For my own boat, I wanted something that was a proven seaworthy design. Not too small, nor too big, and she'd have to have nice, classic lines. My extensive research came up with one inescapable conclusion: The Contessa 26. Unfortunately, since she is an old English design (also built in Canada), they are a bit thin on the ground here in Australia. I found one in Tasmania back in 2004, when I was there studying for my maritime tickets, but for many years I could find no sign of any others. I had a 23' Hood for a time, but it just wasn't the real thing and I found myself still pining for a CO26. I was starting to look into the process of buying one in England and shipping it here in a container.
Then one day, I was sitting in the wheelhouse of a ferry on which I was working as a deckhand, idly staring out of the wheelhouse window and pondering on how I might secure my Contessa. Wherever we went on the harbour, I would subconsciously check out each yacht as we passed by and try to figure what she was/could be (S&S34, Ranger, Colin Archer, etc.). On this occasion, my eyesight had locked onto a little blue hull about half a kilometre away. My mind just went blank. I stared at it for about half a minute, dumbfounded. It couldn't be. Here? No way!
But it was. Slowly motoring up the harbour, toward to Harbour Bridge was a real-life Contessa 26. Frustratingly, we still had to stop at Cremorne wharf, and I reckon it was the fastest that I'd ever tied up the boat and loaded passengers. In no time, we were under way again and closing on my prey. Our skipper kindly steered to about a boat length away, so I could call out. There wasn't much time, since by then we were at the Opera House and had to turn into Circular Quay. The Contessa's skipper confirmed that she was indeed a CO26, and gave me a knowing, nodding smile as I blubbered something about how beautiful she was.
And then it was over. As we peeled off to port (much to my frustration), the object of my obsession continued straight on under the bridge and up the Parramatta River. Still not believing my good fortune, I resolved to find out exactly where this beauty was moored.
As it turned out, it didn't take very long to find her hiding place. My work routinely took me to various parts around the harbour each day, and I found her graceful hull within a week, tied up in a marina opposite Birken Head Point. Every time we went out that way, I would stare at her as we passed; absorbing every detail. I imagined what she'd be like to sail. The places we could go if she were mine. It was driving me nuts. I had to get a closer look.
I live over an hour's drive from Sydney, and because I was working most days in the city, I usually resented going back into town in my time off. But I happily made the journey one day, when I drove down to the marina to try and get up close and personal with this Contessa. Parking in this neighbourhood is notorious, and I had to hike a fair way through the rat's-nest maze of streets, but eventually I was standing on the shore by the little marina. And there she was. She occupied a berth on a finger closest to the shore, and I could've poked her with a broom handle. It was such a buzz to be so close to an actual Contessa 26.
The security gate to the pontoons was locked, but in another miraculous turn of events, someone soon came along and propped it open before heading toward a boat further along the pontoons. Not needing to be invited, I immediately walked through the gate, and came to stand alongside her. Now I could actually touch it. Her name was spelled out in a concise, clear font: SENTINA. It seemed to fit. I paced up and down the pontoon, closely inspecting everything. Every line. Every inch of Teak rail capping. The hull, deck fittings, deck mouldings, rigging, winches, everything I could see from the dockside. I could see that she was old, but still in great condition. She's obviously been well-used but also well-loved.
Even though it seemed harmless enough, I just couldn't bring myself to actually board her. It felt like trespassing. So, once I'd finally finished drooling all over her, I wrote a quick note to her owner. In it I outlined who I was and about my borderline obsession toward his vessel. Then I tucked the note under the dodger over the companionway, before reluctantly backing away and heading for home.
A week or so later I got a call from 'Paul', who was the owner of Sentina. We talked for a bit, before he kindly offered to show me over the boat sometime. Back I went to Sydney, even happier than on my previous visit. Paul met me at the boat and welcomed me aboard. He turned out to be a pleasant, amiable and very knowledgeable guy. He patiently chatted away and answered my multitude of questions, as I explored every inch of Sentina's deck and interior.
It was a buzz to finally be aboard a CO26, and she confirmed pretty much everything I'd imagined them to be. Not overly spacious, but she exuded a sense of seaworthiness. The cockpit is small, but deep, sheltered and comfortable. There are the little bulwarks along the decks, wide enough to stand/walk on if the boat's heeled right over, and capped off with a beautiful teak rail cap. This particular example was fitted with twin headstays, so you could hank on the next sail that was needed, drop the existing head sail, swap the halyard/sheets and just hoist away. It also gave the option of running goose winged with the headsails and no main, which should ease the yawing when running downwind. Timber hand rails ran the lengths of both sides of the coach house, both on deck and below in the cabin, so you have plenty to hang onto when things get bumpy. And then there's the characteristic 'blister' companionway, which eliminates leaks and boosts headroom aft (I'm 5' 10" and only had to stoop slightly). The little aft deck is a great idea too, since it occupies the sector swept by the long, elegant tiller anyway, and would otherwise be a crap place to try and sit. It makes much better lazarette storage.
Although the interior would be considered quite cramped by modern standards, it was amazing just how much room there actually was (even for a tank like me). There were two decent, full length settee-berths immediately inside the companionway, which are really comfortable places to sit/lounge. The navigation station and opposite cooker are small, yet big enough for their purposes. The forward part of the boat has the usual V-berth, which is extremely snug, but for cruising one or two up it provides excellent stowage possibilities. We didn't have the opportunity of taking her out for a sail that day, and it was very calm in the marina pen, but the motion caused by passing boat wash was quite gentle. Much nicer than my Hood 23.
With her large wetted surface area, she may not exactly sail rings around modern racing machines nowadays, but she wouldn't be a slouch either (as evidenced by race result around the world over the years). Her sleek, low freeboard may mean lots of spay finding it's way back to the cockpit when things got rough, but I believe she'd comfortably keep bowling along happily in worsening conditions, long after a lot of the competition had given up and headed home. These boats have numerous circumnavigations to their credit, Sentina having sailed out from England herself.
In short, she seemed like an extremely well thought-out craft. Everything purpose designed to provide maximum efficiency, with minimal fuss. And yet she somehow managed to avoid the utilitarian/stark atmosphere that I feel other 'efficient' sailing boats tend to possess. Sentina felt like a home. She felt.....(I know this sounds wanky, but)....alive. This wasn't just some highly-engineered sailing machine. I got the sense that she was a living entity, that would look after you when everything turned into shit.
As it turned out, it didn't take very long to find her hiding place. My work routinely took me to various parts around the harbour each day, and I found her graceful hull within a week, tied up in a marina opposite Birken Head Point. Every time we went out that way, I would stare at her as we passed; absorbing every detail. I imagined what she'd be like to sail. The places we could go if she were mine. It was driving me nuts. I had to get a closer look.
I live over an hour's drive from Sydney, and because I was working most days in the city, I usually resented going back into town in my time off. But I happily made the journey one day, when I drove down to the marina to try and get up close and personal with this Contessa. Parking in this neighbourhood is notorious, and I had to hike a fair way through the rat's-nest maze of streets, but eventually I was standing on the shore by the little marina. And there she was. She occupied a berth on a finger closest to the shore, and I could've poked her with a broom handle. It was such a buzz to be so close to an actual Contessa 26.
The security gate to the pontoons was locked, but in another miraculous turn of events, someone soon came along and propped it open before heading toward a boat further along the pontoons. Not needing to be invited, I immediately walked through the gate, and came to stand alongside her. Now I could actually touch it. Her name was spelled out in a concise, clear font: SENTINA. It seemed to fit. I paced up and down the pontoon, closely inspecting everything. Every line. Every inch of Teak rail capping. The hull, deck fittings, deck mouldings, rigging, winches, everything I could see from the dockside. I could see that she was old, but still in great condition. She's obviously been well-used but also well-loved.
Even though it seemed harmless enough, I just couldn't bring myself to actually board her. It felt like trespassing. So, once I'd finally finished drooling all over her, I wrote a quick note to her owner. In it I outlined who I was and about my borderline obsession toward his vessel. Then I tucked the note under the dodger over the companionway, before reluctantly backing away and heading for home.
A week or so later I got a call from 'Paul', who was the owner of Sentina. We talked for a bit, before he kindly offered to show me over the boat sometime. Back I went to Sydney, even happier than on my previous visit. Paul met me at the boat and welcomed me aboard. He turned out to be a pleasant, amiable and very knowledgeable guy. He patiently chatted away and answered my multitude of questions, as I explored every inch of Sentina's deck and interior.
It was a buzz to finally be aboard a CO26, and she confirmed pretty much everything I'd imagined them to be. Not overly spacious, but she exuded a sense of seaworthiness. The cockpit is small, but deep, sheltered and comfortable. There are the little bulwarks along the decks, wide enough to stand/walk on if the boat's heeled right over, and capped off with a beautiful teak rail cap. This particular example was fitted with twin headstays, so you could hank on the next sail that was needed, drop the existing head sail, swap the halyard/sheets and just hoist away. It also gave the option of running goose winged with the headsails and no main, which should ease the yawing when running downwind. Timber hand rails ran the lengths of both sides of the coach house, both on deck and below in the cabin, so you have plenty to hang onto when things get bumpy. And then there's the characteristic 'blister' companionway, which eliminates leaks and boosts headroom aft (I'm 5' 10" and only had to stoop slightly). The little aft deck is a great idea too, since it occupies the sector swept by the long, elegant tiller anyway, and would otherwise be a crap place to try and sit. It makes much better lazarette storage.
Although the interior would be considered quite cramped by modern standards, it was amazing just how much room there actually was (even for a tank like me). There were two decent, full length settee-berths immediately inside the companionway, which are really comfortable places to sit/lounge. The navigation station and opposite cooker are small, yet big enough for their purposes. The forward part of the boat has the usual V-berth, which is extremely snug, but for cruising one or two up it provides excellent stowage possibilities. We didn't have the opportunity of taking her out for a sail that day, and it was very calm in the marina pen, but the motion caused by passing boat wash was quite gentle. Much nicer than my Hood 23.
With her large wetted surface area, she may not exactly sail rings around modern racing machines nowadays, but she wouldn't be a slouch either (as evidenced by race result around the world over the years). Her sleek, low freeboard may mean lots of spay finding it's way back to the cockpit when things got rough, but I believe she'd comfortably keep bowling along happily in worsening conditions, long after a lot of the competition had given up and headed home. These boats have numerous circumnavigations to their credit, Sentina having sailed out from England herself.
In short, she seemed like an extremely well thought-out craft. Everything purpose designed to provide maximum efficiency, with minimal fuss. And yet she somehow managed to avoid the utilitarian/stark atmosphere that I feel other 'efficient' sailing boats tend to possess. Sentina felt like a home. She felt.....(I know this sounds wanky, but)....alive. This wasn't just some highly-engineered sailing machine. I got the sense that she was a living entity, that would look after you when everything turned into shit.
It was unfortunate that we couldn't go for a sail that day, but I was well pleased with the visit. We sat and chatted for ages, and I learned a lot from Paul. Quite a cluey chap. Eventually we adjourned to a cafe up the hill in Balmain, and continued to talk boats and sailing for a long time.
I finally (reluctantly) had to tear myself away, and head for home. We said our goodbyes, and I implored him to let me come and help whenever he had to slip Sentina, or needed crew. He wasn't interested in selling her any time soon, which was perfectly understandable, but I said for him to keep me in mind if the possibility ever arose in the future. We shook hands and went our separate ways, and I continued to worship Sentina from afar.
I finally (reluctantly) had to tear myself away, and head for home. We said our goodbyes, and I implored him to let me come and help whenever he had to slip Sentina, or needed crew. He wasn't interested in selling her any time soon, which was perfectly understandable, but I said for him to keep me in mind if the possibility ever arose in the future. We shook hands and went our separate ways, and I continued to worship Sentina from afar.
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