Archives: Articles

Seeing an AF4 on the water for the first time is a bit of a surprise. At a distance, the raised deck profile fools you into thinking you are looking at a classic cruiser from a bygone era. As the boat gets closer, you realize she is smaller than you thought, and that she is built of plywood. When you get a closer look at her elegantly utilitarian form, you think that maybe it is a classic after all—a new kind of classic.

As a young aerospace engineer, Jim Michalak moved from his native Massachusetts to work at a missile plant in St. Louis, Missouri. Finding a flat land of broad lakes and rivers, his attention wandered to boats. After building a Gloucester Light Dory and the prototype Bolger Birdwatcher, there was no going back. Jim now has nearly 100 designs to his credit, and the AF4 is one of the most popular, for this simple cruiser is among the most accessible designs available.

What do I mean by “accessible”? Most obviously, external-chine “Instant Boat” construction is conceptually simple for the beginner, as well as quick and easy to build for anyone. Yet this simple construction provides a purpose-designed beach cruiser with about 4″ draft. This creates access for boating in places many of us haven’t even considered. With a low trailer, an AF4 has cruised where few motorboats can even launch.

Photo by Rob Rohde-Szudy

AF4, an outboard powered beach cruiser with 4″ of draft, can boldly go where most boats can’t.

Ease of launch touches on another element of accessibility: setup time. Jim stresses that a boat that can be launched quickly and easily gets used more—sometimes a lot more. Consider how much more boating time the average working person has available if a weekday evening can be a meaningful outing. After the necessary errands, twenty minutes’ setup time can derail the whole thing; the AF4’s setup time is under five minutes.

Of course the flat bottom is not very capable on wide, unprotected water, but this is intentional. The AF4 is optimized for the sort of boating that is most accessible and appealing to most people: cruising protected waters on nice days. The AF4 is more capable than she seems, however. Flatties have a reputation for pounding in a chop, but AF4 owners feel that at 15 mph she pounds about like a deep-V hull does at 35 mph. Getting every- one to sit on the same side also eases the ride by using the chine as a shallow V.

Another element of accessibility is cost. Cheap and easy repairs encourage us to forget about resale value and use the boat. Inspired by Bolger’s Instant Boat work, Michalak designs all of his boats to be built with common lumberyard materials. These materials are not meant for continuous immersion, so I would not leave such a boat at a mooring; indeed, Jim’s Birdwatcher is kept on a trailer under cover and looks great after 20 years.

Photo by Rob Rohde-Szudy

AF4 is a simple boat. Her designer, Jim Michalak, was unabashedly influenced by the late Phil Bolger, whose Instant Boats work inspired legions of amateur builders.

Michalak keeps his plans prices extremely low. At little more than the typical cost of study plans, he puts construction plans in the hands of dreamers so they can immediately become builders. He also lends confidence with information through his online boat-design articles (www.jimsboats.com) and his book, Boatbuilding for Beginners (and Beyond!) (www.duckworksbbs.com/ media/books/michalak/index.htm). Fuel efficiency makes for longer trips. As an engineer, Jim thinks a lot about things like power-to-weight ratio, efficiency, and range. The AF4’s flat bottom gets her on slow plane at 10–11 mph with about one horsepower per 80 lbs. This means a whole family doesn’t need more than an 18-hp engine, and a solo trip can get by with less. Jim makes this speed solo in his own AF4 with a 50-year-old 7.5- hp motor, yielding 15 mpg. A modern motor should do better. Even if you can afford to feed a go-fast boat, there is a limit to how much fuel you can carry. The AF4 lets you carry enough fuel to go a long way without resupply. Range—getting away—is an integral part of the designer’s concept of a camp-cruiser.

“Getting away” was, in fact, the whole reason for this design. Jim originally designed the AF4 as an efficient camp-cruiser for his own use. In this role, the AF4’s flat bottom is not just a simple method of construction. Jim is known for his spartan interiors— his cockpit contains only a folding lawn chair. This minimalist approach not only saves weight, but also provides lots of usable space for sleeping and stowing camping gear. This boat truly sleeps two in the cabin. The flat bottom also lets you creep into tiny, secluded waterways and beach gracefully. Indeed, you can pole her into places where canoes run aground.

Photo by Rob Rohde-Szudy

The “slot top” allows passengers to walk nearly the length of the boat without leaving the safe confines of the cabin.

A cabin allows you to bed down with less fuss than a cockpit tent, but at the price of stooping. This cabin is an exception. A full-length “slot top” lets you walk upright all the way to the bow. Personally, I don’t know how I ever got by without this feature. When beaching, you simply walk forward, lean on the foredeck, and swing your legs out to plant your feet on dry sand. You can even fish from this slot, and its mechanics are handy when a hooked fish crosses under the boat. A few builders have made boarding even easier (myself included), modifying the cabin with a dropboard entry to the self-draining forward anchor well. Recently Jim went even further with his own boat and added a fold-down door in the side of the well. It looks a little odd, but kids and old joints appreciate it greatly.

That anchor well is very useful for muddy shoes, clothes, fishing gear, or anything else you don’t want messing up the cabin. If you run out of space there, the motor is mounted in a slop well with space for fuel tanks and reboarding after a swim. Keeping the tanks in a draining well is a nice touch, since vapors drain overboard to eliminate the risk of explosion.

A sailor seeking a powerboat tends to be uncomfortable replacing the quiet bliss of sailing with a noisy, expensive gas-guzzler. The AF4 strikes a balance, as the motor is small, quiet, and economical. She is small enough that you still feel in touch with the wind and water, but you can cover much more distance in the time available. And Jim is right—with no rig to fuss with, most people go boating more often.

Photo by Rob Rohde-Szudy

A well forward of AF4’s outboard motor provides a secure, remote place for fuel; a high transom at the end of the cockpit keeps water where it belongs.

The AF4 is capable of 25 mph, but not comfortably. She is happiest at slow planing speeds of 10–15 mph, and there is no apparent “hump” in getting to them. This is her most efficient range as well, creating less wake than many motorboats do at “no wake” speeds. Wakeboarding wouldn’t be much fun behind an AF4, but it can pass a canoe at slow plane without causing the paddlers much trouble (crew coaches take note).

I was on the water one day in my AF4 Breve—the 15-1/2′ version of the original 18′ AF4—when a group of folks in a raft of large powerboats waved me over to ask about my boat. Apparently they had been impressed with her looks and performance in the day’s light chop—and were even more impressed that we had only a four-gallon fuel tank. The fellow I was talking to started listing those advantages, along with cost savings on fuel, storage, mechanical work, slip fees, and maintenance. Apparently, the fuss and fuel cost associated with boats like his lead many to use them essentially as lakeside cabins. Friday after work they motor out a short distance and raft up with friends, then get around in the dinghy all weekend.

Photo by Rob Rohde-Szudy

AF4 at speed. The specified power plant is small enough to keep noise and vibration to a minimum, allowing passengers to enjoy their surroundings.

The AF4 (or AF4 Breve), the man suggested, would be a welcome improvement over the typical dinghy in this application. Kids and groceries ride out of the weather, and the adults can stand in the slot and lean on the cabintop while chatting with fellow boaters. The slot top makes easy work of docking and coming alongside, as well, which is very welcome after staying up too late chatting. Perhaps best of all, meaningful day trips become possible without moving the big boat.

The AF4, in short, is a weekend cruiser that gives you everything you need and nothing you don’t. Whether you are a neophyte or salt-crusted, this efficiency equates to accessibility. Accessibility means you get on the water more often.

And what about the name? It sounds like a jet-fighter moniker, but it isn’t. Rather, AF4 is the fourth design named “Alison’s Fiddle.” Jim was fortunate enough to witness firsthand the development of a young Alison Krause in regional fiddle competitions. And what is Alison’s fiddle but a cleverly crafted wooden box that can do amazing things?

AF4’s construction requires five sheets of 1⁄4″ plywood and four sheets of 1⁄2″ ply, joined by nails and glue.

This Boat Profile was published in Small Boats 2010 — for more information, visit Duckworks.

Since he launched his design and boatbuilding career in 1981, Eric Hvalsoe has been seeking “the Holy Grail of traditional small craft design”: a boat that rows and sails equally well within the limitations of its length.

It took him 20 years and several variations on the theme, but he may well have found it in the Hvalsoe 16. This plank-on-frame lapstrake dinghy, first produced in 2001 by Eric’s company, Hvalsoe Boats in Shoreline, Washington, receives rave reviews both from owners who row it exclusively as well as from those who love to sail it—even as its designer and builder considers it “the great compromise” because of the choices he made to ensure the viability of both modes.

“For my uses, it’s the perfect boat,” says owner Michael King of Seattle, who purchased his Hvalsoe 16 in 2003 for the purpose of rowing on Puget Sound. Owner Denis Norton opts for the same adjective in calling his 2007 Hvalsoe 16 “just perfect” for sailing the glacial lakes of central Idaho. High praise indeed for a “compromise” boat.

Photo by Shelly Randall

Although its construction is substantially different from the classic Whitehall pulling boat, representing as it does a compromise between good rowing and sailing performance, the Hvalsoe 16 is squarely in the tradition of the historical type.

The genesis of the Hvalsoe 16 was the Hvalsoe 13, designed in the early 1980s, which Seattle reviewer Chas. Dowd described thus: “Narrow at entry and run for easy rowing but with healthy ’midship sections for sailing stability, the design worked even better than anyone had a right to expect.”

I’d say the same of the Hvalsoe 16—it surpassed my expectations.

Its shippy appearance, however, would lead anyone to expect the best. With its raked stem, graceful sheerline, and heart-shaped transom, “it always gets compliments,” according to Michael. Subtle details, like the convex curvature of the floating breasthook mirroring the curve of the transom, convey the designer and builder’s aesthetics and attention to detail.

And it’s truly a Pacific Northwest boat, having been informed by and designed for Northwest waters by a man who himself was born, raised, and educated in Washington state.

Inspired by the Whitehall type, among others, but designed for a client who wanted “something other than a Whitehall” for both rowing and sailing, the Hvalsoe series was developed with a generous beam, a strong mid-section, and a high, soft bilge. The hulls are slender but with good buoyancy. “I don’t want to say it’s lightly built, but it’s efficiently built,” says Eric of the Hvalsoe 16. “It’s a fast boat. Compared to a heavier boat, it accelerates well and feels pretty sporty.”

The Hvalsoe 16 handles nicely under sail with three adults, or two adults and two children, and under oar power with one to four adults (it has two rowing stations). Two strong people can carry it, but it helps to have four people for a longer carry.

Photo by Shelly Randall

A plank keel makes the boat not only a fine one for beach landings but also for hauling by trailer to the next destination.

The Hvalsoe 16 is actually 15′ 9″ long with a 4′ 6″ beam and a minimum draft of 1′ 6″. It weighs 185 lbs with the centerboard and trunk, and carries an 85-sq-ft spritsail. For comparison, the Hvalsoe 13 is truly 13′ in length, but the beam and draft are the same as the 16’s. It weighs 155 lbs and the spritsail is 65 sq ft. “Either of these boats is a capable near-shore boat within the confines of common sense,” says Eric.

The Hvalsoe boats are available in several sizes. “The development of the 16 from the 13 was an evolution by experience and eye, which included an intermediate stage, the 15,” Eric explains. He simply stretched the 13 to get the 15, using the same sections spaced farther apart, but then felt the hull could use more buoyancy in the stern, so he redrew the body plan by eye to get the 16. However, the midsection of all three boats is the same. He is now considering adding an 18′ or 19′ version.

Photo by Shelly Randall

A foredeck provides a bit of stowage underneath.

Eric builds these boats with 3⁄8″ Western red cedar planking over white oak bent frames. The stem, transom, centerboard trunk, and knees are mahogany; the keel and riveted rubrails are also hardwood. All fastenings are copper and bronze, with the exception of stainless steel hardware for the pop-out rudder.

The Hvalsoe 16 would be an ambitious project for an experienced amateur boatbuilder, but construction and sail plans are available. All Hvalsoe plans require lofting. Those who would prefer to commission Hvalsoe Boats to construct a boat—starting at $24,000 fully finished and rigged—would be hard-pressed to find better craftsmanship.

Eric recently had the opportunity to buy back Hvalsoe 16 hull No. 1 from a former client. It’s the first boat this career boatbuilder—who turned 50 this year—has ever actually owned, and it’s the one I tested on Seattle’s Lake Union.

We launched from a dock at The Center for Wooden Boats, but Eric tells me the Hvalsoe boats will stand upright on the beach with their wide plank keel. We took some time to talk about the hull, which is protected with tough UHMW (ultra high molecular weight) plastic grounding shoes on the keel and skeg and rubbing strips on the first three laps. Eric meticulously finishes the hull interior with SeaFin Teak Oil and then covers all the brightwork with a urethane coating. To further enhance longevity, he offers a custom all-weather boat cover stretched over laminated arch supports. He’ll also supply a galvanized marine trailer with carpeted supports and tie-offs of his own design.

“When he gets done with it, it’s a custom trailer for the boat,” says Michael, who tows his Hvalsoe 16 with his Volkswagen Vanagon, assuring me that the van “doesn’t suffer at all” with the light boat and minimalist trailer. “It’s really easy to launch and to put back on the trailer. It’s no effort, really.”

Photo by Shelly Randall

Simple footrests give the oarsman a better chance to row hard without slipping off the thwart.

I was intrigued by the adjustable and removable individual foot stretchers that Eric designed to catch a frame and fit between the floorboard planks. Having suffered many barely passable foot stretchers in fixed-seat rowing boats, I found they were just about the handiest thing I had ever seen. They provided comfortable braces for my feet when rowing and popped out and out of the way for sailing.

Unfortunately, the weather on our trial day was not comfortable, but at least the gray and gusty March day provided a good test of the Hvalsoe 16’s capabilities. Eric wisely reefed the loose-footed spritsail, and as we headed out onto the lake, I was immediately taken with the boat’s stability. The tiller was responsive in the big puffs, and when we heeled, there was ample freeboard. I found it most comfortable to sit low, on a cushion on the floorboards as opposed to the thwarts. Eric had dipped the rail earlier that day, but there was only a little water in the bilge, and the raised floorboards kept my seat dry. On the light-air edges of the lake, we roll-tacked, and Eric showed me how he lets go of the tiller during a tack to concentrate on the sheet. The rig is so well balanced that the rudder recenters itself on a close-hauled point of sail. Eric sometimes “cleats” the sheet between his knees, and I noticed why: the line doesn’t always run smoothly in the vertical cleat on the aft face of the centerboard trunk. But overall, the galloping sail was exhilarating and I could imagine how the boat with its full sail area would move satisfyingly in a light, steady breeze.

When it came time to row, the Hvalsoe 16 converted from a sailing to a rowing boat in minutes. We returned to the dock, used the brailing line to collapse the sail against the mast, and effortlessly unshipped the unstayed mast, which is made of lightweight Sitka spruce. One per- son standing on the dock can easily lift out the mast, sail, and spar bundle. These fit entirely within the boat if necessary, but I left them on the dock. Then out came the oars, also made of Sitka spruce. Rowed solo from the center thwart, the Hvalsoe 16 was light and responsive and had a tight turning radius. I followed Eric’s advice and dropped the centerboard a couple of inches. She was tracking beautifully, even in a crosswind, until I experimented briefly with raising the centerboard. I was rowing into a strong wind at the time and the bow was blown off immediately. After a minute of struggling to regain my course, back down went the centerboard, and rock-solid stability returned.

Photo by Shelly Randall

A simple, boomless sprit rig allows the sail and sprit to be easily brailed up and lashed around the mast while at the dock or while rowing through a calm.

If you’re in the Seattle area, you can get a feel for Eric’s designs by visiting The Center for Wooden Boats on south Lake Union. The livery has a donated Hvalsoe 13 and a student-built Hvalsoe 15 available for rental. If you have more time, you can take one of Eric’s traditional plank-on-frame lapstrake courses offered at the center. Recent classes have participated in lofting, framing and planking a Hvalsoe 16.

“I like being in the increasingly unique position of a traditional plank-on-frame builder,” Eric says. “I don’t seem to be strongly motivated to design or build simpler projects, or make lapstrake ‘easier’ by going to plywood for the home builder—not that there is anything wrong with that. Given time, I imagine I would develop some simpler models, but…time is what it is.”

In recent years he has had more customer interest in the Hvalsoe 16 than in the 13, but he continues to build both and delight his clients by presenting them with “the Holy Grail” many of them have also long sought.

“It’s just an amazing boat,” says Michael. “I’m always reminded when I get out on the water how good a boat it is.” He pauses, reflecting on his two young children, in whom he hopes to instill a love of both rowing and sailing. “This is a boat that will be inherited,” he says finally.

Blending good characteristics for both rowing and sailing, the Hvalsoe 16 has a fine entry at the bow, a comparatively flat bottom for upright beaching, and weighs only 185 lbs.

This Boat Profile was published in Small Boats 2009 — for more information, visit Hvalsoe Boats or contact Eric at [email protected] or (206) 533-9138.

Hird Island is surrounded mostly by marsh grass, but along its easterly face a meandering deep-water creek sidles close to shore where a few dwellings and docks have sprung up. Here it’s quiet except for an occasional outboard motor. Ashore, you travel in electric golf carts instead of autos. You’re in the heart of Georgia marshland—tidal, sheltered, and, most of all, silent where the call of birds is apt to be the loudest sound you’ll hear.

Because of the island’s proximity to the Atlantic, there’s a surprising current from the incoming and outgoing tide, so rowing isn’t always the best way of exploring, and the winding nature of the meandering creeks (there are miles and miles of them) oftentimes makes sailing a challenge. To fit in appropriately, Doug Hylan (who has a cottage on Hird Island) selected electric power and a simple skiff of plywood with a centerboard and small sail to be used when the wind suited. He keeps her in a shed when he’s away, which is most of the year, but in only a few minutes after arriving he is able to launch and set her up for use.

Photo by Anne Bray

The reedy shallows of Georgia call for a shoal-draft boat that can easily navigate the channels—and with its electric motor, this skiff can do so without disturbing the peace and quiet.

Energy, of course, comes from batteries, a pair of 12- volt, deep-cycle ones housed under the forward seat in dedicated compartments each side of the centerboard trunk. They connect to a Minn Kota Endura 30 trolling motor that’s been cut down to fit within a capped well, completely hidden from view. The motor can be hoisted clear of the water and a plug inserted in the opening, which reduces drag when sailing or rowing. So rigged, the motor still lives inside the well. A transom-mounted rudder steers the boat; the motor is fixed in the straight-ahead direction. The rudder operates by means of a continuous steering line easily reached from anywhere in the boat. You just grab the line (it runs through a series of eyes mounted on the inwale) and pull or push on it to move the rudder and steer the boat—and it works under sail and oars as well as under power. Initially, it’s not as intuitive as a wheel or tiller, but you soon get used to it, and steering this way becomes as natural as any other method. One of its advantages is that there’s enough friction in the system so the rudder stays where you put it and the boat holds its heading without your having to tend continuously to steering.

Motor speed and direction (i.e. forward and reverse), while normally controlled by twisting a stock trolling motor’s steering handle, here are operated by rotating a knob mounted on the side of the boat within easy reach of where you sit. A setup like this requires some rewiring and extra carpentry, but is well worth it in terms of convenience.

Watertight compartments in the bow and stern keep the heavy batteries from sinking the boat if for any reason she should accidentally fill with water. The motorwell is a box within the aft compartment accessed by a deck hatch. (You can access the compartment itself through a door in the bulkhead.) Between the permanent forward and aft seats, there’s a removable thwart for rowing. Being flat-bottomed, this is an easy boat to walk around in, although you’ll find yourself sitting side-by-side with your companion most of the time, leaning comfortably against the backrest and enjoying the view—and the silence of electric power.

Photo by Anne Bray

When there’s room to tack and depth to lower the centerboard, the skiff’s dead-simple but very effective lugsail lets the breeze do the work.

In using the boat, Doug usually goes electric: “While I first envisioned this skiff as doing a fair amount of sailing, in fact our usage has evolved in two other directions, both based on electric power. The first is wine-and-cheese sunset cruises with my wife, Jean. Here the quietness of the motor and the private proximity of the passenger pro- mote lovely conversations (perhaps helped along by the wine). Our second favorite use of this boat has been for wonderful moonlight cruises. Sailing has receded partly from my own laziness, but also because the range under batteries has turned out to be far more than I expected.” The range has been more than four hours at maximum speed.

Although Doug used stitch-and-glue construction for the boat he built for himself, he decided that conventional chines would be easier, so he has drawn the plans that way, with station molds 2′ apart erected on a ladder-type frame to define the hull shape. The forward half of the hull is absolutely flat on the bottom, but as it approaches the stern, the bottom takes on a shallow V-shape to reduce its drag, especially while heeled under sail.

Photos by Maynard Bray

Top—The skiff’s electric motor, which is nicely hidden away in an aft compartment, and can be hoisted out and replaced by a fitted cap to reduce drag when rowing or sailing. Above left—Batteries reside underneath the rowing thwart. Above right—The rudder line runs in a continuous loop just below the gunwale, always in easy reach.

Doug Hylan’s drawings consist of six sheets: a sail and spar plan; lines and offsets; construction; building jig and stem patterns; plywood panel layouts; and molds, transom, and rudder patterns. The set includes basic instructions and a CD of photographs. The skiff’s sides are of 1⁄4″ plywood, and the bottom is of 3⁄8″. In building, you begin by gluing two sheets of each thickness together for length, then marking and cutting out the pieces. Seven molds are needed, and their shapes come from full-sized patterns. They’re set up on the ladder frame as depicted and described in the notes, along with the inner stem and transom. Sides are bent around, the chines are added, then the bottom—and, before you know it, you have a hull. From there, with the boat turned right-side-up, it’s a matter of adding the remaining items like centerboard trunk, bulkheads, decks, etc. In all, it’s a pretty straightforward building job suitable for first-timers.

After watching Doug build the first of this design and admiring its characteristics (and how quickly it went together), I was eager to try it out. This happened at Doug’s place in Georgia. We sailed her and ran her under power along those narrow, marsh-grass-bordered creeks and found her perfectly suited to calm water and moderate winds. Speed is fine propelled either way, the sail being large enough to make her move well and respond, and there being enough thrust (30 lbs at full throttle) to be more than sufficient to move along at a good clip even against an adverse current.

But, best of all, was the silence!

Doug Hylan’s plans for the Hird Island skiff are characteristically easy to follow and complete. The hull is marked by its simple construction and good looks.

This Boat Profile was published in Small Boats 2009 — for more information, visit Hylan & Brown Boatbuilders.

I’m a boat nut. I’ve built and rowed, sanded and sailed, painted and paddled most of my life. One of my favorite activities is gliding around a harbor in a dinghy, rowing or sailing, working up an appetite for steamed shellfish. Another favorite is my job teaching boatbuilding at The Carpenter’s Boatshop in Pemaquid, Maine. This offers endless hours of boat talk, swapping stories, and trying to convince the listener that your way of doing it is the best solution. Well, the opportunity to talk with Arch Davis and take a look at his latest design, GRACE’S TENDER, allowed me to indulge both interests. Davis honed his design and building skills in New Zealand and has since brought both to the waters of midcoast Maine. GRACE’S TENDER was designed as a project to be completed by his daughter, Grace, now 12, with the close support of her dad and his workshop.

The boat has been drawn wide to provide initial stability. There is a nice transition from a shallow V-bottom shape in the middle of the boat to a deeper V forward that requires about as much twist as you can demand from plywood panels. This yields lots of interior space on a very short waterline. Don’t ask to put too much adult weight onboard without affecting performance. At 55 lbs, the hull is lightweight, easy to carry, and can be cartopped with the appropriate rack. The rig is a standing lugsail that puts up a generous area on short spars for portability and easy storage.

Construction is glued-and-screwed marine plywood, a system used for many modern small boats. This renders a light and strong hull that won’t leak when launched after extended periods ashore. The strongback on which the temporary building frames are attached is quite rigid, yet the frames seem to flex until the bottom and planking are attached. In my opinion, the whole setup may benefit from an additional temporary brace or two. The stem is an interesting lamination of plywood and softwood. The plywood inside gives cross-grain stability, while the softwood sides provide an easy-to-carve landing for the planking.

Photo by Arch Davis

GRACE’S TENDER is a kindly little plywood boat that Arch Davis designed to build with his daughter, Grace. This handsome and capable craft is an exceptionally good first boatbuilding project.

The joint between the bottom and the topside planking changes from a lap at the chine to a butt in the area of the stem. This sort of mimics the gains in traditional lap-strake construction. Achieving a smooth transition here may be a challenge to a first-time builder, but the description and details are well laid out in the plans.

I’m not a great fan of daggerboards, having seen the results of altercations between rocks and boards on larger boats; however, this boat is the right place for one. While daggerboards require some attention in shallow water, contact with the mudflats in a boat this light should just bring you to a halt and remind you to pull up a bit sooner. Daggerboards are also slightly easier to build and install than centerboards. Arch has chosen a kick-up rudder. Although more complex to construct, kick-ups protect this vital piece of equipment from damage when sailing in thin water, and allows continuous directional control.

The building package for GRACE’S TENDER consists of an 80-page manual with over 100 photos, a section on material sources, discussion of tools, a complete glossary, and sage advice on building and using small boats. Also included are full-sized Mylar patterns for every piece, something any builder will appreciate. No lofting, no paper patterns to tear or stretch, and no small-scale drawings that require careful scaling up. The gem of the package is the optional DVD documenting each step of construction, starring Grace Davis, my nominee for an Oscar.

Photos by Arch Davis

Amazing Grace. While her dad took on more dangerous jobs like ripping long pieces on the tablesaw, Grace did the majority of the boat’s construction herself.

A few photos lack detail, but in combination with the text and the DVD, almost every aspect of construction is covered. The exception is painting. While building and woodworking techniques are somewhat consistent, there are many different ways to finish off a boat. Here, your personal style calls the tune. Anyone wishing for a yacht finish should consult one of the many good books and articles on painting and varnishing. Someone like me might be so anxious to get this duck in the water that a couple of coats of leftover marine paint would do the job, thank-you-ver y-much, and pass the oars please.

With plans in hand you can search out your own lumber and fastenings, or you can opt for the kit that comes complete with all plywood, lumber, epoxy, fastenings, and sailing rig. While these options are available from other designers, the vast amount of detail provided makes GRACE’S TENDER stand out. Back at The Carpenter’s Boatshop, I asked one of our first-year apprentices to look through the package to gauge whether she felt it contained all that was necessary to build the boat. She agreed that it is a clear and thorough set of plans and instructions.

Photo by Arch Davis

While GRACE’S TENDER is a fine boat for a youngster to sail in light winds, she also makes an able yacht tender.

Finally, I feel that a very important aid in any boat-building project is having access to the designer. While not always possible, it’s really nice when you can connect. When you call Arch Davis Design, you get Arch Davis on the phone. His personal interest in each boat is evident and he will talk you through the sticky places.

As a first boatbuilding effort or as a several weekend adventure with the kids, GRACE’S TENDER is close to the ideal. Now, clean out one side of your garage, go forth and build, and when you’re done, keep an eye out for those perfect harbors and steamed shellfish.

GRACE’S TENDER’s inboard profile plan clearly shows the major fitting-out components: seats, kick-up rudder, daggerboard, mast, and the all-important foam flotation. The foam provides an extra margin of safety for kids learning to sail and row.

This Boat Profile was published in Small Boats 2009 — for more information, visit Arch Davis Designs.

For some people, the meaning of life seems forever to be bound together with a quest for the perfect yacht tender. There is no such perfection, of course, since the just-right fit for one person will be completely wrong for the next, and boatbuilders and boat owners seem never to lack opinions. These days, however, it seems a great many people find perfect contentment with a less-than-comfortable, less-than-attractive inflatable with an outboard, and they are to be found trailing astern of even the most elegant classic yachts. And yet others have never faltered in their quest, and they know without hesitation the characteristics of a fine tender when they see one.

Such is the case for Sunshine, a Walter Simmons design based on a 1915 boat a client brought to him for restoration years ago. Simmons delivered the bad news that the boat was too far gone to restore—better, he advised, to take what was good about her and build a new boat. He proceeded to take the lines of the original hull, which had been built in Stonington, Maine. During some available winter hours, he faired up the lines and worked up construction details.

Photo by Tom Jackson

With excellent load-carrying capacity and rowing characteristics, low weight, and great looks, the Sunshine design makes a wonderful yacht tender.

What was good about the original has been universally hailed by all who have used the boat before or since. She’s burdensome, but not at all ungainly, 10’6″ boat with a 4′ beam, about 6″ more or less of draft, and very seakindly ways. “She just does everything you want her to do,” Simmons says. “She’ll take any load, any way you want, and would ride the back of a stern wave all day long.” Simmons himself has built about 40 of the boats, and he has sold plans to builders far and wide, some as far away as New Zealand. Many more boats have been built by those who bought the plans.

For anyone driving the winding road down to Brooklin, Maine, in recent years, a small roadside sign saying “North Brooklin Boats,” and often a boat itself, would always catch your eye. Eric Jacobssen, the proprietor, decided some time ago that he was going to pursue his ambition of starting a small-boat business. The first design he looked at (with some friendly advice from his friend Mike O’Brien, former senior editor with WoodenBoat) was Sunshine.

“It’s a truly great boat,” Jacobssen says. “I’ve never ever for one moment been unhappy with the boat I chose. It looks nice, and it really rows superbly. Good yachtsmen have confirmed that for me.” He builds boats the way he prefers to: pick a good design, build it well, and the clients will follow. He has built 15 of the boats by now, and every piece is patterned and jigged up. But still, he estimates that it takes him 300 hours of work to build one, given the quality of work and finishes he strives for. “There are some shortcuts I could take, but I just feel it’s not what the market wants in this boat. It just takes more time, but it’s just kind of what I feel like doing.”

Art Rocque was one of the people who noticed Jacobssen’s shop, after driving home “the long way” to Stonington one night after dinner. He had recently had his wooden-hulled Egg Harbor 27 restored, and when he saw a Sunshine alongside the road in front of Jacobssen’s house, he saw what he wanted to have hanging from his davits. He called to inquire about the boat, which had already been sold. But, yes, Jacobssen could surely make another.

I walked with Rocque down the mossy trail to the shore from the home his grandfather had built on Deer Isle, Maine. The boat was as lovely as could be, trailing from an outhaul. Hauled ashore to a little scrap of sand between the rocks, she nosed in easily, allowing a dry-feet entry.

Photo by Tom Jackson

Drawing only inches, the tender can easily be brought ashore by an outhaul—and the same characteristic would make her a great gunkholing boat.

I took a turn at the oars, and I can fully attest that she’s a fine rowing boat. She balances very well with two people aboard, and she gave the impression of being ready for much more. The freeboard seems just right to me for a tender—with a good load of all the cruising provisions and a couple of guests, she would still row very comfortably. I wasn’t able to try a sailing version of the boat, but I’d be willing to wager that she’d be a fine gunkholer, too, just the ticket for getting into those tight, private spaces and tempting beaches where the big boats can’t go. She has the stable and solid feel of a no-nonsense boat going about her task with competence and honesty.

Rocque had Jacobssen fit lifting rings to the boat—two on the transom and one at the inside of the forefoot near the stem—so she can easily be hauled out of the water with the block-and-tackle rigged to davits on his big boat. At about 120 lbs, the boat comes aboard easily. He later also had Edgecomb Boat Works install a stainless-steel bracket on the Egg Harbor’s rail aft, into which a fitting on Sunshine’s gunwale slips, easily allowing the boat to be held very securely in position.

Photo by Carol Rocque

Hanging in davits off the stern of a finely restored Egg Harbor 27, the tender looks right at home.

“She hangs on davits very easily,” Rocque says. “She actually tows, and if you’ve ever towed a tender, you know what a pain in the rear end that can be. If you give her enough tether, she will tow perfectly straight and stay dry. People walk by and say, ‘Geez, that’s a wonderful little tender,’ which is always better than having an inflatable hanging off the stern. What would it look like having an inflatable right here? They have no shape, they’ve got no style. You can’t row them, so you’ve got to have an engine on it. They’re nasty as hell if you’ve got anything resembling a chop. They don’t carry any type of load. And as I say, when was the last time you had somebody walk past a plastic inflatable and say, ‘Boy, that’s a nice- looking dinghy’?” Strike three.

Rocque purposely avoided having a sailing rig, too. The man likes to row. “She doesn’t need a sailing rig,” he says. She balances so well on the oars—a fine pair made by Shaw & Tenney in Orono, Maine—that he sees no need for any further propulsion. Taking to heart family concerns that maybe he was rowing too much, he bought a 5-hp outboard for one of his earlier boats. “I have actually contemplated using it for a mooring block. It’s noisy, it’s smelly, it’s not fun to run, and it cavitates like hell unless the balance is exactly right. In fact, Eric asked if I wanted to use an outboard on this boat; he would have been willing to make some modifications. I told him, ‘Not likely—not even at gunpoint.’” Now, that’s Eric Jacobssen’s kind of customer, and no doubt Walter Simmons would nod his approval, as well.

Walter Simmons of Duck Trap Woodworking in Lincolnville Beach, Maine, based his Sunshine design on a 1915 boat. So good were her qualities that Simmons ended up building 40 of the boats for clients.

This Boat Profile was published in Small Boats 2009 — for more information and to purchase plans, visit Duck Trap Woodworking.

MARCUS NOER is a particularly fine example of a traditional double-ender from Denmark, with a shapeliness to her hull that will take your breath away. The design is one descendant—one of many—of a Nordic boatbuilding tradition that should properly stand beside the great cathedrals of the world and the sculptures of antiquity as among the loveliest creations ever made by man.

This design is not for beginners. It is, however, absolutely a design that any beginner should aspire to, in my view. A boatbuilder young in experience should choose a much simpler boat first, or maybe a succession of two or three, perhaps working with other builders or taking one of a number of specialized classes before attempting such a boat. But as he does so, he should know that each saw cut made straight and true and each plank line sweeping an honest curve will contribute to the understanding of something greater. Each boat built should contribute to the understanding for the next boat.

This 17′ 81⁄2″ lapstrake-planked double-ender can stand comparison to the finest of yacht design, and yet this hull comes down to us from an everyday craftsman for a common fisherman. The original “jolle” was built in Frederikssund in 1900 for one Marcus Noer of Ejby, in Isefjord, Denmark. His catch, sole, and flounder, was kept alive in a wet well, essentially a box built into the hull, which had holes bored in the planking to allow water to fill the box. This replica, built in 1980, is faithful to the original design and all-oak construction—with the exception of refraining from boring holes in the planking.

Photo by Tom Jackson

The lovely curves of a traditional Danish Frederikssund jolle are accentuated by the lapstrake planking lines.

MARCUS NOER is one of the boats in the collections of the Viking Ship Museum in Roskilde. This museum, which is in a mid-sized town about an hour’s train ride west of Copenhagen, is noted for its archaeology and its exacting replica constructions, but it also has amassed an impressive collection of small craft, several of which would be excellent examples of boats for home builders. These boats inherit and share characteristics that came down remarkably unchanged from Viking times. The museum boatyard’s purpose is to preserve traditional skills in addition to the boats themselves.

Anyone who doesn’t want to take the time—which would be considerable—to build one of these boats can have one custom-built, and not just MARCUS NOER. Want an exact replica of the faering, or four-oared boat, that was recovered with the famous Gokstad Viking ship in the 1880s? The museum boatshop can build one. Among the small-craft collections, any number of boats would be likely candidates, but for me, MARCUS NOER has that “just right” feel. I see that I’m not alone in this, because when I was at the museum in May 2008, two of these Frederikssund boats were on the pier, newly constructed for private clients and ready for shipping. Inside, a similar type called a Lyneasjolle was days away from launching, and an ancient-looking faering was in for restoration.

Søren Nielsen, the boatshop director, says that he builds the boats right-side-up over molds. “Traditionally, that was, as you know, not the way to do it,” he says. “Our plan is, however, after we have built a few more of these boats, to throw the molds away and build them ‘as in the old days’—without molds but with a few measurements in the right places. You just have to have some experience before you do that, because you have to know exactly where the important measure has to be taken to build a good boat.” The boat’s rounded stern presents challenges even for experienced builders.

The interpretation of the Frederikssund jolle plans would be a challenge in its own right. For openers, the particulars are typically reported in metric measurements, but the plans sheets themselves, drawn by historian Christian Nielsen in the 20th century, are in feet and inches. However, if you do the calculations, you’ll see that the translation doesn’t quite work out. Take the overall length as an example: 5.4 meters equals about 17′ 81⁄2″. But on the plans sheets—which were completed before Denmark adopted the metric system—the length is clearly shown as 17′ 3″. Why the difference? The answer is that the Danish inch was historically a little longer than the English inch—26.17mm instead of 25.4mm. (There’s one more reason the metric system took hold!) Just interpreting the plans sheet will involve some understanding of the history of changing measurement systems and will call for judgment on the part of the builder.

Photo by Tom Jackson

The boatshop at the Viking Ship Museum in Roskilde, Denmark, builds boats for clients, and two Frederikssund jolles just like MARCUS NOER, built almost entirely of oak and newly oiled, were among the boats constructed in 2008.

The plans are available on a CD supplement to a book published by the Danish Maritime Museum; getting them onto a plans sheet that would be useful might involve a trip to a printing or engineering office that has a large printer. (Here at WoodenBoat, we had trouble opening the CD in a Macintosh computer.) In the end, redrawing the plans to a chosen scale may be the best way to go and will significantly ease the task of lofting the plans out full-scale, which will be essential in any event. Builders will also notice that these plans do not have an accompanying table of offsets, that list of all-important measurements—or at least if they ever did, they haven’t survived. From redrawn plans, the builder might be well advised to develop his own table of offsets before lofting.

Sourcing materials could also be difficult. White oak planking, which is the traditional choice, would be excellent because it steam-bends so beautifully. Where white oak is scarce, finding adequate stock would be difficult or expensive. But larch and pine also have been used to good effect. For the backbone timbers, any good structural wood—superior Douglas-fir, say, or purpleheart, or angelique—would do nicely.

The builder willing to accept up-front complexity will be rewarded later by the simplicity of the boat’s setup. With a couple of exceptions, fitting out would be simple. There are no complicated systems. The jibsheet fairleads are the simplest imaginable, hewn of wood. Other than copper rivets, the boat uses very little metal, and the original fittings were meant to be simple and inexpensive. The museum boatbuilders use galvanized steel fittings for the two complex metal pieces (the exceptions mentioned above): the stemhead fitting and the rudder gear. Galvanized steel won’t last nearly as long as bronze, but it’s in keeping with the ways of the original boats. Of course, with the price of copper and bronze heading for the stratosphere these days, maybe it’s time to leave off this demand for bronze in every instance and think seriously about a return to galvanized ferrous metals for certain kinds of boats. Not every boat has to be a yacht.

The finish on this boat is equally simple: a 50:50 blend of pine tar and raw linseed oil. The mix stays tacky for a while, hardening in a few weeks, especially in the sun. It turns the wood black as can be, but on this boat that just seems natural and right. The entire interior, the spars, and the topsides are all finished this way. The only paint on the boat is bottom antifouling.

This boat is heavy, at about 1,984 lbs, with a very deep keel—what the Danes call a “high” keel. Getting the boat on and off a trailer would be difficult, but doable: the museum tows the boat to various festivals, near and far. But launching off a trailer isn’t something you’d want to do every day. Paying a yard to haul the boat with a Travelift would make easy work of it, but the fact is that this boat would be happiest in a marina or at a mooring.

Now, I know what you’re thinking. That heavy old fish boat, oh, my God, she’s going to sail like a slug. You’ll have to get an oar out to work her around every time you tack, and while all your friends with super-lightweight plywood-epoxy craft are out there on the beach finishing off their lunch, you’ll still be back in harbor trying to tack your way clear.

Think again. She’s an amazingly sprightly sailer and a joy to handle. She comes about like a dinghy, with a light touch on the tiller. The jibs have to be backed briefly, but the boat comes about cleanly and with little fuss. She picks up speed right away on the new tack. Her topsail sets and strikes easily, with no specialized gear. The snotter—that sling that holds the heel of the sprit—is held by friction alone, so adjustment is dead easy: push the sprit heel up to gain some slack, then slide the snotter wherever you want it to increase or decrease sail tension.

Photos by Tom Jackson

Left—Tholepin rowing, combined with a simple shroud tie-down and a wooden jibsheet fairlead, show the simplicity of MARCUS NOER’s fittings. Right—Hemp rope has such good friction that no mast fittings are needed to set the snotter line, a sling holding the heel of the sprit.

I sailed MARCUS NOER on a cloudy day with moderate breezes off Roskilde with Dylan Coils, a New Zealander who has worked at the Viking Ship Museum as a sailing teacher for years, and with Max Vinner, a retired curator. Max never tired of sailing MARCUS NOER, which for his many years at the museum remained his boat of choice for singlehanded daysailing after work.

With her broad hull, MARCUS NOER is stable and powerful. The very broad side decks give her the equivalent of a great deal of freeboard, and yet her sheerline is low, originally to give the fisherman easier work in hauling his catch. Those side decks give the crew a very comfortable seat when the breeze requires a bit of weight on the weather rail. With both jibs and her topsail flying, all set with the simplest of gear, she takes the wind like a stallion. We would not expect her to point to weather like a modern racing yacht, and yet her windward abilities would come as a serious surprise to racing sailors.

Ashore, her rig is easily handled. The time-honored way to furl the sprit mainsail is to remove the sprit heel from the snotter, sway it aft until it is parallel with the mast, and then, starting with the leech, roll the sail up in the sprit like a carpet until it comes right up to the mast. A simple length of line binds it all together neatly. The topsail rolls on its spar, too, and that bundle fits inside the cockpit. All very simple, with a minimum of fittings. There are lessons in these workings for boatbuilders of any kind.

At the time I sailed MARCUS NOER, I was in that odd position of being simultaneously almost finished with one boat and just on the cusp of looking around for what might be next—after a respectable interval of time for house projects, of course. I suspect that for my next boat I’ll look no further than MARCUS NOER.

Among us there are some—and perhaps, quietly, many—for whom the number of boats built, measured in total or over a given period of time, is of no consequence. We may be professional in other things, but not in this. At the end of the day (to take a weary cliché back to its original meaning), we hang measurable outcomes and paradigm shifts on hooks alongside our hats and coats. In our own workshops, we work a piece until it pleases the eye and feels good in the hand, and for this one part of our lives that is our only unit of time. To those who prefer to work in this way, the only boat design that makes any sense is one that makes our hearts yearn. This Frederikssund jolle is such a boat.

The Frederikssund jolle was documented at a time when Danish inches were still in use; therefore, interpreting the lines and construction plans will pose some challenges. For a motivated person with some experience, the result will be worth the effort.

This Boat Profile was published in Small Boats 2009 and appears here as archival material. If you have more information about this boat, plan or design – please let us know in the comment section.

A blast from the past, RETRO-ROCKET skims across the glassy surface of Minnesota’s Lake Minnetonka. At 10′ 2″ LOA, a 5′ beam, and 12″ draft (standing still), this pocket-sized hydroplane was built by Rob Sotirin for his son, John, to run in the waters off the family’s Shady Island home.

Named for the boat’s old-time style and its speed, RETRO-ROCKET is a throwback to the small outboard-powered hydroplanes that were popular during the 1940s, ’50s, and ’60s. After World War II, plans for do-it-yourself builders were available through boating and woodworking magazines, sparking an interest among returning veterans, and others, who were looking for on-the-water excitement at a reasonable price. Best of all, these boats were of a size that could easily be constructed in a home workshop.

RETRO-ROCKET was built from Glen-L Marine Design’s plans for Super Spartan, a three-point hydroplane. Constructed in marine plywood, RETRO-ROCKET weighs less than 100 lbs and darts across the water, mostly on a cushion of air. A three-point hydroplane has two forward sponsons, plus the aft end of its hull, which is flat. When on plane, only the sponsons and the aft bottom surface touch the water.

At an overall length of 10’2” and weighing just 100 lbs, Glen-L Marine Design’s Super Spartan looks like she’s ready to race but is mostly intended to provide summertime fun on calm waters.

Rob built the Super Spartan to keep pace with the interests of his children. “My son John is now 13, and I figured he would be ready for a little excitement. We live on an island, so the kids spend a lot of time on the water.” At the outset of the project, Rob took time to carefully read and understand the plans. “I found it useful to have them posted right next to the ‘operating table’ so that I could turn around to refer to them every step of the way,” he said. “This is such a small, light boat that there isn’t much in the way of materials or cost. Glen-L does a nice job of providing step-by-step pictures of the construction process.”

Facing another Minnesota winter, Rob began work on the hydroplane in his basement workshop. Thinking ahead, he constructed a full-sized mock-up out of scrap wood to assure that he would be able to get the boat up the stairs and out the door when his project was complete. By the following summer, the boat was ready to launch.

RETRO-ROCKET’s bottom is made of 1⁄ 4″ marine fir plywood and the deck is 1⁄8″ mahogany plywood. He used two layers of 3⁄4″ solid mahogany for the transom. The stringers and cockpit cowling are also made of mahogany. Rob remarked, “The idea is that with very little hull weight, a small motor will accelerate the boat quickly and bring it up out of the water [on plane].”

Rob purchased Glen-L’s fastening kit, which is specific to the Super Spartan and includes silicon-bronze screws and ring nails. He assembled the boat’s lower hull stringers and transom with 3M-5200, assuring that seams were watertight yet allowing the hull to remain somewhat flexible. He bonded the less vital deck pieces with a polyurethane construction-grade adhesive, which is less expensive.

Photo by Rob Sotirin

RETRO-ROCKET’s stained-and-varnished 1⁄8″ mahogany plywood deck is pleasing to the eye. Strategically placed racing stickers hide seams where plywood sheets were butted to one another.

Well before Rob installed the deck, he sealed, primed, and painted the hull’s forward interior. Water that gets inside the boat can collect in the sponsons, so it’s a good idea to make sure they are protected to discourage rot. He stained and finished the aft interior (which is visible) with four coats of varnish, along with most of the outer hull. The cowling pieces were left natural to provide a two-tone effect and allow sufficient contrast with the lettering. Rob strategically placed a large racing number (even though his son doesn’t race) to hide the butted seam between two pieces of deck plywood. “I took a lot of extra care so that the whole boat could be varnished,” Rob added. “This made for a lot of critical attention to fit and finish. However, if you planned to paint the boat, you could be a lot less fastidious.”

As RETRO-ROCKET neared completion, Rob was concerned about the comfort of the driver, who must kneel on the cockpit sole when the boat is underway. “It’s important to put something down to absorb shock and stay dry,” he said. “At a local surplus store I found just the thing—the long black foam wrist rests used with computer keyboards. I bought 20 of them, and that’s what you see lined up on the floor [sole] of the boat.”

As a practical matter, Rob recommends that strong stainless or galvanized eyehooks be built into the boat’s hull before the deck is attached. This allows owners to store the boat by hanging it in the garage over a car. “With the motor off, a couple of people can easily lift [the boat] off the trailer and pulley it up to the rafters,” he explained.

Stock boat trailers require some modifications to accommodate the Super Spartan. The hull is basically flat, so Rob built some bolt-on attachments to his trailer that provide the bow the support it needs, while keeping the back end from sliding sideways. He can use the same trailer for several small boats this way.

Photo by Rob Sotirin

The simple design of the compact-sized Super Spartan let Rob Sotirin complete this racy little hydroplane over the course of a Minnesota winter in his basement workshop.

Flat water is critical to the safe operation of RETRO-ROCKET, which is only allowed to run on relatively smooth days. Underway the “shovel nose” bow is only inches above the lake’s surface, and a wave could cause the boat to “submarine,” or dive under the water. The other extreme is that the boat can go airborne. To keep this from happening, the driver must lean forward, especially when accelerating. “It’s easy once you get the feel for it, but can be dangerous to the uninitiated. No one is allowed to drive without a proper understanding of how to handle her.”

Glen-L calls for a short-shaft outboard motor up to 35 hp to power the Super Spartan. Rob chose a 1960s-vintage Merc 200 (20 hp), which he found through word of mouth. “I spent some time getting it ship-shape with new paint and a few new parts, but it’s reliable and fits the boat very well,” he said. “I found other parts like the steering components, gas tank, and remote controls online. I find that 20 hp is more than enough to scare you. It does an easy 40 miles per hour with my son at the controls, and that’s plenty fast for both of us.”

Though RETRO-ROCKET looks like she’s ready to race, she’s really intended for family fun—providing summer-time thrills on calm waters. She certainly achieves that goal.

Super Spartan by Glen-L Marine Design is an ideal beginning project for adults or youths (with a little help from dad or mom). Construction of the three-point hydroplane, using sheet plywood planking, is straight-forward, requiring no building form.

This Boat Profile was published in Small Boats 2009 and appears here as archival material. Boat plans for the Super Spartan are available on Glen-L’s website.

Fenwick Williams designed 17 catboats from 8′ to 30′ in length. All of them are legendary, but his first, an 18-footer created during the height of the Great Depression in 1931, stands out as a little gem.

Originally intended to be an inexpensive craft for people who couldn’t afford larger boats, Design No. 1 remains popular today because of its perky appearance, comfort, and lively performance. Her stability and ease of handling accommodate young and old, from a software designer escaping the digital world to a traffic-weary bus driver seeking peace and quiet. Retired senior editor of the Catboat Association, John Peter Brewer describes this family of boats with both accuracy and affection:

“The catboat is …an American art form. She was developed, built and sailed with great skill by ordinary men who needed her for honest work. Her origins go back at least 160 years, and perhaps more.

“…the hull is wide and the big, gaff-rigged sail is set on a strong mast with a single forestay well forward near the stem…the sail is controlled with a topping lift, lazy jacks, separate throat and peak halyards, [and] reef points…. The gaff main is not meant to be picturesque. It’s to lower the center of effort, give more drive off the wind and allow more control through the peak halyard and topping lift…. The classic catboat has a plumb stem, high bow, and big barndoor rudder. Those cats 17 feet or more usually have a cuddy cabin with two bunks and the rudiments for overnight sailing.”

With her large cockpit, easily handled sail, and anchor on the bowsprit, LYDIA is ready to take the whole family for an afternoon sail or an all-day picnic. If it gets late, there is room for all hands to spend the night, with the kids sleeping under a boom tent.

As Brewer describes it, the catboat was originally a working boat with features designed for the fishing trade. For example, if you slack out the mainsheet and put the helm down, she will come up into the wind and to a virtual stop, ready for hauling lobster traps or shellfish nets. A friend of ours used to startle the committee boat judges at informal mixed-class “chowder races” by pulling up to within a couple of yards of the starting line and letting the mainsheet run. While all of the Bermuda-rigged boats tacked for position, he simply waited there until the starting gun, when he hauled in the boom and started sailing. He was inevitably first across the line at the start— although seldom at the finish. Another advantage to the gaff rig is the ability to lower the peak in a sudden blow. Called the “fisherman’s reef,” this maneuver spills air and helps maintain control of the boat.

After finishing Harvard Graduate School in the summer of 1967, Frank Cassidy answered an ad for a partially completed catboat. “I didn’t know what a catboat was,” he confesses; “I think I was probably expecting something with two hulls.” Actually, it was a weathered 18′ single hull, with only a few planks installed below the sheer, most of which had to be replaced; a pile of lumber; some screws and bolts; and a set of plans for Fenwick Williams’s Design No. 1. Except for the cross spalls spanning the sawn and steam-bent frames, there was nothing on deck, or above the sheer—the interior was totally open. He bought it all for $250.

Completing the boat took most of Frank’s spare time over the next five years. Frank christened the completed 18-footer KITTY KELLY, his mother’s nickname. She was launched from Mattapoisett, Massachusetts, in the spring of 1973. Over the next four years, Frank and his wife Lynda cruised her from nearby Marion with their two small children.

My late wife Jane and I first saw KITTY KELLY sitting on the trailer Frank had made. She had a prim white hull topped by caramel-colored teak cabin and coaming, with mint green Dynel on plywood decks. Her profile displayed all of the big catboat design elements in miniature, balanced and poised to go: a well-proportioned outboard rudder, plumb stern, and springy sheer swooping forward and upward to a snappy stem with just a touch of tumblehome. She was for sale and, clearly, she wanted to go home with us. That she did, and flying in the face of superstition, we rechristened her AUNT LYDIA after a favorite relative.

From 1978 to 1985, we explored the New England coast from Hingham, Massachusetts, to Kennebunkport, Maine, accompanied by our 28-lb Sheltie. We poked around little coves and rivers, confident that our 2′ draft (with the centerboard up) would allow us to glide over shoals. AUNT LY DIA gave us nothing but good luck, economy, and convenience. Eschewing yard fees, she sat comfortably covered in our driveway during the winter. Her size was ideal for trailering to a ramp for a spring launching. We opted to lace the sail to her mast, which proved quicker to rig than the traditional hoops and easier to raise and lower as well.

Getting underway for a month’s vacation or a Sunday afternoon day sail is a simple matter of raising the luff with the throat halyard and peaking the gaff; both operations are performed from the cockpit. The only reason to go forward is to drop the mooring line. The moment you fall off on one tack or the other and start to move, the balance of this design becomes abundantly apparent. In a moderate-air reach, I could connect the tiller and mainsheet in a makeshift autopilot. Even in a stiff breeze she has only enough weather helm to give you the feel of the boat through the tiller, but not so much as to invite an arm-wrestling match. She rides in the water with confidence, going smoothly over swells, and flattening all but the most violent chop.

Like the saucy young clipper spotted on Paradise Street in the sea chantey “Blow the Man Down,” AUNT LYDIA is bluff in the bow. In fact, her bow is so full that one imaginative Marbleheader, Rodney Bowden, named his sister 18-footer (built in the late 1940s by Charlton Smith) BUXOM LASS. The reason for this fullness is buoyancy. Fenwick believed that a sharp bow on a catboat with its large sail set well forward tends to dig into the water, giving a heavy weather helm on close reaches and slowness when tacking. Williams positioned the centerboard trunk alongside the keel instead of cutting a slot through it. His keel is slightly deeper for extra stability with the board up. Another characteristic of his designs is a moderate and consistent deadrise from amidships to the stern. The resulting lifted quarters combined with the fullness forward prevents the bow from depressing when heeling.

Photo by F. Marshall Bauer

Some of the catboat’s traditional characteristics are the single gaff sail with its mast stepped well forward, cat’s-eye (elliptically shaped) portholes in the cabin sides, and a barn-door rudder.

A standard catboat’s beam is roughly half of its overall all length. This 18-footer’s 8’6″ beam creates a compact but cozy living space belowdeck. Her cockpit, made extra large in the working catboats to hold a haul of cod, scallops, or oysters, makes an ideal parlor for afternoon wine parties. We had a boom tent made, wherein we spent many a rainy afternoon reading and listening to music. The high coaming, originally intended to keep large following seas out, is also excellent for keeping active toddlers and pets in.

Frank Cassidy’s objective was to provide for a family of four sleeping inside the cabin in safety and relative comfort. He accomplished this with an ingenious arrangement of rails and two triangular inserts which sat on the rails to fill the gaps between the settees and the table. Two triangular cushions completed the double bunk for four.

We replaced KITTY KELLY’s 6-hp Evinrude outboard with a 9-hp Mercury. A couple of years later, Bob Cloutman of Marblehead installed a Universal Atomic Two inboard, which worked like a charm and, with the outboard bracket removed, gave us a more classic stern.

As an alternative to carvel planking, Australian Michael Storer reworked the structure to be built in cedar strips by David Wilson of Duck Flat Wooden Boats for Rob O’Callaghan. He describes some of his changes: “First, the boat is very much simpler. All ribs, knees, bilge stringers are eliminated, giving a much cleaner interior and cutting the labor required to build the hull to a fraction of traditional methods. Many other parts can be combined compared to the original design—sheer clamp and deck clamp can be combined, and the stem and backbone can be simplified into a simple scarfed structure with the hull skin itself acting as a knee between the two members.

Photo by F. Marshall Bauer

Ghosting along on a starboard tack, LYDIA shows Fenwick Williams’s saucy sheerline to good advantage. The green bottom, without a boot-top, is reminiscent of old-time yachts.

“The result is an immensely strong monocoque construction with loads from one area being dissipated into many others. There are no lazy bits of boat. The cabin and cockpit seat tops and fronts stiffen and support the hull skin, transferring loads into the bulkheads and centerboard case. This boat is much stronger than the original design, and much faster and cheaper to build because of the structural simplification.

“One of the aims was to create a boat that could live on a trailer without any risk of drying out the planking so that it would start to leak, or [risk of] trailering loads damaging hull integrity.”

Misty-eyed, we had watched Fenwick’s double-ended yawl ANNIE being built at the Arundel Yacht Yard in Kennebunkport. When the original owner put her up for sale in 1985, we could not resist. We said a reluctant goodbye to AUNT LYDIA. Today, 35 years later, I’m happy to report that our old boat is still sailing—happily frisking about Dorchester Bay as LYDIA under the able care of skipper Larry Yeakle, a Boston University Law School professor.

Fenwick Williams’s original drawings for his 18′ catboat specify carvel planking and solid backbone timbers. The boat has been built, however, in cedar strips and epoxy, creating a structure that can be dry-sailed.

This Boat Profile was published in Small Boats 2009 and appears here as archival material. Boat plans for the Williams 18′ Catboat are available from The WoodenBoat Store.

When Sam Devlin of Devlin Designing Boat Builders was commissioned to build a rowing skiff to be carried aboard a 45′ motoryacht, he was given two requirements: it had to be short enough to fit on the yacht’s cabintop, and it had to be equipped with a sliding-seat rowing rig. It’s a challenge to design a short boat that will perform well with a sliding seat, but Duckling, the sleek 14′ skiff Sam drew up and built, appears to fit the bill nicely.

In a boat equipped with a sliding seat, the movement of the rower changes the trim of the boat with every stroke. The length of a racing shell keeps the resulting porpoising to a minimum, but Duckling is designed to support the rower’s weight at the ends of the stroke by carrying a lot of reserve buoyancy above the waterline. When the rower slides aft to take a stroke, the flare of the hull at the base of the transom keeps the stern from settling too deep in the water. At the other end of the stroke, the rower’s weight has moved forward, and the overhang of Duckling’s bow and the flare of its forward sections help counter the downward pressure.

Photo by Christopher Cunningham

Duckling, a pulling boat designed by Sam Devlin for stitch-and-glue construction, was a custom commission. The boat was meant to be carried atop a motoryacht; it may be carried atop a car, too.

Typical of Devlin’s boats, Duckling is built with stitch-and-glue plywood. The three planks on each side are cut from 9mm mahogany plywood and then temporarily wired to each other and to the transom. Fiberglass and epoxy applied to the seams creates the permanent bond. The resulting structure is light and strong and requires minimal bracing. A single plywood frame amidships supports a fixed thwart and, paired with a bulkhead at the forward edge of the thwart, it creates a compartment for foam flotation. A similar compartment in the stern supports a woven cane seat for a passenger. The rest of the hull is uncluttered except for a pair of drain plugs. To withstand the rigors of being stored uncovered on the motoryacht’s cabintop, Duckling’s interior was finished with a thick coating developed for use as a truck-bed liner. Enamel would serve well for a Duckling stored out of the weather.

The 18-lb Piantedosi rowing rig rests on the hull and thwart and is held in place by brackets that connect the outriggers to the gunwale. The anodized aluminum rig has a solid feel and took the strain of my pulling at full power without flexing or creaking. The 9′ 6″ carbon-fiber hatchet-bladed sculls manufactured by Dreher are very light and balance well in the locks.

Underway, Duckling managed the sliding seat well. The stern had plenty of bearing to pick up my weight at the catch of the stroke; its settling in the water was scarcely noticeable. As you might expect, the bow, being finer than the stern, has more vertical motion when the boat is under way. While Sam was rowing I could see the bow travel a vertical 3″ to 4″, but when I was rowing I wasn’t able to feel any adverse effects of the pitching. Even if I let my weight fall heavily toward the bow at the end of stroke, Duckling didn’t slow down perceptibly or wander off course.

Photo by Christopher Cunningham

Reserve buoyancy in Duckling’s stern allows for passenger carrying. The sliding-seat unit may be dispensed with for fixed-seat rowing.

Duckling has a waterline length of about 12′ 6″ feet and a theoretical maximum hull speed of 4 3⁄ 4 knots. It didn’t take much effort at all to bring her up to that 1 speed. Using a GPS as a knotmeter, I measured 4 ⁄ 2 knots to 4 3 ⁄ 4 knots when I was just loping along. Even rowing at dead slide (the seat in a fixed position), I could easily manage 4 1⁄ 2 knots. Going all out added a bit of speed, but I couldn’t push much over 5 1⁄ 4 knots. At that speed the curdled stern wake starts crawling up the transom. With a 72-lb kid sitting in the stern, the trim was not too far out of whack and I could still drive Duckling up to 5 knots.

The long oars make Duckling delightfully maneuverable. Four strokes—two forward strokes on one side alternated with two backing strokes on the other—will spin Duckling 180 degrees in short order. Even though its beam is under 40″, the hull has very good stability. Standing up on the thwart, I felt quite steady. I could also lean on the gunwale to look over the side and still feel safely supported. You could easily go fishing in Duckling and reach over the side with a net and not wind up swimming.

The rowing rig takes up a fair bit of room in the boat, limiting what you can carry, and the outriggers make it awkward to come alongside a dock or another boat. Duckling would serve best as a tender with the rowing rig removed. Accordingly, Devlin has designed Duckling to be rowed without the sliding-seat rowing rig. Gunwale-mounted oarlocks would take 7′ oars. With its slender shape, Duckling would still be quick and easily driven from the fixed thwart. Rowing from the thwart would also drop the rower’s weight several inches, making the boat more stable and providing more inboard clearance for the oars when rowing in rough water.

Photo by Christopher Cunningham

Duckling is built of plywood, using the stitch-and-glue method. The 14-footer weighs 80 lbs.

For the yachtless, Duckling could be cartopped, though its 80-lb weight (without the sliding-seat rig) would require an extra hand for lifting to the roof racks. The solo boater could lift the bow to the back rack, then lift the stern and slide Duckling forward. A light trailer would probably be a better choice if you wanted to keep out of the chiropractor’s office. With just three planks to a side and minimal interior structure, Duckling would be a quick project for the amateur boatbuilder, and its size would be a good fit for a workshop squeezed into a single-car garage.

I should mention that I’ve never cared much for the idea of taking the outriggers and sliding seats meant for racing shells and putting them in a boat designed more for seakeeping ability than speed. The sliding-seat stroke may be graceful pushing a racing shell at 9 knots over flat water, but it can lead to bruised kneecaps and bloody thumbs shoving a rowboat at 2 knots across a beam sea. Duckling, though, is a brilliant idea for the couple who commissioned her. Wherever they find a quiet place to anchor, they’ll have a suitable place to row, and with Duckling they’ll have the perfect form of exercise to reinvigorate themselves after a day at the helm.

The Duckling prototype garnered much attention, and the design is now available to home-based builders. A modest sail plan was in the works at press time.

This Boat Profile was published in Small Boats 2009 and appears here as archival material. Plans for the Duckling are available from Devlin Designing Boat Builders.

Standing in sugar-white sand on South Haven, Michigan’s, South Beach, I watched BUFFLEHEAD as she sliced through the Lake Michigan chop. Her okoume hull, finished bright, glowed in the sunlight of an early July morning that felt more like autumn than summer, and her bright red sail puffed full in the freshening westerly breeze. The lone figure in her cockpit— soaked with spindrift—clung to a single sheet with one hand and a steering stick (tiller) with the other as she danced over the aquamarine waves.

The design was inspired by the birchbark canoes of French Canadian voyageurs (travelers) and Native Americans, as well as the sailing canoes originated during the 1860s by Scotsman John MacGregor. This sleek, feather-light decked sailing canoe offers balance and flexibility to 21st-century adventurers. Michigander Hugh Horton created this easily transported cockleshell for those seeking to explore the rugged Great Lakes and ocean coastlines.

At first glance, BUFFLEHEAD resembles a kayak, although she appears to be greater in size. I wondered what made her a canoe rather than a kayak. Horton said she could easily be called a “high-volume, large-cockpit kayak.” Nick Schade of Guillemot Kayaks said, “A ‘decked canoe’ is called such by the designer, and a ‘kayak’ is called a kayak by its designer. Typically a decked canoe comes from a designer working in the canoe tradition and the boat is likely derived primarily from other canoes (decked or undecked) where kayak designs evolve from other earlier kayaks.”

Photo by George D. Jepson

While you may not want to try building BUFFLEHEAD without some experience under your belt, when ready, your hard work will pay off in an eye-pleasing, seaworthy craft for daysailing or extended coastal passages.

Horton has lived on the water most of his life, and began rowing fixed-seat boats from the age of six. “At 11, unpinned oars found me,” he says. “Since I eschew motors, I have rowed a lot.” After experiencing a small kayak and a double paddle in the early 1980s, his thoughts turned more and more to a craft that successfully combines paddling and sailing.

Named for the diminutive and swift species of duck, BUFFLEHEAD has an LOA of 15′ 5″, a 2′ 9″ beam, and a weight of 58 lbs. Heavy ’glass helps protect her bottom on a rocky shore or concrete ramp. The canoe’s ability to maneuver in shallow water and confined spaces allows a paddler/sailor intimate access to the natural wonders along beaches, rocky shorelines, or heavily forested and secluded streams and rivers.

In the late 1700s, voyageurs paddled birchbark canoes across a North American trade route covering more than 3,000 miles—often carrying their canoes and cargoes over grueling portage trails—as they supplied furs for the burgeoning European fashion market. These hearty souls conveyed barter goods from Montréal to the western Great Lakes, as they traversed the St. Lawrence and Ottawa Rivers, Lake Huron, the St. Mary’s River, and ultimately the sparkling, sometimes stormy North Shore of Lake Superior to a small outpost at Grand Portage in what is now Minnesota. I was surprised to learn that voyageurs often carried single square sails for the same reason BUFFLEHEAD carries her gunter rig.

A passage in the Great Lakes can fatigue even the fittest canoeist or kayaker, but by adding a sail the task becomes much more agreeable. Energy expenditure decreases when there is a breeze, and greater distances can be covered in shorter periods of time. If winds are fluky—or are blowing from the wrong direction—paddles serve well. “The voyageurs were no fools,” said Horton.

BUFFLEHEAD is a well-thought-out blend of traditional low-tech boat building and contemporary applied technology. The canoe’s hull was built from 3mm and 4mm plywood sheets over a mold setup. “It could be called ‘tack-and-tape,’” says Horton. “The idea is to hold the plywood in place and [then] add fabric in the form of cloth or tapes, set in epoxy, over the joints.” After the hull is removed from the molds, the inside surfaces are covered with Kevlar. There are five plywood panels per side, joined by S-glass (a stiff, strong fiberglass cloth) or carbon fiber on the outside. All plywood sur- faces, including the deck, are covered with one of these high-tensile-strength materials. The deck was built on a separate mold.

Photo by George D. Jepson

A bright-finished okoume deck and hull plus a Kevlar- reinforced coaming, coated with epoxy, give BUFFLEHEAD strength and luster. The contrast of the black, carbon-fiber mast and red sail add to the boat’s visual appeal.

When Horton arrived in the South Beach parking lot in this small Lake Michigan port at the mouth of the Black River, BUFFLEHEAD was lashed to the roof of his pickup truck. Unloading the boat was a simple task that can be accomplished singlehandedly or with minimal assistance. At water’s edge, Hugh set about rigging. The lightweight mast and spar are made from hollow red-cedar cores wrapped with carbon-fiber cloth, helping to keep weight to a minimum. Within minutes, the bright red sail filled as Hugh and BUFFLEHEAD began to beat to windward in the stiff breeze. Although she appears delicate, she slices through the waves with a purpose. After years of accumulating technical data, Horton has successfully wedded high-tech materials with wood to assure strength and created a hull shape that makes the most of them. “ The underwater fullness of the hull is more in line with modern multihulls,” Horton explained.

Meade Gougeon, a pioneer in the development and application of boatbuilding epoxies, sails SERENDIPITY, one of Horton’s earlier canoes, and has been a keen observer of BUFFLEHEAD’s development. The brilliance of the design—narrow amidships with fuller ends— according to Gougeon, is its stability and weight-carrying capability of about 300 lbs.

Hugh described BUFFLEHEAD as a “50/50,” meaning the boat either can be paddled or sailed. “I could say I strive for 100/100, in that the boat should be an exceptional sailor and paddler,” he says. “But she’ll never paddle as well as a 22″-wide kayak, nor sail as well as an International 14.” The canoe’s ability to stay on course is impressive. Paddling with a comfortable rhythm is an acquired skill and requires patience gained with time in the cockpit. Raising the adjustable seat adds comfort while paddling. And as with any wooden boat, there is the pleasing natural beauty of wood grain to contemplate from the cockpit.

The sheer is low enough to allow for comfortable paddling. Horton carries both single- and double-bladed paddles for different situations. There is plenty of space in the roomy cockpit, which allows him to move around comfortably.

A single leeboard built of 3⁄4″ meranti is fitted to the port side, serving basically the same purpose as a center-board while under sail. With one of two side-by-side steering sticks in his hand, Horton maneuvered his charge almost effortlessly, jockeying BUFFLEHEAD through the various points of sail using a single part (one line) hand-held sheet, which allows him to rapidly spill wind in a sudden blow.

The space below deck offers stowage for sleeping bags, a light tent, and provisions for extended voyages. Horton has extensively tested his decked sailing canoes, cruising among the granite-studded islands and along the rugged shoreline of Lake Huron’s North Channel. He also cruised through the Beaver Islands off Michigan’s Leelanau Peninsula. During the winter, he paddles and sails BUFFLEHEAD on the west coast of Florida near Cedar Key.

The simplicity of getting out on the water with such minimal effort is appealing. Although BUFFLEHEAD is an ideal craft for present-day Great Lakes voyageurs, this nearly bulletproof little boat can also handle virtually any coastal waterway in the world. Horton, a consummate tinkerer, has spent nearly two decades testing new rigs and components. The result is BUFFLEHEAD, a design that lives up to her feathered namesake.

The best performing boats are often the most difficult to build. While BUFFLEHEAD’s lines show that she requires a careful hand, the shapeliness of each body plan section and their relationship to one another inspires confidence that she will part the water comfortably and efficiently.

This Boat Profile was published in Small Boats 2009. Plans for the Bufflehead are available from designer Hugh Horton for $40.