Beneteau has pulled the cover off the First 60 concept, marking the 50th anniversary of its First line with a bold new flagship that blends performance sailing with long-range comfort. Unveiled at Boot Düsseldorf, the 62-foot design is the largest First ever built and signals where one of sailing’s most storied performance brands is heading next.

Designed by Biscontini Yacht Design with Lorenzo Argento responsible for both the exterior and interior styling, the First 60 targets sailors who want speed and responsiveness at the helm without giving up the livability needed for extended cruising.

Beneteau describes the boat as “crafted for sailors who seek intensity, precision at the helm, and the satisfaction of fine-tuning every detail,” positioning the First 60 squarely in the crossover space between race-bred performance and true cruising capability.

A performance platform with offshore range

From the dock, the First 60 presents a clean and modern profile defined by long waterlines and minimal visual clutter. Argento’s exterior design pares the boat back to essential lines.

For sailors used to covering long distances, the deck plan reflects serious thought about how boats are actually sailed offshore. The Walk-Around Winch Island places running rigging in a centralized and protected location, keeping sail handling efficient and secure. A captive mainsheet winch and Park Avenue boom are intended to make sail handling more precise and less physically demanding, especially when short-handed.

Adaptive helm ergonomics are shaped around the sailor’s natural posture, an important detail for long watches behind the wheel. According to Beneteau, the goal was a cockpit that supports both high-intensity sailing and endurance cruising.

Beneteau says the First 60 is the only yacht in its size range to divide the cockpit into three distinct zones (Sailing, Dining and Relaxation), allowing crews to trim sails, share meals, or unwind without interfering with one another.

Interior designed for life underway

Belowdecks, the First 60 is laid out to support real life at sea. The main salon combines a forward-facing nav station with a dedicated seating area, allowing watchkeepers and off-watch crew to stay connected without crowding the workspace.

The full-beam galley is designed around long work surfaces and integrated storage, a layout that will matter to sailors who cook regularly underway and need secure footing and easy access to provisions.

Forward, the owner’s cabin is one of the standout features. A walk-around, forward-facing berth, abundant natural light, and broad sea views aim to make it a comfortable retreat after long days on passage.

Argento’s interior styling carries the same aesthetic found on deck, blending warmth with modern materials for a look that is meant to remain current well beyond the boat’s launch cycle.

Built for a connected owner community

Beneteau is also positioning the First 60 as a gateway into its broader First owner ecosystem. The builder says owners will receive personal guidance during configuration, support throughout construction, and long-term backing through its Premium Service program.

Final thoughts

With a 62-foot length overall, nearly 50,000 pounds of displacement, and CE Category A certification, the First 60 is designed for serious offshore work as well as fast coastal sailing.

The concept signals Beneteau’s intent to keep the First name relevant to sailors who want both exhilaration and endurance. For long-range cruisers who still care deeply about how a boat sails, the First 60 suggests that performance and passagemaking do not have to be separate paths.

The post Beneteau Unveils the First 60 appeared first on Cruising World.

Saffier Yachts has introduced the latest addition to its performance-minded line of luxury daysailers, announcing the new SE 28 Leopard ahead of its world premiere at Boot Düsseldorf in January 2026.

Designed for spirited sailing with the ease of singlehanded control, the 28-footer pairs clean lines with the brand’s hallmark simplicity. A reversed bow, broad beam and flat underwater sections speak to its focus on speed and balance, while a deep spade rudder promises grip and responsiveness.

Owners will have the choice of a Yanmar 15 hp diesel or a 7.5 kW electric drive, along with a tiller or dual-wheel setup. Sail controls run below deck to the helm, keeping the cockpit clean and focused. Saffier notes that the boat’s new hull form is built to enhance both upwind and downwind pace while maintaining confident handling.

Inside, the SE 28 Leopard features a compact cruising layout with a V-berth forward and settees to either side of the saloon. Optional equipment includes refrigeration or a marine toilet. On deck, the cockpit can seat eight, with a large sunpad and stow-away table to create a relaxed social space after returning from an afternoon blast across the bay.

Light weight and a trailerable design open the door for sailors looking to explore new waters, with the boat designed to be launched and rigged easily.

“This new hull offers faster sailing upwind and downwind, with stability and control in all conditions,” the yard said in its announcement. “She is more than just a daysailer. She is your invitation to sail faster and further.”

The SE 28 Leopard joins a growing list of modern performance daysailers capturing attention among cruisers who appreciate the feel of a spirited boat and the convenience of less-demanding systems. For sailors who want weekends of simple fun or midweek evening racing, the Leopard lands squarely in that sweet spot.

The boat will make its international debut at Boot Düsseldorf in 2026.

Youth & High-Performance Pathways

Across many sailing hubs in Europe and North America, lightweight performance boats like the SE series are becoming part of a broader pathway for young sailors transitioning from dinghies to keelboats. Many clubs and sailing schools now mix Optis, ILCA/Lasers and high-performance daysailers in training fleets to help youth sailors develop tactics, boat handling and confidence across a range of platforms. For families looking to grow young racers or simply enjoy fast, manageable weekends on the water, compact sport-forward keelboats continue to play an important role.

The post Saffier Unveils SE 28 Leopard Daysailer appeared first on Cruising World.

Seawind Catamarans has officially launched the Seawind 1270, a 42-foot performance cruising catamaran designed to redefine comfort, safety and speed at sea. The new model builds on the success of the Seawind 1260, which was named Cruising World’s Best Cruising Catamaran Under 50 Feet in 2019, and incorporates 35 major design upgrades based on owner feedback from around the world.

“With the Seawind 1270, our team took a new approach to design and styling, as the result of decades of refinement in catamaran design, drawing from our proven Seawind DNA,” said Richard Ward, CEO of Seawind Catamarans and Corsair Marine International. “We set out to create the best possible 42-foot catamaran in the world for our customers by listening to what sailors really need. We’ve preserved our essential features our owners love, introducing modern lines and exciting new features whilst also utilizing the latest technology and engineering.”

At 400 mm longer and 120 mm wider than its predecessor, the Seawind 1270 offers expanded interior space, raised foredecks for better ocean capability and a larger forward cabin area. The hulls feature new underwater shapes optimized for improved performance off the wind, while wider topsides increase living volume. True to Seawind’s offshore pedigree, the 1270 is built to Category A certification for unlimited offshore sailing.

Inside, buyers can choose between a three-cabin galley-down version or a three-cabin galley-up layout with a forward-facing navigation station. The much-loved day bed returns, as do the panoramic opening windows for ventilation and visibility. Safety has been improved with side access gates, extended transoms, and 800 mm stanchions with four lifelines.

The 1270’s cabin roof is engineered for up to 2,040 watts of solar panels and doubles as a rainwater catcher, while carbon reinforcement in high-stress areas adds strength without weight. Standard propulsion comes from twin 29 hp Yanmar diesels, and a hybrid-electric option is planned for late 2026.

Seawind will premiere the 1270 worldwide via livestream on September 28 at 10 a.m. PDT, followed by an in-person debut at the Annapolis Boat Show in October. Production begins in November 2025 at Seawind’s Ho Chi Minh City facility, with the first hull scheduled for completion in mid-2026.

“While the Seawind 1270 is a completely new tooling project, it will be produced by the same experienced Seawind 1260 production team,” Ward said. “This ensures the Seawind 1270 production will benefit from Seawind’s experienced workforce working in this same 40–45-foot range, who have established exceptional craftsmanship and finish.”

With its blend of performance, safety, and liveaboard comfort, the Seawind 1270 continues the builder’s tradition of creating bluewater catamarans built for adventure and designed for life on the water.

The post Seawind Launches 1270 Performance Cruising Catamaran appeared first on Cruising World.

The sea off Cannes, France is barely breathing this particular morning, its surface flat and ­luminous under the weight of the sun. We slip quietly from the dock and into the Gulf of Napoule, where the horizon meets the sky in the sort of hazy blur that makes distance seem irrelevant. A thin breeze meanders through the rigging of Sine Finis, just enough to stir the sails but not enough to command them. The boat moves anyway. Not quickly, but surely, as if being pulled forward by some invisible tether.

At the helm, Nico Jonville stands relaxed, one hand lightly on the wheel. He isn’t adjusting or trimming or steering with any urgency. He is simply sailing. The kind of sailing that reveals not just what a boat can do, but also what it is.

That quiet clarity is what first strikes me about Sine Finis. With so little wind, there should have been hesitation. But instead, we glide. A boat like this doesn’t need drama to be impressive—only a sailor who understands.

“There’s a precision to the helm,” Jonville says. “You feel the rigidity of the boat. It’s clean, immediate.” 

Even in stillness, this boat offers something most performance cruisers don’t: calm confidence. And in this light-air passage off the South of France, I can already feel what the boat was made for: movement. Big movement. The kind that crosses oceans and transforms sailors.

This movement, for Jonville, started long before Sine Finis. It began in France with his grandfather, aboard boats that shaped his earliest memories. 

“I was behind the wheel by the time I was 3,” he says, laughing. He grew up between Paris and the coast, with summers spent on the water. Sailing wasn’t something he learned; it was something he absorbed.

His grandfather—an old-school mariner who believed in ­giving youngsters the helm—handed him a level of freedom most sailors don’t taste until adulthood. As a teenager, he was already captaining trips with friends aboard a 46-footer, gaining miles and an innate trust in himself and the sea. There were mistakes, of course—he’s quick to acknowledge them. “Plenty of stupid things done,” he says, smiling. “But that’s how you learn. That’s how it gets into your bones.”

Eventually, life brought him to the United States, where he found a different rhythm in the sailing scene of Southern California. In 2007, he bought his first “real” cruising boat: a 37-footer capable of more-serious travel. “I wanted to go farther,” he says. “I wasn’t interested in racing or daysailing. I wanted to move.”

And move he did. From San Diego, he sailed down the Baja coast, into Central America, through Panama and into the Caribbean. He spent time in the San Blas Islands, fell in love with remote ­anchorages, and began to sketch out a circumnavigation. “That was the plan,” he says. “Around the world.”

But then came COVID. Countries closed. Routes vanished. Plans dissolved. Like many voyaging sailors, Jonville found ­himself reevaluating not just his passage plans, but also his vessel. 

“She’d taken me far,” he says of the 37-footer. “But I started seeing the limits—especially in tougher weather. I wanted something safer. Something that wouldn’t just survive offshore, but thrive.”

He sold the boat in Virginia and began what he jokingly calls “the hunt”—a meticulous, sometimes maddening, two-year search for the right replacement. Not just a boat that looked good on paper, but one that also could carry him through the kind of voyaging he envisioned: shorthanded, long-distance and full of unknowns.

“I had a hundred checkboxes,” he says. “Fast. Safe. Solo-capable. Dry cockpit. Storage space. Good light-air performance. A real sailboat, not a floating apartment. But I still wanted comfort. I didn’t want to compromise on what matters at sea.”

He found the Pegasus 50 almost by accident. It was in a listing online, with a photo that caught his eye. The lines were modern and purposeful. The configuration looked different. The deeper he researched, the more intrigued he became. 

Built in Slovenia, the Pegasus 50 was designed for performance cruising with an epoxy-infused carbon hull, twin rudders, a double-wing keel, and a cockpit that emphasized protection and singlehanded control. It was a monohull with the openness of a catamaran, but it still promised to sail like a proper offshore boat.

He flew to Europe. When he saw the boat in person for the first time in the marina, he was overwhelmed. “I was like a kid in a toy store,” he says. The sea trial sealed it. In just 12 knots of wind, the boat moved effortlessly at 9. The code zero unfurled, and the boat surged forward with a smoothness that made his decision feel inevitable. “It was everything I’d hoped for. And more.”

That evening, after the sea trial that left him electrified, Jonville and his wife ducked into a small waterside restaurant tucked away in a sleepy Slovenian harbor. Still riding the high of the day—and the certainty that he’d found the right boat—they raised a toast with glasses of local sparkling wine.

The label caught Jonville’s eye: Sinefinis. Curious, he asked the waiter what it meant.

“It means ‘without borders,’” came the reply.

Jonville sat back, stunned. His last boat—his faithful 37-footer that had carried him through Central America and into the Caribbean—had been named Sans Frontières. The French translation was identical. Here, thousands of miles from that boat and its memories, he’d stumbled onto the same phrase, translated into Latin, etched on the bottle at the table where he and his wife were dreaming of a new chapter. Sine Finis. Without borders. Without end.

The boat was delivered to the Mediterranean, and after some time testing and commissioning with the owners of Pegasus Yachts, Jonville set off from Slovenia with two friends, heading west toward Venice, Italy. It was his first true shakedown sail aboard Sine Finis, just days after taking delivery. He’d barely had time to get acquainted with the systems—hadn’t even practiced reefing under pressure—when the weather turned.

Off the coast of Italy, sometime after midnight, a squall barreled in fast and hard. The wind spiked to 38 knots. The Adriatic turned serious. “It came on strong and unexpected,” Jonville says. “I barely knew the reefing system yet, and here I was, alone in the dark with sails full and seas rising.”

He sprang into action, reefing down quickly, learning on the fly in real time. Sheets were eased, and he worked through the motion with instinct and muscle memory. But what surprised him most was how the boat responded—not panicked or overloaded, but sure-footed, balanced.

“She held her own,” Jonville says. “There was no drama in the way she behaved. I adjusted, and she just kept moving.”

Later, in the calm that followed, Jonville sat at the helm watching the glow of the instrument lights dance off the carbon rig. The boat had just passed its first real test—not in a sea trial, not on paper, but out there, in the elements, with one sailor alone. And the bond between them began to cement—not with a handshake or a christening, but with shared weather and trust.

Later, they sailed west through Gibraltar, on to the Canaries and across the Atlantic—Sine Finis’ first major passage. This boat was ready. Jonville was too. 

“Crossing the Atlantic is the dream,” he says. “But it’s also the test. You learn who you are. You learn who your boat is.”

Crossing an ocean isn’t just a matter of charts and provisions. It’s a psychological departure, a shift in mindset from the immediacy of coastal sailing to the long, slow breath of life offshore. Before casting off from the Canaries, Jonville and his small crew spent days readying Sine Finis for the passage. Systems were checked, weather windows weighed, redundancies double-checked. They discussed watch schedules, stowed food in every conceivable locker, and reviewed emergency protocols with the same attention as sail trim.

But as any offshore sailor knows, no matter how prepared you are, there’s always that quiet moment of reckoning when the coast fades behind you and the realization sets in: This is it. You’re out there now.

“For me, there’s a mental shift,” Jonville says. “You go from planning to being. There’s nothing left to do but sail, and that’s the beauty of it.”

For just under three weeks, Sine Finis rode the trades westward with the grace of a boat made for the passage. The crew settled into their rhythm quickly: two-person watches rotating through the night, shared meals by day, quiet hours at the helm punctuated by bursts of laughter or mutual silence. The boat revealed itself as fast and capable, and also forgiving. It was comfortable in light air, confident in heavier breeze, and almost eerily quiet in motion.

“Even in rough weather, we could cook, work, sleep,” Jonville says. “We had everything from 3 knots to 35, and she never ­struggled. That gave us time to actually enjoy the crossing.”

And enjoy they did. There were nights when the cockpit felt like a floating observatory—the stars so brilliant, they could trace constellations by instinct. Moonrises over the stern lit the water in molten silver as the boat surfed at 12 knots. One night, dolphins played in the wake, their bodies igniting trails of bioluminescence like underwater fireworks.

There were challenges, of course, but nothing serious: a code zero tack line change due to chafing, a spinnaker tear in strong gusts, a loose washing-machine-hose repair underway. The crew was sharp and composed, and worked together with an ease born of trust—trust in the boat and in one another.

“You get to know people differently out there,” Jonville says. “When you’re standing watch at 2 a.m., talking about nothing and everything, it sticks.”

On Sine Finis, that space for connection was everywhere—­between helm and cockpit, galley and salon, on-watch partner and off-watch sleeper. The open flow of the boat’s design meant the crew was never isolated. And the boat’s handling meant no one was ever overwhelmed. The boat made the crossing not only possible, but also pleasurable.

More than anything, the passage offered something rare: clarity. Little internet. No noise. Just wind, water and the company of people who had chosen to be there. They trimmed sails together, told stories over breakfast, shared the quiet work of passagemaking without pretense or pressure.

“She just felt right out there,” Jonville says. “The boat, the crew, the sea—it all came together.”

And for every mile they made good, there was something else gained: confidence and the quiet wonder of seeing the world slowly shift, one longitude at a time.

One of the boat’s standout features proved invaluable offshore: an electric gimbaled salon table. “You’re heeled over at 15 or 20 degrees, but you can still work, eat, read, use a laptop while sitting level,” Jonville says. “It’s not a gimmick. It changes the way you live aboard underway.”

Just as important was the cockpit protection. On his previous boat, sailing in big seas often meant getting soaked, battling weather, and bracing for every wave. On Sine Finis, the covered helm created a cocoon of calm. “You’re doing 9, 10, 11 knots, and outside the wind is howling, but you’re dry, you’re warm, you’re focused,” he says. “It’s a completely different experience.”

After landfall in the Caribbean, the boat continued north ­toward Chesapeake Bay. There was little fanfare aside from complimentary onlookers asking about the boat. Just another passage, another movement forward. That, in many ways, is what Sine Finis represents for Jonville—not an arrival, but rather a way of continuing. A vessel not just for going places, but for becoming someone new along the way as well.

“This October, I’ll have Sine Finis at the Annapolis boat show. After that, I don’t know where we’ll go next,” Jonville says, standing at the stern as Sine Finis edges north along the US East Coast. “The list is long.”

A return to San Diego is all but certain—his adopted hometown, a natural waypoint and homecoming after the Atlantic chapters. And there’s talk of sailing north to the Pacific Northwest, a region that calls to him with its wild coastline and quiet anchorages.

But there’s no timetable. No fixed itinerary. Not anymore.

He’s not chasing latitudes or counting countries. He’s chasing something more elusive: feelings. The right breeze. The right harbor. The right morning light filtering through the companionway as the kettle whistles and the boat rocks gently at anchor.

Still, that old idea, the one that started it all, hasn’t entirely disappeared. The dream of a circumnavigation lingers in the background, unhurried but unforgotten.

“It’s still there,” Jonville says. “It might not look like I imagined when I was younger, and that’s OK. We’ll take it one leg at a time. If it happens, it happens.”

In the meantime, Sine Finis is already doing what it was built to do: crossing oceans, making landfalls, bringing people together. Each passage unlocks something new for Jonville—on the chart and inside the sailor himself. It’s apparent when he stands at the helm. That quiet reverence. That calm curiosity. The same posture he carried that day in Cannes, when the boat was barely moving but somehow telling us everything we needed to know.

For a sailor raised in the space between tradition and ambition, Sine Finis is the right boat at just the right time. 

The post Sailing <i>Sine Finis</i>: The Boat Built to Chase New Horizons appeared first on Cruising World.

Cantiere del Pardo has unveiled the Grand Soleil 65 Performance, the sportier sibling to its Long Cruise model and the newest addition to its Plus Line. While the Plus designation speaks to yachts over 60 feet, it also signals a more personal approach: each yacht is tailored to the owner’s vision from the earliest design stages, blending handcrafted Italian boatbuilding with performance-driven naval architecture.

Designed by Matteo Polli with structural engineering by Marco Lostuzzi and interior and deck styling by Nauta Design, the 65 Performance aims to deliver speed and responsiveness while keeping the hallmark elegance and comfort that Grand Soleil owners expect. The sleek coachroof, optimized sail plan, and balanced hull form are intended to give sailors the thrill of performance sailing without sacrificing liveaboard comfort.

“The 65-footer is the result of a totally Made-in-Italy design process that brings together a team of professionals representing Italian excellence in the yachting sector,” says Franco Corazza, project manager for the Plus Line.

The yacht’s hull draws from the Grand Soleil 72 Performance, carrying a pronounced V at the bow and a low wetted surface to reduce resistance and improve performance in light air. The rig is stepped well aft to enlarge the foretriangle, improving aerodynamic efficiency while keeping the center of effort low. Sail handling systems, including a standard self-tacking jib, are designed for safe, shorthanded sailing—making it possible for an experienced couple to manage the boat without additional crew.

Underwater, a single rudder blade balances control and efficiency, while the inverted T-keel reduces ballast weight without compromising stability. Multiple keel options, including a telescopic version, allow owners to tailor the boat’s draft to their cruising grounds.

Nauta’s interior plan lowers the saloon to create a more seamless flow between cabins, while the deck layout prioritizes ergonomics and usable space. Owners select finishes from an exclusive materials palette, ensuring every Grand Soleil 65 Performance is unique.

Like all Cantiere del Pardo builds, the yacht incorporates sustainable materials and processes, including eco-resins, sustainably sourced teak, and solar power integration.

For sailors seeking a performance cruiser at the upper end of the size spectrum, the Grand Soleil 65 Performance offers an uncommon blend of speed, customization, and handcrafted Italian style.

The post First Look: Grand Soleil 65 Performance appeared first on Cruising World.

After visiting and sailing Nautitech’s new flagship catamaran, the 48 Open, this past fall as part of Cruising World’s Boat of the Year trials in Annapolis, Maryland, it occurred to me that people could take the word “open” to mean any number of things.

First and foremost, it could refer to the sporty twin helms—located aft on either transom—in the great outdoors, under the open sky, out there where you can feel the wind in your face and hear the rush of water flowing past the hulls as wakes are left quickly astern in any sort of breeze.

Then there’s the open feel to the boat, especially in the flow from the salon to the cockpit. Interior designer Christophe Chedal-Anglay—working alongside the naval architects at Marc Lombard Yacht Design Group and the Nautitech team—created a space with furniture and fittings that’s kept minimal enough not to feel cluttered, but with accommodations that are ­refined-looking and more than adequate to keep a crew of even eight on charter well-fed and pampered. Overhead hatches and cabin windows let in lots of light, and a sliding door and adjacent window opening to the Bimini-top-shaded cockpit eliminate the distinction ­between indoors and out.

Topsides, wide and open side decks, along with ample handholds molded into the cabin top, make moving about while underway seem secure. Below, what the builder calls the ­optional “smart room,” located in the forward starboard ­cabin, gives an owner open-ended choices for how the space will be used. It can have a berth for two, or inboard bunks that fold out of the way; or it can be fit out as a utility room with a washer, dryer and lots of stowage. 

Last, the 48 gives an owner open-ended options for how and where the boat will be used. It can easily be handled by a couple, it has space enough for a family, and there’s a four-stateroom design, making it charter-friendly as well.

The 48’s hull and deck are foam-cored and vacuum-­infused; interior bulkheads, also cored, are reinforced with carbon fiber for added strength. The hulls—narrow at the waterline for sailing performance—flare out above chines running their length. This adds to interior volume below, as well as to buoyancy underway.

There are five layout options. The boat we sailed had the owner’s stateroom in the port hull and a guest stateroom aft to port, with the smart room and bunks forward.

A salon occupies the bridge deck, with a nav station ­forward to port, fridges and freezers to starboard, and a stand-up bar/counter/bookshelf—you name it—in between. Not sure what to do with it? Try standing there chatting with a mate. It’s a good spot to lounge, both dockside and underway.

The U-shaped galley has an aft-facing sink and a counter where dishes can be placed when they’re handed in from the cockpit dining table just aft; opposite, aft to port is the dining table with L-shaped seating outboard. Interior woodwork can be finished in light walnut (standard) and oak. 

Twin 75 hp Volvo diesels powered the 48 we sailed (60 hp is standard). Those, plus add-ons such as electronics and an 11 kW Onan generator, raised the cost of the boat by about $300,000 on top of the $1.1 ­million base price.

Noise levels while ­motoring were relatively low, even with the throttles set for a get-home-­quick speed of 8.5 knots. Cruising speed (1,800 rpm) was just over 7 knots.

But really, why motor? The Nautitech is a whole lot more fun to sail. 

Electric Harken winches just inboard of either wheel make raising the square-top main and trimming sheets a push-button effort. Another set, located at either end of the transom, controls the traveler that runs between them and the mainsheet. Reef lines and such that exit the mast are led into covered channels in the Bimini top and over blocks to clutches in the cockpit, eliminating line clutter except around the helms, where there’s plenty of room to sort things out.

The cat comes standard with a self-tacking jib, which is what we found on the boat we sailed; a 135 genoa is an option. Our test boat was also rigged with a beefy code sail set on a sprit using a continuous-­line furler. With that kite rolled out, we were definitely hauling the mail on a blustery day on Chesapeake Bay. We saw consistent speeds ranging from the low 9s well past 10 knots in about 15 knots of wind. The payday came in a 20-knot puff, when the ­speedo hit 15 and stuck there for a while. Fun ride.

With the screecher rolled back up and the self-tacker unfurled, we still saw lots of 7s and 8s on the GPS as we beat upwind. And the boat was ­really easy to sail. Standing at the helm, I did notice a bit of a blind spot caused by the corner of the cabin and glare off the windows as we weaved our way through crab pots. But moving around a bit solved the problem. 

Besides, crab pots probably won’t be an issue in a place where a boat like this will likely be going. Think trade winds, white sandy beaches and tropical punches. If the 48 Open were my boat, that’s where I’d be bound. 

Take the Next Step

Price: Approximately $1.4 ­million (as tested)
Website: nautitechcatamarans.com

The post Nautitech 48 Open Review: A Performance Cruiser with Room to Roam appeared first on Cruising World.

There are many outstanding, even outrageous, things one can say about the HH44-SC catamaran. It’s the latest in a series of upscale boats conceived by HH CEO Paul Hakes, with structural engineering by the naval-architecture duo of Melvin & Morrelli and built in China by the Hudson Wang manufacturing conglomerate, which sold more than three dozen hulls on drawings and renderings alone, before a single boat was built. The waiting list is now about two years long.

I’m no math whiz, but with the boat’s sticker price, all up, of over $1.6 million, it’s safe to say that HH Catamarans had something like $50 million of orders on the books in advance of a sole customer actually pushing the button on an electric winch to raise the hefty, full-battened mainsail. Which leads to a pretty simple question: Who are those guys?

In an interview I conducted with Morrelli several years ago, he spoke about the sort of buyer drawn to the HH brand: “It’s unbelievable to me the percentage of newbie owners we attract to HH. More than 50 percent are first-time boat owners, guys who are buying $2 million and $3 million boats. I find that a bit shocking, but they were successful at something at some point in their life, and they’re trying to roll that success and confidence into something else.”

Allow me to take that one step ­further, because I’ve met a few HH owners, and I believe that the boat is catnip to a certain type of tech-savvy consumer. They definitely find the boat’s clean lines and tantalizing performance sleek and sexy, but they also are passionately drawn to the forward-thinking technology itself. I’ve heard folks refer to certain products in the marine sector as something Elon Musk might’ve dreamed up, but the HH44 may in fact be the closest thing there is to a Tesla of sailboats. I’d bet dollars to doughnuts that more than a few HH owners have one of those parked in their driveway. 

What, exactly, are those folks getting for their seven figures? There are two versions of the boat: the HH44-OC (Ocean Cruising), a dedicated bluewater cruising cat with mini keels instead of daggerboards; and the HH44-SC (Sports Cruising), a no-holds-barred rocket ship with C-shaped carbon boards, a solar array, and the company’s EcoDrive auxiliary propulsion package, which we’ll delve into shortly. The SC is the model we tested for the 2024 Boat of the Year contest. Spoiler alert: We were fairly blown away by the boat, and honored it with a Judges Special Recognition Award. Our sister publication, the performance-oriented Sailing World, named it overall Boat of the Year and described it as “the performance sailor’s retirement race boat.”

Aesthetically, in theme and execution, the HH44-SC presents a futuristic appearance. There’s a fixed bowsprit forward; ample freeboard in the relatively narrow hulls (at least compared with your average cruising cat from mainstream builders); a slash of integrated hull windows that offer natural light in the staterooms and double as a nice visual accent; a pair of drop-down swim platforms in the transoms; and a set of dinghy davits in between. The coachroof extends well aft and doubles as a hardtop Bimini over the cockpit, while serving as the base for the traveler and mainsheet arrangement, and as the base for more than 4,000 watts of mounted solar panels. 

Quick aside: The hulls are painted, and I reckon that more than a few owners will go with colors not usually found in genteel yacht surroundings. Our test boat, Titan, the first HH44-SC off the line, is bound for the Caribbean with a magnificent bright-red exterior. The intent is clear: You can go garishly or go home.  

Forward-facing windows in the main cabin can be opened to allow the fresh breeze to course through. M&M employed forward cockpits for steering and sailhandling in many of their previous designs, but eschewed that layout here. Instead, there’s a set of Jefa helm stations well aft that can rotate outboard for increased visibility when driving upwind, or that can be tilted inboard under the Bimini top in inclement conditions or to access line handling by gaining proximity to the winches. It’s a versatile, well-reasoned solution that I like a lot. I wish more cats were laid out similarly. 

Below, a dedicated en suite owner’s stateroom runs the length of the starboard hull. A pair of double-berth staterooms to port share a central head and shower. 

So, that serves as the basic overview of the 44-footer. But what about the ­technology? The big stories there are the propulsion and construction.

The most eye-opening feature is the hybrid auxiliary setup. Boat of the Year judge Tim Murphy is the educational director for the American Boat and Yacht Council and our go-to expert for all technical matters. Here’s his take on the system developed by UK firm Hybrid Marine: “It had the most sophisticated house systems and propulsion we’ve seen in the contest, starting with their parallel hybrid drive, a system unlike any we’ve inspected on any boat before this one.” 

Electric motors are built onto the back of the twin 30 hp Beta Marine diesels (or optional Yanmar 40 hp engines) with a coupling to the transmission. The electric motors can effectively be used as a pair of 5 kW generators to charge the battery bank. Adding regeneration while sailing provides up to 2 kW per shaft at 10 knots of boatspeed. An additional 43 kWh of energy is produced by the solar array on the cabin top.

What this translates to is silent ­operation under power in full electric mode, augmented by hydrogeneration to top off batteries while sailing, with the good old-fashioned reliability of those diesel engines as a backup, or for motoring through high pressure on passages. 

It’s a boat that covers a lot of bases, though Murphy is also quick to note that it will be interesting to see how all this translates to real-world operations, given that it’s new tech. He wouldn’t be ­surprised if, at the outset, there are ­growing pains bringing it all online (though company representatives note that the system has been used in European canal boats for more than 10 years). 

HH president Seth Hynes says: “At full battery capacity, you can run the boat at full throttle using the two 10-kilowatt electric motors and get 7 knots of boatspeed for approximately two hours. In light air, you can even keep your leeward electric motor running to build yourself some apparent wind.”

Murphy is also impressed with the build quality: “It’s thermal-foam construction with panels of Corecell foam core that’s heated up to make the complex shapes of the hull with no slits or kerfs in between. So you’re using those flat sheets to construct complex curves, and then you’re using the best resin ­available—which is epoxy—in the laminate, which also employs carbon cloth. This is infused epoxy construction, post-cured after that fact, so they are very, very high-quality hulls.” 

Carbon reinforcements are also used in high-load areas such as the wing deck, coachroof and daggerboard trunks. The Marstrom rig on the HH44-SC is all carbon (the OC version has a standard aluminum mast with the option to upgrade). 

At the end of the day, the reason one is attracted to a light, fast cat is pretty simple: performance. HH has been well-represented in previous Boat of the Year competitions, with its HH66, HH55 and HH50 all previous nominees (the latter two won awards in 2018 and 2021, respectively). To be honest, I’ve always been startled by the fact that many of these cats have gone to first-time boat owners with varying degrees of experience. I’ve been sailing for decades, and I’d be fairly intimidated to head offshore with a shorthanded crew on the larger HH cats, which are not simple vessels, but rather extremely powerful boats where things can escalate quickly if the first domino falls. 

One doesn’t need to be Superman, however, to sail the scaled-down HH44. Our test boat arrived in Annapolis, Maryland, with only a set of basic ­working sails (main, self-tacking ­staysail), so we didn’t get the full-on, off-wind power-reaching sleigh ride that is essentially the boat’s reason for being, but the sailing was still fast and sprightly. (A hat tip to the HH commissioning team, who had the boat sailing just two days after it was offloaded from a freighter in New Jersey.) Closehauled, with the deep, nearly 10-foot boards deployed, the boat tracked like a train and quite easily flirted with 10 knots of boatspeed. I can only imagine what it would be like to set a kite, then turn and burn, but it’s safe to say that you’ll regularly be registering double-digit boatspeeds. HH reps say that our test boat hit 23 knots on the delivery south to the Caribbean. 

All in all, the HH44-SC is quite a machine to behold. The story of ­production-boat building, starting way back in the 1960s, has been an ongoing evolution—piece by piece, boat by boat. Now this very cool cat has penned its own chapter. There’s really nothing else like it.

Herb McCormick is a CW editor-at-large and was a 2024 Boat of the Year judge.

FYI

The “HH” in HH Catamarans represents the initials of Chinese businessman and ­manufacturer Hudson Wang, who founded the company, and CEO Paul Hakes, a New Zealand boatbuilder who joined forces with Wang in 2012 to launch the brand. There are currently eight models in the HH lineup, ranging in size from 44 feet to 88 feet, including the HH50, which was named the Best Luxury Cruiser in the 2021 Boat of the Year contest. The HH Catamarans design team of Melvin & Morrelli is well-known for their America’s Cup contenders, maxi offshore cats such as the 125-foot PlayStation, the pioneering Gunboat cruising cats, and the current line of Rapido performance trimarans. 

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The Lyman-Morse LM46 is an heirloom-quality craft, but it is also a semicustom boat with a seven-figure sticker price, and it will have a limited production run compared with its rivals. Still, the panelists could not ignore its overall excellence. That left four powerful contestants, and the “sail-off” that followed couldn’t have been more pleasurable or rewarding. This division truly lived up to its name, with a roster of performers that lit up under sail. 

Winner: J/Boats, J/45

The Johnstone family business has certainly evolved in the 45 years since the company launched with the J/24, but the common denominator in the boats it has built since then is pretty straightforward: They’re all terrific sailing craft. Over time, J/Boats pivoted from one-design classes to ocean racers and full-fledged cruisers, and all that experience has culminated with this sleek, slick, dual-purpose 45-footer. 

“As expected, this boat sailed beautifully,” judge Ed Sherman says. “Its 75 hp Volvo Penta saildrive gave us ample speed when motoring, and was quiet too. I see this boat as an answer to the hardcore racer who wants to scale back a bit and enjoy cruising with the family in comfort while not sacrificing the performance they’re used to.” 

Fellow judge Mark Pillsbury explains what put the boat over the top in his mind: “During Boat of the Year sea trials, we’re usually accompanied by builders or dealers who tell us what a boat’s intended to do, and we’re left to determine how successfully they hit the mark. In the case of the new J/45, we got to hear directly from an owner himself, who wanted a boat that he could seriously race with his mates, and then take his family of four young daughters off cruising. After a summer of doing both, the verdict was in: He loved his new J/45. And after our sail, so did we. ‘Rides like it’s on rails,’ I jotted in my notes. ‘Very smooth.’”

Finalist: Beneteau, Beneteau First 36

The French builder’s First line of boats has always been performance-oriented (as opposed to its Oceanis line of dedicated cruisers), and the company has upped the ante since obtaining the Seascape brand and incorporating it into Groupe Beneteau. 

“I reckon First 36 owners are going to be racing more than cruising,” says judge Herb McCormick, who led the charge to give the boat “special recognition”. “It will excel in both club races and doublehanded events, which are becoming more and more popular. But this boat can do both well. It gives you so many options.” 

Sherman concurs: “Another boat offering the racing enthusiast a genuinely viable cruising option. Simple but solid construction and finished to a high standard, this model represented to me what a modern racer/cruiser should be. Equipped with a 30 hp saildrive, it motored along nicely at 8 knots, and this was on a day when we had lots of wave action and over 20 knots of wind at times. This Slovenian-built Beneteau was also a joy to sail.”

Finalist: L30 Class, L30

Our judges were highly impressed with this sweet little trailerable sailboat, which was developed by Ukraine’s most famous sailor, Olympic sailing medalist Rodion Luka, and which is still being produced in the country despite the ongoing conflict. 

Our sea trial, in a stiff 20-plus-knot southerly, was easily one of our week’s wildest. Here’s Pillsbury’s take: “The L30 is an interesting boat with just enough interior accommodations for short cruises or overnights en route to a regatta and back. The boat we sailed was set up for racing, meaning lot of lines to tug to adjust sails. But its retractable keel, cassette rudders and mast stepped on a tabernacle make trailer sailing a definite possibility.”

Finalist: Lyman-Morse Boatbuilding Inc., Lyman-Morse LM46

Our Domestic Boat of the Year is a showstopper on multiple levels, a boat built by the midcoast Maine company that produced the beautiful Seguin line back in the day, of which the LM46 is a worthy successor. 

Sherman peels back the technical layers: “Mastervolt lithium battery power and a 120-amp, high-output, main-engine-driven alternator eliminate the need for an onboard air-conditioning generator. Further enhancing this concept, the engine is connected to a Centek muffler system so that when the engine is running to recharge the batteries, things stay quiet. Our engine motoring tests confirmed this with speeds at over 8 knots with noise decibel levels in the low 70- to 74-decibel range on a 20-knot windy day that generated a lot of ambient noise.”

Finalist: X-Yachts, X-Yachts X4³

It’s always a memorable year for the BOTY judges when a new X-Yacht is one of the nominees. The Danish builder has left a consistent mark on the proceedings, with multiple victories in its respective classes over the years. 

X-Yachts’ latest versatile offering, Pillsbury says, picks up where previous models left off: “Well, they’ve done it again. The team at X-Yachts has launched another stunning performance cruiser, this one a 43-footer that’s lively under sail and well-thought-through below. Counters have deep fiddles, handholds abound, the deck is uncluttered, and the single rudder delivers smooth-as-butter steering. The X4³ replaces a popular model of the same size that sold more than 100 boats. I’m guessing that the newest model will give its predecessor a run for its money.” 

View all of the winners by category, meet the judges, and more…

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The cold front had passed overnight, and even though it was the middle of July, the fresh northwesterly off the coast of Camden, Maine, had the crisp, clear aura of an early-fall morning. In other words, it was a perfect day to go for a sail. Happily, given that I’d found myself aboard just about the ideal yacht to do so: a slick new Lyman-Morse LM46, a semicustom homegrown beauty constructed at the longtime Maine builder’s facility in nearby Thomaston. 

Hopgrasser, the first of two LM46s to emerge from the shed, was company president Drew Lyman’s personal ride, so named by his young daughter, who’d found it linguistically challenging to put the “grass” in front of the “hop.” 

The unique name is in keeping with a special, quite inimitable sailboat. Designed by New Zealander Kevin Dibley, a naval architect renowned for his flat-out race boats and graceful performance cruisers, the LM46’s objective is fourfold: light but solid build; handsome yet functional lines and accommodations; prowess in light, inshore breeze; and the power and strength for offshore sailing, including events such as the Newport Bermuda Race (which Hull No. 2, Arcadia, knocked off this past summer). 

We’ll start with the build, the first of many things that separate the LM46 from the majority of contemporary cruisers; after all, these days you don’t see many wooden boats at your typical boat show. Lyman-Morse earned its reputation and butters its bread by employing cold-molded, infused-epoxy construction with Douglas fir and Western red cedar. An internal carbon frame stiffens the structure, and ties in the shrouds and titanium chain plates (the rudder and stock are also carbon). The composite deck is laminated with a foam core, again in the dual interests of less weight and more strength. My question about what wood was used to fashion the lovely cabin top was met with a laugh: Turns out it’s all composite (keep it light!), to which a vinyl adhesive with a wood pattern is affixed. Tricky.

In profile, this is one of those rare yachts that looks extremely quick and maneuverable just sitting alongside the dock. The understated sheerline dips ever so slightly from bow to stern, accentuating the low-slung, minimalist coachroof. A dedicated carbon sprit forward is home to both the ground tackle and the tack fitting for off-wind runners and reachers, and gives the profile a businesslike effect. Unlike so many modern boats, there’s no hard chine; in fact, the hull tapers inward in its after sections, a design that does the opposite of a chine and narrows the beam, the thinking being there’s less drag when sailing off the breeze. There’s also less freeboard than we’re used to seeing in most new production boats. To my eye, it’s all very striking. 

The boat is powered with a straightforward 12-volt system with a Mastervolt Combi charger/inverter, a 60-amp alternator, a solar panel atop the cockpit dodger, and a set of lithium-ion batteries. The B&G Vulcan 7 instrumentation package is standard. A Yanmar 80 hp diesel with saildrive, coupled with a Max-Prop feathering propeller, supplies the propulsion under power. 

As a semicustom boat, the LM46 has quite a bit of leeway in the belowdecks layout and accommodations, but the rather traditional setup on Hopgrasser suited me just fine: galley and nav station at the foot of the companionway, opposing settees/berths in the main saloon, a head and shower forward, and an owner’s stateroom forward. (And a real sea berth to starboard, for which I’m a total sucker.) A single head on a 45-footer is also unusual these days, but a second head is an option. 

I wondered aloud about the two quarter berths aft, both wide open and not stashed behind doors, which I thought was in keeping with the airy quarters but something you’re more likely to see on a racer than a cruiser. “If you want privacy,” Drew Lyman said with a laugh, “get yourself a hundred-footer.” 

I guess for some folks, that might be an option. But they’d miss out on a fantastic sailing experience on a package dedicated to just that. 

This I discovered rather quickly as we motored out of Camden and hoisted sail, beginning with a powerful square-topped, full-battened Doyle mainsail. Lyman-Morse promotes simple sailing, with the ability to be off the dock with sails hoisted in less than five minutes. With that norther coursing off the mainland, the seaway in the lee was flat and fast: pretty perfect for trialing a boat that accentuates performance. 

Surprisingly, there’s no backstay on the LM46, but rather a pair of check stays that require regular attention. The twin wheels, with Jefa steering, are situated just abaft the cockpit-wide traveler, and a double-ended German-style mainsheet arrangement trims the main, which has three deep reefs, which is my preference for long-distance sailing. It’s all smart and efficient, befitting a true racer/cruiser sensibility. 

Hopgrasser draws 6 feet, the shoal option that replaces the standard 7-foot, 7-inch composite fin with attached lead ballast bulb (the Bahamas is definitely in its future; alternatively, there’s also a 10-foot version for owners of a more competitive nature). 

Sailing the boat is loads of fun, and certainly athletic. Lyman said he’s still learning the boat but has discovered that the sweet spot when sailing upwind is a 20- to 22-inch heel angle, which you dial in by constantly playing and tweaking the traveler and vang, as you would on a dinghy or certain one-design classes. The Doyle headsail is sheeted in not on tracks, but instead on movable leads with multiple trimming options, which on the LM46 is certainly an enjoyable part of the exercise. 

On our test sail, the puffy breeze was all over the place, dipping to around 10 knots in the lulls and kicking in at over 20 knots in the gusts. The one consistent factor in all this was the sheer joy in driving this ultra-sensitive, highly responsive sailing machine. In the lighter airs, Hopgrasser registered about 6.5 knots in upwind mode; that ratcheted up to nearly 10 knots just cracked off slightly when it filled into the upper teens. As far as top speeds are concerned, Lyman said that the second LM46, Arcadia, saw 19.9 on its speedo during the dash to Bermuda. No question—it’s a slippery hull indeed. 

The LM46 is not inexpensive, but it epitomizes what my wise old sailing mate Alvah Simon referred to as “heirloom quality,” something so fine and lasting that it might be passed along in one’s family for years and generations to come. Those are high aspirations, certainly. But in the case of Hopgrasser and her sisterships, they’re attainable ones as well. 

Lyman-Morse LM46 Hopgrasser Specifications

Herb McCormick is a CW editor-at-large.

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Recently I have observed my husband, Matt, at various times of the day and evening, sitting with a half-smile on his lips and a twinkle in his eye, betraying an inner glee. I know during these times that he is thinking about what I have come to call, simply, “The Hull.” Matt has taken offense to that term, deeming it “soulless.” Fair enough—it’s not just any hull, but one with a storied past and, hopefully, a storied future as well. For we are in the midst of refitting the late, great American solo sailor Mike Plant’s round-the-world racer, Duracell, for extended cruising. But before we get into that sailing story, let me tell you ours. 

To do that, let’s return to 2014, to a crisp fall evening during one of our first dates. We were walking on a moonlit beach here in Washington’s Puget Sound when Matt told me that one day he was going to cruise around the Pacific. He didn’t say it was a dream or that he hoped to do this one day: He stated it as a fact. And he said it in his unassuming, no fanfare, no drumrolls (he leaves that to me) sort of way. He asked whether such an ­adventure might appeal to me. I didn’t respond right away because I knew this was a serious question and that my answer could have big implications for my life. So I gave it a few long seconds and then I replied, with confidence, “Yes.”

Fast-forward to spring 2017. I was teaching middle school science in Seattle, and Matt was running Kolga Boatworks, his boat-repair business. We were living aboard Louise, a unique 40-foot homebuilt monohull from the 1970s that we adored, on the Ballard Shipping Canal. We were preparing for our Pacific cruise. We’d saved our money, Louise was ready to sail offshore, and we’d put our respective jobs and lives on hold. Our parents had slowly been persuaded that what we were about to do—with careful, trustworthy Matt as captain—was safer than driving on I-5.

We pushed off from Shilshole Marina in Seattle on August 10 of that year. As Bruce Springsteen’s “Born to Run” filled our hearts with butterflies, our first day of sailing was gorgeous: The wind pushed us gently but persistently toward the Strait of Juan de Fuca and the great Pacific Ocean beyond.

The cruise that followed was everything we expected it would be: magical, challenging, uncomfortable, eye-opening, educational, nausea-inducing, at times maddening and, ultimately, life-changing. Here are a few snapshots of our two years at sea, based on journal entries from various anchorages or underway, as we sailed from Seattle down the west coast of North America; into the Sea of Cortez; across the Pacific to the Marquesas, the Tuamotus, Tahiti and Bora Bora; north to Hawaii; and back home to Washington.

Smuggler’s Cove, Channel Islands

October 15, 2017: Smugglers Cove on California’s Santa Cruz Island is a shallow bay with clear, Mediterranean waters and a long beach. After anchoring Louise as close to the cliffs as possible to try to get some protection from the ­rolling swell, we decided to go ashore and explore. We were a little nervous because big rollers were coming in and ­breaking a little beyond the anchorage and ­pummeling the beach. But we discussed our strategy for a dry landing using our inflatable paddleboards.  

Matt explained that the waves come in sets, and if you wait out a set of big waves, there will be a short lull. During that lull, you position yourself between two gently rolling waves, then paddle, paddle, paddle fast enough so that the one behind you doesn’t break over you. With confidence, we put on our hiking boots, cinched on our wide-brimmed cruiser hats, got on our paddleboards, and headed toward the beach. Matt positioned himself just before the big rollers began to break. 

He turned around and gave me a look that said, “Watch carefully what I do.” He waited for the lull. It came. He paddled and paddled. I felt an especially large roller move under my board. The lull was over. Matt glanced back to see a big wave break right over him. I watched his board flip, his hat float to the beach and, a second later, a drenched Matt emerge from the ocean, ready to explore. He looked back at me and shrugged. I gave him a look that said: “Now you watch this. I’ll show you.”  

I was determined. I looked behind me; the ocean was flat. Now was the moment. Go. Paddle. I was riding high and dry. My impeccable timing resulted in a gentle wave breaking after it passed under my board. Perfect. I picked up some speed and surfed on in, graceful and dignified, a natural. Not a drop of water on my hiking boots. Matt watched from the beach in awe. I couldn’t wait to explain my strategy. But then the water slid under me a little faster, and the nose of my board started to drive down into the water. I was still going to succeed. No squishy hiking boots for me. Then I too was in the water, tumbling under the wave. Dammit. I resurfaced in time to see my hat make it to the beach before me. Oh well. Once deposited onto the Channel Islands, it was a wonderful place to explore. Santa Rosa, Santa Cruz and Catalina islands delighted us with their canyons, secluded beaches and windswept cliffs. The adventure had begun.

Bahia Santa Maria to Cabo San Lucas

November 11, 2017: As I sat in my belowdecks nook typing, Matt leaned in from the cockpit and said: “I sure hope this weather keeps up all the way to Cabo. That’d be so awesome.” The sailing was, indeed, currently awesome. Sliding down the coast of Mexico, we had 10 to 12 knots of northerly breeze, filling our spinnaker consistently with the gentle waves right on our stern. There was a shh-shh-shh of the water trickling off the hull and a lovely little skimming motion of the boat down the waves as they passed under us. 

I’d been reading about Zen Buddhism and experimenting with meditation. I’d concluded that sailing your home around the ocean is a natural way to practice the teachings of Buddhism. I looked up at Matt and replied: “The present moment is perfect; however, since everything, including the wind, is impermanent, we mustn’t get attached. Ah, yes, the wind and the waves are constantly changing, like life, and we have to move with the change, not against it. Indeed, we must search for the stillness, the calm, deep within us that stays peaceful no matter how our external situations change; much like how if you go a little under the surface of the ocean, the water is calm.” At which point, he closed and locked the hatch. 

I’m kidding: I didn’t say this out loud, but I did think something along those lines and tried to persuade myself of its truth. I, much more than Matt, get frustrated by the constantly changing state of the ocean. Of course, if the weather is taking us to our destination and the sea is relatively calm, I’m as happy as a clam. But if we then lose our wind and have to “fire up the ol’ donkey,” or get a header, or if the waves built up and made for a miserable ride (as it always does eventually), I tended to let out audible groans and sighs, with a general feeling of being smote by the ocean. Sometimes I complained out loud to myself, and we sailed, or more likely, motored on. I’d recently realized that since this will undoubtedly continue to be our reality for the next two years when traveling to our next highly anticipated anchorage, I should probably figure out a way to deal with it more gracefully (for my benefit and, equally, Matt’s) when the weather changes. As it always, always does. 

Huahine, French Polynesia

November 3, 2018: After spending eight months in French Polynesia, we’d started to get a feel for this really special place. Here is what the shimmering surface of French Polynesia looked like: lush islands dripping with bananas, coconuts, soursop, cedar apples, mangoes, pineapples, cocoa, and fruits we had never heard of before; turquoise lagoons filled with imaginatively colored fish, warm waves that gently lap soft white-sand beaches; a hundred shades of green that blanket the steep mountains and jagged basalt spires that pierce the pale sky. At night, the Milky Way scatters in full splendor across the black expanse while the sweet smell of white gardenias lingers in the warm dark air. 

The beauty of the islands was reflected in the people. The older women here had a twinkle in their eyes like light reflecting off ripples in the water; they stand close to you and smile and press mangoes into your hands. Men frequently carry around their babies, cooing at them (this society loves their babies and seems to view them as gifts to the larger community rather than the property of nuclear families), and women seem empowered. They are authentic, confident, fully and naturally themselves, somehow. They laugh a deep, unrestrained belly laugh when they are with each other, standing in circles waist-high in the warm water. Outside Papeete, in the small villages, there are no movie theaters, no big-box stores, no places to buy the latest shoes in fashion, no billboards telling you what you need to buy to be cool. In the afternoons, families gather at the water’s edge. They spend time together on porches. They sing out “Io orana!” as you walk by. No one is ever in any kind of hurry. The ancient Polynesian names of the islands, such as Matairea, translates to “joyful breeze,” and the 21st century Polynesians seem connected to their past and the people from whom they descended. They bury their relatives in graves in front of their homes, adorn them with flowers, and have picnics on top of the graves.

Lihue, Hawaii

July 19, 2019: It was hard to believe it had been almost two years since we pushed off the dock at Shilshole and began our journey through the Pacific. We’d sailed and motored 13,000 nautical miles, visited 135 anchorages and 30 islands, and experienced less-measurable things too. There was nothing definitive about the end of the trip; it was more of a gradual ending that merged into new beginnings at the same time. That said, the 19th of July was momentous. I decided to fly home, and a friend of Matt’s flew in to replace me for the final passage. As we walked to the airport, it felt like there was so much to say, but we had no idea exactly what, so we ended up walking mostly in silence. 

The end of the voyage didn’t really feel like a hard and final conclusion because the cruise had fundamentally changed how we wanted to structure our lives. It set us on a path. We’d started to reflect a little, here and there, about how the previous two years had changed us. We can, and should, live our lives according to our own rules and dreams, and if those happen to go against the societal grain, so be it. 

We dreamed and schemed of a future in which we lived on a self-sufficient boat, powered by solar, wind and hydro, that Matt had built. We wanted to work for ourselves and try to find a good balance between our vocations and everything else life has to offer. We wanted to live minimally and frugally so that we could afford more free time. We wanted to be able to pull up our anchor and go exploring anytime. All of British Columbia and Alaska lay to the north, and Oregon and the rest of the planet to the south. We both were full of aspirations and dreams, and the conviction to make this vision a reality, though our dear friend Salty might read all this and with a roll of his eyes say, as he has said before, “Such bums!” Maybe he’s right.

Throughout our cruise, Matt became increasingly interested in the features of a good cruising boat. Many hours were spent sitting in our cockpit in anchorages around the Pacific, scrutinizing other boats. He read all of Steve Dashew’s books. He became intrigued by Open 60s, offshore racers that have evolved over the past few decades in round-the-world races such as the BOC Challenge and the Vendée Globe. He started sketching designs. He dreamed about all the ways he would create an ideal cruising boat if he had the opportunity.

Olympic Peninsula, Washington

January 2022: Which brings us to the present. We’ve sold Louise and bought a small house in the woods in Washington, and Duracell is now ours, parked right outside our home (see the photo below). How she came to be ours is a story in its own right.

Designed by Rodger Martin (who passed away in May 2021), Duracell was built by Mike Plant back in the mid-1980s and named after the battery manufacturer that sponsored the boat. Afterward, Plant circled the globe aboard her twice, setting the American record for a solo circumnavigation during the 1989 Vendée Globe, a dramatic story that’s well-told in the documentary Coyote: The Mike Plant Story (available on Amazon Prime and other streaming services). 

Thirty years ago, Plant sold the boat to a sailor from Seattle named John Oman, who renamed her Northwest Spirit and sailed her to victory in the Pan Pacific Race across the Pacific to Japan. He next set off on a solo, nonstop circumnavigation of the planet that came to a halt somewhere near the equator after a collision with a cargo ship. Northwest Spirit was dismasted, but the hull didn’t sustain much damage because the bowsprit took most of the blow. The cargo-ship captain offered him a ride, but Oman opted to motor to Turtle Bay in Baja California, where he refueled and carried on to San Diego, where he loaded the boat on a trailer and drove it to Seattle, where he put it in his front yard.

That was in 1992. 

In 2019, just a few weeks after we arrived home from our Pacific voyage, Matt was scrolling through a local sailing forum when he saw a new post from Oman:

“I bought Mike’s Duracell from him as he was building his next boat, Coyote. My plan was to do my own nonracing, solo, nonstop circumnavigation. After bringing her to Seattle (through the Panama Canal) and winning the Pan Pacific Race, I brought her solo back from Japan as a shakedown. My circumnavigation was cut short by losing the top 50 feet of the mast in a collision with a freighter. Putting her on the hard next to my home, it was my intention to put her back together and return to sailing. Shore life got in the way with business and family obligations, and now age and health issues. I no longer have the means to chase that dream. So what now? I love that boat. I can’t imagine a more easily handled, seakindly, safe, proven, shorthanded boat capable of sailing anywhere on Earth. So a refit for a solo circumnavigator? Or shorthanded go anywhere?”

Immediately the wheels began turning in Matt’s head. I got a text from him that simply said, “I found our next boat.” 

The pandemic delayed everything, but during that time, we got to know Oman, and worked hard to earn his trust and prove that we were worthy of this special refit project. Almost two years after his original post, Oman generously decided to release the boat to us.

But why this boat? Matt says that it’s the most solid, safest, best-built, fastest hull out there: a very special shell that we can turn into a comfortable home. Before the pandemic, he traveled to Rhode Island, where Duracell was built, and was thrilled to meet Rodger Martin, who graciously gave him copies of the original drawings. Armed with those, the refit is now well underway.

Former science teacher Janneke Petersen and her husband, Matt—a seasoned sailor who was part of the winning crew in the inaugural Race to Alaska in 2017—are well into their ambitious refit, which they’re chronicling on their YouTube channel, The Duracell Project. Also look for more updates in future issues of CW.

Mike Plant’s Famous Duracell

Before he was tragically lost at sea in 1992, solo sailor Mike Plant twice circled the globe aboard his Open 60, Duracell. His most memorable voyage came during the 1989 Vendée Globe. Midway through the race, deep in the Southern Ocean, Plant was forced to ­anchor in the remote Kerguelen Islands to address rigging problems. Though he ­completed the repairs himself, he did accept brief assistance from a team of New Zealand meteorologists when Duracell dragged anchor.

Though the Kiwis told Plant they’d be sworn to secrecy, he radioed race headquarters that he’d had help: an automatic disqualification. But Plant finished the course by sailing alone back to France, where he was greeted with a hero’s welcome and set the American record for a singlehanded circumnavigation of 134 days. He disappeared aboard his next boat, Coyote, en route to the 1992 running of the Vendée race. —Herb McCormick

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