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This topic comes up on this board from time to time, and mystifies me, every time it does. It always brings a range of answers that starts off along the lines of the bigger, the better, then segues into which vehicle can pull the "bigger", the best.
The truth is, there is no one answer, simply because there is no one definition of trailerable family habitat.
Let's look at some of the criterion:
1) Length.
2) Headroom.
3) Space for people, if the weather gets inclement.
4) Comfortable head facilities.
5) Adequate food preparation and consumption area.
6) Adequate food storage for both perishable and non-perishable foodstuffs.
7) Some arbitrary number of days that this is possible, ranging from 2 days, to 3 weeks.
8) Compromises.
Then the "learned consensus" starts ranging from 23 feet to 27 feet, with vociferous adherents and opponents, for every foot of the perceived ideal hull spread. I read the threads each time, with equal parts of amusement and amazement.
I raised two kids (starting with one still in her Mother's womb) to adulthood, and with anywhere from one to three dogs, along with my wife and me, on an 18 foot sailboat; going on over 26 years, now.
Fallacy #1: You Don’t Need Length, You Need Living Space.
Everybody thinks you have to live in the boat, exactly like you do at home. They think that means plenty of lounging, sleeping and eating space. Not true. Think about what a LOT of time at home, usually consists of: Getting Out Of Each Other’s Face. If you have kids, figure out a time-out space for each of them. For mates and other adults, designate a specified: Sulking Space. Ours was the bow pulpit.
Be imaginative. Think in more than two dimensions. Hoist a Misbehaving Monster up by the harness on his life jacket, on a spare halyard, where they can kick, scream, flail their arms all they want and never hurt anyone else, or themselves. After a few minutes up there, they'll see the humor of it.
Fallacy #2: You Don’t Need Headroom, You Need Living Room.
For weekenders, or even three day weekends, we used the cabin. For week-long trips we used the cabin to house the tents and sleeping bags and camping whatnot. For two-week trips, we used the cabin to supplement motel rooms and campgrounds. You only need once to see the mother of your children, with her loving hands around a miscreants' throat, while you cheer her on; to realize the significance of those laboratory experiments, where they keep putting more and more rats into a single cage, until they all start chewing each other's throats.
Fallacy #3: Inclement Weather Requires More Space.
Again, Not true. This only means that you didn’t plan an adequate fall-back plan. In the Keys, bad weather means at most, a few hours heading for the nearest motel. In Biscayne Bay, it means a few hours to reach the shelter of a state park.
In cold weather, it means having adequate heat in a hurry. We used Coleman lanterns and Coleman stoves in the cockpit, giving the kids the choice of bundling up in blankets in the cabin (they knew from age one on up, you don’t burn things in an enclosed space), or coming up on deck and warming themselves by the appliances.
Fallacy #4: Comfortable Head Facilities.
This is a tougher one, since comfort means different things to different people. In general, it means the ability to achieve some privacy, the ability for kids and guests to figure out the plumbing, and the ability to use it with out undue contortions. Ventilation is also a Plus.
We had a porta-potti installed under the forward berths in what the designer intended to be the sail locker. We cut a slot in the bulkhead so adults wouldn’t put their kneecap into their front teeth getting a leg over the bulkhead. We installed curtains, for privacy and lifted the forward hatch for ventilation. Worked well for everything except the Midnight Call, when everyone ELSE goes up on deck, until the head is free again.
Fallacy #5: Adequate Food Preparation And Consumption Areas, Aren’t.
Some people insist on the same space for eating food (a dining room) and preparing it (a kitchen), that they have at home. Tupperware and sandwich bags can mitigate that a lot. Chop the mushrooms ahead of time, etc.
We had a small table on our 18 foot sailboat, that came out from under the forward vee berths and set above the centerboard trunk well. If you moved the cabin step forward for some to sit on, and someone sat on the porta-potti lid and the other two sat on either main cabin berth, you could seat four for dinner. Otherwise, try to pick weather where meals are eaten on deck. Lunch and breakfast is traditionally consumed all over the boat. Only supper was done at a table, just like we do at home.
Fallacy #6: Adequate food storage.
You will get the occasional Blue-Water Wannabe, bragging about how to store three weeks worth of provisions on a Sunfish. Mix perishable and non-perishable foodstuffs as best you can, but also try to plan for some amount of outside food sources, whether a burger joint, or a restaurant.
Fallacy #7: Number of Days This Is Possible.
Sorry, but much more than two or three days, ISN’T possible. Little kids won't really fight in close proximity, if one or more of them are unconscious! If you are on a sailboat for 14 or more days in a row, you are probably not vacationers; you are refugees! Allow for wading expeditions, even if only on a sandbar. Try for a destination, like an island, or some State Park somewhere, where you can camp out. Supplement every two or three days in the boat, with several days in a tent or a night in a motel.
Fallacy #8: Compromises.
This is the source of most of the arguments. Many feel that as you go up in size, most compromise disappears. I personally disagree. My 18-footer is definitely at the lowest end of the spectrum. (In fact, below serious consideration from most sailors.) Instead, I feel that the size limitations forced me to more carefully think through, the implications of extended time (read: living) on the water.
Herewith, is Brennan’s Aphorism: It Ain’t The Boat, It’s The Mission.
Space:
On my boat, the children go in the biggest berths. Huh? That’s right. Since they don’t take up a whole berth, that lets me put sailbags, ice chests, etc. on the lower half of the berth not being used.
Headroom:
Ain’t none. So what? I only go below, to use the head or lay down and become unconscious. Otherwise, I am on deck. So are my kids, and for the most part, my wife. Headroom is Waayyyyyy over-rated, IMHO.
Inclement weather:
If you don’t have someplace else to go, you didn’t really plan all that well, did ya?
Storage:
EVERYWHERE. The number of times you move something, is inversely proportional to your waterline length. A little forethought will help a little and a weekend or two aboard will help a lot. WHY are the kid’s pajamas, the FIRST thing aboard? If you don’t know the answer, then perhaps you DO need a bigger boat!
Food:
I launch the boat, rig the boat, sail the boat, steer the boat, keep the boat clean (tough to do with little kids and dogs aboard) and also cook ALL the meals. Funny, but my wife is WAYYY more interested in going on weekenders with me, than other wives I could name. Wonder why that is?
The absolute WORST thing ANY sailor can do, is to take away every space-age timesaving convenience his wife is used to, then expect her to perform at her usual efficiency, in a primitive infrastructure. Therefore, it’s ME that prepares the food, and that means starting clear back at home, as well as packing it aboard. I don’t EVER have to ask my wife, where’s the ______? It’s MY boat, MY responsibility, and MY food preparation and storage solution. You’d be surprised at all the arguments, that never happen.
I used to go out by myself before I got married, I go out by myself sometimes now, so I always figured that having the family aboard, means nothing more than cooking bigger portions and having somewhat less storage than usual. Now that the kids have grown up bigger than me, the sole concession to no longer having a half-berth to throw stuff on, is that before turning in for the night, the sailbags and ice chests go on deck and spend the night in the cockpit.
Starting to get a feel for the solution? It’s NOT the biggest or the best sailboat hull you can haul. It’s the one you have the least illusions about using. It’s the one you prepared the best, for your intended mission.
The ideal trailerable sailor family habitat, exists between your ears, not on some showroom floor at a Boat Show.
Food for thought, Charles Brennan
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