in the end this project turned out to be the most efficient we’ve ever done.

The social and political situation in South Africa was rapidly changing while we were there, and we were able to have our traditional launching party for the boat builders and their families at the Royal Cape Yacht Club, a first for everyone in the area.

Both Deerfoot and Intermezzo II were fitted out with short swim steps.

The primary purpose of these was to make it possible to climb back on to the boat if somebody fell overboard, otherwise impossible due to high freeboard. Once we began to use swim steps it quickly became apparent that they had many other benefits and their size began to increase.

The halyards and reefing lines were led to the cockpit, and the mainsail trim angle, until the true wind was almost abeam, was controlled with a full width traveler. We had a single primary winch aft of the helm, and two secondaries at the end of the cockpit coamings reachable from the wheel. The mainsail had a full length upper batten, and we had hank-on headsails.

Intermezzo II was the first of our boats to have hull windows.

The mast was well forward for a cutter rig and the boom purposely did not overhang the cockpit. This allowed us to have a lower boom which had numerous advantages: easier to attach the halyard, remove the sail cover, furl the sail, a lower center of gravity and more sail area with a lower center of effort. The negative is that if you are in the way of a jibe you are going to get punched in the gut. But would you rather be hit in the head with a higher boom?

Four large deck hatches gave us lots of light and ventilation in the great room.

The flush deck layout gave us 13′ of interior beam and 14′ of length into which we could fit galley, office, and salon, the great room. Wakaroa used the same great room approach. It worked so well that it became the standard for most of our projects.

We decided to fit twin headstays so we could fly two jibs at one time. What we failed to understand until it was too late is that twin stays split the headstay tension, so each has significantly more sag then if a single headstay was used. We never did this again.

Our shakedown cruise was a 6,000 nautical mile 30-day passage to Antigua in the West Indies (with a short stop at St. Helena). We had done the same trip the previous year in little Intermezzo with no stops in 37 days. This passage had been normal for us in that it was unpleasant, or at least wasn’t great fun, it was just something that had to be done to get where we’re going. In contrast, the second passage was extremely comfortable in similar conditions.

The free-wheeling charging prop was a technical success. Coupled with a low rpm-optimized alternator, under sail it generated more power than we could use.

Intermezzo II performed beautifully, she was easily steered, tracked well, and when the autopilot failed with 1,000 miles to go little Sarah could take a turn at the helm and keep her on course without difficulty. Overall she was much easier to sail than had been the case with our previous boat.

We decided to take a year and see if we could make a business out of this. At the Annapolis boat show there were long lines waiting to see the boat, and we were the focus of feature stories in all the major magazines. But our radical-looking flush deck configuration, coupled with no exterior teak and a very light and open interior, was a bit too much for the marketplace at the time.

After the show Linda flew back to Fort Lauderdale, where Elyse and Sarah were being looked after by my Mom, who had come in to allow us some time to work the show. Some old friends from our days in the Malibu Yacht Club had come by at the show and offered to crew. Sean and Lorraine Holland were about to get the ride of their lives. Shortly after departure from Norfolk at the bottom of the Chesapeake Bay, our favorable northeast breeze turned into a true nor’easter, literally a survival storm which took two yachts to their graves. You can read about this in detail in Surviving the Storm, or by clicking here.

Sean snapped the above photo after we’d rounded Cape Hatteras and things had calmed down.

What saved us was the fact that, once heeled past 35 degrees, the keel and rudder would begin to lose their grip and Intermezzo II would slip to leeward. The more she heeled the faster she slipped. When we got knocked down by a breaking sea it was this slip factor that allowed us to dissipate the wave energy before we flattened or worse. The effect is similar to what happens when you raise the centerboard of a dinghy in boisterous weather, or lift the leeward board in a catamaran. Wherever possible thereafter skid factor became a bottom-line criteria.

During this period, a sistership was built in Cape Town, and although we were ecstatic with Intermezzo II, 62-2 had six pages of fine-tuning notes incorporated in her build. Which brings us to an observational process comment. If you are a multi-project type personality, already thinking about the next while the current is not yet fulfilled, the time to make your notes about what you would change in the future is at the beginning of your relationship at sea with the new boat. Details you don’t like, mistakes, fine-tuning, issues which are now apparent but were hidden earlier, should all be noted. As you grow accustomed to your new ride, many of these next-boat refinements will fade from consciousness and be lost.

Over the years several experiences have lead us to Eureka moments. One of these occurred on the last leg of our circumnavigation when we stopped in Cabo San Lucas to break up the trip and top off the fuel tanks. Diesel was 13 cents per gallon. The combination of a quiet, reliable engine and an aft engine room made powering much more pleasant than what we were used to. Add in the cheap fuel and it was apparent that the trip ahead of us would be more comfortable, faster, and much less costly burning diesel than exposing rig and sails to the upwind passage.

This visit to Cabo coincided with the aftermath of a weather system that had pushed numerous yachts onto the shore of the exposed anchorage.

While several mistakes were made that lead to this mass calamity, it underscored that bad things will occur, and folks do commit operator error (ourselves included). This reinforced our ideas about building in extra factors of safety for inevitable screw-ups. As the years have passed, we have grown even more conservative in concert with how much we’ve seen and experienced.

On the way up the coast the two of us discussed what we’d seen at Cabo. We just could not get the image of those stranded yachts out of our minds. By the time we’d reached the US/Mexico border we had a new book outlined. This would become Bluewater Handbook.

We completed our circumnavigation, crossing our outward bound track off Southern California, and stopped in San Diego to clear Customs. The plan was to sell the boat, buy a house, and get into the business of turning around sick companies.

It was during this timeframe that the single-handed around-the-world race changed to a 60-foot length overall rule and did away with handicaps. Suddenly, there were lots of yachts in the magazines that looked somewhat like us, and the telephone started to ring.

The day after clearing in, a former heavy weather crew from the Beowulf V days called about his dream boat. We had nothing yet lined up so agreed to do a big surfboard. The owner’s comment was that he did not care about cruising the boat to weather – the crew would do that – he just wanted to surf, fast.

There is a trade-off in design characteristics required for upwind as opposed to downwind sailing. Upwind you want a narrow entry to get through the waves. Downwind the optimum is flatter, more easily steered. Locura was really flat, and could be helmed with two fingers at speed with two big kites set. But you paid a comfort penalty uphill.

Her interior layout was similar to Wakaroa and Intermezzo II. At last count Locura had made two circumnavigations with over 62,000 nm in her wake, so the concept must have had some merit. This was the only time we’ve sold a design package. Aside from a few early consulting jobs we realized that we prefer to control the end product.

For the past year we had been writing a monthly column for Motor Boating & Sailing, which was owned by the Hearst Publishing Group. Hearst has a marine book division and we discussed our outline for the new book. This time around we were going to try self-publishing, and eventually Hearst agreed to represent us to the bookstore trade.

John Rousmaniere stepped in once again and introduced us to Spencer Smith and Nancy Donaldson, who ran the Dolphin Book Club. They liked what we’d put together and made it their monthly selection. We knew nothing of printing and binding, and asked Spencer if he had some suggestions. Normally Dolphin Book Club paid a small fee to the publisher and then piggybacked the publisher’s run. In this case they did the first run, showing us how it was done, and we piggybacked them.

The Deerfoot 2-62s were our first series build, four of which were built in Finland by Scandi Yachts. Moonshadow, the 2-62-1, is shown above during the initial ARC race 35 years ago (in which she was first to finish).

After almost 15,000 miles with Intermezzo II, the 2-62 represented what we thought was our next perfect yacht. Her lines had a shorter overhang and were a touch flatter forward and aft, while the volume in the ends was increased compared to the first 62s. We thought we could get better surfing and upwind performance this way, steer more easily, and not pay a comfort penalty. Part of this hull shape evolution was a narrower forward entry angle that was also a touch deeper. The negative was a little extra wetted surface.

The deck layout was totally different and featured a large center cockpit for watch standing…

…with the sailing cockpit aft. This forced the crew to traverse the bridge deck going aft, which we did not like, but provided the basis for a different interior layout and the revised hull shape.

The engine room was under the center cockpit with a long galley adjacent.

There are points in favor and against this approach. One of the biggest benefits was a long galley with excellent storage, and furniture that constrains your body at sea. But the key for us was in the aft end. Eliminating direct access to the aft cockpit got rid of a two-foot wide hallway between the aft cabins. This beam could be used to add volume to the cabins or reduce hull width. The latter made for a more balanced hull shape and better steering.

With the Cabo incident fresh in our minds, the hull laminate was specified with an extra 1/2″ thickness of 24-ounce woven roving to protect the turn of the bilge from puncture, the grinding zone when aground. The keel support structure was heavily reinforced, there were added laminates in the bow for collisions, and of course forward and aft watertight bulkheads.

Moonshadow tested these features twice (that we know of). The first time was by t-boning a reef in the Tuamotus, spending a week ashore before being towed off. The second was by intimate contact with a coral head (which dented the keel).

Moonshadow has seen over 100,000 nm flow beneath her hull over the years.

To get to Nykarleby, Finland we had to pass through Copenhagen, Denmark. During this period Ulf Rogeberg was working for us, doing both design work and acting as interface with Scandi Yachts between our visits. Ulf introduced us to Paul and Sven Øeland, who had a shop doing nice metalwork. Then we met the Walsted family in Svenborg. This was during the Reagan strong dollar era, and seemed like a winning combination.

Which lead to a series of  three 72′ (+)  motorsailors.

Motorsailors typically don’t power or sail very well. But we thought we had the answer to this. Use a long, modest beam (okay skinny) hull shape, and fit an oversized feathering Maxi prop. Deerfoot II and Interlude were 14.5′ wide while Maya had another foot of beam.

The swim step was extended.

And the aft cockpit (Sarah above, driving Deerfoot II) and the midships galley arrangement of the 2-62s was maintained.

Now a word on beam. There are many forces driving yacht design, among the strongest of which is the desire for interior space. In this regard, more important to the actual beam of the vessel is what is left over – physically and visually – after structure and interior cabinets are deducted from the gross hull volume.

This Deerfoot Series of “MotorSailors” will give you an idea of what is possible. The next photos are of a 30-year-old yacht.

“Chairs” like these look nice, and work well for entertaining. But when combined with the cool-looking circular settee and table opposite, leaves nowhere to sleep in the main salon.

Another driver of this design was the desire for an enclosed pilot house.

Maya’s, above.

And Interlude.

A small but important detail are these dropdown panels into the galley.

A night shot of Maya’s salon. The round item in the bulkhead is an etched crystal edge lit object d’art. The door panels are high tech soji screens.

Our typical galleys were always narrow to hold you in place at sea. The preferred hip width was 24″/600mm. When there is a conflict between what works best at sea and in port, sea-going always wins.

XXXA cool,looking nav station with the main electrical panel overhead. Except there were a couple of problems. First, panel mounting electronics as is shown here for everything means you have a major problem any time you want to change gear. If you are going to panel mount, it is best to use a material that does not fde, and to make extra panels for future use at the same time you are making the first one.

The overhead electrical panel looks good, and is standard in aircraft, but on a yacht it is impossible to reach without standing, and it is not ready to read the labels. We never used this approach again

The interiors of most of the Deerfoot and Sundeer series were the work of Anne and Phil Harrill.

From the preceding you might think that these boats need crew, and in some situations that would be ideal. But with experience and conservative seamanship, they can be sailed by a couple. As an example we offer Interlude. She now has over 160,000 nm behind her and two circumnavigations, more than half of this with her present owners on their own.

Interlude and Moonshadow anchored in Graciosa Bay in the Canary Islands. These two yachts account for over a quarter of a million sea miles between them, almost all of which has been done doubled handed.

Our business model for these projects was a little different than the norm. We supplied our builders with almost all material except for metals, wood, and paint products. Shipments of anything other than batteries and engines came to our house in Ojai, where the garage was both warehouse and staging area. One of the bedrooms was my design office, and another was Linda’s where she did the accounting, research, kept the project notebooks, and followed up with vendors. The telex machine, eventually fax, and big plotter resided in the den. I tried to be in each boatyard every sixty days. It was a compact highly efficient business. Looking back I am not sure how we managed to make this happen.

In 1983 we had become aware that George Hazen had put together a suite of software called FastYacht. This included a performance prediction module, keel, rudder, and rig design, and B-spline based 3D hull modeling. This ran on a HP 9816 work station. We had been using George’s analysis services for several years and the ability to use this package for in-house parametric analysis was too much temptation to resist.

In the olden days Linda and I would come up with an initial layout, we’d do a specification and a weight budget, and then have someone do a couple of very preliminary sets of lines. We would eyeball these, think about the various coefficients we thought we wanted, and then went back to the lines drafter to give them a final set of parameters. With 250 or so hours now invested in a hull shape and offset table, everything was thereafter made to fit. The final lead center of gravity wasn’t done until well into the build cycle. Any trimming lead was added after launching.

The Deerfoot 61, two of which we built in New Zealand, was our first project with this new software system. We now had the tools to study all sorts of combinations of rig, hull shape, fins, and stability. Those very simple performance predictions would each take several hours to run. Lines drawing and producing offsets was much faster and we could bring this in house, but overall the time we spent on overall design went up threefold. We would do a preliminary base hull, and then try and come up with something that tested better on the computer. The raw data had to be checked carefully to try and avoid anomalies that might have skewed the outcome. And we had to visualize how the shape would handle at sea.

Sidebar: A little history on the development of Performance predictions programs and CAD marine design tools.

Steve Davis introduced us to George Hazen’s work. After a brief chat with George and Bruce Hays we recognized that the FastYacht suite of tools had the power to significantly help in our quest for the perfect yacht. The $20,000 investment in their software and hardware was substantial, but we thought the benefits made it worthwhile.

Thirty plus years have passed since we began working with George and Bruce. They are still at it. The latest versions of Orca 3D software include some incredibly cool capabilities, things we could not even dream about years ago. It’s almost enough to tempt us back into designing a new boat for ourselves.

As we were writing the comments above we decided to check a few details with George and Bruce about the olden days. If you are into yachting history, there is some interesting information here.

From Bruce Hays:

“The FastYacht hull design software eventually became FastShip. Later we developed the RhinoMarine plug-in for Rhino, based on FastShip. After leaving that company, we developed Orca3D, which George, Larry, and I now own, and which traces its roots directly back to Fast Yacht on the HP 9816 (with the Motorola 68000 processor). In some senses we have come full circle.

Steve Davis was an important customer for the digitizing and viewing software (some of which found its way into the hull design software).”

From Nick Danese:

“Bruce Farr was the first FastYacht customer.  I was hired in October 1983 mostly to operate the HP 9816 7” monochrome green screen on which we ran the VPP and to help with appendage hydros and composite structures. We did not use the FY hull modeler because we could not overlay existing body plans (other curves would have been meaningless due to the size of the screen).

We used a digitizing pad, the 9816 ran off a 256k floppy disc (no hard disc) that we had to swap out to load the OS, then the software, then the data, etc. in various sequences depending on what we were doing. A few months later we acquired a double floppy drive, and a few months after that floppies grew to 512 k and double-sided.  There was no mouse but the keyboard had a wheel that allowed you to scroll along the line. There was no manual and I was on the phone to George often during the first two weeks or so.

A VPP took 45 minutes or so to run, sometimes longer if the solution would not converge in a well-behaved manner.

The Whitbread Round the World Race trio of USB Switzerland, Atlantic Privateer and Lion New Zealand Enterprise were the first yachts designed using the FastYacht VPP and a home-made RTW normalized statistical course based on Ceramco New Zealand’s log (by Geoff Stagg, by now the Farr office’s racing rep and sales person) and Admiralty Charts, developed by yours truly.

Every subsequent Farr yacht, including America’s Cup ones, were grown through the Fast Yacht VPP.

Some 35 years later i am still working with Bruce, George and, now, Larry  :-).

Bruce Hays:

I think you are close on the price, but it depended on whether you included things like the E-size pen plotter (which I recall added $8k-$10k to the price).”“I think Nick’s recollection of the time to run a VPP is pretty close; when I was moonlighting for George, I would go straight to his office from work, get instructions on what needed to be run before he left, and then do the setup and digitizing to get the run started. Then I’d go home and eat dinner, before coming back to do all of the output (polar plots, stability curve, tables of data, and cover sheet).”

George Hazen:

“What a rush to read everyone’s recollections of those early days after I moved my business in town to 222 Severn Avenue, not far from Bruce Farr’s design office in 1981. To be clear, the VPP pre-dated the hull design software by about five years–I originally offered it as a consulting service. This was my principle source of income after leaving C&C in 1979 to 1983 when we first released FastYacht to the public during that year’s Annapolis Boat Show. As you noted, that first release included not only the VPP (I believe we called it a PPP, or Performance Prediction Program), but also modules to help with the design of keels, rudders, spar and rigging sizing, and of course, hull design and fairing. During the nine months or so prior to that first release of the software to the public, Steve Killing was working full-time for me, and among other things was responsible for the name FastYacht and our logo with the sailboat emerging from the stylized HP9816’s computer screen. We had been colleagues at C&C and had recently co-authored a paper for the CSYS on the use of computers in yacht design.

Your recollections about the origin of the VPP were pretty close. It was indeed the subject of my Master’s Thesis at MIT, though I did the work for Jake Kerwin, and not Jerry Milgram. (At the time I was getting my Master’s Jerry was on sabbatical at Harvard studying the fluid dynamics of blood flow I believe.) I paid for my studies at MIT by being an RA on the project that lead to the creation of the IMS Handicapping Rule. Originally, the sponsor was NAYRU (later USYRU), and eventually it was named after H. Irving Pratt, who was a driving political force behind the scenes.

The theoretical underpinnings of the B-Spline-based hull design program goes back to those days as I read all I could about 3D surface modeling in the MIT engineering library. The nine month programming effort that culminated in that first release of FastYacht was perhaps the most productive and creative period in my life, as nearly seven years of research on surface modeling (including three years at a drafting table at C&C) was manifest as computer code. It was a perfect convergence of enabling/affordable computer power, underlying mathematics, and pent up desire. Remarkably, two other individuals on different continents were simultaneously pursuing their versions of similar hull design software packages: Andy Mason in Australia and Marc Pommelet (sp?) in France; MacSurf and Circe3D respectively. Not sure which one of us was first to market, but we all referred to work done by Prof. Dave Rogers at the US Naval Academy. I first learned of their efforts after we released our software in the fall of 1983 when Dave came to our open house.

As to who was the first FastYacht customer, I honestly don’t recall (sad isn’t it), but I do know that you were among the very first to purchase the suite. Bruce Farr had originally used me to run his VPP simulations, but had acquired just the VPP code with its pre- and post-processing components prior to that first release of FastYacht in the fall of 1983. BTW, both Bruce and I moved our businesses to Eastport at nearly the same time. He bought the rest of the FastYacht suite sometime later and we continued to collaborate over the years prior to his retirement. I do recall that despite all of my work with sailboats over the years leading up to the creation of FastYacht, the first hull to be faired with the tool was done as a consulting job for a former C&C colleague, Bruce Kelly, on a large powerboat he was developing. Go figure… It turned out that powerboat hulls and chines were equally well modeled as all of the sailboat hulls I had created. Indeed, you may recall that the original software had (what we would not call) a design wizard – with a very few clicks the user could create an IOR style sailboat that bore a passing resemblance to the then very hot Ron Holland racer, Imp. I have often wondered how many boats were built from that wizard.

As for the Steve Davis connection, that started with an introduction from a printer here in town, George Shenk, who was familiar with Steve’s work. Initially, I would digitize and render 3D wire frame perspective lines and interiors for Steve, but after he left Annapolis and moved out west to Port Townsend, he eventually bought my old 9816 and a digitizing tablet with the software I used for doing the computer renderings. The code that I provided was never offered to anyone else as a standalone tool. The digitizing routines and rendering algorithms had previously found their way into FastYacht, Steve was a real artist, and over the years he used the wire frame perspectives that my software generated to make some truly gorgeous renderings of sailing and motor yachts, and even a few trucks!

By the late 1980s I had stopped personally doing the VPPs as a service, but Peter Schwenn who had joined Bruce and me at Design Systems and Services continued that service well into the 1990s, even after I sold DSS in 1994 to create Proteus Engineering. I recently was cleaning out many of my old job files from those early days and was struck by how many designers worldwide used our VPP: Bruce Farr, Bill Cook, German Frers, Doug Peterson, Bob Perry, Tony Castro, Ron Holland to name just a few. Even the USYRU VPP was derived from one at DSS after I shared the source code written in so-called Rocky Mountain Basic with USYRU. (They translated the code into FORTRAN). The America’s Cup and the US Navy played a big role in the evolution of the software. The name was changed to FastShip in large part because the Navy thought FastYacht was not suitable for the design of naval ships. The Navy funded the eventual rewrite of the code into C and its port to multiple operating systems. From that point forward we no longer had to sell the HP hardware that was required to run the earlier versions of the code. The version of FastShip was used by both sides of the competition between the so-called “Big Boat,” designed by Bruce Farr, and Dennis Connor’s Stars and Stripes catamaran. The software was even installed at the sailing venue in San Diego so that visitors could try their hands at yacht design.

I could, of course, go on for some time, because as the lyrics say ‘what a long strange trip it has been’, but those reflections are not really germane to your article.

So in closing, Steve, like you have done in so many other things in your career, I’d say you were ahead of the curve when you saw the promise of our newly released design suite in 1983. It has been a pleasure to work with you over the years and to follow your many interesting marine endeavors.”

A lovely set of fair lines emerged from this process. We still like this Deerfoot 61 after all these years.

The second DF61 had an extended swim step and eight-foot draft.

As cruisers go, she was easily driven by a small crew and very quick.

Shortly after sea trials the owner made a New Zealand-Peru direct trip, 4,000 nm in 20 days.

The extended swim step, free waterline when immersed, provided an excellent base for diving, getting in and out of dinghies. Add folding chairs….you can see there are lots of options.

This is a good point to chat about trade-offs of transom design. In a day sailor and most racing boats, you do not want an immersed transom at rest. The transom will usually depress with speed and heel. And in light airs this makes you slow. Racing-wise, an incorrectly shaped or trimmed transom could cost you three to five percent. You might as well stay home. In an engineless cruising yacht you need the light air capability. But our approach is a little different. At higher speeds and under power a slightly depressed stern is going to be faster and more stable. The mileage added with a five percent bonus at nine knots is a lot more than the same percentage in light airs at five knots.

Since modern yachts have engines, and it is normally much less costly to run the engine on a long passage in light stuff than the wear and tear on the rig and sails from slatting, why not drop the lines aft and pick up the performance?

There’s another major benefit at anchor. Annoying transom slap in busy harbors that occurs with most aft overhangs is eliminated. From the Deerfoot 61 on, all our sailing designs had immersed transoms.

For the interior we went back to the Intermezzo II layout.

The nav station/office shown here was typical of all our designs in those days.

We’d never intended to get this involved in the yachting business, and grew tired of the constant travel. So we told our European friends to begin looking for other work and announced retirement. It was time to go to work on our own boat.

The 68-foot Sundeer was next for us. She represented the culmination of what we had learned to date. Our goal was similar comfort and boat speed to the 72-footers, in a smaller package. And we wanted no more than six feet of draft. Sundeer‘s waterline beam was narrower in scale than the other boats, with a touch more topside flare, even shorter overhangs, and what others thought of as a very small keel, welded in place.And she carried more of her rig load on her rudder than any of our previous monohull designs.

The issue of cruising yacht keels, draft, weatherliness, windward helm, and rudders is obviously complex. Most “experts” agree that you need a certain percentage of the sail area in lateral surface below the waterline to offset the rig forces above. The real answer is more nuanced, and illustrates something we have learned over and over about fooling around with boats: careful analysis of the components of a given design conundrum will often yield superior results to only examining the whole. For example, even a cursory look at foil data will show you that in terms of favorable lift to drag relationships, adding surface area  to a foil by virtue of extending the chord length adds drag equal to or greater than any additional lift that is generated for a net loss overall. In other words, long, shallow keels are counterproductive.

Where shallow draft is a requirement there are many things that can be done to improve the upwind performance without resorting to movable appendages, which we prefer to avoid for maintenance reasons. Making the rig more efficient with higher effective aspect ratio is one of the biggest gainers. Flattening the midships hull section, so that you have a longer keel span for a given draft is another option. Careful detailing of the keel to hull intersection is yet another area where performance can be helped. Lowering the vertical center of gravity has a powerful impact on all of this. And sail shape, with adjustable draft, correct twist for the current wind shear, and sail-to-sail interaction have a major impact on all of this.

And then there is the rudder. Looking at the rudder and keel profiles of Sundeer will quickly illustrate that, in terms of efficiency, on a draft limited cruising yacht the rudder is a far better creator of lift than the keel. If your hull lines are balanced so that there is little change in trim (the position of the longitudinal center of buoyancy of the hull remains constant with heel) then the rudder only needs to provide steering thrust to change direction (and not waste its energy working to offset excess weather helm).

In which case, why not make the rudder a little bigger, set the keel a touch further forward, and have the rudder share some of the sailing load generated by the rig? This in turn allows for a smaller keel, or at least reduces the load on the keel. This is not a particularly new or revolutionary idea. The Wildcat catamaran that faced off with Rodney MacAlpineDowny’s Hellcat in the first Little America’s cup had the load split 60/40 between daggerboards and rudders. Beowulf IV,V, and VI also loaded their rudders. In a cruising context, this gave the added benefit of leaving you with a much larger rudder for maneuvering under sail or power in tight quarters.

Using the keel as a primary source of liquid storage, as we did with Wakaroa and the 62-footers built in Capetown and Finland, in addition to ballast, considerably changes this concept.

Sundeer was also the first bare aluminum hull we’d launched. After failing to convince previous clients to skip the topside and deck paint, once they saw Sundeer that was it. There were no subsequent aluminum builds with painted topsides.

Sundeer was launched in late 1987 and our first passage was New Zealand to Tahiti, with cyclone Bola sharing the ocean with us. Two days east of Auckland, in 25-knot trades, we had a steering system failure. We’d installed dual hydraulic autopilots connected to a single hydraulic ram. When the steering quit we were power reaching, Sundeer rounded up and proceeded to lay ahull and was rolling quite a bit in protest. We fitted the emergency tiller to the exposed rudder stock on the aft deck, secured the relieving tackles, and began to bear off when the emergency tiller collapsed at the inboard end. No steering, and a cyclone headed our direction from 500 miles away…

When we were storing tools and supplies prior to departure Jared Eaton, a longtime catamaran racing friend who was helping bring Sundeer back, showed me a messy looking plastic tub full of old plumbing parts. Mild steel, galvanized, bronze, stainless, and plastic were a confused mess. We were reluctant to bring this into our pristine engine room, but in the usual chaos before a first passage, it did not get tossed.

In the engine room now there was hydraulic fluid all over the bilge, a smelly, slippery mess. The wild motion, coupled with the smell, combined with Bola’s proximity had me fighting to avoid adding my semi-digested lunch to the mess in the bilge. It took half an hour before discovering that a plastic plug in the valve block had blown. A simple fix if we had the parts. Well we did not have the plug, but we did have a 1/4″ rusty mild steel nipple from Intermezzo and bronze valve from Intermezzo II in that messy tub of old parts.

Sundeer was the last boat we ever did with a single hydraulic system. Thereafter all our boats had twin independent pilots and hydraulic cylinders.

Whereas our design work prior to Sundeer was considered semi-radical by the establishment, it was really very conservative. Sundeer was radical, although you would not know it by outward appearances. Her hull ratios were totally different. Although built with our normally robust scantlings, the longer waterline dropped the displacement length ratios into ULDB territory. We thought we could get away with rounder hull sections to reduce wetted surface, drop the prismatic somewhat, fine up the ends, and still get a respectable turn of speed.

We would have used this design approach earlier, but we had a policy against experimenting on a client’s yacht, even if they urged us to push the boundaries. This was a form of self-preservation. If something went wrong and it was our own boat, nobody would be blamed and we’d have a chance to modify if required.

In fresh trades she would do 240-250 nm per day. And she was handy in light airs.

The insurance companies wanted what we felt was an exorbitant fee to cover us for the trip home. Rather than pay them, we took the insurance budget and bought ourselves a Furuno weather fax and Magnavox satellite navigator. Although this was early on in what became a compulsion to really understand weather, and long before the advent of weather routing software, we quickly found that the combination of Sundeer’s speed and the weather fax allowed us to make much better use of the weather patterns around us.

Towards the end of the passage back to California a winter storm showed up on the long range forecast. The breeze was light, so we put our motorsailing capability to work, pressing hard to get in before the blow arrived. This used fuel at a prodigious rate and the last four hours fuel was so low that we were using a sauce pan to bail out the last remnants from the aft diesel tank. This was transferred to a plastic fuel container and then dumped into the day tank.

We were almost within sight of Ventura Harbor when the last of the diesel gave out. Dave Wyman, a friend living in the Ventura Keys, offered to come out and tow us in or bring us some diesel, but there were catspaws sufficient for us to make our way under sail. Our dock was an end tie, with a downwind approach. We sailed downwind with main and mizzen, then smartly rounded up in the narrow channel (that oversized rudder carrying some of our sailing loads was wonderful in tight places), and dropped an aluminum kedge anchor. Sundeer drifted back, we tossed a stern line to Dave and Linda, and we warped ourselves onto the dock.

Elyse and Sarah were happily enmeshed in school and we did not want to disrupt their routine with a cruise. As a result Linda stayed at our Ojai, California land base and I was left to bring Sundeer back with Jared and a friend of his. The resulting interpersonal dynamics with the three of us was not positive, and I vowed never again to sail with other crew. Linda had hopelessly spoiled me to where there simply was no substitute for having her aboard at sea.

With balanced lines she would self-steer herself beating or reaching, under sail.

And she was sufficiently quick to sail circles around the much larger Deerfoot II, which gave us enormous pleasure.

Sundeer was the first of our yachts to have a traction battery bank in the bilge as part of the ballast system. She also was fitted with eight ARCO M55 solar panels. This allowed us to sit for a week or more without charging the batteries.

This huge battery bank was something new to our alternator suppliers, Electrodyne Company of Scarborough, Massachusetts. When the bank was discharged the alternators could not cope with the internal heat they generated. We burned up the first alternator on the dock at Salthouse in New Zealand. The second went while we were getting ready to drop the hook in Papeete, Tahiti. Two more were toasted by the time we arrived at Nuku Hiva in the Marquesas Islands, where fortunately there were spares waiting for our arrival.

Back in the states I was discussing the problems with Bob Sampson, who owned Electrodyne. Bob could not understand how we continued to burn up his alternators. They had these units in hundreds of emergency vehicles scattered all over the states.

That’s when I realized that he did not understand our huge traction battery banks. Bob’s alternators used pulse width modulation to cycle the alternator field current on and off. There was so much capacity with these enormous battery banks that rather than cycling on/off, the regulators went to full field, the field windings got hot, their insulation burned and then shorted out.

It took nine different prototypes before they found a combination of remote diodes, fans and heat sink that stood up. Thirty years later we are still using these same designs from Electrodyne.

Sundeer was also the first time we became shipmates with Will Hamm’s WH Autopilots. In those days he was the gold standard for autopilots for the commercial fishing fleet in the Pacific Northwest of the US. Will created an autopilot remote for us that also included the windlass and power winch controls. Most of his customers were commercial fishermen, with a few motor yachts thrown in on the side. As we got to know Will, and his pilots, we started educating him about our needs, which were considerably different from his demographic. When the breeze was fresh to strong, particularly downwind, Sundeer loved to be pressed, but you had to steer with alacrity when the waves got rolling. And the response rate of the pilot as it was, was too slow.

Will’s pilots used a magnetic compass with a magnetometer below it. This was much faster than the newly available fluxgate that others were using, but still too slow for us. We explained what was going on and he said “Give me a month. I have an idea.” That idea was to incorporate a rate sensing gyro into the system. These were available for multi-thousands of dollars for use in some form of missiles or other military devices. He managed to find a couple surplus. We could now press harder and as the conditions grew more boisterous we would increase pilot gain to have more rudder involved. This was limited by the autopilot’s ability to have sufficiently precise control to avoid S curving, which lead to another concept, “dynamic braking”. Will figured out a way to have his motor controllers reverse pulse the helm pump(s) at the end of a command to dynamically brake the rudder motion, thereby eliminating the normal hysteresis and allowing even better helming in strong conditions.

The last of Will’s inventions was something we dubbed storm control. If you were carving waves, having fun surfing downwind at high speed and steering by hand, there was a pattern to the waves and how you helmed to keep the boat surfing as long and fast as possible. You could emulate this technique with the autopilot by picking the proper course, and then adjusting the pilot gain back and forth. More gain as the boat started to accelerate, and then reduce as the bow began charging down the wave. Except it was hard to keep an eye on the boat and correctly adjust the gain.

Will’s simple solution was a “gain multiplier” button. Push the button and gain jumped by a preset amount. Release the button and gain went back to normal. For surfing and heavy weather this was a really big deal.

Will’s gear was so good that the steering wheel became an anachronism. We used the pilot for docking, sailing up and downwind, and even when carving waves with the remote control.

By the late 1980s W.W. Norton had sold out the last of their inventory of Circumnavigators’ Handbook and had elected not to reprint. As a result the rights to the title reverted to us. We decided to update, which in the fashion of all things related to boats became a much, much bigger project than originally intended. This was in the era before electronic publishing and we went through a traditional process of ordering type and then, using a waxer, laid out the pasteup in type and and half tones of black and white photos. The resulting new book was called Offshore Cruising Encyclopedia.

Once again Book of the Month Club made one of our books the monthly selection. However, retail sales were flat. It was looking like we’d have a garage full of inventory for a long time when suddenly a few envelopes with checks enclosed began to arrive. And then the orders started coming in. Some weeks there would be checks for 75-100 books. Linda, with the help of Elyse and Sarah, somehow managed to process all the orders, package the books, and get them into the mail.

In 1989 John Conser made a new Kevlar mainsail for Deerfoot II. An unfathomable mistake lead to a sail with way too much roach, several feet past the backstay. There was really nothing that could be done but we decided to go for a sail and see how it felt. The plan was to lower the sail each time we tacked or jibed. On the wind and close reaching this larger roached main, with that extra sail area up high in the stronger winds aloft, was not only faster but heeled less and reduced weather helm. Even better, we found that with six knots of breeze the main would blow past the backstay.

Tacking and jibing was enhanced by sewing on a thin layer of UHMW plastic over the battens and slipping a PVC pipe over the backstay. A tripping reef was added so the leech would clear when motorsailing.

The bad news was that Deerfoot II was now faster than Sundeer.

Sundeer with her original main and mizzen looked cool, but no longer had the required pace to maintain our standing within the family.

This was an unacceptable state of affairs and we were forced to follow suit with Sundeer. The new main and mizzen were faster, Sundeer was stiffer, and steering control was even better than it had been. Oh, and we were back to thumbing our nose at Deerfoot II.

One of the challenges that had been holding back the use of these powerful sails was the batten hardware. Capture at the outer end, attachment at the inboard end, adjustment, and slides moving easily up and down the mast were all issues. In spite of both John Conser’s and my long experience with fully battened sails neither of us had an idea of how to solve these problems in an offshore context. At John’s suggestion we called Russ Foster, an engineer in the San Francisco Bay area. We explained what we thought was needed to Russ. A few weeks later a prototype arrived, with a very simple clever solution to all the issues. Batten tension could be adjusted easily, and a variety of tracks and traveler cars could be used on the mast. In those days the best solution was Harken. Russ’s Battcar became widely used and he eventually sold the business. His hardware, and John’s roach error, formed the basis of our future sailing yacht designs.

Integrating the big fully battened mainsails from the start of a design had an impact on hull shape, comfort, boat speed, and draft.

The kids were now getting older and we were limited to local cruising in the summers. Hawaii one year…

…Sundeer anchored in Hanalei Bay above…

When Sarah, our youngest, went off to college, we rented the house out and went cruising for a year.

The summer of 1991, after Sarah’s freshman year at Wesleyan University, found us coasting along the inside passage in British Columbia in company with Deerfoot II. We were anchored together about forty miles north of Campbell River when, just before bedtime, we received a frantic yell from my stepmom Rita. My dad had begun to hemorrhage and we needed to get him to medical help ASAP. Sundeer being faster than Deerfoot II under power and more familiar to us, we decided to transfer my dad to our boat.

The waterways of British Columbia are littered with debris from natural causes and logging detritus. Logs damaging yachts are common, and pleasure boats simply do not run at night. To make matters more interesting, there is a bit of commercial traffic in the dark hours, and the navigation is far from simple.

Over the years Linda and I had developed a team-based approach to running our boats when on soundings. Linda did the navigation while I trimmed the sails and kept my eye out ahead. But now, in this very challenging environment, Linda was helping to take care of my dad and I was left to run radar and depth finder, watch for debris and traffic, and navigate. Canadian Coast Guard met us 12 miles north of Campbell River and we transferred my dad to their much faster vessel. They got him to the hospital, where the situation stabilized. He recovered fully and went on for another 22 years, although with his diet now restricting nut and seed intake. We pulled into Campbell River at 0200 and rafted up. Deerfoot II came in the next day.

From this vivid experience we realized that if the two of us were going to continue cruising in a prudent fashion in areas with intense watch keeping challenges, we were going to need to develop a method of single-handing, in case one of us was taken out of service at an awkward time. That one intense incident forced us to put more effort into the use of modern navigation tools. 

In September of 1991 we were heading south from Puget Sound in a boisterous 30-knot norther–surfing continuously with a jib poled out and mizzen spinnaker set, WH autopilot steering per usual. A few miles north of California’s Crescent City somebody abruptly switched off the wind. A big sea was running and we took a couple of smacks over the swim step, burying the exhaust in the process. We were not concerned as we had a really high loop on the exhaust in the engine room. Until we went to start the engine and there was a sickening thump. Water in the engine.

Normally a bit of a mess, but not the end of the world, pull the injectors, expel the water, change the oil three times, and off you go again. Except the injectors were stuck and would not come out. Unless we wanted a frozen engine we needed help, which lay a few miles away, through a reef fronting the aforementioned Crescent City. With the breeze varying from light to calm, a big sea, local tidal currents, and did I mention reefs, it took half a day to make our way into the harbor. Even though Sundeer’s fins were considered undersized, she was very nimble, handling what could have been an impossible situation with relative ease.

Sundeer was the first and only time we dropped the headstay into a well and used horizontal roller furling. This reduced weight and windage aloft and left us with a clean foredeck. And it was easy to hank a smaller jib over the furled and stowed sail.

Rodger Marten designed this swim step extension on a Sundeer 56. There is an argument to be made that this is a superior layout to the original 60. Note the back-staysail riding sail.

The photo above was taken during Beowulf’s first sail on exotic Santa Monica Bay. We are both relieved and ecstatic with the results. Dead uphill and then back onto the downwind dock without touching the engine. That could wait for another day.

When Dan Neri designed the first main and mizzen for Beowulf they were considered extremely aggressive even for cats, and Beowulf was off the charts in terms of single hull yachts.

A few years later and the Volvo Around the World Race had removed their mainsail mid-girth measurement restriction. This pushed a generation of development in big roach sails into a very short period. Dan, now with North, figured out how to create flatter sails with a nice twist aloft and even bigger roaches. Compare the shape of the 2000 main/mizzen below, with the 1995 design in the previous photo.

Over the years we have had the benefit of dialogue, debate, and friendly counsel from many sailors and business associates. We’ve learned even when there was disagreement, as the ebb and flow of the discourse forced us to sharpen our thinking.

We would like to recap what we feel are the most important factors in chasing the perfect cruising yacht:

1. Avoid setting arbitrary length restrictions. Instead, define the volume required for engines, drive line, and systems first. We insure in 3D analysis that there is at least 25% volume more than is thought necessary. This space is then off limits to the transgressions of anyone concerned with the project. The forepeak must have sufficient room for a collision bulkhead, a proper stacking chain bin, and a myriad of other bits and pieces. If there is a lazarette, that’s dropped into the equation. The interior is next, and then add up these lengths to get your LOA. The boat will always be longer this way, but the costs of trying to fit too much stuff into too small a container far outweigh the costs of the extra hull required to provide sufficient space.
2. Space budgeting or planning has to be done holistically. Everything that is expected to fit into or onto the boat must be determined up front. Only when this specification has been firmed up, space allocation associated therewith completed, does the project construction begin.
3. There are inevitable conflicts between comfort/safety in port and at sea. If the vessel is intended to go places, always give precedence to seagoing security and comfort.
4. Design dinghy storage space and configure optimum handling of this gear early in the cycle.
5. Make sure that all systems are accessible for inspection and maintenance without tearing the boat apart. If you cannot abide by this rule, eliminate stuff or build a longer boat.
6. Keep it simple. Avoid complicated electronics. Minimize electronic integration in favor of separate systems. If you cannot understand how something works, get rid of it.
7. Keep in mind that there is a negative correlation with complexity and lack of space. Small changes snowball quickly into huge consequences.
8. If something seems too good to be true, it probably is. Never take for granted or act on what somebody says without first verifying the data.
9. Take care with weight analysis in terms of mass and centers of gravity. Almost all weight projections turn out wrong unless there is a very high fudge factor to cover incidentals. Weight safety factors should be allocated by category of material.
10. Look for unintended consequences, the occurrence of which might have you wishing things had been done differently.
11. Many decisions are not clear cut. When this is the case, often making the choice of the approach that has the lowest overall risk will work out best.
12. If you are going to push the edge of the envelope, do it in an incremental basis, moving from a known to the unknown in quantifiable steps. Swinging for the fences, design-wise, rarely works out.
13. Avoid the influence of what everybody else is doing or selling. The herd is rarely correct.
14. Base decisions on first principles where possible.
15. Chase the details, as they are what often trip you up.
16. Periodically challenge your design and systems habits. The familiar is comfortable, and often the best approach. But habits sometimes mask choices that could result in a superior result. If you don’t try you will never know what treasures might be just around the corner.

A key ingredient with our approach to design was the interplay between Linda and myself. Virtually every aspect was the subject of discussion. Linda has a knack for asking perceptive questions that force me to defend and often rethink ideas. Although our goals were ostensibly the same, what we were willing to tolerate in the way of trade-offs were not. “Feminine touch” is not what you might ordinarily associate with Beowulf. Yet that is exactly what Beowulf represented. She was designed so that Linda could steer, trim, hoist and reef when we were on passage. Beowulf was fitted with a bathtub, which Linda used daily, and the most efficient galley we’d ever done. All of this, from the choice of driveline to the layout of doors and drawers was discussed and fleshed out between the two of us.

In 2002 we decided to bring Beowulf back to the west coast of the US, after which we went into Land Mode for a few months. Having been gone for a large part of the year, we had to deal with the usual catch up. Also…we had begun to think about a next boat. Nothing serious at first mind you but we, or more accurately I, have been guilty of this sin in the past.

The instrument panel was very compact, easy to reach and operate. The vertical speed indicator (middle right instrument) indicates we are climbing at 500 feet per minute while circling in a thermal. On a good day the thermal climb rates could reach 1200 feet per minute. In cloud “streets” with lines of lift, a glider like this could maintain 135 miles an hour while flying level. Many years later the experience of using this panel would find its way into our design decisions

I spent my first six decades on earth despising powerboats and those who operated them. In my early days of sailing dinghies, powerboats would always speed up to cross ahead of us leaving a huge wave to wreak havoc with us and our compatriots. My earliest recollection of the single finger salute was from such encounters. As cruisers, if there was a “stinkpot” around they inevitably would anchor close by and then run their genset 24 hours a day. And the lack of seamanship was stunning. 

I suspect my negative feelings are not unique within the world of sailors (for a look at our sailing background click here.)

Although I could not rid myself of these hard-etched “stinkpot” images, the design challenge was intriguing. Once we decided to take a preliminary look at an un-sailboat, the first order of business was to investigate what the marketing gurus considered the long-distance archetype trawler. We’d met several voyagers in trawlers, but the logic of the design type failed me. By our sailing standards they were slow, did not have sufficient range to make long passages unless slowed down even further, rolled even when stabilized, were squirrelly to steer, and worst of all were not good heavy-weather boats.

The first person I called was Bill Parlatore. Bill and his wife Laurene had started a magazine called Passagemaker, considered the trawler bible. An ex-sailor, Bill had been bugging us for years to design a long-distance cruising yacht without sails. Bill was our guide to the world of trawlers.

Next, we got in touch with Bruce Kessler. We’d first met Bruce and Joan years before at Catalina when their Zopilote was new. Zopilote was the first yacht built by Delta Marine, based on their limit seiner hull. The limit seiners were designed to rules intended to give fish a better chance at survival. The powers-that-be figured a length restriction would do the job. But they forgot about displacement, and beam. The commercial versions of the limit seiner were massively heavy, tall forward and beamy, but overall with relatively moderate windage. Zopilote was built from the standard hull mold. That they fished in the Gulf of Alaska and Bering Sea tells you something of their seaworthiness. It turned out we had some friends in common, both from our catamaran racing days and Bruce from his youth as the hottest American sports car driver. (The Kesslers went on to circumnavigate aboard Zopilote.)

Then we tracked down Marty and Marge Wilson, who had sailed their Sundeer 64 Kela around the world, and then gone around again in a Nordhavn 62. Marty was our best source of data as we had a common reference point in the Sundeer. An example of how the Nordhavn worked came from Marge’s comments on fridge and freezer door design. On their Nordhavn 62 using the fridges at sea required two people, one to hold open the door and a second to dig out the food.

Finally, another circumnavigating Sundeer 64 owner, Ron Teschke, provided further insight, in particular about heavy weather. Ron had purchased an early Cape Horn steel trawler, intending to cruise Chile and the Antarctic. After being caught in a moderate mid-Atlantic storm of 50 knots he felt they’d been lucky to survive and sold the boat.

Our goal was to try to understand trawlers. Was there some hidden mix of ingredients that made them suitable, or was this marketing hype? In the end the trawler was too slow for us and the places we liked to visit. The other issue, related to speed, was heavy weather capability. We’d seen too much over the years to feel comfortable crossing oceans in a yacht that would not recover from a capsize or be able to run in big seas surfing under control.

FPB 83

This first FPB, the 83’ Wind Horse, was developed as a retirement project for ourselves. We had no intention of taking the concept commercial. Wind Horse was seen as a radical departure from the norm by the establishment, but she was really just an extension of what we’d been doing for years under sail, minus the rig and need for hull form stability to carry sail. (Hence the term unsailboat.)

A short digression into naval architecture. When you have a ship, yacht, or fishing vessel that begins the design cycle with the need to maximize volume or cargo carrying capacity, the hull shape into which you are forced starts life with lots of stability from the hull shape required by the need to maximize said volume. This brings with it a quick rolling motion, uncomfortable on a yacht and dangerous to crew and cargo on a larger ship. The answer is to adjust the vertical center of gravity for the proper motion. Almost all commercial vessels have the ability to raise their VCG with ballast tanks as cargo is loaded to avoid excessive transverse stability. There is only one problem with this from our standpoint. As the VCG is raised to slow the roll period, ultimate stability is reduced and the ability to recover from a capsize is lost. Most motor yachts and ships will not recover from a knockdown of more than 55-65 degrees. 

While the preceding paragraph has a certain negative connotation for the experienced cruiser, it is about to get worse. If you are abeam of a wave or swell system that has a period which is a harmonic of your vessel, let’s say a 16-second swell with a ship that has an eight second natural period, a series of seas can quickly induce huge rolls, which may lead to all sorts of dire consequences including capsize. This is known as harmonic rolling. You can see examples in exposed anchorages where very small waves can get some of the yachts rolling like crazy while others just sit nice and still. The rollers are those with harmonic issues. Change the wave period and different yachts will start rolling. As long as you can control the direction of travel, you can avoid this problem by changing course. But if you are disabled drifting beam to the waves, a harmonic situation can quickly become catastrophic.

Coming up with a solution that had high ultimate stability and the ability to recover from a capsize was the first design hurdle we had to clear. By itself this is not difficult. Doing so comfortably, in a configuration that would keep us cruising, was an entirely different story.

Early on we came up with a configuration similar in hull layout to our sailboats: large forepeak now for ground tackle and the many items a cruising yacht needs to store for quick access; engine room aft, with living area centered around the pitch axis. In order to achieve sight lines as well as a nice view the great room was raised, thus creating a basement. The basement was perfect for batteries, a second freezer, air conditioning gear, electronic black boxes, and fuel plumbing. It also provided easy maintenance access to stabilizer coffer dams, and of course storage for supplies not appropriate in the forepeak.

At first glance the process that lead to Wind Horse might seem easy. How hard could it be to modify the lines for a little more mass and different centers of gravity? Computers make the drawing and calculations simple and fast, right? Even though by now we’d been through design cycles numerous times, we badly underestimated the time and energy that would be required to tease that first FPB into being.

Our parametric approach to design projects was simple on the surface. Create a baseline weight, with a first generation interior layout. Use this and the specification to find a weight and center of gravity that experience told us was realistically attainable. With this as a foundation the next step was a series of first principle design hull families, each varying in its overall concept. Then we would do a round of VPP testing on each to see how the drag/power relationships looked.

The hardest part in all of this is understanding motion. How a given hull shape reacts to the sea is a highly complex issue. And not one easily reduced to a tank test, or using computational fluid dynamics (CFD). The sea is simply too chaotic an environment to be accurately modeled. By the time we started the Wind Horse design process I had well over 100,000 sea miles behind me. Most of my time on watch was spent spent trimming sails, checking weather routing options, and studying the interaction of hull and sea. For me the watch-standing process required total concentration to a point where I would not read, watch movies, or even listen to music.

During each hull design cycle when I look at the hull shape, seeing it in sectional layers on the computer screen, I put my imagination to work. With the computer design software we have used the past 20 years it is easy to compare hulls at different heel trim conditions.

An early heeled view  above of  what would become Wind Horse above. I also rely on the look of traditional lines plans and the feel of 3D scale hull models of previous shapes we have built. I am not sure if the process is intellectual or intuitive, but I can almost feel the hull moving through the water.

With each step along the design path I write up evaluation notes. I try and be as detailed as time permits. Often a family of hull shapes that had previously been discarded becomes the basis for a new look with different parameters. Notes are also made for the goals of the next step in the cycle. The notes  are absolutely critical to not losing the design thread.

Periodically we check heeled lines of floatation for downflooding risks. Wind Horse above at full load. Note how the offset entry door is above the 90 degree heeled waterline.

Midway through this process we were confident that we had a design that would keep us safe. How comfortable it would be, compared to our sailboats, we would not know until we’d actually built a boat.

We have mentioned center of gravity a number of times. Control of weight, both as to total and its location, is critical if you want a performance sailing yacht. This is equally important for achieving the desired stability curve on a motor yacht. Working up a detailed weight budget with most builders is an exercise in futility. Unless they are used to building performance sailing yachts, weight will begin to creep into the equation in many areas. The trick is to have sufficient factors of safety tucked away in your weight budget to allow for the inevitable, but at the same time press for the optimum outcome.

While tracking weight you also need to carefully manage polar moments. Polar moments involve the location of the mass, its distance from the center of rotation, and acceleration factors. Concentrated polar moments reduce motion amplitude. On occasion you want just the opposite.

We looked at several hundred different design configurations before making a basic choice. Once a basic hull form family is chosen, the next step is  to further refine this as other aspects of the design evolve. This results in several hundred more hull shapes. While this is going on, propulsion systems, drive line geometry, tankage, and a host of other issues like allocation of space, dinghy handling, etc. are also being looked at. The weight, mass and polar moments of the overall boat are constantly being upgraded. There are lots of balls in the air, and it demands total concentration. The Wind Horse design took over 4,000 man hours on my part, essentially crammed into 11 intense months. I ate meals at my desk, rarely ventured outside the office, and almost never took a day off. This sort of a process is obviously hard on Linda and the rest of the family. But it allowed me to complete several years’ worth of work in less than a year.

You can watch a detailed video on this process here for part one and here for part two.

Tank testing is a hugely expensive proposition, and fraught with interpretive difficulty. The effects of scale in the tank, Reynolds numbers, make interpolation from the tank to the real world very difficult. Our own experience was that it was far more efficient to use our VPPs, the efficacy of which we were aware, rather than tank testing.

However, with this project we were venturing into unknown territory with unusual design characteristics for a motor yacht. The hydrostatic hull ratios we wanted to use were off the charts in terms of conventional motor yachts. Volume in the ends (prismatic) and water plane in particular, and how these faired into the hull above the waterline, were critical to the comfort and heavy weather goals. Several very experienced naval architects we chatted with warned against the approach being pursued.

Which is how we came to talk with Lee Head. Lee was running the high performance yacht tank testing department for Oceanic Consulting in St. John’s, Newfoundland. This was the premier tank testing facility in the world and used extensively by America’s Cup and Round the World Race programs. Lee had a slow period between the racing programs and would make us a good deal if we could move quickly and fill the gap. This discounted deal cost was still north of US $100,000. Although we would get extensive drag data, in theory corrected for scale effects with a degree of accuracy, what I was really after was to see the bow and stern waves as the model was being towed through the tank. As it turned out, the wave shape and positioning on the hull was almost an exact duplicate of what we experienced with Beowulf. This was a key factor in deciding to proceed with the project.

Lee then sold us on a little CFD work. It wasn’t performance data we were interested in, rather what sort of water flow we could expect around the props, rudders and stabilizers in difficult sea states. Various areas of interest were marked on the CFD panelized model and then we watched the movie produced, plus looked at the data to see if we might have an immersion issue with the off-center foils and props (you can see this happening in previously linked videos).

Going uphill things looked fine. But with the seas on the beam the issue could become difficult. As a result of this CFD work we made the decision to steepen the prop shaft angle a bit to get more propeller tip water coverage.

As we have been discussing both transverse (rolling) motion and longitudinal (pitching) motion are a function of sea state, hull shape, and the distribution of mass through the vessel – i.e. polar moments. In order to have the maximum possible chance to fine-tune or change motion, Wind Horse had a ballast tank in the forward five feet of the hull, her flybridge seats could be filled with 2.5 tons of water, and her 25′ long booms were designed to carry up to 750 pounds each at their ends, in the form of lead donuts. We thought the odds were good we’d be sufficiently comfortable without adjusting the polar moments, but the entire project was so new, this insurance was prudent, just in case.

We had been spoiled by Beowulf’s motion. When carrying her water ballast normal heel was rarely more than 12 degrees and she did not roll. Rather, she felt like she was on rails and was far more comfortable at sea than any trawler.

There is a short video with the highlights of a 2000 NM passage aboard Beowulf here.

We did not expect to be as comfortable with the new boat.

Another area in which we were spoiled was with average boat speed. We knew early on that it wasn’t practical to try and equal Beowulf’s 300 mile days in the trades. Still, the idea of switching to an un-sailboat, and thus going slower, rankled me.

One of the many questions we needed to answer was the appearance of this yacht. We relied heavily on the late Steve Davis for both imagery, at which he was a genius, and for ideas. We started out thinking we wanted it to look like a small freighter.

This gradually evolved into a harder edged military look. We know this was successful, as in almost every country we visited the local officials thought we were military. (Steve Davis was also the main source of illustration for our books and worked closely with us on Surviving the Storm, Mariner’s Weather Handbook, and Practical Seamanship.)

The point arrived where Linda and I had to make a decision. Although we felt comfortable that we had a handle on the outcome, we were both very much aware that we were heading in a direction which was totally different than the industry norm. This represented a major investment for us, and a mistake would set our financial planning back a long ways. We were confident that in an ocean crossing context the cruising trawler phenomenon was based on marketing rather than on design logic. Still, there is always the chance that we’d missed something in our evaluation. In the end, the decision came down to this: the hull shape we wanted to use was close enough to our sailing hulls that the comparable bow and stern waves observed in the tank could be relied on. We had confidence in the speed and fuel burn estimates. The real risk was motion. Sailboats without rigs are notoriously uncomfortable. They have a quick roll and pitch action that is particularly nasty. Could we tune the hull shape and polar moments to get us into an acceptable range? We decided to roll the dice.

We gave Kelly Archer a call to chat about the project, his availability, and that of key employees and subcontractors. We switched gears from design to working drawings.

It has been our habit when working on a project to give it a distinct name or acronym to be used with correspondence and drawings. In this case it came from my constant muttering of “I cannot believe we are working on a f___ing power boat.” So now you know the true meaning of FPB.

Over the years we have built in aluminum and fiberglass for one-off and series yachts and owned yachts of both materials. For sail, where weight and VCG are hyper critical, a case can be made for high tech plastic. And in fact, had we gone with a new version of Beowulf this 80′ ketch would have been plastic.

But with the FPB the huge advantage of aluminum in terms of integral tanks outweighed all other factors. Neither Wind Horse nor the following FPBs would have been possible in plastic. The aesthetic of the bare metal, the functionality, and the ease of fine-tuning are all important advantages of aluminum, but it is the ability to maintain massive fuel and water volumes low in the canoe body that is most critical.

Eventually the day arrived for shipping Wind Horse from Kelly’s shop to the Westport marina in Auckland for launching. Just before she was loaded onto the flat bed trailer Kelly and I placed tape marks bow and stern, indicating our respective guesstimates as to where she would float. Kelly’s tape marks were an inch above mine, representing a 1.75 ton heavier boat.

As had been the case with our sailing designs, there were more than a few “experts” who publicly doubted what we were doing. And to be perfectly honest, we were both nervous, even though we were as sure as one can be that we were on the right path. Still, I was almost sick to my stomach as Wind Horse slipped into the water and the travel lift slacked its slings.

Wind Horse floated even with the top of my tape forward, and between the two aft, almost exactly on her lines. We spent a couple of days at the dock, running equipment, doing last minute projects, and making sure that electronics, steering, and the propulsion system–two 150 HP John Deere diesels–were all operational. The one system we could not get to work was the NAIAD stabilizers. It would be three frustrating weeks until a local hydraulics guru who had formerly worked for NAIAD discovered a temporary pipe left in place from factory testing that needed to be removed and plugged. We’d done our smooth water work-up and with stabilizers active we headed into the Hauraki Gulf that fronts Auckland.

We quickly learned that in the conditions we were testing Wind Horse, now known by the acronym FPB 83-1, was exceptionally comfortable and easy to handle. The learning curve maneuvering with the twin props was quick. And we discovered, much to our surprise, that except for working the dock lines, it made no difference to our cruising ambiance whether it was sunny or pissing down rain and blowing a gale or flat calm. Linda loved the freedom we had to come and go so easily, and didn’t miss the sail handling that had been such a big part of our lives before.

While we were building hours on the systems, trying to find any weaknesses, we often invited friends along for “day sails.” Rather than being bored, I found that there was now time for dialogue with our guests.

Most of the breeze was from the west quadrant, which meant the North Island of New Zealand was a weather shore. We would occasionally find steep seas, but no major ocean swell systems. We were very pleasantly surprised at the motion, as were our sailing friends who came aboard.

Jimmy Schmidt, above, was with us when we had upwards of 50 knots of breeze and came away thinking we might have a winner. The local ferry drivers approved, always a good sign. And when a small commercial fishing boat circled us three times while we were at anchor in the Bay of Islands–we’d passed them the night before off the Whangarei heads in a Northwesterly gale that was kicking up a nasty chop–we knew that we must have something cool.

Normally when we start on a passage we wait for an appropriate weather window. With Wind Horse, however, we wanted just the opposite. We were looking for a post-frontal gale, where a big SW swell set would be crossing NW wind waves at right angles, setting up a wicked sea. We wanted a chance to see how Wind Horse worked in these conditions so if there were any problems we could turn around and come back to New Zealand, where we had the infrastructure to make modifications.

The conditions did not disappoint. Seas in the 12 t0 20′ range with occasional 30-plus footers (shown above in the background) were just what we’d hoped for. Wind Horse stunned us with her comfort. And after the first squall came at us ripping spume off the crests and Wind Horse did not react, we knew we had made the right decision. 

The stability curve eventually chosen while comfortable (and therefore “soft) in its initial range, stiffened rapidly compared to other motor vessels. Its point of maximum stability was beyond the minimum angle of almost all other motor vessels. The advantages in heavy weather in regard to “skid factor”,  capsize resistance, and recovery were what gave us confidence in the heavy weather capability of Wind Horse.

A corollary was that recovery from wave impact was extremely quick, so much so that if we were sitting to windward, the rapid return to upright could throw us off the seat and across the salon. Hence the seat belt Linda is modeling. They are rarely required, but we have fitted these to every FPB. These were made for . us by Hooker Harness, a company that specializes in aircraft safety belt. In the salon we used aerobatic harnesses, similar to what I used in my aerobatic glider. Bunks had a double pair (for chest and thighs) of conventional lap belts.

And then the breeze backed to SE and Wind Horse began surfing and all was good. You can see a short video of this passage here.

I love this photo of Wind Horse’s bow clear of the water while surfing. This was not anticipated. The FPB 83 hull is much finer forward than our sailing designs, and more deeply immersed, factors which contribute to her soft motion compared to what we had been used to under sail. The fact that the hull was generating sufficient dynamic force forward to raise the bow at speed was an unexpected bonus.

A remarkably flat exit flow of the stern for a displacement motor yacht, this is what we were used to seeing under sail, and exactly what we saw in the towing tank.

The normal route from New Zealand to Southern California was via French Polynesia, using weather “convergences” to make quick reaching passages to the Marquesas Islands. With the upwind capability of Wind Horse established we had decided to return via Fiji, Tonga, the Line Islands and then Hawaii, essentially dead to windward from Fiji onward. The initial legs were easy. We expected more of the same for the final leg.

The passage back from Hawaii to the mainland is usually easy. Go northeast for  a couple of days, through the center of the high, and then surf the final third of the trip downhill to the destination.

Except this year the high was centered well north of normal and we would be coming under the center. This was 2,200 miles uphill against the trades. A friend was getting married and it seemed like a hassle to park the boat and fly to the mainland. So rather than waiting for the high to drop, with the capability directly into the seas that Wind Horse had already demonstrated, we did not think twice about getting underway.

The Gulf of Alaska was busy pumping out big swells from the northwest. Every couple of minutes these would cross at just the correct interval with the NE wind-generated waves to create a solid wave peak on the bow. Slowing down did not relieve the resulting thump, so we maintained our pace. We averaged 11 knots for the passage, all but the last day of which was in this aforementioned unpleasantness. At the time, with a standard of comfort defined by our sailing experience, the passage was no big deal. But comfort is relative, and soon we were used to the Wind Horse norm. We became, well, soft.

We were still uneasy about the concept of cruising without sails but we both loved the flexibility Wind Horse gave us. Two quick trips from Southern California to Alaska followed, the second of which had us into Southeast Alaska in early May, a month ahead of normal, and on to Prince William Sound by the first of June.

Even though FPB 83-1 was our final cruising yacht I continued the habits of the past and spent most of these six thousand miles watching how the hull and waves interacted. At first it was to try and understand why Wind Horse was so comfortable. And then inevitably what could we do to improve.

FPB 64

We’d retired from the boat business with the launching of Condor, a cousin to Beowulf. During our two spring and summer cruises to Alaska we had met Todd Rickard at his boat yard on Lake Washington, in the heart of Seattle. Todd was looking for a change and I was in an always dangerous period of boredom. One thing led to another and before long Linda and I had worked up the FPB 64. The real driver in this was the desire to put what we’d learned with FPB 83-1 to work on a new design.

Although the The FPB 83 Wind Horse and the FPB 64 looked similar, and had comparable flying bridges and interior layouts, the hull shapes were totally different. Where Wind Horse had been developed from our sailing experience, in particular the hull shape, the FPB 64 was based on what we’d learned from the 30,000 nm we’d put under Wind Horse‘s keel. In particular was the distribution of the bow and stern volumes, both above and below the waterline. The goal for the FPB 64 was more uphill comfort. Although Wind Horse was a spectacular performer in this regard compared to sail, having grown used to this new level of comfort we now wanted more.

One of the major balancing acts when designing a hull for upwind performance in waves is the avoidance of a bow that locks in when heading downwind at speed. (Ivor Wilkins took these shots for us just before FPB 64-1 Avatar departed New Zealand for Fiji. She is fully loaded and a steep sea is running in the tide against wind conditions.)

This is a comfort and speed issue as well as the ultimate arbiter of storm tactics. Unless you have designed a similar type and know its sea-going characteristics, the real world outcome of this process is far from certain. 

In this, as in almost all other aspects of yacht design and construction, there is simply no substitute for real world experience. Feedback from others, secondhand experience, does not get the job done. If you are considering a career in the yachting industry our advice is to first go cruising, on your own boat or as crew. Your work product will be better and your clients will thank you. Note that the emphasis here is on long term sea-going experience. Crossing an ocean and then flying home for your land base only gets you partway towards the experience goal.

Todd came on board on a tentative basis to deal with the clients, should any arise, leaving us free to concentrate on design and R&D. For the period we worked together he was adept at handholding and customer training. The photo above is a favorite, Avatar again, but now surfing. Much more fun than going uphill.

The FPB 64 interior was based on what had worked so well for us with Wind Horse (you will find hundreds of photos and details on the FPB 64s scattered throughout SetSail.com). We were pleasantly surprised at the quick acceptance of the FPB 64, and eventually 11 of these yachts were commissioned.

The 20 meter/65′ rule that led to the length decision on the FPB 64 forced us to design to a swimstep that would have benefitted from another three or four feet of length. After watching the first two FPB 64s during their sea trials we decided to look at a bolt on extension. A quick study indicated as much as a three percent gain in speed/range. However the benefits were substantially greater, which while pleasing to all left me with  bit of discomfort as I could not figure out why the variance. Then one day while walking through the Circa shop with Ed Firth we stopped to check something on the FPB 97 being built alongside a FPB 64. As we turned to go back to Ed’s office my eye ran down the aft end of the FPB 64 hull. Something did not look right. Ed sheepishly admitted he had designed a different extension that was easier to form. It also turned out to be more efficient. Conundrum solved.

And now back to our own cruising.

It is worth repeating that what we loved most about Wind Horse was the flexibility in planning and destinations we now had. Between the comfort and easy handling, the 11-knot average speed, and 4,000+ nm range, we did not  have to worry about crew, even on long passages. When fancy struck, all that was required were a few trips for supplies, top off the fuel tanks, and head out. Take January of 2008 for instance.

Our brief experience the previous summer on the outside of Baranoff Island, with its beauty, desolation, and challenges had been gnawing at us. We wanted more. We started thinking about where to go and Greenland popped up. The passages to cover the distance between California and Greenland were easy. Panama was 12 days, almost all of which was downhill. Panama to the Bahamas was another four or five days.

The Bahamas to Nova Scotia another four days. And then several short hops through Nova Scotia, Bras d’Or lakes, and then up the Straits of Belle Isle. The trip from Labrador to Greenland was just three days. So, 30 days, done very comfortably. We spent a couple of days thinking about it and then we were ordering charts, and doing a haul-out for an early preventative service on the stabilizer seals.

We’ve written extensively about the amazing experience we had in Greenland so we won’t bore you with a repeat. The key thing we want to stress is the wonderful options Wind Horse was giving us, precisely because it was an un-sailboat. Wind Horse was much easier to handle than any of our sailboats, was more comfortable at sea, cost less to operate, and extended the range of weather we found conducive in which to cruise.

Where to from Greenland? Never having cruised the British Isles and Europe, they seemed a logical next destination. Except in the summer of 2008, the North Atlantic was misbehaving and storm fronts were more severe and more frequent than usual, typically offering headwinds for the relatively short 1500 nm trip from Greenland to Ireland.

The passage across the “Pond” is a good example of where speed comes into play. We departed the Prince Christian Channels in southeast Greenland on the heels of a massive double low storm system that covered the entire North Atlantic. Taking advantage of the weather “lull” which followed this storm system, we had mainly northwest to southwest flow and had a very comfortable and quick passage. Six hours after securing alongside in Kinsale, Ireland for formalities with Irish Customs it was blowing 55 knots from the SE, right on the nose of our previous course.

While in Ireland we made inquiries as to where would be a good spot to lay up for the winter, and Berthon was one of the yards mentioned.

The quote for the haul, winter storage, and launch sounded reasonable, and on a lovely fall day we worked our way up the channel to their Lymington marina. This being our first experience with winterizing Wind Horse it took three days for us to put her to bed. During this process we were introduced to Sue Grant by Ghillie the Labrador retriever. Although neither we nor the Berthon team knew it at the time, this was to prove a fortuitous meeting. We were very impressed by the facilities, efficiency, skills, and general good humor of the Berthon crew.

We refer to our cruising as R&D, which is the best way we can think to describe it. Our entire design, specification, and build process is formed by our actual experience. Our obsessive compulsion with small details, which drives both builders and ourselves crazy, is based on experience. We would be happier if we had it in our nature to accept a suboptimal outcome. Being acutely aware of what can happen when something does go wrong forbids this approach.

The more you cruise the more you realize reliability is the goal above everything else.

One of the keys to this is having good access to your gear, especially mission-critical systems. If you can easily inspect equipment then you will naturally make inspections at more frequent intervals. This reduces failures. Buried gear tends to be out of sight out of mind. In this regard power boats are more critical than sail, as powerboats typically have more complex gear than sail, and are more dependent on this complicated gear.

In the spring of 2009 we called Berthon and asked them to get Wind Horse ready for launching. The work order included giving the topsides a quick grind using 3M ScotchBrite abrasive discs, pressure washing the exterior, cleaning windows and stainless and dusting the interior. Four days after launching Wind Horse we were off to the Channel Islands. The Berthon crew were stunned. Normal cruising yachts the size of Wind Horse invariably have six figure yard invoices after a winter of maintenance projects.

We spent a month in London, then cruised the West Coast of Norway as far as Tromso…

…from where we hopped across to the Svalbard Islands…

 …eventually doubling the mystical 80 degree latitude line.

Magdelena at the north end of the Svalbard group above. We returned to the UK for another winter at Berthon via the Shetland Islands…

…Scotland and southwest UK coast. Then we had to make a decision: do we go back to the US via the North Atlantic, or take the fall route from the Canaries to the Caribbean? We decided on the latter as it was the 25th anniversary of Jimmy Cornell’s ARC. 

One of the things we love most about our chosen field of endeavor is meeting up with our family of yachts and their crews. Above we are anchored in Graciosa Bay in the Canary Islands, with Deerfoot 2-62 Moonshadow and the Deerfoot 73 Interlude anchored nearby.

We had an uneventful crossing from the Canary Islands to St Lucia in ten days and eight hours, an average of 11.2 knots for the 2775 nm passage.

Wind Horse at cruise speed approaching St. Lucia. Note the relatively shallow bow entrance forward (by powerboat standards).

We are used to slipping into harbor quietly at voyage end and were stunned by the reception.

A day in St. Lucia to pick up prospective FPB 64 owner Pete Rossin and we were off to Florida. Wind Horse was secured alongside in Fort Lauderdale as the first of the ARC sailboat entries made St. Lucia.

Pete Rossin is typical of the clients we have worked with over the years, An engineer and instrument rated pilot, Pete is highly experienced at sea. Pete had seen Wind Horse do her thing in an English Channel gale. The Rossins put 30,000+ miles on their FPB 64 Iron Lady in a few short years, and now have one of our FPB 78s (on which much more later).

At the end of 2011 Wind Horse had six years and 50,000 miles under her bottom. We were looking for a spot to do a thorough check and refit, which is how we met Corey and Angela McMahon and their Triton Marine crew in Beaufort, North Carolina. Exhaust and salt water plumbing hoses were replaced, the stabilizer system was serviced, and all pumps were replaced with their spares. We also went to a lighter, simpler exhaust system and enclosed the flying bridge.

We rented a nearby house and Chris, the son of Jaja and Dave Martin, gave me a hand on some of the projects while Corey did the brunt of the work. Linda returned to our land base in Tucson. Which is why the FPB 97 came into existence.

FPB 97

Evenings in a quiet house, on my own, lead to idle thought, which invariably turned to yacht design. Just for fun I began to play with an idea. What was the largest yacht Linda and I could cruise aboard on our own? The FPB 97 was the result. Not long into this process we had a call from an interested party in New York. He flew down to meet us, visit Wind Horse, and look at our preliminary design. Shortly thereafter we had a contract to do a new boat. The preliminary design was easy; now there was real work to do.

Steve Davis’s untimely demise left me without a valued resource. Some years before I had received an e-mail from a young illustrator offering his services. At the time, we were covered. Luckily I was able to find that email and got in contact with Ryan Wynott. Ryan did a few two-dimensional renderings for the FPB 97 project and it was obvious he had talent. I asked him if he would like to learn 3D using Rhino and Orca software to which he replied in the affirmative. We worked closely on the 97 and subsequent FPBs and Ryan’s skill in 3D grew quickly.

That realistic looking FPB 97 surfing is actually a rendering.

You can see by the renderings above that Ryan’s skills were progressing.

What intrigued me about the FPB 97 project was the ability to use Wind Horse as a scale model of the new design. Towards this end we added three feet to her swim step, and then had the already small diesels derated from 150HP to 110HP each. With these two changes Wind Horse, now 86′ long on deck and 83′ on the waterline, would do in excess of 13.5 knots at half load in smooth water. Using a pair of the 230 HP six cylinder diesels in the FPB 97 showed us 14.15 knots. We doubted anyone would believe that this was possible and we followed the same approach we had used in the past and substantially under-predicted (you might say sandbagged) the performance we told everyone to expect.

As the build progressed it became apparent early on that we were going to have a weight issue. This, of course, is not an unknown phenomenon in the yachting business. As an insurance policy we had drawn the hull shape so it could be easily extended. The owner understood immediately the benefits of added waterline in terms of deck space, working on a bigger swim platform, and efficiency.

The FPB 97 grew to 110′ overall. When this yacht went into the water, in light cruising trim, FPB 97-1 exceeded fourteen knots during trials. More important, in cruising trim 11.25 knots could be maintained in most passaging states. The prop shaft and exhaust systems were conservatively engineered and when her owner began to think about the desirability of a faster cruising speed, he was able to fit a pair of 450 HP engines using the same shafts and exhaust systems. With these bigger engines he still had trans-Atlantic range at 14 knots.

In the spring of 2012 we decided on another leisurely cruise to Maine and back, duplicating the previous year. We particularly enjoyed the gunk-holing in Maine, the more rural parts of the Chesapeake, and the Intra Coastal Waterway. The sub-five foot draft of Wind Horse was particularly beneficial in the latter two cruising areas. In seven years of part-time cruising, Wind Horse had taken us over 60,000 NM. We were now in our 70s, there were a couple of health issues that had us concerned, and frankly, we thought it might be time to try something else. We had not previously considered selling Wind Horse but started to think about the prospect. A few months later we were in the Bahamas and were asked if she might be available. In a moment of weakness we agreed to sell her.

FPB 78

It took two weeks before we began to wonder if we had made a mistake. At four weeks I began to sketch, At six weeks I was chatting with several FPB 64 owners who were interested in going larger. By eight weeks we were into another full on design cycle. Between Wind Horse now at 86 feet and the FPB 64s also extended to 69 feet LOA (with a bolt-on removable swim step addition) we had a good sense of where we wanted to go with hull shape. Our goal for this design was to develop sufficient space to carry crew if desired, and provide enough volume so we and they could have a bit of separation. This meant adopting the FPB 97 interior arrangement and foregoing the basement. We chose the larger FPB 78 for our personal use because we felt it would allow us to continue cruising as maturity made taking crew prudent.

Looking back, the combination of an extensive powering database from our sailing designs, CFD and VPP analysis, coupled with tank testing, meant that there were no surprises performance-wise with Wind Horse. As mentioned earlier what did catch us unawares was the huge increase in comfort. We were used to very fast passages under sail, with little of the motion that ocean crossing motor yachts tend to take for granted. With Wind Horse, the incredible comfort was a great surprise. Except for one thing…We don’t like surprises. We have since spent most of our sea time with FPBs over the past 12 years–70,000+ nm now on our own bottoms–working out what it was that made the first two FPB designs such sweet passage-makers.

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

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. Wind Horse above showing off her wave piercing bow.

Now the FPB 64 heading into a nice sea-state.

And finally the FPB 97. In terms of sectional volume build up the 97 has the finest bow 83 next and the 64 is the “fattest” to this point.

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.

A shear and freeboard comparison between the 64 (yellow/green), 78 (red), and 97 (blue). Note 78’s freeboard and shear forward. The FPB 78’s anchor sits above the deck whereas all previous FPBs had their anchor chocks in line with the belting (rub rail).

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, honed from our 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 tradeoff 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).

A key goal in the design of Wind Horse and the FPB 97 was a target cruising speed in the 11 to 12 knot range. To do this in a hull that did not slam excessively upwind is not easy. Higher speeds require more volume in the ends of the hull to move efficiently, which can be counterproductive comfort-wise in waves. But if we backed off on the speed a touch the hull could be shaped with finer ends, which translated into softer motion. We could always get somewhere quickly if needed by running at high fuel burn rates and throwing power at the increased drag.

The other factor, as always, was steering control. The FPB 64 had a much sharper forefoot with a deeper bite in scale than Wind Horse. Now that we had a series of the 64s out cruising with results observed personally, and the data from the logging systems, we felt we could soften the next generation a touch further by fining up the sectional shapes forward and aft.

Longitudinal stability relative to mass and how this behaves in different sea-states upwind is one of the most important characteristics. The FPB 83 and 97 were at a disadvantage here because of their very high fore and aft stiffness (known as GML in tech speak). The FPB 64’s shorter length and heavier mass and lower GML allowed a more sea-kindly motion uphill. One of the goals for the FPB 78 was to reduce the fore and aft stiffness. Even more critical to comfort and safety is how volume is developed in the topsides above the waterline.

One of the historic designs that gave us confidence to pursue a very different hull form from the preceding FPBs was the 68-foot ketch Sundeer. Her ends were exceptionally fine, and under sail and power Sundeer had a very soft motion up and down hill. In hindsight for sailing we had given up too much performance, and we backed off a touch in subsequent designs. But in an FPB there were no negatives to this approaoch.

The hull shape eventually settled on was quite different from the preceding FPBs. It not only had less form stability at the waterline in the ends, but allowed for substantially more mass in the form of liquid payload, systems, and structure. The distribution of volume was considerably different and turned out more efficient than Wind Horse at ten knots, but less efficient at eleven. No surprise here. Yet given the added fuel capacity we had actually more range at 11 knots. We were so comfortable with range that we took the comfort standards Wind Horse had afforded us even further, undertaking a Fiji to Panama trip against the prevailing currents and trade winds with a single fuel stop at Raiatea in French Polynesia. We would not have considered this in Wind Horse.

As the FPB 78 (in reality 86′ LOA but measuring in under the British MCA rules at 23.95m or 78 feet) evolved we worked closely with two of our FPB 64 owners, Pete Rossin and Peter Watson. Because they now had many thousands of miles of experience with their FPB 64s, and both were engineering oriented, they provided a very efficient sounding board.

Cochise at 11 knots above. Although the bow and stern waves look small, they are larger in scale than either the FPB 83 and 97. They are also closer together. Both of these parameters indicate less efficiency at higher speed. But there was a pleasant surprise when surfing on passage.

Slower in theory compared to the FPB 83 when surfing, the FPB 78 actually averages the same sort of daily run as did the FPB 83 and can be comfortably pushed much faster. There are several reasons for this. The FPB 78s are smoother running and quieter than the preceding FPBs and there is little noticeable change in onboard ambiance between ten and 11.25 knots. The boats steer beautifully in big seas in spite of the deeper forefoot. The only hit comes in pre-surfing conditions where we find we are running .75 knot slower if we want to maximize range.

Take a look at this wake photo, surfing down the coast of Nova Scotia. We are averaging 12.5 knots, surfing to 17, with occasional rides to 20. The secret to all of this is the narrow stern. This is what makes it possible to run at speed in the waves with good steering control, even though we have a deeper forefoot. It is also what makes us so comfortable upwind.

When we started the FPB 78 design we were chasing more interior space, something mid-way between Wind Horse and the FPB 97 Iceberg, within a hull that was similar in length to the FPB 83 Wind Horse. We were also after a layout that allowed us to have crew and/or guests while at the same time providing sufficient volume so that we and they would have breathing room.

Layout comparisons with the FPB 64, 78, and 97 below. Note that these schematics omit the swimstep extensions that were eventually standard on the three designs.

A deck comparison of the 64, 78, and 97 with cutaway Matrix deck.

Main decks of the 64, 78, and 97 above.

And the lower decks of the same three.

Let’s digress a moment from our focus on hydrodynamics and indulge in a bit of interior scenery.

Looking forward into the great room from the entrance aboard Cochise.

Looking aft.

Of all the galleys we have done Linda likes this the best. The C shape holds you in place yet there is enough room so that two can work within the confines of the galley at the same time.

The connection with the world outside that Linda and I feel in the great room is difficult to capture in a photograph, at least for me. Michael Jones came the closest of anyone with his lovely shot above.

Our quarters are located slightly forward of the pitch center, where motion is minimal and there is just a hint of machinery noise at sea to let us know the engines are purring. The pillows are within 6.5’/2m of the pitch center.

To fit an interior like this meant we needed more height, depth, and beam. The tricky part here was that we would be living and working further from the motion centers of the vessel compared to Wind Horse. If we were going to maintain the comfort level to which we and our clients had become accustomed, this new design had to have a softer ride in absolute terms.

We have always pursued maximum systems efficiency and engineered an approach based on the assumption that the shore power cord was unplugged. These integrated systems combined a mix of batteries, charging capability, ventilation, and air conditioning that allows the FPB 78s to sit for multiple days without running the genset.

Solar power, while always part of the equation, was not a major driver in the previous designs. Now with the data in hand from the FPB 97’s massive solar array, we saw that if we started from day one of the design cycle to organize our systems around a large solar array, a lot of good things would be possible, like solar powered air conditioning. Cochise, shown above, started out with ten panels and eventually ended up with sixteen. If that seems like a lot–they are 335 to 360 watts output each–we would not give one of them back.

Having put 20,000+ nautical miles on FPB 78-1 Cochise in a short period of time, we can tell you that the FPB 78 is extraordinarily comfortable.

The emphasis on uphill ambiance has paid big dividends. This is what allowed us to consider an upwind against the trades passage to Panama from Fiji, which in turn gave us a chance for a third visit to Fatu Hiva in the Marquesas (our favorite tropical anchorage in the photo above) for a day on the way to Panama. To put lovely Hanavavae Bay into perspective, that tiny bit of gray at the bottom of the cliffs, just left of center, is Cochise.

The same can be said for FPB 78-2 Grey Wolf II with a voyage from New Zealand to the Channel Islands between the UK and France via French Polynesia, Chile, Tierra del Fuego, and Antarctica, in a single year. (Simon Lucas photos above and below.)

And with FPB 78-3 Iron Lady II’s trip from New Zealand to North Carolina via Panama, with a little detour to check out Costa Rica, Galapagos, Chile, Tierra del Fuego, and Antarctica. FPB 78-2 and FPB 78-3 cruised Antarctica in company.

These three FPB 78s have a combined total of  75,000 + nm in their wakes since launching.

Cochise above anchored off Raiatea, our only fuel stop between Fiji and Panama.

We don’t want to bore you with our obsession about heavy weather, but there is one more subject we want to cover, dealing with extreme conditions. This is where stability, steering control, maneuverability, and how volume develops above the waterline really come into play. While these are comfort factors in normal conditions, they impact your survival in extreme situations.

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 in severe weather.

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. During a recent trip from North Carolina to Maine we encountered an unusual set of conditions resulting in very steep waves, of which the photo above is an example. And while this experience was 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 electronics and night lighting layout. You can read a detailed post on this here.

There are some remarkable photos in that linked 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 requirements for offshore voyaging.

Briefly then, 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 meeting 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 swells and NE waves 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.

The camera for the previous photo is 17’ above the waterline and it is fitted with a wide angle lens. The oncoming crest is steep. 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.

Here is another part of the FPB secret sauce, shown in the photo above, from the same time frame as the first. The stern shows how little it is affected by the passing crest. Any more volume aft and the bow would have been forced down and into the oncoming wave. This plays an equally important part in surfing control, as when headed downwind the immersion of the transom into the wave face gives props and rudders better conditions in which to operate and the wave cannot exert as much force towards upsetting balance or pushing the stern into a broach (more on this below in the Bahamas surfing video)

How steep were these waves? 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 severe 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 experienced 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 reckons we were seeing wind at a steady 40 knots at times.

The few seconds of waves here, and the 50-knotter on the way to Bay of Islands during sea trials, capture why FPB hulls look so different from other designs.

Loss of steering, even momentarily would be less than ideal in anything approaching these sea states. 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 photo above is extracted from a video we made earlier in 2019, crossing a narrow entrance channel in the Bahamas with a strongly ebbing tide against an onshore breeze. The resulting seas were steep and Cochise gave us an excellent ride through the cut using a single wave and carrying it all the way in. If there was ever a time where the bow might lock in, this was it. We maintained precise steering control. Note how deeply the stern is immersed, and how little buoyancy there is aft for the sea to lift against.

Before we leave hull shape in our wake, a few more comments on what happens above the waterline. There are tradeoffs between interior volume and optimum hull shape. The bigger the seas the more important this becomes. It affects sea-going comfort, safety, and average ocean crossing speed. Our approach to this is simple. There are no tradeoffs. We optimize for the ocean.

If we get this right the bow and stern have the right mix of volume to slip into an oncoming wave smoothly, with the bow lifting before the wave crest. Downwind, at high speed, dynamic lift plays a part.

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

While Cochise began as a design package that would allow us to carry crew, we found that we still prefer to cruise on our own. To do this at our ages, north of the three quarter century mark, forced us to refine several aspects of Cochise which we would have ignored earlier in our careers. All of these refinements made Cochise easier to handle when we are by ourselves, and had we thought about this before we would have adopted these same principles at the beginning of the FPB era.

Our idea of what constitutes a comfortable watch station has changed. We want good hand-holds and/or rails or furniture to hold us in place. The presentation of nav and systems data needs to be easily switched back and forth between modes. In a normal context, our previous yachts had wonderful watch-keeping parameters, and the FPB 78 helms were based on this.

In the great room we started out with our typical nav desk forward.

During the passage to Panama we discovered that the big TV was ideally suited to ship systems and navigation information. It is visible from the forward helm and the galley aft. The vertical screen created less reflected light than the angled monitor and instruments on forward desk. This enhanced our night vision.  This discovery coupled with several other factors lead us to reexamine our Matrix deck design.

The Matrix deck evolved to its present form over several years, starting with discussions between ourselves and Steve Parsons (the three of us above in French Polynesia with the original Matrix arrangement) while halfway to Panama about the ultimate Matrix deck layout. Perfecting this took an inordinate amount of time because the approach was so different. Each time we would think we had it nailed down, real world use would show us areas that could be improved. The process was time consuming and costly, but in the end gave us a conning environment that was far easier to use than anything we had done before.

Six or seven years ago we would have been happy with a couple of small displays on the Matrix deck as shown above in New Zealand. Today we are more dependent on the electronic data, and avoiding info overload and the mistakes that are associated therewith required a new approach.

After testing numerous ideas we settled on the use of four 55″ TVs, placed low, against the coamings, with the ability to be angled from vertical to almost horizontal depending on what was optimum for the conditions encountered.

The port screen operates by touch, a joy to use at this size. Harking back to my flying days we ended up with a very compact con, one that makes it possible to operate all nav gear, steer, and control the engines from either helm seat, either standing or seated.

The Matrix area lighting, external lighting, bilge pumps, crash pump, and fuel transfer system controls are here as well as the AIS and VHF radio control heads. Offshore, this works well for a single watch stander. In shallower waters we now pilot Cochise together. Note the six Maretron N2K displays. Although we have this data available via wifi to a variety of tablets, and on the big TVs, these screens always have key data right in front of us. This is easy to find when under stress.

The data displayed on the different screens is infinitely variable. Sometimes the displays will be set up so that each side has similar data, arranged to the liking of the port or starboard seat occupant. In other situations the data arrangement will have separate info on each screen. And in some cases, we will supplement these four large screens with one or two tablets. This system allows to tailor the presentation in a manner that is easily understood, with the least possible interference with our maintaining external situational awareness.

A very important aspect of this approach is that on soundings we typically lay out the screens so that adjustment of the data, say radar range, can be done with a single operation, eliminating the need to change windows when a single screen has multiple windows. Each screen has its own dedicated Simrad controller.

Important side benefits from this approach included improved motion due to the lowered helm seats, much improved sight lines from the helm, whether standing or sitting, and from other seating areas. There were many small details, like the angled soft foam foot blocks in the photo above, that made this area more comfortable.

Cochise is obviously a large yacht, and the openness of the great room and Matrix deck requires some method of containing our bodies at sea. The great room has a pair of removable staple rails (shown above) to break up the forward area, along with a system of overhand hand holds made up from high strength Spectra rope.

The Matrix deck has the overhead man-lines as well.

And then in its final iteration we installed a combination staple rail/table that gives us somewhere to put camera gear, snacks, acts as a charts table, and provides a foot rest for the couch. It is positioned just aft of the helm chairs, so that we are held in place at sea. The passageway can be widened by sliding the helm chairs forward. We can now move from the stairs aft to the helm chairs constrained by structure with a variety of  high and low handholds.

We have found the air flow so good in the Matrix deck that the air conditioning was never used. So when we did our last mods we removed the air con unit. The heating system was enhanced with a pair of 2″/50mm hoses that can be tucked into a blanket on a cold watch, keeping us very cozy.

A note on a somewhat delicate subject. We installed a toilet in the aft starboard corner, under a cushion so it is hidden from sight. But open to the world at large when in use.

We reasoned that it was a long way to an enclosed head below, the use of which by the watch would leave the helm unattended for too long a period. When we were removing all of the original Matrix deck furniture we left the toilet in place. It is not used often, but we consider this essential for short-handed passage making.

Maneuvering in Tight Quarters

The FPBs have always been easy to maneuver. The hull shape, huge rudder(s), and prop position relative to the rudder(s) are the keys. The FPB 78s put more thrust into the water in scale against rudders which can be rotated further and turned lock to lock faster than any of the preceding designs. The sum of these factors is an amazing level of control and precision in tight quarters. Although Cochise is fitted with a powerful bow thruster, the tunnel openings have been sealed for almost all of her time afloat.

Still, we were wary of her size the first couple of times we brought her back to dock on our own in New Zealand. But after half a dozen dockings we quickly became comfortable with the size. Compared to Wind Horse, which we thought handled like a dream, Cochise has far more control, will rotate more quickly, and is much easier to dock in really difficult weather/current situations.

Now a few handling details, some of which may be of benefit to others:

• We rig the dock lines and fenders well ahead of time, so that when we are closing with the dock all our concentration can be on the docking maneuver itself.
• Once we have a plan, we discuss what we are going to do and what our fallback plan will be if things go wrong.
• We communicate with headsets and double check that these are working and have sufficient battery capacity.
• Fenders are made ready but we typically do not deploy these until we are at the dock.
• The main deck remote helm control is set into position over the engine room air exhaust.
• There is always one long dock line, flaked down and ready to use if needed, but otherwise unassigned.
• We have both forward and aft spring lines ready to go, typically with a bowline in the end so the loop can just be dropped over a cleat. If we are not sure about help on the dock, a boat hook will readied forward and aft that can be used to drop the dock line loop over a cleat.

We then get in close to have a look at the area, if we have not already done so with the dinghy or by car. The FPB 78s respond well to both bow and stern spring lines (assuming they are correctly placed). With the spring line on the dock, all we need to do is pull against it gently, with the rudder deflected to bring the end of the hull against the dock. Even in a stiff breeze off the dock we have found this method quite effective.

Linda talks me through what is happening at deck level. She lets me know that she has handed the spring to someone on the dock and what they are doing with it.

Once the spring is secured and the boat begins to pull against it, I walk down to the main deck and resume controlling engines and rudders from the remote set of controls. This way there are two sets of hands to finish securing to the dock.

The anchor platform is wider than in the past and allows us to walk out to the very tip of the anchor. In really difficult situations we will sometimes bring Cochise in bow first, pinning the anchor against a piling or wall, or the cutwater against a dock. This holds the boat in position versus wind or current and allows time to get a pre-rigged breast or spring line onto shore.

There are Lewmar 65 self-tailing kedge winches forward and aft, that are positioned so they can be used with dock lines.

The big kedge winches are very helpful when anchoring with the stern to shore, as shown above in front of Laureen and Bill Parlatore’s home near Annapolis. Anchoring like this tests the boat’s controllability to the limit.

Another challenge is sneaking through a slalom course of lobster pot buoys. Great fun, this is.

A relatively easy, OK boring, docking challenge. After all, there is lots of space on each end.

Last year we were talked into a high-res video camera system for keeping tabs on the engine room, seeing the blind spots otherwise invisible from the helm, and tracking sea state and machinery underway.

At first we thought this a mistake, but we have come to appreciate the information this makes available.

In particular those views of the engine room, of which this is one of three.

Drying Out

Since we’ve been chatting about docking a few words on the FPB 78’s ease of drying out are in order. The FPB 78’s are engineered to use a grid (shown above) or simply dry out on a tidal flat (below)

This has numerous maintenance benefits, opens up a totally new world of thin water cruising in areas with large tidal ranges, and offers a method of short term parking when space is at a premium and there is insufficient room to swing (as with several areas along the Intra Coastal Waterway).

Aft Deck Design Evolution, Function, and Dinghy Handling

One of our design goals with the FPB 78 was to be able to carry a sufficiently large dinghy that we could travel long distances with it in relative comfort, and that it could work as a life raft if needed. We also wanted to be able to run the dinghy at speed in the dark, if there was a requirement to do so.

Having spent a lifetime in sail, handling the booms and winches we use for launching and retrieving dinghies is second nature. It is also the most dangerous exercise there is aboard. So with these new FPBs we set out to simplify the rigging and make it easier to handle the dinghies, particularly in rolling anchorages. We spent hundreds of hours doing 3D simulations, more time during build with experiments and changes, and 17+ variations with FPB 78-1 in the water. 

We settled on a 16-foot AB industrial version of their aluminum bottomed RIB. The dinghy is powered by a 60 HP Yamaha four stroke: quiet, efficient, and always starts on the first push of the button. We now carry 24 US gallons of fuel in a pair of plastic tanks. These are held in place by an aluminum framework that carries a camera box, and has space to hang grocery bags, visitors’ luggage, etc., inside a zip-up cover if it is raining. There is also a towing bit for towing heavy loads arranged so the dinghy can be steered when towing.

There is a tent covering the forward section to provide rain shelter and storage when needed.

The dinghy can now be launched by one person in under less than five minutes from start to powering away, faster if you are in a hurry. The two of us can bring the dinghy from shore to alongside Cochise, in the rain, and have it secured on deck so we are ready to put to sea, in under three minutes. Both actions can he done in a rolling anchorage if needed. 

There is a video of launch and retrieval here.

Dinghies can be stored outboard of the lifelines, freeing the aft deck when we are at anchor.

The aft deck has been evolving since before we began cutting metal six+ years ago years ago.

The design today, after many iterations, is quite different from the original. For example, the area above the engine room air vent has gone from a simple seat and barbecue station to an outdoor galley and food prep area. There is a sink to the right, under a removable cover.

Circumnavigator Michael Morrell puts Cochise’s BBQ through its paces.

Circling back around to running the dink at night, and at speed, say for a medical emergency, we have experimented with a variety of forward lighting combinations.

By far the simplest and best approach were these four LED spotlights, sourced through Amazon. Two are aimed low, right in front of the bow, with the second set aimed about 150 forward.

Comforting Side Issues

As a part of the initial design parameters we set aside a significant budget for noise control in terms of weight, cost, man hours, and materials with the goal of substantially reducing sound and vibration levels under way. This involved changing structure, increasing mass and stiffness in the engine room, tripling the insulation in hull and deck, and installing sophisticated multi-layer sound dampening bulkheads. The result is the quietest boat we have ever been aboard at sea.

At anchor, we have experienced a pleasant surprise.  The same combination of polar moments and stability curve that works so well at sea seems to be harder for the smaller waves of typical anchorages to excite, i.e. start rolling. And when movement does occur the period is so slow that it has rarely been necessary to use our big booms. After two years of experience we came to the conclusion that the booms were longer than needed and we reduced their length by ten feet/3m, reducing weight and windage, and making them easier to use.

Living the good life off the grid

The main driver in yacht systems design is how you approach air conditioning. In the tropics, most yachts require a generator 24/7 to provide power for the air conditioning. In the past, we used a combination of natural ventilation, awnings, and insulation, to reduce heat loads to where we could get away with running the generator just a few hours a day.

The large, highly efficient solar arrays with which these new FPBs are fitted have gotten us to a place where fine-tuning other parts of the equation can significantly reduce and/or eliminate generator time entirely.

Along with our usual approach to shading and awnings The FPB 78 has large overhangs on the Matrix and main deck. The grills above feed two 12″/310mm vents in the great room. The canvas hood over the top of the grills and down the sides improves airflow. These, in conjunction with the nearby windows, overhangs and deck create a ram effect that helps keep the air moving in the great room.

Two more vents are fed by these grills at the forward end of the great room.

We have enhanced the natural ventilation on the lower deck with the addition of passive vents in each stateroom fitted with pram hoods to help air flow. The heads and systems areas have large air removal fans installed.

Additionally, our normal heavy hull and deck insulation has been tripled. This helps with both temperature and noise.

The traction battery bank gives us 1560 amp hours @24VDC for the 20 hour rating (compared to 1200 amp hours on Wind Horse) and it is now possible to spend long periods at anchor with zero carbon footprint. Aside from helping the environment and having a quieter home, the elimination of the daily fuel burn from the genset significantly enhances the yacht’s endurance. Where most yachts Cochise’s size would require 20-30 gallons of diesel per day just for electricity needs at anchor, the FPB 78 uses little or none. This daily savings really adds up over a period of months, to the point where it can significantly impact how much fuel is left for passaging and/or how often you have to arrange to purchase fuel. In tropical Fiji with Cochise  we averaged one hour of generator time every third day. When FPB 78-1 was docked in Fort Lauderdale, we didn’t even bother to connect the shore power cord. In the Bahamas in April, with warm water and air, we rarely needed the genset. The 16 solar panels produced between 18.5 and 32kWh of power every day.

Aft Space Bonus

One of the design advances that gives us the most pleasure is the change in the aft area of these new yachts, one that allows for both a spacious engine room and a separate, isolated area aft of this. On FPB 78-1 we are using the space as a combination workshop/crew accommodation. This area is referred to as the “Executive Lounge.” We think it is radically cool!

FPB 78 Performance

We have already discussed how much more comfortable the new FPBs are at sea than their predecessors, as well as their increased maneuverability. The question now before us is: what about fuel burn, speed and range?.

The FPB 78 has 60% more displacement than the FPB 83, and probably double the volume (counting the Matrix deck) of the FPB 83. Even so, at ten knots cruising speed, in calm conditions, the fuel burn is almost the same as the FPB 83. At higher speed length ratios, starting around 10.5 knots of boat speed, the fuel burn rate begins to increase compared with the much lighter FPB 83. Likewise, the additional windage costs us fuel burn upwind, but then pays a dividend by acting as sail area off the wind.

In terms of speed and range, the FPB 78 has a demonstrated capability to go 4,700 nm upwind in the trades against the prevailing waves and current, averaging ten knots speed over ground, with 500 gallons of fuel to spare. If you were going in the opposite direction, downwind with the current and waves, you could increase speed by over a knot, while reducing fuel burn, extending range to over 6,000 nm with the same surplus left over. 

Maintenance

Even though Cochise is significantly larger and somewhat more complex than what we have been used to, for the most part it takes no more effort for us to maintain than Wind Horse. There are several reasons for this. First, the use of the wraparound windows, with glass running over the structure, makes window washing ever so much easier. Even though there is twice the glass area now, it can be cleaned and wiped in less time than we were used to with Wind Horse. A huge gain was made with the elimination of external stainless. Not only do we prefer the industrial/military look enhancement, but we no longer have to polish the “stainless” steel.

The super slick self polishing/self wiping at speed bottom paint is another saver. Although it does have to to wiped every three to four weeks when we are sitting, this is much faster and far less work overall, than traditional bottom paints.

In the engine room we have essentially the same gear as on Wind Horse, except there is more room in which to work. Yes, the engines and genset are bigger, but access is much better. And by lifting the floorboards we can hop down into the shallow bilge for cleaning, inspection, and work projects.

Where we lose out in maintenance terms are the interior surface areas. This is a much larger interior, with substantially more surface, so cleaning does take longer.

There is some of the electronics and data equipment that have frankly driven us crazy. This is directly the result of improper installation, typically not following correct procedures. We have it working reliably now, thanks to the efforts of Cory McMahon. But this took essentially ripping out the old wiring and starting over again.

FPB 70

We look at the FPB 78 as the archetype of what we think of now as our ultimate combination of ingredients and tradeoffs. In an irrational moment of excess spare time we began fiddling with a smaller package based on how the FPB 78 had evolved. It was crazy for us to be taking on a new project but the desire to see what could be done if we removed space for crew and long term guests was too strong. Hence the FPB 70.

This post has gone on for way too long so we will keep the FPB 70 section short.  While the FPB 70 and 78 are based on similar hydrostatic logic the hull shapes vary in numerous small ways.

A small but important new detail on both the FPB 78 and 70 was the wider anchor storage platform. This made it possible to pin the bow against a high commercial dock, or piling, to hold the boat in place if current or wind made conventional docking difficult.

With the boat pinned a spring or breast line could be handed ashore or tied around a piling.

Note how the belting fairs into the anchor platform. Aesthetics aside, the belting/wide platform combination was designed to create a lifting surface to help keep the bow up when driving hard downwind. We have had a chance to test this with Cochise and it works well.

The aft deck of the 78s had evolved quite nicely. In order to work something similar into the 70 the entire interior was moved forward. This allowed the engine room to move which allowed room for an isolated workshop aft.

The negative was in motion uphill. The owner’s suite and forward end of the great room would be further from the pitch axis. A very nice pair of cabins aft would create comfortable sea cabins, and by standing watch at the aft end of the Matrix deck comfort could be maintained uphill at sea if optimum sight lines were necessary.

We worked closely with Val and Stan Creighton, and  Stedem Woods, bouncing ideas around and having them critique our logic. Many thousands of cruising miles with their FPB 64s made this input exceptionally valuable.

The following photos and the two above are from Val and Stan Creighton of their new FPB 70.  You can follow their adventures with the FPB 70 here. At present they are cruising in Japan.

Complexity, Function, Redundancy and Frustration

We do not tolerate frustration well, not in our youth, and certainly not today. Yet a modern, large, and complex yacht can be the very definition of frustration. And while we have generally avoided the factors that trigger these emotions, we are not immune. So, from 50 years plus of messing about in boats a few observations:

First keep things simple, understanding simple is a relative term, it is possible to solve the same systems goal in either a complex or simple manner. And simple is usually less expensive.

Avoid compromising inspection and maintenance space, and never allow anyone to steal volume needed for machinery and systems for another use.

Stay away from integrated electronics. Our feeling is we are better off choosing the best available electronics in each type of gear. If you are staying with a single manufacturer avoid integrating as much as possible, and/or wire so pilot, radars, etc can be disconnected from their central hub and used in stand alone mode. I was talked into breaking my own rules in this regard and aside from the previously mentioned rewiring, we ended up with our backup steering system isolated from the main and the basic navigation system duplicated and easily isolated by pulling one ethernet cable.

Never have a variety of networks combined into a larger network. Keep critical networks isolated. And never let a tech install a network which you cannot get up and running due to component failure or network address corruption. We have gone back to this approach with a network for the vessel data system (N2K), another for the navigation, and a third for communications.

Bad stuff occasionally happens, it is part of the game, The key is to have the spares and tools necessary to keep going. In the case of mission-critical systems consider having an electrically isolated but otherwise ready to go backup steering and shift/throttle controls (FPB 78s have both).

And then work really hard to eliminate every piece of gear, wire, hose, etc. not absolutely required. Items that are not mission critical should be eliminated from the get-go. These little extra baubles have a cumulative negative impact that is much worse than anyone ever imagines.

Finally, watch the budget. Our experience over the years is that yachts that age the best, and are most used by their owners, tend to be the ones built under tight budgets. To the extent that extra costs add stuff, this is a negative. Money spent on simple, quality construction is a much better investment.

Running the FPB 78 as a Couple

If this were a dozen years ago and Linda and I were cruising aboard Cochise on our own, we’d be in heaven. At 65, considering the comfort, speed, range, and upwind capability, not to mention the dinghies, engine room access, and workshop, it is the ultimate package. But at 75 + we are slower, less agile, more subject to personal system failure, have a difficult time reading the various  engine, tranny, and genset dipsticks, and changing the raw water pumps on the engines is a lot harder than it used to be.

Until now we have been fine on our own with Cochise for coastal cruising. Part of this process entails delegating maintenance we used to do ourselves to folks we trust, like Triton Marine, in Beaufort, NC, and Billings Diesel in Stonington, Maine.

Offshore, crew is necessary.

How long can we continue to use Cochise? Will we be able to join the FPB Greenland cruise now in the planning stage for next summer? We are taking life one day at a time, grateful for what we have already experienced together.

The future will be what it is…

Post Script

Over the years we have been asked many questions about a career in yacht design and construction, as well as building a dream yacht from scratch. One of our objectives in these two posts is to help those of you who are compelled to play in this game. We feel we owe you a realistic assessment of the yachting industry.

This is not an easy place in which a business can make a profit, or even get a properly built yacht completed on budget and according to schedule. There is a singular lack of business acumen within the industry, projecting costs are difficult, and financial errors are the norm. Integration between trades is a rarity, and pre-planning almost never attempted. Unless you are are totally obsessive about details and willing to put forth a huge amount of effort, a myriad of silly mistakes that could have been avoided with a little forethought are to be expected.

The old saying “If you want to make a small fortune in this business start with  a large one” is accurate. Our suggestion is always going to be to purchase a good used yacht as opposed to starting a new custom project.

Which leads us to the subject of selling plans to our designs. Simply put, we have not done this in the past because proper execution of the type of yachts we prefer requires an experienced design and build team, good management, and attention to detail. If the correct mix is not present then it is better to leave it alone.

We would have very much liked to have had the FPB business continue. But try as we might, we could not find a formula that we thought would work, and we were not about to have our name used for marketing a product over which we had no control. We know there are folks who will be disappointed, but this decision is in your interest as well as ours.

If you are interested in more detail on many of the subjects contained in this post a list of reference links is available here.

Although we are no longer building new yachts, occasionally one does become available on the brokerage market. Sue Grant at Berthon in the UK keeps tabs on the comings and goings of our FPB and sailing family. Contact Sue for the latest on brokerage opportunities. Sue.Grant@Berthon.co.uk.

How do you create the best possible cruising yacht? Read on and we’ll share our formula.

We have retired from the business now, have a bit of time and are happy to share a few pointers about what has worked for us. This is the third and final post in this series. Part one, covering the early days through our last sailing yacht, the 78′ ketch Beowulf, is here. Part two on the FPB series is here.

We want to start by emphasizing that the comments which follow are personal, based on our experience in boat yards around the world and many thousand miles at sea. While the approach we have used has worked for us you should evaluate this in the context of your own experience, your own goals, and the skills of your build team. A large part of what drives us is a compulsion to minimize issues which impact our safety as well as the frustration that  accompanies sub-optimal outcomes, and an extreme dislike for maintenance headaches and lack of reliability. The majority of what we do is based on lessons learned in the real world, most the hard way.

It is in our nature to set the bar high and to push the design envelope. This is a Hobson’s choice: shooting for the best possible outcome forces us into a more difficult modes of execution. There is less room for error than would be the case if we backed off a bit. We do not recommend this all consuming approach to anyone. It is hard on family, coworkers, and on our bodies and psyches. If you leave a bit of performance on the table, and back off a notch on quality the process will be much easier. You may also have a better overall product as well.

Whether you are on the build or ownership side of this game the very best thing you can do to prepare yourself is go cruising, cross a couple of oceans, live aboard for six months or a year. We guarantee this will change your outlook in ways you cannot imagine.

Before we get into the nitty gritty we need to tell you that it is almost always better to buy an existing yacht than to go through the expense, frustration, quality problems, and late delivery that is the norm of building new. If you are among those who simply have no choice and are compelled to involve yourself with the process of creating yachts lets start with a few comments about how the yachting design and construction industry normally works:

• Designers usually do the hull shape, basic layouts, and sometimes structure, although it is very common these days to sub this last out.
• The builder is then expected to take the contract specification along with a basic set of drawings and create a yacht.
• Integration of the needs of the various trades in advance, for example hull builders, engineers, electricians, air conditioning, plumbing, is extremely rare. The process is typically linear with the problems of each solved as they come up, rather than at the beginning.
• Scheduling and pricing is rarely accurate. If “management” asks each department what it will take to complete their side of the project, the sum of those parts will rarely be sufficient. Someone needs to understand the ingredients and allow for the inevitable issues that are part of the game
• If you have been successful in business, have good management skills, and have used these across a variety of industries understand that what has served you well in the past will rarely suffice when you take on the complexity that is the yacht construction. The shibboleth “if you want to make a small fortune in yachting…start with a large one” applies to 95% or more of the real world examples we have seen.
• In order have a rational approach to the thousands of decisions that go into a finished product real world experience crossing oceans and living aboard for extended periods is an obvious necessity…but extremely rare to find.
• The norm in this business is to tell the customer what you think they want to hear. Advising a customer against a particular approach is rare, even when the end result of their desired outcome is likely a disaster.
• The preceding, along with the complexity of components, make yachts inordinately expensive. A piece of furniture that you might purchase for $3000 in a department store will likely cost five to ten times this amount in the boat yard. And the retail establishment will have a better financial outcome.
• Changes to the specification and layout that occur past an early point in the build cycle disrupt the entire work flow, and absorb substantial quantities time for shop foremen and management. This means their focus is not on other areas that also need attention. The net affect is that the direct labor hours typically represent around 20% of the actual costs of changes. Unless the builder charges on a basis of five times their actual cost, they are going to lose money. Too many change orders and the builder goes out of business, if not on your project, then the next, or the one after that.
• Unless a builder has multiple business lines in addition to their yachting gig the odds are they will inevitably fail, and someone or a group of owners will be left holding the bag. It is not unusual for deposits on new builds to go towards the historic losses rather than your own project.
• From the builders standpoint, they need to be guaranteed sufficient cash flow so that if the buyer fails to complete their part of the bargain, the builder is covered. Builder and owner need to understand that once a building slot is committed, if the owner walks, it will often take six months to a year until the work force has a project on which to work. The costs of this ripple effect are huge, and unlikely to be recovered unless the payment schedule is front loaded. But then front loading the cash flow exposes the owner to substantial risks.
• With management (I know, this is an oxymoron) being thin at best, what happens if key team members are unable to participate? Key man insurance is typically not available.
• Quality control in a formal sense is rarely practiced. Systems testing rather than an ongoing process is usually left to the end.
• Projects are often moved from the shop to the water before completion due to scheduling pressure. It takes a minimum of four times as many hours to do something in the water as it takes in the shop.
• Builders almost always under estimate the man hours left to go at the end, and how long this will take. There is a ripple effect throughout the facility as shop supervision and the best workers are tied up longer than expected causing delays in subsequent projects.
• The monthly fixed costs for the builder do not slow down or stop just because the schedule slips.
• Most owners are so upset with their outcome when they finally get away from the dock that it takes two years for them to get over the heartburn.

The preceding list is by no means complete.

For those of you wanting to get into the design or construction side of the business we suggest taking your skills elsewhere. If you are on the acquisition side of the equation we reiterate purchase a good used yacht. But if you have the fever, and there is no other way to slake your thirst, we offer a few suggestions about the methodology we have developed to mitigate the previously mentioned industry shortcomings.

We will divide this into four sections: design cycle, working drawings, construction, and business. Starting with the design cycle:

• Be realistic in design goals.
• Keep in mind the proven capabilities of builders and operators.
• Set targets based on known parameters.
• When investigating new concepts take care with “data” from interested parties. “Experts” are typically parochial in their outlook, and their definitions focused narrowly rather than universally applicable.
• Get second and third opinions.
• Avoid second hand data.
• When pushing boundaries limit the areas so as to minimize unanticipated negative correlations.
•  With safety factors allocate these in detail rather than holistically. This applies to mass, budget, volumes, centers of gravity ,etc. It allows isolation of data that is easily easily validated from that which carries higher risk factors.
• Under predict performance, range, tank volumes, etc. This fudge factor will eventually get used in any event.
• Have a fallback position in mind if major roadblocks are discovered.
• Be realistic about the risk/reward ratios and be prepared to change course early rather than getting so far down the path that it is too late..
• Remain alert to unintended consequences that may present themselves as the process matures.
• Avoid forcing singular requirements into the design that have numerous potential negative consequences associated therewith.
• Continuously review prior baseline decisions, tradeoffs, and goals as the design evolves.
• Avoid accepting the present state of affairs based on familiarity or habit. TThere is almost always a better way.
• Approaches requiring  numerous factors to work out in order to be successful rarely end up as desired.
• Assuming this is a serious cruising yacht heavy weather capability, comfort at sea, steering control, and speed trump all other design aspects.
•  Adhere to the KISS principle.

Working drawings take the design and make it buildable. These include structure, engine room, interior, electrical, plumbing, air conditioning and plumbing, deck details, and speciality items. In the ideal world all, or most of the working drawings are completed prior to the start of construction. In reality this often does not happen. The more of this that is done in advance the better the final outcome. Although not mandatory the integration of 3D modeling with this process can be very beneficial.

Depending on the overall goals and the quantity of yachts to be built, the cost of detailed working drawings may be seen as an unnecessary expense and delay.We feel strongly that properly integrated working drawings will save the builder time and money, and result in a much better organized product, with which the owner will have an easier time maintaining.

A few specifics:

• Take a holistic (integrated) approach to working drawings. Consider all aspects together rather than drawing in linear fashion one trade at a time.
• Frequently review with the various trades as to their requirements, and what could be done better from their perspective. Challenge them to think outside the box to improve.
• Maintenance access must be at the forefront of every decision.
• Strive for simple, easy to execute, and efficient building.
• Watch out for design details that become overly complex where the draftsmen/detailer/engineer gets wrapped up in their creation and looses the thread of what gets the job done in  the simplest manner.
• Fight every unnecessary item that is not essential to the critical path. Complexity and its negative impact on cruising enjoyment is vastly under-appreciated.
• Allow a minimum of twice the electrical wire and three times the plumbing volume and weight as initially thought sufficient.
• Maintenance in general and operation of back up systems must be considered in the context of an adverse sea-state, poor visibility, and a non-technical owner/crew.
• Make allowance for the future, in particular the running of new wires as systems change.

The complexity of modern yachts, even “simple” ones, makes the construction process difficult to predict, manage, evaluate, and control cost. This is applies to experienced yacht builders, and even more so to those trying to rationalize and manage the process, be they highly successful in other industries, or having grown up in the yachting business. Negotiating this complex situation requires sufficient experience, including many lessons learned the hard way, so you can walk through a project and know on a gut level what its status is. This skill set is rare. Over the years we have worked with just two builders who had this down.

The comments below for the owner and builder may (or may not) help you towards the goal of building a yacht that does not drive you crazy nor break the bank during the build phase.

• Tracking progress is without a doubt the most difficult of the tasks enumerated in this post. There are few, if any, objective standards that assist, until an area of construction is complete, which time you can be sure that there are no more construction hours to be billed against this aspect of the project. Our preference is to break the project into as many aspects as possible, assigning direct labor hour and time projections to each, and then track these as the build progresses. This process will often be wrong, but it does provide a small amount of discipline in the process and allows owner, designer and/or boat builder to develop a sense of how things are trending.
• Monitor baseline assumptions variance and update as data changes. Preliminary design and construction cost projections will include various rules of thumb. For example, you might estimate that internal, non-structural bulkheads weigh eleven pounds per square foot. But then it is decided to add a layer of decoupled mass to the bulkhead interior to further reduce sound. This decision needs to be reflected in the control spread sheet.
• Verify mass and center of gravity with several weighings of the entire vessel.
• Change orders are to be avoided. They create scheduling chaos, have a ripple impact up and down the production line, and can demoralize the build crew. As we stated earlier, a break even cost is typically obtained by multiplying actual shop hours times five.
• Quality is difficult to evaluate during the build as systems and interior are covered to protect from damage once installation is complete. You will not know what the visual quality is until the very end when those protection covers are removed. In the end, you are relying on the reputation of the folks with whom you are working.
• Quality control needs to be managed by someone other than the crew doing the work. Think of this as editing a book. It takes a fresh set of eyes to do a proper edit. The author will miss too many things.The same holds true for the QC of a yacht. Ideally the various trades work as a team, and the cabinet makers speak up when they see something done by the HVAC crew that is going to cause problems down stream.
• The level of fit and finish has a major impact on cost and build time. Having samples of the standards is important for builders and owners. Everyone needs to understand what the standards are throughout. Understand that as you approach perfection costs and time increase in geometric fashion. Getting that last five percent will double the costs.
• By definition schedules are going to slip. Owners pressure the builders for launch dates so they can arrange their own time and that of friends and family to attend the blessed event. The builder makes his best guess, and when this proves to be overly optimistic, most builders will move the yacht from the build shed to launching before it is ready. This adds greatly to cost, and slows the project down to the detriment of all. Never move a yacht out of the shed until it is completed.
• Test systems before leaving the shed. Verify early that systems are working as expected. There will always be infant mortality, and items which are incorrectly installed. Catching these in the shed is much better than at the dock.
• Pay attention to the work flow of the various trades and the impact on other aspects of the project. There are going to be situations where  judicious use of overtime for one trade may have a large benefit to the overall project.
• Avoid excessive periods of overtime. This is costly, and the efficiency of the rest of the work suffers as a result of fatigue.
• Owner visits are necessary but also disruptive. There should be an understanding in writing about when these are available.
• The owner should never be allowed to move aboard before sea-trials are complete nor any . of their personal gear. Not even one small box. Once you break this rule that one small box becomes a container load. Access is blocked and chasing the inevitable gremlins that become known in sea-trials is much more difficult. Everyone needs to understand that regardless of the build schedule, having the owner’s gear aboard significantly slows sea trials and getting the yacht completed. This rule is in the owner’s interest as well as the yard.
• We recommend an outside surveyor be used for periodic inspections. This protects both builder and owner.
• Be wary of owners reps.They can be helpful, or a disaster.
• The project is always going to have changes from the original drawings and schematics. Updating as built data is important.

The business side of this needs to be handled in a business like fashion. That statement sounds sophomoric on the face but typically builders are not good at the administration side of things.. A brief check list follows of items worth considering :

• Contract docs should be clear, not overly lawyered, but but at the same time spell out in writing all aspects of the deal.
• Ownership should pass with payments so that in the event of a bankruptcy event title is clear.
• Specifications level of detail depends on the project but at a minimum define for both parties what is to be supplied in sufficient detail that there are no later surprises.
• Progress payments, tied to certain milestones are better than paying a given percentage each month. Expect that the milestones will need adjusting as it is rare that the project will go as planned.
• Quality standards should be carefully spelled out with samples or other projects as comparables.
• Both builders and owners trials need to be defined. We think 50 hours off the dock and at least one gale are a minimum for builders trials.
• Who are they key people on the build side and what happens if they are indisposed?
• What is the financial condition of yard and client?
• What is the fallback plan in the event of bankruptcy or a force majeure event?
• What are the political risks?
• Can the project be contracted against a letter of credit or with some form of third party guarantee.
• Who bears tax and duty risks or is the project local tax and  duty exempt?
• What are the rules regarding tax and duty exemption in terms of paperwork, bonding, and time frame after hand over to the owner before the yacht must leave the country?
• Currency risks: buying forward, or going bare?

As hard as all of this is, we also have to say that once the project is completed, the bugs sorted, and the yacht is off cruising there can be a wonderful sense of accomplishment and pride in the outcome. It is what kept us coming back again and again.

We would like to leave you with this thought. Above all else try and maintain a holistic approach to design and construction. Think through how each decision works or interferes with everything else. If it does work well thats usually a sign to try a different approach.

We look forward to sharing an anchorage one day.

Following on the success of their Antarctic cruise in company, FPB78s Iron Lady ll and Grey Wolf ll are going to do another jaunt to the ice summer of 2020, this time to nearby Greenland. Several other FPBs are planning to join, so this is a semi-official call for all FPBers to give this opportunity serious consideration. Greenland is a relative easy destination to reach for our FPBs. Having made this life-changing cruise in 2008 we offer a few comments on the route we took.

Once you have cruised in an environment like Greenland, your perspective on everything changes. The combination of exquisite beauty, big ice, together with a degree of risk is a heady brew that can induce an adrenaline rush second to none.  Warning… exposure to what Greenland offers can induce addiction to high latitude cruising.

The passage from the US is relatively easy. A series of short (in FPB terms) hops. When we did this trip with FPB 83-1 Wind Horse we bunkered diesel in Ensenada, Mexico, and then made a very pleasant 12 day passage direct to Panama. It took a couple of days arranging paperwork (using the services of Tinas McBride). Upon completion of the Canal transit weather was so favorable for continuing on that after dropping pilot and line handlers, we anchored for a couple of hours, cleaned up the boat, showered, and headed directly for the Windward Passage and Bahamas.

Four comfortable days saw us in Georgetown, and after spending an enjoyable sojourn in the islands we headed direct to Nova Scotia,

five relatively easy days at sea.

Customs formalities were completed in Lunenberg, and after a few days catching up with old friends we day hopped up the east coast of Nova Scotia, through the

Bras  d’Or Lakes, to Badeck, and then across the 90 miles of Cabot Straits to Newfoundland.

From Newfoundland through the Straights of Belle Isle to

Red Bay, Labrador, and then along Labrador’s East Coast still day hopping, stopping as fancy dictated, exploring fascinating deserted anchorages and meeting wonderful Labrador inhabitants.

The passage from Labrador to Greenland is roughly 600 NM depending on your starting and ending point. Three days for an FPB at normal cruise.

As this will normally be your first exposure to big ice, a certain level of anxiety with the unknown is normal.  But before long having six or more large ice bergs in view on radar within 12 miles is no big deal. We will say, however, that navigating in heavy fog, in ice, with a gale immanent does make for a strong appreciation of quality radar and a back up as well.

Greenland itself is a cruising Nirvana with awe inspiring anchorages and beautiful ice everywhere you look.

You will find numerous posts on SetSail on this subject by typing “Greenland” into the search box upper right. We are looking forward to a drone photo of a bunch of FPBs in a lovely Greenland anchorage!

For more info on the Greenland planning contact FPB 78-3 Owner Pete Rossin

For a closer look at Greenland and the journey mentioned in the post here are a few video links:

• Greenland: one of the great cruising destinations on the planet. From ice choked Disco Bay in the northwest to the spectacular Prince Christian Channel complex in the south, you will be enthralled by what you see in this  Greenland video.  
• and then in order of how a passage from California to the UK via Greenland would look starting with the 2900 NM passage to Panama part one of two is here. Part two of two is here.
• Transit the Panama Canal, then make the passage from Colon, Panama through the Windward Passage  to the Bahamas, with a brief cruise through the lovely Islands in the Stream by clicking here.
• Bahamas to Nova Scotia upwind passage video is here.
• Crossing the Cabot Straights to Newfoundland is here.
• For a slide show of  Canada’s Nova Scotia, Newfoundland and Labrador click here.
• From Greenland we headed to Ireland, across the North Atlantic during a difficult weather pattern. That passage, and its one gale is here.

If you would like join the FPB family but are not an FPB Owner contact Sue Grant at Berthons.com. Sue keeps a close eye on the FPB fleet and will know of any brokerage opportunities.

For a link to the video which show and tells it all

click here.

We have  assembled video from the last 20,000+ miles of cruising with FPB 78-1 Cochise to show you in detail the secret formula we’ve used. From surfing at 20+ knots in 50 knots of wind, to jogging into huge standing  waves, crossing the Pacific backwards against the trades, and running down the Nova Scotia coast at a steady 14 knots, we will explain in detail how the FPB concept works. It is all here.

Having grown up in Southern California, with a sailing and surfing background, riding the waves  a natural part of being in or on the water. Our sailing and FPB designs have reflected this from the beginning. Recently we were surprised to learn that some of our owners are afraid of what is actually. one of the best things you can do with our yachts.

That is understandable if you come from a background where surfing is equated with broaching out of control, and then rolling.

So we set out to do a little educational video for those who are new to our yachts. The intent is to show you what these yachts will do when properly turned loose down wind.  This link will take you there.  https://youtu.be/Q8xSdMlgNjU

The extra speed that results makes it possible to take advantage of weather systems in a manner that often brings with it wonderfully comfortable, fast passages.

You also get the added bonus of a much wider array of storm tactics that are possible if you can surf under control at speed.

Over the years Linda and I have used the surfing techniques discussed in this video on many trans-ocean passages with fast quick anchor to anchor passages. We show you parts of several of these passages in this video.

Enjoy.

When we did our posts on the Wicked FPB 97 we were unable to take you for a tour of the interior due to privacy concerns for the owners.  That has now changed and Sue Grant, the managing director of Berthons International has done a wonderful interior and exterior tour.

Click here to see Sue Grant’s video. Sue has really done a remarkable job with this tour.

This is the third video in Steve Dashew’s series on his search for the perfect cruising yacht.

Using spectacular video and still photography Steve Dashew explains how yacht design impacts comfort and safety when heading into the waves. Learn the ultimate storm tactic when you’ve run out of other options, and experience the evolution of Dashew’s wave piercing FPB cruising yacht hulls. Steve teaches of a few simple things you can do to significantly improve your sailing performance to windward. If you are dreaming about, planning for, or already crossing oceans you will want to watch this video to the end.

Click here to experience this spectacular video.

Although we have never been hit with lightning, it is one of the few things about which we worry when at sea, in particular with modern yachts. Hence this new vide0.If the subject of lighting is of interest to you, click here for the new video.

We have a detailed post about lightning that you can read here.

Fast forward to 2020 and we can add a few updates to the data above and below.

To begin with our main concern in a post hit recovery are the propulsion, steering, and navigation systems. When we were investigating the use of computer controlled engines early in the FPB program we discussed the subject of lightning vulnerability with tech and service personnel from John Deere and Mathers controls (a division of ZF). The incidence of problems from Deere was very low. And the decision was made to not carry more than an ordinary set of spares, in itself extensive. This included a set of all electronic sensors and an engine CPU.

Mather’s Controls had a less satisfactory answer. Their suggestion was a complete replacement post hit, as experience had proven it was difficult to ferret out all of the problems in one go. As a result we developed a direct emergency shift and throttle system which is normally left disconnected. There are no integrated circuits except for a throttle voltage power source which is supplied by Deere, and hopefully sufficiently resistant to EMPs from nearby lightning or a direct hit somewhere on the FPB 78.

For steering we have our direct to pump set controls which override the autopilot. These use old fashioned iron wound solenoids for controlling the hydraulic steering pumps. If there should a failure of some sort in the hydraulic system the emergency tiller with relieving tackles could be used.

We also have the construction with a metal hull and superstructure going for us, which provides additional protection compared to fiberglass.

Lets hope that this continues to be a subject which we study from a distance!

Below is a related section from Offshore Cruising Encyclopedia

Join Linda and Steve Dashew aboard the FPB 78 – 1 Cochise on a 7500 mile/12,070 kilometer record setting voyage,averaging 10 knots from Fiji to Panama against the winds and current, that has changed the prospects of cruising forever. Their 5450 mile/8770 kilometer leg, without a fuel stop, is the longest ever undertaken by a small motor yacht. You will be aboard as they thread their way through some of the most beautiful and navigationally dangerous waters on this planet. The Dashews will show you how they deal with severe thunder squalls, use modern navigation electronics, and catch fish on a state of the art meat line. You will hear stories of their past visits through the South Pacific, make a brief stop at exquisite Fatu Hiva, and learn how they do all of this in extreme comfort.

Click here to visit “The Way Back” on the  Dashew Offshore YouTube Channel

Linda and Steve Dashew’s four books now available as a free PDF download.

We have been blessed with the support of the cruising community for many years, and we’d like to return the favor in a small way. We are making Mariner’s Weather Handbook, Surviving the Storm, Practical Seamanship and Offshore Cruising Encyclopedia available for free as PDF files. We hope Mariner’s Weather Handbook helps you avoid the need for Surviving the Storm, and that Offshore Cruising Encyclopedia and Practical Seamanship enhance your tools for successful cruising. If these books help a few of our fellow cruisers have a more enjoyable experience, and perhaps stay out of difficulty, we will have been amply repaid. Simply click on the links below to download these publications.

Mariner’s Weather Handbook

Surviving the Storm

Practical Seamanship

Offshore Cruising Encyclopedia

Join Steve Dashew aboard FPB 78-1 Cochise and find out how the Dashews solved one of the major weaknesses of modern integrated navigation systems.

We have previously discussed in detail the evolution and refinement of the Matrix deck layout aboard Cochise (which you can read about here).

Over the past year we have concentrated mostly on videos, turning to the visual realm to give you some insight into the evolution of our designs and how these have worked out for us in the real cruising world (there are currently 68 videos on the Dashew Offshore YouTube channel).

But now it’s time to switch back to the written word. We want to explain a bit about how our thinking and hardware have evolved about modern electronics, making it possible for us to operate Cochise on our own, particularly in difficult situations.

Cochise is fitted with the first integrated navigation solution we have ever used. Major components all come from the same supplier, SIMRAD, and can be managed over a common network. There are two radars, autopilot (plus backup), several GPS’s, a depth sounder, forward-looking sonar and structure scan all within the same system.

Cochise also has the most extensive N2K data monitoring system we have ever fitted. Pumps, float switches, tank levels, engine data, electrical info and many other parameters are constantly tracked. There are numerous custom pages of information optimized for various situations. And she has a FLIR night vision system, as well as multiple video cameras used to keep eyes on the engine room, for on-deck surveillance, and to track and record weather and sea state. All good stuff, much of it vying for the watch keeper’s attention.

During the first 18,000 miles of cruising we had Steve Parsons, a professional captain, with us, and our watch-keeping duties were split between the Matrix deck and great room. Though having Steve on board was a great addition and we worked well together, we did chafe at the thought that we were now of a certain maturity which made the extra assistance prudent…

…We quickly learned that the 55″ TV in the great room was a critical component of our combined watch-keeping efforts. The screen was easily discernible from anywhere in the great room, and there was lots of space in which to arrange navigation and/or N2K vessel data. In addition, the low vertical installation reduced screen glare on the windows and surrounding surfaces. We were constantly experimenting with combinations of screen setups: 32″ wide screen monitors, 5″ square Maretron N2K data displays, and occasionally dedicated processor/display combinations. We also had the ability to run the Simrad nav system as well as Maretron N2K software on both iPad and Samsung tablets. Lots of options. Offshore, with infinite room and plenty of time, things felt good. Certainly compared to our previous yachts the data presentation and the working arrangement related to the Simrad gear was an improvement.

We are all creatures of habit to a greater or lesser degree. In the design fields this manifests itself in the fact that it is usually more comfortable to do what’s worked before, rather than risk something new. Established norms, even if they are your own and differ from the public at large, are difficult to break away from. Although we constantly battle this state of affairs, the FPB 78 Matrix deck with which Cochise was launched is a classic example of what I am trying to describe. We had stayed with our somewhat tried and true layout from earlier setups, increased in size to take advantage of the increased space.

Having learned the advantages of the advantages of a large, low-mounted screen from using the TV in the great room, using Cochise on our own eventually evolved into four screens on the Matrix deck over a year of experimenting. Each of these has a hinge running along the upper section, which allows the screen to rotate during the day if sun glare becomes an issue, or when access behind the screen is necessary. Once the sun has set, the screens typically return to vertical.

Except the port side screen. This 49″ (diagonal measurement) monitor is a touch screen. I have not been a fan of smaller touch screens in the past. They are difficult to use in rough conditions. At this size though the advantage is so large that I have been converted.

The two of us have always worked as a team when conditions get difficult. Linda normally runs the electronics and steers, adjusting radars, chart plotter, and depth sounders as I request or conditions require. My attention is focused outside of the helm, watching the sea for signs of shallows, ice, and other vessels. In the original Matrix layout if I was in the notch against the open window, I could not reach much of the gear.

It seems so simple now, such a logical evolution, so obvious, that the convoluted path required to arrive here doesn’t seem possible. The problem is that we were dealing in an area so new and different, each iteration over that year of experimenting opened our eyes to new possibilities. There were three main goals we had for optimizing our navigation layout and operation:

First, organize the panel so as to minimize operator error. Second, make it possible for either operator to reach all of the gear. And third, reduce to a minimum the number of operations required to adjust navigation data (more on this in a bit).

In the console photo above, there are autopilot steering controls on both aft corners with the shift throttle near center. Left of this is the autopilot control head and to the right the FLIR night vision camera control.

Second row up from the bottom has a pair of SIMRAD OP50 controllers on each edge, each of which operates one of the four SIMRAD CPUs. Centered above the shift/throttle are the external lights control (lower) and bilge pump manual trigger. The two red buttons are emergency stop for the engines. The upper black button is for the horn while the lower black button turns the second helm pump on/off.

The square meter adjacent to the buttons controls the NAIAD stabilizer system. Upper right not shown here but in the preceding photo is the windlass control. Across the aft vertical face are the VHF radio on the left, emergency steering lever on the right. AIS control head is in the middle.

Above: in a tight situation, where time is of the essence, if anything goes wrong with the auto pilot one button push and you are in direct control of the hydraulic pump that steers the boat.

The starboard vertical side has the Matrix deck interior light switches and dimmers. The three trackballs (in storage mode here held in place with Velcro) are used with the video cameras, N2K when presented on a big screen, and in some situations with the SIMRAD gear. The port side has a series of circuit breakers for nav gear in this area.

Eliminating the traditional navigation desk previously installed, and mounting the monitors low made it possible to lower the height of the helm chairs, while maintaining good sight lines forward in close to the bow.

Geometry of the console works really well when one is seated, yet is still high enough to be easily used when standing. And just in case we decide we want it higher or lower, the angle and height can be changed without too much effort.

And now we get to a critical reason for this post. All major integrated navigation systems depend on opening, adjusting and moving between windows to get the most out of their systems. For example, if you have made changes to your chart scale and want to adjust range on the radar, two or three key strokes or button pushes are typically required before you have exited from the charting program and gotten into the radar. This works fine offshore and in benign situations, when time is not a pressure factor. But as your operating space tightens and stress is added to the equation, those extra key strokes required to change windows can lead to problems.

This is why prior to Cochise we avoided integrated electronics systems, opting instead for dedicated stand-alone electronic components. Along with other benefits, this “a la carte” method got rid of window switching issues.

But when Simrad introduced their OP50 controller (above), a lot of things became possible. Cochise had been launched with a SIMRAD system based on a their NSO2 CPU. A feature of this blackbox was twin processor cards–effectively two CPUs in one black box, each driving its own screen, and controllable by the OP40 remote. By adding a second NSO2 processor there were now four CPUs. Marrying these with four dedicated OP50 controllers and four separate screens created an operational environment that was simpler, much quicker to learn, and less subject to errors.

Each critical nav system could have its own screen and its own controller, eliminating the extra operations previously necessary when we wanted to modify displayed data.

If the radar is on the touch screen (screen #1) and we want to change range we need only to turn the control knob on OP50#1. With the chart on screen #2, changing range again is just a twist of OP50#2’s control knob. Previously we’d have to first switch from the radar window to the chart window, and then one or more additional operations could be required depending on what was happening. The f our OP50s can be reached from either helm chair

Sitting comfortably at my land desk, with a three-screen iMac Pro in front of me and a PC with engineering software to my right, operating with five or more programs open at once, switching between windows seems so simple. One would think that a conventional integrated nav system, such as we started out with, would be no big deal. And that is is often the case.

But I can assure you that when the weather and sea combine to make things difficult, when there is risk to vessel and crew, when you are not 100% certain of your position or the next move, the extra key strokes do make a big difference. And when your fingers hit the wrong key and you are momentarily lost, you then have a conflict between the focus required to get back to the right nav data, or keeping your senses tuned to what’s happening outside. This new approach eliminates most of those issues.

Now for a moment of candor. If this were 20 years ago and our physical capabilities were at a higher level, we would be less concerned. Our innate sea sense and finely-tuned situational awareness would go a long way toward keeping us out of trouble. This new approach is a way of compensating for the aging process. It allows us to operate a vessel as large as Cochise on our own, in difficult conditions, which would otherwise not be prudent.

We do not like being dependent on this electronic wizardry, but we prefer it to the alternative of cruising in less invigorating environments.

Finally, a few words on the N2K data system:

It begins with these dedicated Maretron N2K screens. You have a choice of up to 16 pages of data with a few buttons pushed with each device. However, in reality we’ve found that six small screens mounted at the top of the console give us sufficient data space to have the most critical info in front of us at all times. The Maretron N2K data system is separate from and independent of the other systems.

These six screens have lived at various locations on the Matrix deck. We like them best as shown, where they are just under our normal field of view.

There are additional screens at the lower helm, master control panel, in the engine room, and at the lower portable helm station.

When we are on soundings, and on occasion offshore, all four of the big screens on the Matrix deck are being used for navigation and video, so we have a series of special N2K View pages which we bring up on the various tablets. The photo above shows the diesels working hard in 30 knots of breeze on the nose, while losing .75 knots to adverse current. There are times when two or more tablets are in use.

We have some really cool tools these days, and with these changes they are more reliable and a whole bunch more fun.

Hello Setsailors,

A brief heads up regarding FB 78-1 Cochise:

Cochise is headed towards Europe under new ownership. Although she was not for sale, when Sue Grant at Berthon International introduced us to her new owners it was obvious Cochise would be in good hands and used in a manner that takes advantage of her design.

Cochise treated us amazingly well, keeping us safe and comfortable over many thousands of miles. We wish her new owners the very best with their dream machine.