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

Winner: J/Boats, J/45

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

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

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

Finalist: Beneteau, Beneteau First 36

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

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

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

Finalist: L30 Class, L30

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

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

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

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

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

Finalist: X-Yachts, X-Yachts X4³

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

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

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

The post 2023 Boat of the Year: Best Performance Cruiser appeared first on Cruising World.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Lyman-Morse LM46 Hopgrasser Specifications

Herb McCormick is a CW editor-at-large.

The post Sailboat Review: Lyman-Morse LM46 Semicustom Performance Cruiser appeared first on Cruising World.

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

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

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

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

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

Smuggler’s Cove, Channel Islands

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

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

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

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

Bahia Santa Maria to Cabo San Lucas

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

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

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

Huahine, French Polynesia

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

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

Lihue, Hawaii

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

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

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

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

Olympic Peninsula, Washington

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

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

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

That was in 1992. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mike Plant’s Famous Duracell

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

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

The post From Offshore Racer to Performance Cruiser appeared first on Cruising World.

With this year’s aforementioned diminished nominee list, it was impossible to break down the fleet across the board to fit each boat into a neat, tidy category. One of the two notable exceptions was the Performance Cruiser class, with three strong entries: the Arcona 435, the Beneteau Oceanis 40.1 and the X-Yachts X4⁰. We’ll get to the Arcona and the Beneteau in the pages to come, but for 2021, the clear winner in this class of sweet-sailing racer/cruisers was the X4⁰. It clearly met the criteria for being the top performer in its stated design brief: a boat that will compete strongly—and well—on the racecourse, yet be comfortable and fun for coastal cruising.

With the X-Yachts, we’ve seen this figurative movie before. The Danish brand has taken home BOTY hardware four times in the past five years.

Murphy, our resident boatbuilding whisperer—he’s worked closely with the American Boat and Yacht Council writing textbooks and creating curricula—was emphatic when it came to the quality of the X4⁰′s ­construction: “X-Yachts has built 5,000 boats since they went into business in 1979. So they have a good, long track record. They’re probably best known in performance circles, so when we board an X-Yacht, we expect the boat is going to sail pretty well, which this one certainly did. As far the build quality, this is one of the top two yachts in this year’s fleet (the other is the HH 50 cat, which we’ll get to). It’s an epoxy hull, which is the best resin you can use to build boats, in terms of both strength and resilience. It also has a galvanized-steel grid. In years past, there have been questions about the long-term integrity of that grid, but they’re unfounded. My feeling is that the massive steel structure is not encapsulated; it goes on top of the fiberglass structure, and it’s not an issue. I think this boat is straight-up wholesome. It’s a really, really lovely sailboat.”

Pillsbury found the efficient deck layout to his liking: “This boat was one of few we saw this year that actually had enough winches on it to sail it like a proper boat. We climbed on several others where a clutch was used to service several lines from a single winch. Sometimes it was hard to remember which clutch to open and which clutch to close, which took away a lot of the joy of sailing. Here you can just load up a winch and know that your line is going to be there, that you have quick access to it. I really liked that. It was also one of only a couple of boats that had a full-on traveler, which to my mind, when you carry a lot of sail, as this boat does, if you can’t really control and trim that mainsail, it’s a problem. And here’s another trend we saw for 2021: a below-deck furler for the headsail, which makes for a nice, clean deck layout.”

Our X4⁰ sea trials were also heavily influenced by the father/son owners who will be using the boat very differently, but who also made it quite clear that it will address and serve both of their sailing ambitions very well. Son Ryan is an avid inshore and offshore racer who has a Sydney-Hobart Race under his belt, who plans to campaign it hard; he’ll put the racing element into play. Doublehanded racing, especially in these socially distanced times, is becoming ever more popular, and the X4⁰ should be ideal for those venues.

Ryan is a sailmaker, so there will of course be a full quiver of racing sails aboard. But the boat is also set up for his dad, Mike, and his wife to sail efficiently, with a self-tacking jib for cruising forays. (It also has a bow thruster and the electric furler for the jib, which added some weight forward and isn’t the ideal setup for racing; we’d guess Ryan and Mike had some interesting conversations about those features.)

But at the end of the day, the family wound up with a yacht that will be ideal for everyone in the household: a racer/cruiser that is every bit both. So, fair winds, Ryan and Mike. You’ve got the one boat perfect for the two of you.

The post X-Yacht’s X40: Best Performance Cruiser appeared first on Cruising World.