At the risk of being considered a heretic: A couple years back I bought one of my dream boats, a Gig Harbor Boat Works SCAMP -- and sold it after less than a year of sailing it. After being asked several times why, I decided to compile a list of some of the qualities and characteristics of the boat that I found to be undesirable, based on my personal experience. I also thought it made more sense to share my experience here, and have one place to direct people to.
First, though, let me make clear: I in no way mean to disparage the design. The SCAMP has a preponderance of positive feedback and a devoted following of many satisfied owners. This post is simply a list of some things about my boat that made it not a good fit for MY needs. Your experience with your specific SCAMP, in the waters where you sail, may be completely different than mine -- and that's OK. I'm not going to debate or justify my opinions. Feel free to disagree on every point if you choose. There are a lot of boats out there, and you should sail the one you most enjoy. For me, I have never loved and hated a boat in such equal measure. The positive attributes and opinions of the SCAMP have been well documented elsewhere, so this is a critical review. If you don't want to read negative opinions of your favorite boat...do not read any further!
First, a little history. I became obsessed with the SCAMP the first time I saw Howard Rice crashing through whitecaps on Port Townsend Bay in the famous Small Craft Advisor ads from past issues of the magazine, and reading all the glowing reviews and articles of the little boat's prowess meant I knew I was going to own one at some point.
Who wouldn't want one after seeing these pics?
Cruising in a Gig Harbor Boatworks S.C.A.M.P, or: How you too can pay as much as possible to be as uncomfortable as possible
Trailering: While the light weight makes towing the boat a breeze, the smaller tire size means faster tire wear, a rougher ride, and higher temps for the wheel bearings. The bow support on the Carnai trailer that Gig Harbor Boat Works supplied with the boat doesn't match the angle of the bow, so the pressure point at the upper edge of the bow support is starting to wear through the gelcoat. Pull the support off, turn it 90 degrees, and badly bend it to get it to (mostly) match the angle of the bow.
Setup: There is no doubt that a mast as lightweight as the aluminum Gig Harbor Boat Works one is a pleasure to step (that "SCAMP ramp" is sure slick), but that is where the pleasure ends. After stepping the mast, make sure the bungie cord that is all that holds the mast in the boat in a capsize goes "in the hole" (from the detailed instructional video). The yard, boom, sail, and associated gear all live in one very heavy bundle (probably twice the weight of my M15 boom and mainsail), which has to be pulled out of the forward storage area, and maneuvered around perpendicular to the boat so it can be opened up. Then the mess of lazy jacks has to be sorted (and sorted again) so that you can use those thin little lines (make sure you're wearing gloves) to hoist the heavy bundle up above the "veranda", where it starts to swing uncontrollably in any wind. Getting ahold of it, you then sort out the main sheet to control the surly bundle, and hope you remembered to tie the halyard to itself, or the entire mess has to come down again and start over. You then must raise sail in order to set the correct adjustment of the lazy jacks, because doing so underway once you've raised sail means going forward to the mast as the boat veers wildly off course, despite having the tiller locked. Lowering the sail again, you see that the front of the yard comes almost straight down, so control it or it will punch a hole through the deck (or your head) as the bundle settles obstinately into the lazy jacks. Now it's time to try and store your gear.
Storage: The boat has a great reputation for the amount of storage available. The only problem: access to it is horrible. The storage area forward is honestly huge, but that cute, upswept pram bow means that anything stored forward immediately slides backwards and ends up in a giant pile below the access hatches. Those same access hatches that are too small to get your torso through (only your head, one arm and shoulder), so even if the gear you stored forward stayed put, you couldn't reach it. Fortunately (?) it is all in a huge pile in front of those hatches, but the thing you are looking for is always at the bottom of that pile. I hope you added lights, because there are no windows to see what you are looking for since the incredibly expensive bronze portholes are OUTSIDE, in the "veranda". Yes, they do look cool if you can afford them. (You can't.) Frustrated, you look to the other hatches in the cockpit seats that you will be sitting on later. These hatches are PERFECT for a six pack, as long as you only put one can in at a time. Again, there is an absolute ton of storage down there, but with no dividers, and no way to add them (because of the tiny hatches), anything small enough to actually be stored down there will migrate at will to wherever it wants. It's chaos every time you look for anything needed down there. You somehow manage to find a way to store everything and just hope you can find it later, because it's time to launch and go sailing!
Launching: The boat is so light it is very easy to launch. But before we can actually go sailing, we have to get some ballast into the boat, and that means filling the clever water ballast tank. The tank is already filling at this point because the plug is out, so there is a hole in the bottom of your boat and water is rushing in. You do know where the plug is, right? Unfortunately, the tank won't fill all the way on its own, so you need to find a way to finish filling your boat with water. But first, you need to reach down into the tank and put the plug back in. That water is cold, isn't it?! And now your arm smells like fish and fishing boat oil. You might be tempted to just use a bucket to fill the tank, but remember, there is a high side and a low side to the boat. If you're reaching over the boat on the low side, the water that you put in pours back out as the boat heels from you reaching over and pulling another bucket full of water aboard. You may not notice, though, because of all the water that's already there from you missing the tiny access hole with the bucket. Eventually you will get smart and utilize a bilge pump to pump water INTO the boat (after finding a way to connect a hose that reaches the tank hatch). Close the annoying hatch, and mop up all that water, because you'll be sleeping there tonight.
Sailing: Fire up the motor, it's time to go sailing! You think about just using the oars to get out of the marina, but they are so tightly stowed that it is impossible to get to them, and once they are out they take half a day to store again, if you can find the tool used to connect them together. It doesn't matter, because you can't see past the "veranda" when rowing anyway. Make sure you remember to lower the rudder and centerboard, and push off. Pay attention while leaving the marina, but you'll probably have to stand up because the "veranda" is so tall you can't really see forward while motoring either. Sure sounds like a neat feature though, "the veranda". Nevermind, you're now out of the marina and it's time to raise sail! You undo the sail ties, and start hoisting sail. My goodness, that yard is heavy, isn't it? No winches here! Hopefully it's not too windy, because the sail billows out uncontrollably if it catches the wind, and the boat veers wildly, at risk of capsize if you don't get that sail up immediately. There is no way to sweat the sail up that last bit, so hopefully you're wearing gloves and have a strong back, and can hoist it quickly all the way. Now tighten the downhaul, a critical adjustment for the balanced lug rig. It needs to be really cranked down tight, which would be an excellent place for a multipart purchase, but you don't get one on this boat. Make sure you're wearing gloves, and crank it down as much as you can (it's not enough). That's ok for now, as there's not much wind. But there sure is a lot of chop today! You kill the motor and raise it up, or try to. The overhang on the fiberglass version means that in order to raise the motor you need to slide it outboard as far as possible so it can barely clear the transom. (Untangle that mainsheet wrapped around the motor.) Dig out all the cushions you can find to pad your butt from those hatches, and your back from the coaming which hits you right at the bottom of your ribs where your life jacket stops. Try to get comfortable because at this point the boat is hobby-horsing dramatically, and the mast swinging forward and back accentuates the movement while the boom and yard slam against the mast. Dang, you sure wish there was more wind because the boat is stopped dead in the water by that chop. The short waterline and flat bottom that makes the boat so great for the .01% of the time it is sitting on a beach sure doesn't make it very comfortable in this chop, as it pounds and slams off of each wave until all of your teeth are gone and they no longer hurt. Finally, the wind fills in and the boat takes off with the SCAMP's surprising turn of speed. I thought the "veranda" was supposed to block some of this spray coming aboard? That's ok, we still have that towel from filling the ballast tank to wipe that water up. After all, remember you're going to be sleeping down there tonight. Hmmm, the wind sure is building out there...it's time to reef! Uh-ohhhhh....
Reefing: There is no way to heave-to to safely reef. I would read that sentence again because IT'S IMPORTANT. Your first time trying to reef you do the same thing you would do on any sloop: you begin to lower the sail to the first reef point and...augh!!! The wind grabs the sail and tries to capsize you as it billows out uncontrollably!!! You try to reach the reef point on the clew but the boat has turned broadside to the waves, is rolling scarily from side to side, and every time you try to pull it in the boat almost capsizes. There is nothing to do but immediately drop the entire rig, dodging the yard as it tries to impale something. After you compose yourself and your heart rate dips below 200 BPM, you tie in the reef as the boat tries to throw you out, rolling on each wave like a drunken bucking bronco. You now have to get that sail back up before the boat again tries to capsize as the sail fills with wind. Somehow you manage it, but now you have a dangerous mess of lines hanging in loops from the boom, ready to decapitate you in a gybe. Even Gig Harbor Boat Works says in their long and detailed rigging instructional video, "The reef lines are really great at getting tangled". This demonstration video has the guy walking around the outside of the boat to correct a tangled reef line. You realize this is much harder to do on the water (unless your name happens to be Jesus), and you can't reach them so you just hope in a gybe you'll see them coming and duck, and remember to bungie them up and out of the way next time.
Now we're sailing! Except all that excitement makes you have to pee. You try to lock the tiller long enough to go grab the pee bottle from the bottom of the pile of gear under the forward hatches, but the second you let go of it the boat wildly rounds up, and you realize you can't let go of the tiller for even an instant. That short waterline and flat bottom just doesn't track as well as you had hoped, does it? You wish you had a jib to set up self-steering or heave-to, but not on this boat. That tanbark lug sail sure looks cool, though! Drop the rig all the way again so you can pee, and then raise it as fast as you can without capsizing. You are going to need the practice anyway, and the workout is getting you in such good shape! So is holding yourself steady as the boat rolls in the chop while you try not to pee all over yourself.
Anyway, it's already getting time to find your anchorage. You turn the boat downwind and notice an alarming rolling action. It's the dreaded "death roll"! Sheet in the sail a bit, head up a bit, get things under control. Do NOT capsize the boat because it is not self-righting, and Puget Sound water is COLD. For safety's sake you will be wearing a full dry suit, even in July on a 100 degree day, because you just never know. World adventurer Colin Angus says, "Here in the Pacific Northwest the greatest danger is from the cold water, and often I see people ignoring this. If you’re in a canoe a few hundred yards from shore there’s actually very little separating you from death. If the boat capsizes (especially in spring, winter or fall), within minutes you will be incapacitated and death will follow." (In all honesty and joking aside, this was the reason I sold the boat, I never felt truly safe in it. Howard Rice I am not. I'm a lot more of a coward than a Howard.)
Anchoring: Where are you storing that anchor? Not in those huge cockpit seat storage areas, that's for sure! You probably have it and all the chain and rode in a container in the cockpit, fighting for space with the fuel containers, oars, coffee cup, bailing bucket, etc. You know you are supposed to anchor off the bow, but you can't go forward, so you have rigged up a complicated clothes line system (hanging off the side of the boat while sailing) to run the anchor forward so you don't have to. You drop anchor, struggle to clothesline the anchor rode to the bow, and look forward to a relaxing evening anchored out.
Livability: Don't be bashful just because you have to use the toilet where everyone can see you! That is, except those in front of the boat, because no one can see past the "veranda". Sneak in there as far as you can and do what you gotta do. Now it's time to set up everything for the evening. Your SCAMP has a factory cockpit enclosure that Gig Harbor Boat Works makes available, if you can get a second mortgage on your house. Anchoring around noon will give you just about enough time to get it set up before dark. You wonder what to do with the mainsheet, and how to control the boom/yard bundle, and after removing the plastic board the mainsheet is attached to, you eventually tie things up inelegantly so they are out of the way. Hopefully it's not windy out, because the boat will roll drunkenly in the waves, and the huge cockpit cover that gives you so much more room than you actually need creates massive windage. Pour an offering to Neptune, because if something terrible happens and the boat capsizes or you drag anchor, you are trapped inside with no way to get out!
You finally find all the cooking gear and food at the bottom of the pile up front and have dinner, enjoying the uncomfortable hatch covers you are sitting on, wishing there was some way to lean back and relax. But unless you brought some kind of chair (that is now at the bottom of your gear pile), there is no place to comfortably sit. That's disappointing, because when you lean back against the cockpit seats the trim which covers the raw fiberglass edge falls off. I guess Gig Harbor Boat Works didn't glue it on. How much was this boat again?! Never mind, you need to get to bed anyway, so you can get up in time to store all your gear and take down the cockpit cover. (3 AM should do it.) Where is your sleeping bag? That's right, you managed to stuff it down one of the cockpit hatches. You pull it out and notice it's wet! In fact, everything in your gigantic, inaccessible cockpit storage areas is wet! It turns out Gig Harbor Boat Works forgot to seal the top of the centerboard trunk after building the boat, and the vacuum release hole has been spraying water into your storage area all day! Both cockpit storage areas are connected (the easier to sink the boat), and so everything in both sides is wet. Fortunately, not much fits down there, and the forward storage area is still blissfully dry. You hope that it doesn't rain tonight, because you realize that the neat "SCAMP ramp" that makes stepping the mast so easy also makes the perfect gutter for funneling rain water right into your sleeping area. The same sleeping area that is now wet from spray coming aboard all day while pounding through the waves. Start mopping the cockpit floor, because that's where you have to sleep. You dig out your comfy air mattress from the bottom of the pile of gear up front and air it up. The cockpit floor is almost wide enough for your shoulders, and you wedge the mattress in between the seats, and now you are walking on it because there isn't room to move in the confined space. Make sure you have the boat balanced, or you could be sleeping with your head lower than your feet. Gear ends up thrown everywhere, and in exhaustion as you drift off to sleep under the "veranda" you have a sinking feeling that this boat might not be quite as amazing as everyone thinks it is.
Waking up the next morning sore and bruised from crawling around on this 12-foot marvel the previous day, you accept the fact you've made a huge mistake, and that this is not the boat for you. You should have never sold your M15! Despondently, you eat breakfast after finding all the cooking gear in various places (some wet and some dry), and go through the arduous task of taking down the cockpit enclosure. Once you're finished it's time for lunch, so after a brief snack you sail back to the launch area to haul the boat back out, ending your week-long cruise after only one day.
Recovery: It's a downwind run back into the marina, and your huge balanced lug rig is far too powerful to safely sail up to the dock. It sure looks cool, though. Wishing you had a small jib so you could just sail in, you drop the motor and fire it up for the 50 yard trip to the launch ramp. Once the boat is tied up, you grab your car and prepare to back the trailer in for recovery. The trailer is so small you can't see it, so you are embarrassed as you back down the steep ramp with your hatch up, hoping nothing in the back of your car falls out. Put the car in park, set the brake, and guide the boat forward and try to line it up correctly on the trailer before winching it on. You easily pull the light-weight boat out, and after reaching your entire arm back down into the fishy water of the ballast tank to pull out the plug, watch the water drain out of the tank like a stallion after a night of heavy drinking. Then head back to de-rig the boat so you can head for home.
But nope! The boat is not lined up correctly on the trailer! The runners on the bottom of the boat have to hit the rollers just right, and you have to pull the boat in and out of the launch ramp multiple times until it finally is lined up correctly on the rollers. And this WITH trailer guides on both sides of the hull! (The same guides that fall off as you drive home from sailing. They are simply held in with short wood screws, and the screws back out on the drive home. Yes, you checked them before you left.) One of the tires that appeared to be in good condition disintegrates on your way back home, requiring a long and very expensive tow, since the tires are an odd size and no one has any in stock.
Resale value: Fortunately...great. You sell the boat at minimal loss, buy another Montgomery 15 for half as much, and live happily ever after.
The End.
