Hallberg-Rassy 40 Mk II

Smart improvements on a classic cruiser make the difference

There’s much pressure these days on continual introduction of new products—think Apple and the iPhone. But what if you have something that has worked well for over a decade, like the tried and true Hallberg-Rassy 40ft cruiser? The answer: you stick with the classic and fine-tune the details to reflect owner and dealer feedback. That’s how the Hallberg-Rassy 40 Mk II was created, 12 years after its predecessor was initially launched in Europe.

DESIGN & CONSTRUCTION

German Frers has been Hallberg-Rassy’s design firm since 1988, and all the company’s models, from 31ft to 64ft, have a certain sophisticated appeal. There are no hard chines, the bow is not plumb, and the reverse stern angles gracefully up to the deck. The signature rubstrake is still present, which may save you in case of imperfect docking maneuvers, but the pushpits and pulpits are shapelier. Even the HallbergRassy trademark windshield is now more curved. These small things have added up to a slightly sleeker profile.

Construction includes a Divinycell foam core sandwich to the waterline with solid glass below. The bolt-on lead keel draws 6ft 7in and is the only draft offered, so skinny waters may be a challenge. As is customary for the builder, acres of teak grace the deck, but thankfully it’s glued rather than screwed on to preclude future leaks. The hull-to-deck joint has no bolts or screws, but rather is laminated together for strength and watertight integrity. Loads from the mast are distributed along an integral grid that also reinforces the hull below the waterline.

Unlike most production boatbuilders, which fill up the hull with equipment and furniture before adding the deck, Swedish-based Hallberg-Rassy installs all its belowdecks elements after the deck has been attached, which means everything can come back out the same way it went in if and when it’s time to replace something or do a major repair—a huge plus.

ON DECK

The keel-stepped, triple-spreader spar is by Seldén (as is the rigid vang) and provides an air draft of 60ft 10in, making the HR Mk II ICW-friendly. The mast is 10in longer than the original version, but because the boom was also raised 4in to provide additional headroom at the helm,

2 the taller rig doesn’t add much to the 877ft of working sail area.

The sailplan is available with either a traditional mainsail or an in-mast furling main with vertical battens combined with a 140 percent genoa or a 100 percent jib on a Furlex furler. There is also the option of a Code 0 (with a removable sprit), which would be my choice for versatility and ease of handling. A removable cutter stay tucks back to the mast when not in

use, but that means there are running backstays to manage when the inner forestay is deployed. There are two winches at the mast for halyards and reefing lines, and the single backstay may be tensioned manually. Four more winches in the cockpit manage the rest of the lines and sheets.

True to traditional form, the center cockpit is compact so everything is within reach. The electronics suite can be either Raymarine or Furuno. The joystick for controlling the optional bow and stern thrusters is also close at hand.

ACCOMMODATIONS

Belowdecks, the HR 40 Mk II features a layout that is typical of most center-cockpit vessels. Forward is a V-berth cabin that has been given improved access compared to the earlier version of the boat. Aft is a master suite, which now offers a choice of three bed arrangements, including the popular center island, an extra long and wide Pullman berth to port, and the Pullman plus a single to starboard. The boat’s only head is forward of the saloon and to starboard.

The companionway steps have benefited from a gentler angle, so making your way belowdecks is less of a climb. A U-shaped galley is to port with twin sinks, a top-loading refrigerator and an Eno stove/oven combination. An optional freezer is to starboard behind the forward-facing nav station. The L-shaped dinette is to starboard, and there is choice of a straight settee or two built-in chairs to port. Another new option is a pop-up flatscreen TV in the saloon that can be installed to either side.

The saloon is noticeably lighter with two additional hull portlights, a set of enlarged frameless deck portlights that resemble the ones aboard Hallberg-Rassy’s larger models, and wooden panels painted white to contrast with the wood cabinetry, a la the old Herreshoff style.

The number and volume of the stowage spaces in the saloon and cabins is impressive, as is the quality of the joinery and the mahogany finish. Hallberg-Rassy boats are known for holding their value over time, and this is a big part of the reason why.

UNDER SAIL Our test boat was hull #164 (160 of the original design were launched) and it had cruised the west coast of Sweden the previous summer where bigger breezes brought the boat into its element. Alas, our test day on Chesapeake Bay was a good deal less dramatic, with 4 knots across the deck, gusting to 5.

At a 60 degree apparent wind angle in 3.2 knots of true wind, our sails (by Denmark’s Elvstrom) carried us along at 2.8 knots, which is fantastic for anything but an ultralight daysailer. Coming up to 45 degrees AWA, 4 knots of true wind brought us to 2.9 knots of speed, again not bad.

The Code 0 helped on a beam reach as we attained 3.4 knots of boatspeed in 4.2 knots of true. I’d hoped for a bit of serious weather with this solid long-distance cruiser—perhaps like the 14 knots the owner said he reached while surfing down a wave in 25 knots of wind—but I’ll have to save that test for another day.

UNDER POWER With a wide-open throttle and four of us aboard, we motored along at 7.9 knots at 2,900 rpm. However, a better cruising speed is 6.9 knots at 2,200 rpm. Auxiliary power is supplied by a Volvo-Penta D2 55hp diesel, which manages the boat’s 22,000lb displacement with ease and will have a nice range under power of 800 nautical miles. Flexofold or Gori folding propellers are options, and an exceptional feature is the hand pump in the engine room that can be used to test the quality of the fuel at the bottom of the 119gal tank. If you have water from condensation or bad fuel, you’ll know it.

CONCLUSION

“If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” is an adage that certainly holds true in boatbuilding, but if a design can stand some improvement, then by all means, make that change. In all, the HR 40 Mk II boasts nearly 20 improvements that make life aboard both more comfortable or safer, and that’s a very smart change indeed. s

and course, since it was the top of the hour, 2300. I looked at the floor and noticed it was damp from the rear head hatch that I must have missed in my rounds. I grabbed a towel to clean up the mess when suddenly a positive and negative charge across the sea and sky found our mast and discharged in a furious arc.

I lost all sense of vision beyond a blinding white light. A sound like a shotgun pressed against my temple exploded into my ear. All synapses were consumed with the sheer illumination and freight-train roar. There was not enough space left in my brain to perceive the passage of time. Weeks could have passed in that split second. I couldn’t tell if I was sitting or standing or even still alive. For all I knew I was already floating in heaven’s sitting room waiting for my number to be called. And then it was over.

Even with my headlamp beaming in front of me, my vision went completely dark. My ears rang with a high-frequency whine. With these primary senses dulled, I could smell a tang of ozone and burnt plastic. I was crouched on the floor like a crazed caveman. It took a minute to piece together my name and my identity, and remember that I was on a sailboat in the middle of the Pacific.

After promising the powers that be that I would (one day) atone for my sins, I stumbled up the steps to the cockpit. Colin was handsteering. We yelled at each other over the din of the storm. Direct hit! The autopilot is down! No instruments! Go turn off everything!

I bounded down the steps and started throwing breakers and switches like a madman to prevent any shorts from starting a fire. The red lights of the switchboard popped off one by one. I noticed the sour smells from earlier were wafting from the control panel, so I cracked open the back with my multi-tool, ready to grab the fire extinguisher should I see any hint of flames.

Emily came out of the cabin wearing her life vest and a concerned look. I could tell she was scared. I wanted to tell her I was also scared, but instead we shared a small, silent hug while pinned in the doorway as the boat swayed back and forth in the storm, a rare intimate moment in a stressful situation on the high seas. I told Emily that Einstein was

dead as I slithered into my foulies. It was at this moment I realized our entire voyage had just taken a drastic turn. It was going to be a long few days to the Marquesas.

Back on deck, Colin started the engine and prepared to drop the mainsail. “What’s the windex showing at the top of the mast?” he asked. I shone my light up toward the sky. “There is no windex!” I said. “There’s not much left at the top of the mast.” We lowered the sails and motored through the last hour of the storm, lightning still streaking across the sky all around us. We sat mostly in silence, shellshocked from the strike, occasionally offering up some detail of the incident. How bright. How loud. How sudden.

We talked about what this might mean for the trip, finding electricians and technicians in remote corners of French Polynesia. With the fried sat-phone, we worried about family members’ reactions when they realized we were no longer responding to messages. The night seemed to last forever, with each hour spent either fitfully sleeping in the cockpit or staring at our heading, 260, painted red with the light of a headlamp. By the time the sun rose, my dreams were nothing but a big spinning compass. I could hardly tell if I was asleep or awake.

That morning Colin checked all our systems. Einstein was officially declared dead, after a heroic attempt at resuscitation, along with the rest of our instruments and the chartplotter. Defeated, we booted up Colin’s iPhone to use an app with downloaded charts. We then placed the phone in a small, yellow waterproof box, which quickly became known as the “Golden Oracle” as a result of our frequent consultations.

The list of broken electrical devices soon outgrew the list of things that worked. No navigation lights. No solar regulator. No generator. And no fridge for cold beer. The list went on and on. It was every yachtie’s worst nightmare. It was only after we tested the broken SSB and ship VHF that we realized just how alone we were. Using a handheld VHF we sent out a Pan-Pan. It was as if our signal bounced off a brick wall. Handheld VHF’s just weren’t powerful enough. It was like that for the next few days as well.

After that we motored or sailed, whichever was faster. Strips of rags tied to the canopy served as a makeshift windex. Emily and I thanked our lucky stars for the helming practice earlier in the voyage. Colin hardwired a spare nav light to the battery, which we mounted to the rigging with a few cable ties. We were now visible to any ships that might pass us during the night. Eventually we hit our stride, once again feeling comfortable enough to run our fishing lures and talk in non-hushed tones.

On the third morning a giant green mountain slowly appeared out of the sea, Hiva Oua. Exhausted, we dropped anchor outside of the small port and immediately began to lick our wounds and work on Shapeshifter, one blown fuse at a time. s