Plug-In Boats

Yachtsmen once prided themselves on being a hardy lot who asked only for "a tall ship and a star to steer her by." Even those who liked their ships squat and motorized took a certain pleasure in the austerities of self-sufficiency. The most popular models were made with no frills, on the reasoning that the buyers' basic impulse was to get away from it all, at a minimum expense. But in the past five years, more and more people have more and more money, and price no longer seems an object. Furthermore, the little woman has become a backseat helmsman, and she demands all the comforts of home.

Result is that the average new yacht is neither austere nor able to get very far away from it all. Chris Craft, the General Motors of the powerboat industry, now finds that 70% of its customers who want 28-ft. yachts and more also want and are willing to pay for a whole galaxy of luxury accessories. Among them: refrigerator-freezer, $1,250; four-burner stove with oven and broiler, $365; deluxe hot-water system with mixer faucets and spray hose, $1,210; electrically pumped shower, $450; automatic pilot, $1,195.

Boats Without Brine. Virtually every boat manufacturer has had the same experience. C. P. Leek & Sons Inc., a New Jersey company that built clippers 40 years before Ben Franklin flew his first kite, began making luxury items standard equipment on their Pacemaker yacht five years ago, has seen sales soar from $1,000,000 to $14 million. Its largest model, a 53-ft. motor yacht, offers all the amenities found on Chris Crafts, plus built-in television, bathtub, washer-dryer combination and ironing board, symbols of domesticity that would wrinkle the brow of any old salt. The 50-ft., $100,000 Hatteras usually comes off the ways weighed down with stereo tape and record players, a boat-wide complex of stereo speakers, built-in bar with electric ice-cube maker, dishwasher, disposal, wall-to-wall carpeting and air conditioning.

Thus there is a new breed of sailor that doesn't sail--at least not much or far. Says Dave Parker, executive vice president of the Hatteras Yacht Co.: "People who buy these yachts aren't sailors--they're landlubbers. They like to get there fast and drink long." And to enjoy Beethoven in stereo and bourbon on the rocks, the owner of a modern yacht must hook up to a marina's power line (and he often wants a telephone line) almost as soon as he shuts off his engine; his appliances draw too much juice to allow for quiet nights lying at anchor in secluded coves. If the new yachtsman wants to go for a cruise, he must plot his course from one electrical outlet to another, lest his TV dinners defrost, his ice cubes melt, and his electrical toilet break down.

No Charge. The latter-day salt does not seem to mind. In fact, rather than lose their charge and their communications, many never even leave the dock, preferring to remain permanently plugged in. Many just like to go down to their boats on a hot summer night, and sit on the stern deck for a quiet, cool drink and a chat with friends. Yacht clubs, which usually let visiting yachtsmen plug in free of charge, are not much happier. Said Ted Tolson, vice commodore of the St. Petersburg Yacht Club: "They hook up on our docks and blow all the fuses in the circuit. Then they holler like hell because the power's off."

When the fuses do blow, at least a few old salts must think back fondly on the days when stars, not sockets, were what sailors swore by.

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