WATERCAR PANTHER
Is it a boat? Is it a car? No! It’s a soft-top, street legal, off-roading amphibious vehicle... and a man in a silly hat
You want a car and you want a boat, but you don’t have space for both... TG’s own Captain Kew has just the thing
SSigns of ageing include (so I’m told) gratefully acknowledging a dismal July rain shower “will be good for the garden”, noting that footballers, policepeople and – eventually – politicians are getting younger, and being astounded at what now constitutes a school trip.
My dad would have considered a half day visit to a local paint tin lid factory as enthralling as a Solo-guided tour of the Millennium Falcon. Thanks to the Duke of Edinburgh’s Award I was able to trudge up and down Scafell Pike in dense fog powered by a hearty breakfast of tepid boil-in-the-bag beans and Kendal mint cake.
But kids these days, I tell you, they don’t know they’re born. There are 40 of them screeching around the shores of their local caravan park’s private lake. Year 5 has just enjoyed a ‘kayaking lesson’ and after, as a treat, they’ve been towed behind a speedboat on those inflatable inner tube donuts, three abreast.
They’re so irretrievably off-their-nuts on a giddy dopamine high, none of them has noticed the car-goyle that’s sidled through the trees and nosed down toward them in front of the slipway, on a collision course with the murky depths.
Even for a generation used to seeing the world through the prism of a glitter-eyed filter, this must be a weird sight. A young Captain Birdseye, perched in Barbie’s rip-off Jeep, eyeing an ominous sky. A photographer scurries around. Into the scene rolls an immaculate Aston Martin DB11 Volante, carrying a short private registration.
Out climbs an overly well-dressed man, white hair swept back with designer sunglasses keeping the ’do in check. Scarlet leather ankle boots don’t suit the terrain of the muddy, puddle-blotted car park. But David Richards, founder and boss of legendary British motorsport god Prodrive, isn’t bothered. Locking his Aston, he strolls over and greets a couple of company engineers. “Bit warmer than when we were last here, gents?” he grins.
If it wasn’t for Dave’s eye for a machine, a laugh, and a slice of good business, I wouldn’t be here today, in this hat, squirming as Year 5 begin to gather, chatter, and point quizzically. “I was on holiday in Los Angeles a few years ago and saw one there,” Dave explains. ‘One’ being a Watercar Panther. It’s the work – obviously – of a Californian start-up which emerged in 1999 with the noble goal of building the world’s fastest amphibious car.
To do this – somewhat unfairly in my humble opinion – you don’t have to build a machine that’s rapid in both disciplines and take an average. It only has to be quick on the water, and in my book, that makes it more the world’s fastest road legal boat, but there we are. After two decades of toil, the one-off, Corvette V8-powered WaterCar Python prototype reached a verified v-max of 127mph.
Of course, to sell such a craft to the general public would be irresponsible. WaterCar agreed, went back to its dealer, sorry, drawing board, and reined everything in. Swapped out the
450bhp V8 for a 300bhp 3.7-litre Honda V6. Ditched the Dodge/Vette lovechild styling for something approaching a Jeep Wrangler with elephantiasis. Filed 27 patents along the way, because heck, if you’re onto a dead cert winner, you don’t want any Tom, Dick or Cletus pinching your big idea, huh?
The result is a 1.3-tonne RWD fibreglass mutant capable of 70mph on land and 38 knots on open water. That’s about 44mph, making this the only amphibious car fast enough to tow a waterskier. Which explains why WaterCar charges $158,000 for one... without an engine or transmission. Want a powerplant? It’s $198,000, with a custom paintjob on the house. Panthers have been on sale since 2013, yet they’re not moored 10 deep from Monaco to Majorca. Funny, that. I fancied mocking the name but it turns out the big black cats are in fact adept and lethal swimmers. Every day’s a school day. Panthers are also agile and graceful on dry land, though. Hold that thought.
When a gentleman who owns a couple of watercraft, bought with the proceeds of a championship-winning racecar business, is on his holidays and happens across the world’s fastest amphi-car, the script writes itself. “I said I’d buy one, on the basis that we could ship it back to the UK, have a look at it, and then we’d control the European distribution rights,” explains Dave, somehow with a glint in his eye despite them being hidden behind shades.
We can be confident that this particular example is the best WaterCar Panther. It’s had three years at British finishing school. You sense Prodrive’s had fun here. Engineers Oliver and Lee snigger (out of earshot of the boss) that – thanks to the aft positioning of the weighty V6 and the jet drive – with a light fuel load, the Panther will perform wheelies.
The makes-a-911-look-balanced weight distribution isn’t something Prodrive could solve. Efforts have been concentrated on fundamentals like waterproofing wiring, engine cooling and sealing leaks in the fibreglass hull. You expect watertight seals for £200k?
The Panther, then, joins the illustrious roster of American automobiles owing success to a sprinkling of Anglo nous. Ford GT40, Tesla Roadster, now this. You’re welcome, guys. Actually, I’m lying. The Panther is not a success. Partly because the American mothership has gone bust and there won’t be any more Panthers unless someone buys the tooling, which would seem unlikely given there are now two types of motoring start-ups: electric cars, and flying cars. Swimming cars don’t get a look in.
Mostly though, the Panther is (despite the valiant efforts of Prodrive’s brightest and best) absolute rubbish. Those enormous wheelarches are invisible from the sit-up-and-beg captain’s chair. In a canal – or a contraflow – the hull is miles wider than the extremities you can actually see. We narrowly avoid a scale reconstruction of the Ever Given Suez constipation on Witney’s high street.
Though it’s lighter than, say, an Audi A4, it lumbers along with the drunken reflexes of a two-tonne Chevy or GMC. The combo of knobbly marshmallow tyres and surprisingly direct, hefty steering make attempts to change course puckeringly fraught.
“IT’S A BIZARRE SENSATION TO STEER A CAR DELIBERATELY INTO WATER”
Meanwhile, the engine’s a sharp-edged slathering madman. An ever present aroma of unburnt fuel vapours wafts around. Being normally aspirated, throttle response is zippy, the rasp deafening. It’s incongruously coupled to a hopelessly vague four-on-the-floor manual, but torque is plentiful, so set up camp in third.
Special mention for terror goes to the brakes. Wilwood Racing calipers peep through the spokes and you think “phew, pedigree”, but you’d be better off raising a mainsail and hoping for a headwind if you require an abrupt halt.
The Prodrive boys know this. They don’t expect folks to saddle the kids into the cramped rear seats, fill the bijou under-bonnet cargo bay with lifejackets and beer then set sail on summer holiday. It’s a convenience gimmick should you tire of dragging your boat from the lakehouse down to the waterline. Cut out the middle man. Charge right in.
The makers recommend entering the water at no more than 15mph. Ha. Try 1.5mph. It’s a bizarre sensation to be sat in a car, with a rearview mirror and seatbelt only to steer it quite deliberately into a body of water, not quite slowly enough. A bow wave washes over the bonnet. There’s an awkward silence punctured by water trickling out of the starboard bilge tank – a genius instant karma feature should you be at the light next to a bolshy cyclist. But we’re safely bobbing, and commence the conversion.
First, select neutral. Hold a button marked ‘wheels up’ until there’s a beep. This hydraulically tucks all four wheels into the arches so they’re not dragging below. Forget to select neutral and this process bends the driveshafts. Congrats, your WaterCar is no longer a car. Next, prod the trim planes button. Finally, tug a lever next to the handbrake to activate a power take-off from the V6, which is now running the water propulsion jet. No more than 15 seconds after wading into the drink, the Panther is ready to swim.
The trick is to hold the revs at 6,000rpm as the craft accelerates and then feather it down to 5,000rpm once the boat comes ‘on plane’. In waterspeak, the fins deployed earlier are now acting as submerged wings. This hydrodynamic lift overcomes the car’s buoyancy and lifts much of the hull out of the water, decreasing drag and allowing more manoeuvrability. And speed. The Panther rises from the surface like an airliner gaining lift, and skips along the surface in its own maelstrom of spray and V6 howl. Perhaps Dave continued with his calm pace notes after this point. I’ve no idea. Couldn’t hear a word.
If you’ve a molecule of mechanical sympathy it’s cringeworthy to keep your foot planted with the revs singing, but the Prodrive engineers promise they’ve flooded this motor and got it smoking hot, and it’s never detonated. Handling? Familiar if you’ve ever done any slippery surface ice driving, or go-karted in the wet. You gracefully pendulum from one ‘drift’ to the next, constantly countersteering port and starboard. Except, instead of spinning out when you lift off the throttle, you drop ‘off plane’ and settle low into the water like a crocodile.
Presently, bilge collected under the bonnet sloshes forward into the overworked radiator, concealing the Panther in a furious hiss of steam. Consider it an impromptu smokescreen, like an old battleship evading fire. Some habits – like stabbing the brake pedal as the pontoon looms and wondering why you remain on a collision course with Oxfordshire – take a while to unlearn. Keep the wipers maxed. And try not to run over your wake – the Panther rears skyward on water even more readily than on terra firma.
To end your voyage and make port, perform the same button presses in reverse. Disengage jet drive lever, raise the planes, don’t forget to drop the wheels to prevent embarrassing graunches, and gingerly slot into first gear. Here goes. Aligned with the slipway, I wait for the lurch as tyres touch concrete, dump the clutch and execute a flawless dismount from the deep with the combined effortlessness of Sir Roger Moore and the swagger of Captain Jack Sparrow. My juvenile audience is impressed. The Panther is “sick”. Thankfully Dave and I are not. We’ve brought bemusement, hilarity and wonder to the highways and waterways of Middle England. When would that ever get old?
“THE PANTHER SKIPS ALONG THE SURFACE IN A MAELSTROM OF SPRAY AND V6 HOWL”