Baggywrinkle
Well-Known Member
As an owner of an AWB (Average White Boat) I continually face criticism from people who seem unable to understand why anyone would buy such a thing, let alone put to sea in one. After every boat show there are comments deriding the ‘caravan’ interiors or lack of a ‘sea-kindly motion’, accusations of slamming into waves and questions around the safety or sea-keeping ability of these boats. Well in defense of the thousands of AWBs plying the lakes, seas and oceans of this world, here is my story, a sort of justification if you will. It is born out of 40 years of messing about in boats. I have never raced except in dinghies - once, I might have a go again if the opportunity presents itself but I am most definitely an average family sailor whose crew consists of a wife, three teenage sons and a dog.
As the eldest of three children I spent every summer holiday, from toddler to late teens on the West Coast of Scotland. We had a variety of boats representative of the late 60s/70s from 22 to 35 ft and I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. I grew up determined to own a boat of my own and during our many years afloat I drew up a mental wish-list for my perfect yacht.
First item on my list was personal space. In our first boat, I shared the forepeak with my brother and sister, and we were always fighting for space – mainly to avoid the early morning deluge of condensation dripping from the roof. When it became impossible to squeeze us into the forepeak without starting world war three, dad bought a bigger boat and we were transferred to the saloon. Although space was improved, privacy wasn’t and it meant we had to pack away all our bedding and get up before breakfast could start. To a young teen this was a nightmare; in my dream boat we would all have our own, separate cabins – with doors!
Next on the list for improvement was the cockpit, the sole was about the size of an elongated fish-crate and it was a bit of a squeeze. It was also a wet and windy place. Once we’d all installed ourselves, legs wedged tetris-style into each other there was still the traveler, main sheet and boom to worry about, not to mention the tiller sweeping the cockpit on every tack. My dream boat would have a large cockpit - with a wheel. There would be enough space for a permanent table –which wouldn’t block the companionway, and the boom would be out of the way to avoid whacking people on the head – oh, and the engine control wouldn’t be an afterthought on the cockpit floor, it would be somewhere far more sensible.
Under power our long keeler was not the most relaxing boat to maneuver in a tight spot so a boat that responds quickly and goes where the rudder is pointed would have made life in the canals and marinas so much easier. Even under way in the open sea there comes a point when the engine must go on, for the sake of crew morale. It should be simple to operate, powerful enough, and with a big enough tank to make reasonable distances under power without carrying smelly jerry cans. The reassuring “thump-thump-thump” of a diesel engine and its warming effect on the cabin was a welcome comfort when we’d had enough of the elements. Many an hour was spent below decks as we motor sailed through nasty weather.
When sailing in nasty weather, I can’t say that I ever noticed the sea-kindly motion or the abundance of hand-holds below – for us, the biggest problem was the angle of heel and wet wellies on the uneven, angled floor. When the weather turned it was just unpleasant - I remember a damp, dark, cramped cabin and longing for port where everything would be upright again. Out on deck wasn’t a lot better as having to go forward to change a hanked on genny or tame a flapping main while being ankle deep in seawater wasn’t much fun, three cheers for roller reefing and all lines lead to the cockpit!
While on the subject of moving around the boat, the trek from the cockpit to the forward heads involved a soggy crew-member clambering over everyone in the saloon, squeezing round the table and shoe-horning themselves into a broom cupboard with a toilet in it. No. My boat would have a comfortable saloon with plenty of out-of-the way seating. It would also be nice if it didn’t heel at quite such a ridiculous angle, had an even saloon floor and didn’t ship buckets of sea water over the deck. The heads could also be a bit more spacious and closer to the companionway - which brings me to personal hygiene.
They say cleanliness is next to godliness – well we were an ungodly lot. We went for days without a proper wash and having to use a bucket of cold water (warm if we boiled the kettle) was not very pleasant. While a pull out sink over the toilet was a neat idea, it always missed or dripped on the seat. Of course I didn’t really care until I became a teenager, but my dream boat would have warm water on tap and a shower with big water tanks to make use of it.
As further creature comforts, my dream boat would also have a large built-in fridge. Oh what a luxury. Eating sour milk on cereal, or worse still UHT was the bane of our summer holidays.
Finally I’d like to end this trip down memory lane with a few words about our Avon Redcrest and Seagull outboard. Quite apart from the starter cord taking your eye out I never realised what a perilous exercise boarding and departing was until I chartered a boat with a swim platform. Why on earth did we put up with clambering over guard rails and stepping gingerly into a rubber boat 2 feet below? According to statistics, the trip ashore is the most dangerous one a cruising sailor makes, and falling in fully clothed – even with a relatively low freeboard makes it practically impossible to get back on board. With a swim platform and permanent folding ladder it’s a piece of cake.
Over the years this mental check-list formed in the back of my mind. All the best things, the adventures, the solitude, the freedom, the magic of travelling under sail but with just that little bit more in terms of creature comforts and practicality. For me it is this freedom to potter with my family with no agenda and no time pressure that is so central to our enjoyment of the sport - any fool can be uncomfortable but in this day and age there’s no need to be.
I had a mental picture of my luxurious yacht – so much bigger and better than those of my childhood and eventually the time came to start looking. Reality struck and with a budget of €35,000 we went looking for our dream – in this price range there is not a lot that is ‘ready to sail’ with no problems, and boy did I see a few wrecks. To cut a long story short, I found what I was looking for in the shape of an ex-charter 1999 Bavaria 36 Holiday complete with charter inventory for €34,200.
She has 3 good size separate double cabins (with doors, windows and wardrobes), saloon seating is around a solid, fixed table. We’ve got a built in fridge, a hot shower in the heads and on the stern, 300l of fresh water and 150l of diesel. She’s got a proper chart table, a spacious cockpit. In fact she ticked almost every box on my list and the survey revealed no major problems. The reason she was so cheap was because she was ex-charter and based in Croatia (no VAT), but remarkably unscathed considering 10 years of use. So after my first season what is the verdict?
Well, she does slam into waves – so long as they’re the right height, the right wavelength, coming from the right direction and we are doing the correct speed. Is it a real problem? No, not really. It’s much reduced, if not eliminated by the weight of all the cruising gear, a bit of wind to steady her and a deft touch on the helm.
She has also rounded up on us once, it was her way of saying “reef me you pillock” and I’m confident that by being a bit more sympathetic it won’t happen again. The plus side is that she will still make good passage times in relatively light winds and doesn’t go over on her ear until really pressed. She’s no racer, but predictable and easily handled with rolling genoa and main. We can go out with family and friends and 8-9 people on board is no problem. Novices aren’t in danger of losing fingers or heads as the cockpit is clear of all but the essential items and the boom is well out of the way.
She handles like a dream under power, spins almost in her own length and has just enough grunt to comfortably motor-sail into a F6/7 with accompanying sea-state – the rest of the family just hunker down below and I’ve had no complaints about comfort. The combination of high free-board and large spray hood prevent almost all of the spray from reaching the cockpit.
I could have bought a boat from the 70s or 80s, but it’s a hard-sell next to an AWB of the same length. The designs of yesteryear – however pretty and seaworthy they might be - are no longer appealing to the modern sailor with a family, the chances of getting caught out by weather are much lower today than they used to be and I’m sure the majority of modern family cruisers would probably stay put in anything over a F6 – Why? Because it’s uncomfortable, no matter what boat you’re in. Should I get caught out however, I’m sure the boat would cope.
In my opinion, the final endorsement of the AWB format has come in the form of the Hallberg-Rassy 412. That such a company can adopt the ‘charter boat’ layout and combine it with the unquestionable build quality for which they are renowned says it all really. The format works – get used to seeing more of it.
As a foot note there is one point on modern boats which in my opinion is not so positive. The demise of the chart table. I do all my navigating electronically but I still like my chart table – it’s my personal space as skipper, somewhere to sit and fill out the log, lay out a paper chart or use my laptop to passage plan – I’d miss it if it were no longer there but perhaps my children will have a different view when their time comes.
As the eldest of three children I spent every summer holiday, from toddler to late teens on the West Coast of Scotland. We had a variety of boats representative of the late 60s/70s from 22 to 35 ft and I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of it. I grew up determined to own a boat of my own and during our many years afloat I drew up a mental wish-list for my perfect yacht.
First item on my list was personal space. In our first boat, I shared the forepeak with my brother and sister, and we were always fighting for space – mainly to avoid the early morning deluge of condensation dripping from the roof. When it became impossible to squeeze us into the forepeak without starting world war three, dad bought a bigger boat and we were transferred to the saloon. Although space was improved, privacy wasn’t and it meant we had to pack away all our bedding and get up before breakfast could start. To a young teen this was a nightmare; in my dream boat we would all have our own, separate cabins – with doors!
Next on the list for improvement was the cockpit, the sole was about the size of an elongated fish-crate and it was a bit of a squeeze. It was also a wet and windy place. Once we’d all installed ourselves, legs wedged tetris-style into each other there was still the traveler, main sheet and boom to worry about, not to mention the tiller sweeping the cockpit on every tack. My dream boat would have a large cockpit - with a wheel. There would be enough space for a permanent table –which wouldn’t block the companionway, and the boom would be out of the way to avoid whacking people on the head – oh, and the engine control wouldn’t be an afterthought on the cockpit floor, it would be somewhere far more sensible.
Under power our long keeler was not the most relaxing boat to maneuver in a tight spot so a boat that responds quickly and goes where the rudder is pointed would have made life in the canals and marinas so much easier. Even under way in the open sea there comes a point when the engine must go on, for the sake of crew morale. It should be simple to operate, powerful enough, and with a big enough tank to make reasonable distances under power without carrying smelly jerry cans. The reassuring “thump-thump-thump” of a diesel engine and its warming effect on the cabin was a welcome comfort when we’d had enough of the elements. Many an hour was spent below decks as we motor sailed through nasty weather.
When sailing in nasty weather, I can’t say that I ever noticed the sea-kindly motion or the abundance of hand-holds below – for us, the biggest problem was the angle of heel and wet wellies on the uneven, angled floor. When the weather turned it was just unpleasant - I remember a damp, dark, cramped cabin and longing for port where everything would be upright again. Out on deck wasn’t a lot better as having to go forward to change a hanked on genny or tame a flapping main while being ankle deep in seawater wasn’t much fun, three cheers for roller reefing and all lines lead to the cockpit!
While on the subject of moving around the boat, the trek from the cockpit to the forward heads involved a soggy crew-member clambering over everyone in the saloon, squeezing round the table and shoe-horning themselves into a broom cupboard with a toilet in it. No. My boat would have a comfortable saloon with plenty of out-of-the way seating. It would also be nice if it didn’t heel at quite such a ridiculous angle, had an even saloon floor and didn’t ship buckets of sea water over the deck. The heads could also be a bit more spacious and closer to the companionway - which brings me to personal hygiene.
They say cleanliness is next to godliness – well we were an ungodly lot. We went for days without a proper wash and having to use a bucket of cold water (warm if we boiled the kettle) was not very pleasant. While a pull out sink over the toilet was a neat idea, it always missed or dripped on the seat. Of course I didn’t really care until I became a teenager, but my dream boat would have warm water on tap and a shower with big water tanks to make use of it.
As further creature comforts, my dream boat would also have a large built-in fridge. Oh what a luxury. Eating sour milk on cereal, or worse still UHT was the bane of our summer holidays.
Finally I’d like to end this trip down memory lane with a few words about our Avon Redcrest and Seagull outboard. Quite apart from the starter cord taking your eye out I never realised what a perilous exercise boarding and departing was until I chartered a boat with a swim platform. Why on earth did we put up with clambering over guard rails and stepping gingerly into a rubber boat 2 feet below? According to statistics, the trip ashore is the most dangerous one a cruising sailor makes, and falling in fully clothed – even with a relatively low freeboard makes it practically impossible to get back on board. With a swim platform and permanent folding ladder it’s a piece of cake.
Over the years this mental check-list formed in the back of my mind. All the best things, the adventures, the solitude, the freedom, the magic of travelling under sail but with just that little bit more in terms of creature comforts and practicality. For me it is this freedom to potter with my family with no agenda and no time pressure that is so central to our enjoyment of the sport - any fool can be uncomfortable but in this day and age there’s no need to be.
I had a mental picture of my luxurious yacht – so much bigger and better than those of my childhood and eventually the time came to start looking. Reality struck and with a budget of €35,000 we went looking for our dream – in this price range there is not a lot that is ‘ready to sail’ with no problems, and boy did I see a few wrecks. To cut a long story short, I found what I was looking for in the shape of an ex-charter 1999 Bavaria 36 Holiday complete with charter inventory for €34,200.
She has 3 good size separate double cabins (with doors, windows and wardrobes), saloon seating is around a solid, fixed table. We’ve got a built in fridge, a hot shower in the heads and on the stern, 300l of fresh water and 150l of diesel. She’s got a proper chart table, a spacious cockpit. In fact she ticked almost every box on my list and the survey revealed no major problems. The reason she was so cheap was because she was ex-charter and based in Croatia (no VAT), but remarkably unscathed considering 10 years of use. So after my first season what is the verdict?
Well, she does slam into waves – so long as they’re the right height, the right wavelength, coming from the right direction and we are doing the correct speed. Is it a real problem? No, not really. It’s much reduced, if not eliminated by the weight of all the cruising gear, a bit of wind to steady her and a deft touch on the helm.
She has also rounded up on us once, it was her way of saying “reef me you pillock” and I’m confident that by being a bit more sympathetic it won’t happen again. The plus side is that she will still make good passage times in relatively light winds and doesn’t go over on her ear until really pressed. She’s no racer, but predictable and easily handled with rolling genoa and main. We can go out with family and friends and 8-9 people on board is no problem. Novices aren’t in danger of losing fingers or heads as the cockpit is clear of all but the essential items and the boom is well out of the way.
She handles like a dream under power, spins almost in her own length and has just enough grunt to comfortably motor-sail into a F6/7 with accompanying sea-state – the rest of the family just hunker down below and I’ve had no complaints about comfort. The combination of high free-board and large spray hood prevent almost all of the spray from reaching the cockpit.
I could have bought a boat from the 70s or 80s, but it’s a hard-sell next to an AWB of the same length. The designs of yesteryear – however pretty and seaworthy they might be - are no longer appealing to the modern sailor with a family, the chances of getting caught out by weather are much lower today than they used to be and I’m sure the majority of modern family cruisers would probably stay put in anything over a F6 – Why? Because it’s uncomfortable, no matter what boat you’re in. Should I get caught out however, I’m sure the boat would cope.
In my opinion, the final endorsement of the AWB format has come in the form of the Hallberg-Rassy 412. That such a company can adopt the ‘charter boat’ layout and combine it with the unquestionable build quality for which they are renowned says it all really. The format works – get used to seeing more of it.
As a foot note there is one point on modern boats which in my opinion is not so positive. The demise of the chart table. I do all my navigating electronically but I still like my chart table – it’s my personal space as skipper, somewhere to sit and fill out the log, lay out a paper chart or use my laptop to passage plan – I’d miss it if it were no longer there but perhaps my children will have a different view when their time comes.
