Sea Trials and Tribulations

Myself and two of my hotshot designers sit gloomily in the cockpit of a magnificent 80-feet speedboat during sea trials.  We blankly look at each other but say nothing.  Our design, supposed to do speeds in the high 40-knot range, is an absolute slug!  The only redeeming feature of all this is that we probably have invented an entirely new type of motor yacht – one that appears as a fast, sleek speedboat but can’t break trawler speeds.

It was one of those dream jobs that comes along not often enough in this business. There was, however, a serious “catch.”  In late 1987, we were awarded a design contract from the Palmer Johnson Shipyard to design an 80-foot speedboat.  Though vessels like this are common today, back in ’87 this was one of the first big speedboats ever to be designed and launched.  The boat was to be for a client we knew well – a wealthy Brazilian who had previously built a slick 86-foot MY to our design in Brazil.  

The rational for this vessel was simple: provide our client with a state of the art, fully functional mega speedboat to use in the Mediterranean for his vacation during the month of August, 1988 after which the vessel would be lightly used and sold.  This is the kind of thing you can only do when you are either very rich or very crazy. Our client was a pleasant combination of both.  

But there was a serious catch.  When talk of this project started, it was already November 1987. Even under the best of circumstances, construction could not start until the end of December.  The boat had to be finished in six short months.

A Vessel Born Amidst Bad Polka Music

And so, forces were martialed in Southern Florida and Wisconsin.  Design work started immediately and after preliminary weights had been calculated, hull lines were delivered by the end of November 1987.  Jerry “Polka Man” Keeno, Palmer Johnson’s ace loftsman took our hull lines and made full size patterns (back then, Jerry’s loft was constantly filled with bad polka music! Jerry just could not work unless there was a dammed accordion played by a guy named Wladyslaw blaring in the background).  

While the hull was being lofted, we quickly developed scantlings and the initial construction drawings were sent to the yard in mid-December. P.J. had to work two shifts if there was any chance of getting this done by June so, in the dark coldness of the Wisconsin winter, the keel was laid by December’s end. My memory and the files indicate that the job proceeded in a fairly trouble-free manner – especially considering the tight schedule. The owner decided on a slick red and white color scheme and named her “Force of Habit” due to his predilection for acquiring boats.  

A Sweaty Time

Unbelievably, all of us gathered in Sturgeon Bay on June 24 1988 for the first ride – always a nervous, sweaty time for boat designers. 21 people were aboard for that first run (4,000# of live weight) including 12 people from P.J., 4 engine/propeller/driveline representatives, a hired captain, myself, Wyatt Huggins and Russ Bartell from our office and my wife Regina. Bill Parsons (at that time the number two P.J. muckety muck) was aboard along with B.J. Johannsen who supervised construction of the beast. Summer does not come easily to Wisconsin and it was dammed cold on the lake that cloudy day.  

And so, we start running at different speeds on reciprocal courses between mile markers.  Speed is verified by my trusty radar gun. The big German engines (named “Adolph” and “Hermann” by the yard wiseguys) each develop 1950 hp at a maximum r.p.m. of 2140.  We start at …

1250 r.p.m
We are making all of 9.8-knots – about average for a heavy trawler of this size with one-tenth of the power. The happy crew is laughing and joking.  9.8-knots is OK since Arneson drives are not at their best at lower speeds. So we happily plug along at displacement speed taking readings and wise cracking.

1700 r.p.m.
Here, we are getting all of 10.3-knots. The laughing and kidding around is starting to subside and, even in the chill, I am starting to sweat. We are at 1700 r.p.m. – only 440 r.p.m. off max – and still running at trawler speeds!  But, hey, we’re taking Arneson drives here. We had done our homework and engineered everything down on the last nit. THE BOAT WOULD RUN.  

1900 r.p.m.
Now, we have only 240 r.p.m. to go and are making a grand 11.4-knots! The laughter and kidding has now stopped. Although the engines are whining, there is a deathly silence in the cockpit. Russ, Wyatt and I exchange troubled glances but nobody says anything.  Bill Parson’s eyes bore through me like a couple of high-speed drills. He is a not a happy camper and neither am I.  I think to myself: “How could we have been this wrong?”  

This had never happened to us before because we had always done everything right: meticulous weights studies, every piece engineered and all checked and rechecked. But, nevertheless, here we are on the cold lake in the midst of a disaster!  I feel like to crawling under the engine drip pan. In addition to Bill Parson’s piercing eyes, 16 other pairs of eyes study us.  This would be bad for everybody.  Both P.J. and our reputations would be tarnished. Maybe I would retreat to a safer profession like piano player in a bordello or cotton stuffer in an aspirin bottling plant or professional gigolo.  “It is all over,” I thought, “bring in the dammed lawyers, bring in the lairs for hire expert witnesses. It has been fun while it lasted.” 

After reciprocal runs are done at our pitiful 11.4-knots, the throttle is cracked open 50 more r.p.m., which is when… a miracle occurs! The sun suddenly appears and I can hear wonderful music made by the engines as they unload pushing “Force” from 11.4-knots to 32.6-knots in a few seconds!  At 2040 r.p.m. we are doing 38.2-knots and at max r.p.m. we manage 43-knots. A collective exhale is clearly audible above the wail of the engines. Once again, the wise cracking and laughter resumes.  It is a miracle!  We are saved!

Epilogue

So, just what the hell had happened to produce this “miracle?”  Actually, it was no miracle at all – simply the forces and principles of engineering and naval architecture playing themselves out.  Surface propellers don’t really work until they are running clean, that is, with approximately half their diameter in contact with solid water and the other half whipping air.  When this occurs, efficiency jumps drastically.  Prior to this occurrence, however, the props are working in sloppy, confused water around the transom. That extra 50 r.p.m. put us over the top breaking the propeller and the hull clean and allowing the Arnesons to do their job.  We were still a bit short on top speed but we felt that the propellers needed to be tweaked (propellers always need to be tweaked).

We had no clue why the boat didn’t jump out of the hole faster until August when we discovered that, unbeknownst to us, the propeller guys had recommended a reduction in pitch because they thought the boat would be heavier than our calculations indicated. Lesser pitch, however, at the calculated weight meant the props were developing less grunt at a given r.p.m. This was summarized in a memo sent from our office to the propeller guys in August, which, in part, stated:  “It appears that the reduction in pitch recommended in x x’s fax of 4/21/88 was not justified. More pitch is required.” When the propellers were finally repitched, the boat did about 48-knots and jumped up on step at around 18.

You’ve got to watch those propeller guys. In spite of our careful calculations, they arbitrarily second guessed the weight. These egghead types walk around with blade rake, D.A.R.s and root relief holes dancing in their heads, but, sometimes, cannot find their own butt at night with a flashlight. Trust no one!

(Reprinted with permission of Regina Fexas.)

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