From a Guy Who's Tried Them All: Trawler Versus Sail (Cat & Monohull)
By PAT SCHULTE of BUMFUZZLE
Reprinted with permission
Trawler versus sail—a comparison that is often dismissed as an old-person versus young-person, apples-to-oranges argument. It’s assumed that a sailor will sail until his hands are too crippled to manage a line any longer, then buy a trawler that will sit dockside, until one day a dockmaster is notified of a disturbing smell coming from “that boat the old guy lives in.”
But maybe there is more to it. Maybe sailors can get tired of sailing, sometimes, and we can wonder just how much we would really miss it if there were no sails to raise. When I was ready for my next family boat, I had no problem whatsoever coming to the conclusion that I wouldn’t miss sails. I really should say we had no problem, as the choice was very much a mutual one with my wife, Ali—and our kids didn’t care as long as they were back on the water.
For a quick background check on my credentials, let me just point out that Ali and I sailed around the world on our 35-foot catamaran, and also spent a few years bopping around the West Coast of the U.S. and Mexico on a 43′ monohull—thus giving myself some rolly-polly boat cred, as well. I discussed the catamaran-versus-monohull debate here and here. I think we all know how that debate turns out, don’t we? If we’re being honest.
After about 8 years, 65 countries, and 45,000 miles in boats with floppy white things, and small engines, my family moved on to an entirely different kind of cruising—trawler.
We bought a 1986 42′ Grand Banks in Florida two years ago, spent a cruising season putting a couple thousand miles on her through the Bahamas, Turks and Caicos, and back to Florida. This season we visited Key West and then headed west across the Gulf to Mexico, with plans to continue south through Central America.
During this time we’ve established some pretty strong opinions about the trawler-versus-sail debate, so I’m going to lay it out here now.
Purchase Cost
Our 35-foot catamaran was just a year old when we bought it for $157,000. It didn’t need any work in order to take off and cruise. We added a watermaker, replaced the batteries, and set off to sail around the world.
The monohull was a 1982 43′ Spindrift that had sat in a marina in the Sacramento Delta for a dozen years. The engine was half underwater, and the decks were degrading—but the interior was still in beautiful, like new condition, and the layout of the pilothouse was exactly what we wanted for our family of three. We bought it for $48,000, sight unseen off of Craigslist, and moved aboard with our six-month-old baby girl.
By PAT SCHULTE of BUMFUZZLE
Reprinted with permission
Trawler versus sail—a comparison that is often dismissed as an old-person versus young-person, apples-to-oranges argument. It’s assumed that a sailor will sail until his hands are too crippled to manage a line any longer, then buy a trawler that will sit dockside, until one day a dockmaster is notified of a disturbing smell coming from “that boat the old guy lives in.”
But maybe there is more to it. Maybe sailors can get tired of sailing, sometimes, and we can wonder just how much we would really miss it if there were no sails to raise. When I was ready for my next family boat, I had no problem whatsoever coming to the conclusion that I wouldn’t miss sails. I really should say we had no problem, as the choice was very much a mutual one with my wife, Ali—and our kids didn’t care as long as they were back on the water.
For a quick background check on my credentials, let me just point out that Ali and I sailed around the world on our 35-foot catamaran, and also spent a few years bopping around the West Coast of the U.S. and Mexico on a 43′ monohull—thus giving myself some rolly-polly boat cred, as well. I discussed the catamaran-versus-monohull debate here and here. I think we all know how that debate turns out, don’t we? If we’re being honest.
After about 8 years, 65 countries, and 45,000 miles in boats with floppy white things, and small engines, my family moved on to an entirely different kind of cruising—trawler.
We bought a 1986 42′ Grand Banks in Florida two years ago, spent a cruising season putting a couple thousand miles on her through the Bahamas, Turks and Caicos, and back to Florida. This season we visited Key West and then headed west across the Gulf to Mexico, with plans to continue south through Central America.
During this time we’ve established some pretty strong opinions about the trawler-versus-sail debate, so I’m going to lay it out here now.
Purchase Cost
Our 35-foot catamaran was just a year old when we bought it for $157,000. It didn’t need any work in order to take off and cruise. We added a watermaker, replaced the batteries, and set off to sail around the world.
The monohull was a 1982 43′ Spindrift that had sat in a marina in the Sacramento Delta for a dozen years. The engine was half underwater, and the decks were degrading—but the interior was still in beautiful, like new condition, and the layout of the pilothouse was exactly what we wanted for our family of three. We bought it for $48,000, sight unseen off of Craigslist, and moved aboard with our six-month-old baby girl.
Our 42′ Grand Banks cost $120,000. We’re now a family of four, and this boat fits. The teak decks are getting a little long in the tooth, but aside from that it is in amazing shape. The engine room immediately sold me on this boat. Immaculate, huge, and obviously well cared for. The interior woodwork was exceptional, and every single thing on the boat worked. Even the exterior fiberglass looks like it was laid yesterday. For a thirty-three year old boat, it looks fabulous.
This category may be the only one that a monohull sailboat can win. A bluewater capable monohull in the 32-43′ range, that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg, are a dime a dozen. You can get trawlers dirt cheap as well, but most of those will be found lacking in quite a few details in order to truly be considered blue-water capable. As for a catamaran at a reasonable price, forget it.
Space
When people unfamiliar with trawlers step inside our boat for the first time, their jaws drop. It may only be 42 feet, but the space it affords is enormous—it has comfortable living space, from one end to the other.
The aft stateroom on the Grand Banks is our two kids’ room, with a twin bed on one side, a full-size bed on the other, a dresser, enough floor space for two kids and all their toys, and a very large closet. Ceiling height in this room, as well as everywhere else in the boat, is well clear of my 6′ 2” and never requires stooping. Not many sailboats can say that.
This category may be the only one that a monohull sailboat can win. A bluewater capable monohull in the 32-43′ range, that doesn’t cost an arm and a leg, are a dime a dozen. You can get trawlers dirt cheap as well, but most of those will be found lacking in quite a few details in order to truly be considered blue-water capable. As for a catamaran at a reasonable price, forget it.
Space
When people unfamiliar with trawlers step inside our boat for the first time, their jaws drop. It may only be 42 feet, but the space it affords is enormous—it has comfortable living space, from one end to the other.
The aft stateroom on the Grand Banks is our two kids’ room, with a twin bed on one side, a full-size bed on the other, a dresser, enough floor space for two kids and all their toys, and a very large closet. Ceiling height in this room, as well as everywhere else in the boat, is well clear of my 6′ 2” and never requires stooping. Not many sailboats can say that.
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The galley and saloon are extremely roomy and well laid-out, with two large refrigerator/ freezers, two couches, a big table, acres of windows, and light. Yes, light! Something our monohull was always lacking, despite the fact that it was a pilothouse with lots of windows.
From a strictly “enjoyable living space” perspective, the trawler crushes the competition. Our 35′ catamaran essentially had a 24” runway of floor space through the saloon, and down the two hulls. The only space in the boat to truly spread out was on the couch, or in bed—it had no chairs, or floor to just flop down on, which is a big deal when kids are part of the equation. Our 43′ monohull was a step up from our catamaran in the living space department. We gained seating space, as well as room to just stretch our legs, but we completely gave up deck space. Gone were the days of the catamaran’s big, comfortable cockpit, swim platform, and trampolines. In exchange we received a cockpit area that two people could lie uncomfortably, or four people could sit with their knees touching. The trawler trounces both boats with ease. Inside is so much space you feel like dancing across the floors in a Sound of Music style. Out on deck, the flybridge is a massive space with unobstructed views, seating for a dozen, and floor space for an extra long Matchbox racetrack. The swim platform is incredible—nothing beats sitting there at anchor with your feet in the water. It almost seems like it was designed specifically with active kids in mind. As for storage space, well, that’s pretty impressive as well. Inside has the standard closets, cabinet, and under seat storage space that you’d find on any boat of similar size. The trawler might hold a small lead, though it’s not overwhelming. But then you start to poke around the rest of the boat. All your spare parts fit comfortably in bins stored easily in the enormous engine room. A dozen docklines fit easily in the bow locker. And the aft lazarette holds everything else a person could ever need on a boat. Our monohull and catamaran combined wouldn’t hold a candle to the trawler’s space. Finally, in case you are a hoarder, there is more storage under the seats on the top deck, as well as under the steering station. When we moved aboard we found a total of twenty-seven life jackets onboard. I’m certain this was because they simply forgot where they were all stored, and just kept buying more. Advantage? Absolutely, positively, trawler. |
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Engines
Our catamaran had two little Volvo 20hp engines, and was exceedingly, painfully, slow under power. Granted, it sipped diesel, but I would have traded fuel economy for power a hundred times, at least, during our time on that boat. Top motoring speed, 4.0 knots. In addition, the engines are located underneath the beds, meaning hot beds at night, and a workspace that includes needing to pull mattresses completely out of the room. It was a welcome change when we moved to the monohull and graduated to a Ford Lehman 80. Yet even that good-sized engine could only shove our beast of a full-keeler to 5.6 knots at normal RPMs. On the plus side, the engine space was much larger and easier to work in, though still a long way from enjoyable. I did however appreciate being able to fit a five gallon bucket under the oil pan for changes. Now, in the Grand Banks, we’re powered by twin Ford Lehman 135s, and it is a thing of beauty. Calculating our ETA to the next island using an input of 8.5 knots is a wonderful feeling. And, oh boy, can I bend your ear raving about the massive engine room. |
But wait, I hear the sailors saying, “We sailboat cruisers don’t care about how fast we can go, or what our motoring speed is, we just capture the wind and go where it takes us.” To which my only reply is, “You must be new here.”
Are there exceptions to the rule—the rule that states that 90 percent of sailors will sail just 10 percent of the time? Sure. Every sailor thinks they are the exception, but experience, and truthfulness, will soon tell them otherwise. We’re all motorboaters in the end.
Stability
Catamarans, obviously, are well known for their stability. In a mono versus cat debate it would take an incredible imagination to argue in favor of the monohull. Anyone who says they prefer the rolling of a monohull to the slightly jerky, but flat, motion of a catamaran is either certifiably insane, or… no, they are definitely insane.
People can claim to enjoy heeling over, but anyone who has done multi-day passages knows full well how exhausting iteventually is to live on a hill. It’s just impossible to argue a case for the monohull. And any captain who prefers that the crew he’s got with him not spend their days barfing over the side of the boat, will attest to the beauty of the catamaran design.
So how does a semi-displacement trawler handle the ocean?
Ahhh, that’s where we got lucky. Honestly, I didn’t know a thing about stabilizers before we bought our boat. When I saw on the sale listing that it had stabilizers, I gave that news about the same affirming nod I gave to the listing pointing out the autopilot.
But there they were—Naiad stabilizing fins on each side of the boat. We bought our boat in St. Augustine, Florida, and it wasn’t until we set off down the ICW that I hit the buttons to activate them for the first time. A while later, a typical ICW speedboat went past, throwing up a wake that would strike fear into even the most hardened monohull sailor. I steered a straight line, not even turning to point into the waves, and the experience was transcendant—a trawler that handles waves like a catamaran.
A catamaran gets the win for stability. Everyone knows that. It’s a stable flat platform both underway and at anchor, and frankly, that’s the number one reason 99 percent of catamaran owners would cite for their choice of boat.
A monohull sailboat? Forget it—there’s nothing stable about a monohull in any condition.
A trawler with stabilizers? Such an incredibly close second-place finish. Underway, our trawler is a virtual equal to our catamaran. In fact, I’d give it a slight nod because of the weight and its ability to smash through waves on the nose without losing momentum the way the cat would. At anchor, the trawler suffers almost the same maladies that a monohull does—a wraparound swell will always drive you nuts.
The trawler doesn’t seem to build the momentum of the pendulum that a mono sailboat does, but it will get rolling all the same. This past season I laid out a back anchor in at least half a dozen anchorages around the Bahamas to get our bow pointed into the swell. In each of those instances, the catamaran likely wouldn’t have been bothered much.
Are there exceptions to the rule—the rule that states that 90 percent of sailors will sail just 10 percent of the time? Sure. Every sailor thinks they are the exception, but experience, and truthfulness, will soon tell them otherwise. We’re all motorboaters in the end.
Stability
Catamarans, obviously, are well known for their stability. In a mono versus cat debate it would take an incredible imagination to argue in favor of the monohull. Anyone who says they prefer the rolling of a monohull to the slightly jerky, but flat, motion of a catamaran is either certifiably insane, or… no, they are definitely insane.
People can claim to enjoy heeling over, but anyone who has done multi-day passages knows full well how exhausting iteventually is to live on a hill. It’s just impossible to argue a case for the monohull. And any captain who prefers that the crew he’s got with him not spend their days barfing over the side of the boat, will attest to the beauty of the catamaran design.
So how does a semi-displacement trawler handle the ocean?
Ahhh, that’s where we got lucky. Honestly, I didn’t know a thing about stabilizers before we bought our boat. When I saw on the sale listing that it had stabilizers, I gave that news about the same affirming nod I gave to the listing pointing out the autopilot.
But there they were—Naiad stabilizing fins on each side of the boat. We bought our boat in St. Augustine, Florida, and it wasn’t until we set off down the ICW that I hit the buttons to activate them for the first time. A while later, a typical ICW speedboat went past, throwing up a wake that would strike fear into even the most hardened monohull sailor. I steered a straight line, not even turning to point into the waves, and the experience was transcendant—a trawler that handles waves like a catamaran.
A catamaran gets the win for stability. Everyone knows that. It’s a stable flat platform both underway and at anchor, and frankly, that’s the number one reason 99 percent of catamaran owners would cite for their choice of boat.
A monohull sailboat? Forget it—there’s nothing stable about a monohull in any condition.
A trawler with stabilizers? Such an incredibly close second-place finish. Underway, our trawler is a virtual equal to our catamaran. In fact, I’d give it a slight nod because of the weight and its ability to smash through waves on the nose without losing momentum the way the cat would. At anchor, the trawler suffers almost the same maladies that a monohull does—a wraparound swell will always drive you nuts.
The trawler doesn’t seem to build the momentum of the pendulum that a mono sailboat does, but it will get rolling all the same. This past season I laid out a back anchor in at least half a dozen anchorages around the Bahamas to get our bow pointed into the swell. In each of those instances, the catamaran likely wouldn’t have been bothered much.
Operating CostSailboat owners immediately point out fuel costs as an argument against a trawler, so let’s tackle that issue right off the bat.
Our cruising on the trawler so far has been typical of a lot of users. We motored down from north Florida, over to the Bahamas, down to the Turks and Caicos, back to central Florida, down to the Keys, and across to Mexico. From here we’ll head to Guatemala to wait out another hurricane season. All told, about 3,500 miles. Our total fuel cost (we won’t need more before hurricane season) is $7,702 for those two years. At an average price of $4.64/gallon ($3.25 in the U.S, and up to $5.25 in the islands). Break it down and that’s $320 per month.
Let’s do some back of the napkin math and assume a sailboat motored half the time (that’s being extremely generous to sailboat cruisers in the islands, for whom the average is likely closer to 90%). 1,750 miles, at five miles to the gallon, is 200 gallons, or $1,624—$68 per month. Everybody is different, and for some the $252/mo difference might be a deal breaker. I can’t really say. For us, fuel is about 8% of our total annual expenditures, and is considered just another cost of living.
However, let’s not forget that running costs really include more than just diesel. There are oil changes to deal with, and basic engine maintenance. These all vary wildly, but it’s safe to say that a trawler with twin Ford Lehman 135hp engines is going to cost more to maintain than a monohull with a single 80hp, or a cat with twin 20hp.
On the other hand, a trawler doesn’t have running rigging to deal with. What’s a new mainsail cost? How about that 150-foot spinnaker halyard? Or standing rigging to keep that 50-foot mast from tumbling down in the first big blow? A trawler will never incur any of these substantial costs. And you might think, how is a spinnaker halyard a substantial cost? Put it this way—at $2.50/ft for that line, that’s $375, broken down over a year, that’s a $31/mo expense that the trawler didn’t incur. Will that line need to be replaced next year? No, but some other one will, or a block that it runs through, or some other fancy stainless steel clip. Point is, it all adds up. One year will be more, one year will be less, but that doesn’t mean these costs don’t exist for sailors.
In the end, I’ll concede an edge to the sailboat owner in running costs, but it is a lot slimmer margin than most people would like to think. Slim enough that for many people it will be inconsequential.
Our cruising on the trawler so far has been typical of a lot of users. We motored down from north Florida, over to the Bahamas, down to the Turks and Caicos, back to central Florida, down to the Keys, and across to Mexico. From here we’ll head to Guatemala to wait out another hurricane season. All told, about 3,500 miles. Our total fuel cost (we won’t need more before hurricane season) is $7,702 for those two years. At an average price of $4.64/gallon ($3.25 in the U.S, and up to $5.25 in the islands). Break it down and that’s $320 per month.
Let’s do some back of the napkin math and assume a sailboat motored half the time (that’s being extremely generous to sailboat cruisers in the islands, for whom the average is likely closer to 90%). 1,750 miles, at five miles to the gallon, is 200 gallons, or $1,624—$68 per month. Everybody is different, and for some the $252/mo difference might be a deal breaker. I can’t really say. For us, fuel is about 8% of our total annual expenditures, and is considered just another cost of living.
However, let’s not forget that running costs really include more than just diesel. There are oil changes to deal with, and basic engine maintenance. These all vary wildly, but it’s safe to say that a trawler with twin Ford Lehman 135hp engines is going to cost more to maintain than a monohull with a single 80hp, or a cat with twin 20hp.
On the other hand, a trawler doesn’t have running rigging to deal with. What’s a new mainsail cost? How about that 150-foot spinnaker halyard? Or standing rigging to keep that 50-foot mast from tumbling down in the first big blow? A trawler will never incur any of these substantial costs. And you might think, how is a spinnaker halyard a substantial cost? Put it this way—at $2.50/ft for that line, that’s $375, broken down over a year, that’s a $31/mo expense that the trawler didn’t incur. Will that line need to be replaced next year? No, but some other one will, or a block that it runs through, or some other fancy stainless steel clip. Point is, it all adds up. One year will be more, one year will be less, but that doesn’t mean these costs don’t exist for sailors.
In the end, I’ll concede an edge to the sailboat owner in running costs, but it is a lot slimmer margin than most people would like to think. Slim enough that for many people it will be inconsequential.
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Range The only thing our Grand Banks isn’t capable of doing is cross major oceans. We’re not going to go across the Atlantic or Pacific in this boat. But, of course, we knew that when we bought it. Anyone planning a circumnavigation isn’t going to be debating trawler versus sail—that is, unless they are in the million dollar boat market. Our Grand Banks carries 600 gallons of diesel, which I figure gives us a safe range of somewhere around 800 miles, with a few hundred miles of margin built in to give us considerable leeway in case something went wrong along the way. Where can an 800-mile range take us? Well, anywhere in the Great Loop-North America, down through the Caribbean island chain, around the entirety of the Caribbean Sea, through the Panama Canal, and right on up Central America, Mexico, and the west coast of the U.S. and Canada to Alaska. That’s a whole lot of cruising grounds to cover, and is more than enough adventure for all but the hardiest cruisers. Unless you are circumnavigating, there are very few places that you can’t reach in a trawler. Technically, a sailboat wins here, but realistically, for almost every boat owner, cruising range is a tie. Those with plans to cross major oceans already know they need sails. |
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Miscellaneous
Marinas. Obviously, most marinas aren’t set up for the beam of a catamaran, will have fewer spaces available, and more and more often these days will charge 1.5-2x as much per foot as a monohull.
Added Weight. A cat is built to be light, meaning smaller water and fuel tanks. Our catamaran held just 70 gallons of water and 60 gallons of diesel. Our other boats held closer to 5 times as much of each. As cruisers we always add 300 feet of chain to our anchoring tackle as well, which is quite a bit of extra weight for a catamaran, but won’t even budge the waterline on a heavy monohull or trawler.
Bridges. Not a very common issue for most people, but anyone who would like to spend some time on the ICW is going to quickly despise the waterway if they have a mast. I found cruising the Florida ICW to be a very enjoyable experience in the trawler.
View. It may be a little thing, but I really love the feel of sitting up on the flybridge while underway. The view of the water is spectacular compared to the cockpit of a monohull, or the forward view from a catamaran’s little captain’s chair tucked behind the cabintop.
Marinas. Obviously, most marinas aren’t set up for the beam of a catamaran, will have fewer spaces available, and more and more often these days will charge 1.5-2x as much per foot as a monohull.
Added Weight. A cat is built to be light, meaning smaller water and fuel tanks. Our catamaran held just 70 gallons of water and 60 gallons of diesel. Our other boats held closer to 5 times as much of each. As cruisers we always add 300 feet of chain to our anchoring tackle as well, which is quite a bit of extra weight for a catamaran, but won’t even budge the waterline on a heavy monohull or trawler.
Bridges. Not a very common issue for most people, but anyone who would like to spend some time on the ICW is going to quickly despise the waterway if they have a mast. I found cruising the Florida ICW to be a very enjoyable experience in the trawler.
View. It may be a little thing, but I really love the feel of sitting up on the flybridge while underway. The view of the water is spectacular compared to the cockpit of a monohull, or the forward view from a catamaran’s little captain’s chair tucked behind the cabintop.
Conclusion
Everyone needs the right boat for the right job. Being a circumnavigator I often tend to think of things in terms of long-distance ocean voyaging, but then I step back and realize that only the tiniest fraction of liveaboard cruisers are going to—or even want to—sail around the world, or across major oceans. For those that do, if they’ve got the money, the obvious choice is a catamaran.
For the more common coastal cruiser, island hopper, Great Looper, there are other choices. With a budget under $80,000 the best bang for the buck is likely going to be a monohull. At that price you can get a well-equipped strong boat. It won’t win any awards for storage or comfort, but it’ll get you out on the water cruising, and ultimately that’s what is most important.
Over $80,000 I think a trawler wins the award for most versatile. We wouldn’t trade our trawler for any monohull sailboat. Both the indoor and outdoor space win hands down over a monohull. The huge engine room blows away any mono I’ve ever seen. And even the stability (admittedly due to the stabilizers) is incredible. We love every single aspect of our trawler more than our monohull.
So, to wrap up, if you just want to go cruising, and don’t have any plans to venture more than a couple hundred miles from land, buy a trawler and you won’t be disappointed. If you’ve got a few hundred grand burning a hole in your pocket and want to have the opportunity for passages of more than a couple of days, grab yourself a catamaran, and if you just really want to get out on the water, but the pocketbook isn’t as thick as you’d like, get a monohull and go enjoy life at sea.
Everyone needs the right boat for the right job. Being a circumnavigator I often tend to think of things in terms of long-distance ocean voyaging, but then I step back and realize that only the tiniest fraction of liveaboard cruisers are going to—or even want to—sail around the world, or across major oceans. For those that do, if they’ve got the money, the obvious choice is a catamaran.
For the more common coastal cruiser, island hopper, Great Looper, there are other choices. With a budget under $80,000 the best bang for the buck is likely going to be a monohull. At that price you can get a well-equipped strong boat. It won’t win any awards for storage or comfort, but it’ll get you out on the water cruising, and ultimately that’s what is most important.
Over $80,000 I think a trawler wins the award for most versatile. We wouldn’t trade our trawler for any monohull sailboat. Both the indoor and outdoor space win hands down over a monohull. The huge engine room blows away any mono I’ve ever seen. And even the stability (admittedly due to the stabilizers) is incredible. We love every single aspect of our trawler more than our monohull.
So, to wrap up, if you just want to go cruising, and don’t have any plans to venture more than a couple hundred miles from land, buy a trawler and you won’t be disappointed. If you’ve got a few hundred grand burning a hole in your pocket and want to have the opportunity for passages of more than a couple of days, grab yourself a catamaran, and if you just really want to get out on the water, but the pocketbook isn’t as thick as you’d like, get a monohull and go enjoy life at sea.
