Cruising With Our Electric Friend

Getting to know the ePropulsion Spirit 1.0 Plus during the Summers of 2022 and 2023

by Keith Muscott

This is not intended to be a technical comparison of the ePropulsion Spirit with other motors. I have let it reveal its qualities in extracts from three different reports of events on the water in which it played a significant part. There is some factual information after that so readers won't feel the lack of it.

---

There are two Lough Dergs in Ireland. The smaller one in Donegal is known for being the Sanctuary of St Patrick and has been a place of Christian Pilgrimage since the fifth century.

We didn’t go there.

We drove to the other Lough Derg in the Shannon River Basin, the third biggest lake in Ireland. It covers 50 square miles and is navigable over its 24-mile length. The Shannon flows through it and out at the southern end by Killaloe. The Lough shores take a bite out of County Clare in the southwest, Galway to the northwest and Tipperary in the east. We were making a long-anticipated visit to this impressive stretch of water and we intended to sail on it with some Irish members of the DCA. After that, the plan was to drive north to the fourth biggest lake in Ireland, Lower Lough Erne, for the second week of our Irish trip. That was already familiar to us through our friendship with Tom Bailey, who is a DCA member and the Secretary of Lough Erne Yacht Club.

The ePropulsion Spirit Plus. www.nestawayboats.com

We decanted from the ferry in Dublin Port around midday. The drive south was painless if a little numbing, except for the motorway toll plazas, which offered the frisson of placing bets with myself on how much the toll would cost this time. The Barack Obama Plaza was a surprise. Jennifer was towing her Falmouth Bass Boat and I was driving the campervan. We reached Lough Derg and pitched by the side of the little harbour at Dooros, a campsite on the shore about a mile along from Mountshannon village. It has the ambience of a sprawling 1930s lido and beach resort, now a little past its full flowering. Actually, it’s delightful. The little harbour is a revelation, accessed from the lough along a narrow channel that leads to complete seclusion when you turn sharply to port into the basin. We launched the Bass Boat and sailed around the bay.

Jennifer in “Jonathan Seagull” at Dooros. The channel connecting the harbour with the lough is seen behind the mainmast. This was taken at the end of our first day and the boat had been stripped of gear to be properly fitted out for longer excursions next morning.

An urgent task was to get acquainted with the new ePropulsion Spirit we carried in the outboard well, but I foolishly kept putting this off because the sailing was so good. It remained cocked up out of the water. Then at the end of the day I decided to get to know it by entering the harbour under power. After all, switch on, twist the grip anti-clockwise, the boat moves forward. The other way, it goes backward. Neutral in the middle. What’s difficult?  

The battery detaches easily—and it floats! www.nestawayboats.com

When you start using a new machine it pays to give yourself—and it—plenty of elbow room. There were two things I learned fast about this one. The burst of power you deliver when the grip is twisted hard really makes you sit up and take notice. The sudden acceleration is at least equal to that offered by an equivalent petrol motor (3hp), which is good, because the torque has to overcome the resistance of the stationary prop in the water before it can drive the boat.

The second trait is a killer. When you twist the grip there is a delay of one or two seconds before the power kicks in. This instantly makes you feel you haven’t turned it far enough, so you wind it on. Strangely, it takes numerous repeats of this stupidity to prompt only a shallow learning curve in the mind of the operator. This operator.

The jib and mizzen pushed us along the narrow channel from the lough and we drifted into the small pool, where the berthed boats waited quietly for the vessel from hell to be activated. What followed was reminiscent of a pool ball careering around the cushions, but on a much larger scale of intimidation and mayhem. Fortunately, there was only one observer close by. An elderly rambler was walking his dog through the woods and without breaking stride he judged that such reckless movements on the water, feinting forward then immediately backward, stopping just short of violent collisions with other craft, and various other unpredictable outrages, must be ostentatious grandstanding—some young whippersnapper (he was wearing thick spectacles) showing off his ‘skills’. He went on his way laughing and shaking his head. I was ordered to switch the motor off, and we paddled Jonathan Seagull slowly into his berth. All around us the little boats trembled on the water. The result of the ripples I'd made?

After this first hiccup we had an enjoyable week on Lough Derg, making new friends and sailing many miles on fresh—in both senses—water. Our appreciation peaked when the local hurling team won the championship on the night we visited a pub in Mountshannon in company with Stephen Foyle, the DCA area secretary for Ireland, who sails a 20ft Bay Raider, and Fiona Heenan, who was born in Mountshannon and is now running a marina or two in New Zealand. The food and drink were excellent, as was the company. Just as well, as it happened to be my birthday. It had been a thirst-provoking day on the water and as soon as my pint of Guinness appeared before me I drew it closer, mouth opening, only to have the glass taken from my hand and slid off down the counter. I was told solemnly by an unsober bystander that anyone who does not wait until all the rising bubbles in his foaming Guinness have merged with the creamy head before he starts to drink it, is suspected of having been only recently released from the Mountjoy. I warbled a line or two of Dick Shannon's lament The Auld Triangle, as featured by Brendan Behan, to change their minds – but it made no difference.

So wait I did.

The inflatable double kayak travelled with us again “just in case,” and proved to be very useful when we wanted to visit Inis Cealtra, or Holy Island, two miles offshore from where we were camping. The island is choked with rushes, the common club-rush (Scirpus lacustris), which grows in the water around a lot of the shoreline. It was a magical experience paddling through great swathes of that with waterlilies mixed in, trying to guess exactly where we would emerge. There are many antiquities to be seen on Cealtra; the Irish round tower can be discerned through the rushes in the photograph, and there are several small churches. The graveyard is still in use, even though no-one lives there now. There were two successive monasteries founded on the island, but the second one, a great centre of learning, was devastated by Viking raiders in 836CE

Inis Cealtra seen through rushes

Jenny and I sailed north to investigate Dromaan Harbour, which we were keen to see as a lot of money has been lavished on it, but it was a disappointment. It is a stopover for big lake cruisers, and one or two of those have taken root in there. The Shannon-Erne waterway relies on fleets of these big motorboats – “hullabaloos,” Arthur Ransome called them—and they are a feature of waterside tourism throughout its length. As a route to follow, though, winding down through most of Ireland, the Waterway is beautiful and has an ancient history that permeates the scenery. It was called Sruth Gráinne in Irish, meaning “The Gravelly River,” and was first publicised in a poem written in 1291CE.

The landscaping at Dromaan is not scenic; it includes concrete, jumbled rocks, chains slung on posts, rough stone harbour walls and very restricted access to the banks – it would be tolerable for sailing dinghies if there were greater protection for fenders and proper mooring bollards. An inner pool has a launch slip, but it is choked by vegetation and offers only a narrow outlet for small boats to escape. This single experience did not spoil our time at Lough Derg. It is a vast and impressive lough and the people are easy-going and helpful. It might have been created especially for dinghy cruising, so we can’t wait to revisit it. We made many new friends and obviously the Irish branch of the DCA is thriving—which is very encouraging. On one day there were twelve sailors cruising together with us on Derg in a typically rich variety of boats.

About as good as it gets for dinghies at Dromaan – at least it's pointing in the right direction! Note the neat fit of the motor in the outboard well, clear of the tiller

Then we drove north to Lough Erne. Believe it or not there are two Ernes as well, Upper and Lower, and the bigger “Lower” one is named for its position on the River Erne as it flows northward toward Donegal Bay, not for north/south alignment. This is a source of confusion for visitors. Lower Lough Erne has two large reaches that are very different in nature. In the south it is tree-lined, well protected, full of islands, and the Sailing Club is located there.

Lough Erne Yacht Club

Lough Erne Yacht Club is an interesting place. The site was once occupied by RAF Killadeas, one of three Catalina and Short Sunderland flying boat bases on the Lough during World War II. North of here was RAF Castle Archdale, south was RAF St Angelo. Flying boat squadrons 422 & 423 of the Royal Canadian Air Force were also here from 1942 to 1944/45. A secret agreement with the government of Ireland allowed the warplanes to reach the North Atlantic from Lough Erne along the 'Donegal Corridor'. In May 1941 it was a Catalina flying on a routine patrol out of RAF Castle Archdale that found the German battleship Bismarck.

On the right of the photograph, the roof of a huge hangar can just be seen above the bright blue temporary premises of the Enniskillen RNLI. Aircraft engines were serviced in there in the 1940s and it was the home of a fleet of fully-rigged Club sailing dinghies when this photograph was taken. From there the boats were wheeled the short distance to the slipway and launched without any preamble.

Lough Erne has a beautiful new lifeboat station now, officially opened on July 1st 2023. There was a delay on that Saturday when the crew had a 'shout', with all their pagers sounding simultaneously. A 23-foot motor cruiser had broken down and was drifting towards rocks north of Castle Archdale. A jet skier had gone to its aid but while giving assistance had tangled his boat in its lines. Eventually he freed his jetski and held the 23-footer off the rocks until the lifeboat arrived. At the time it was blowing a westerly force 6 - 7 and the crew encountered waves up to 10ft high in Broad Lough.

Heading for Broad Lough in calm conditions

The northern end of the Lough opens up widely (see chart), turning to the west and moving closer to the Atlantic, from which it takes its weather. The area even has its own name, as we've seen—The Broad Lough. On the chart there is a NE to SW hatched red line where Broad Lough starts to open up that carries the warning THE LOUGH BECOMES ROUGH IN STRONG WINDS ABOVE THIS LINE – and that's no exaggeration, I can vouch for it. We had explored Broad Lough in previous visits to Lough Erne, but had never crossed to the most northerly shore where an interesting waterside development has been created on an island called Lusty Beg.

A sophisticated outdoor centre has been developed there with several other amenities. Before your imagination runs away with you, the name comes from the Irish Lóiste Beag, “little lodge.” There is a Lusty More too, from Loiste Mór, big lodge. So late in our week on Erne I suggested an ambitious sail right up and across the Broad Lough, with Lusty Beg as the main objective.

A club member I had never met before told me emphatically that Lusty Beg was a non-starter for us. It was much too far away and the Broad Lough was always a serious proposition, being wide open to incoming weather. And it would be dark by the time we returned. This was just the encouragement I needed to banish any lingering doubts and make me certain of the plan, so I told everyone it was a goer. I knew it wasn’t a case of every boat having to commit fully to the trip across, as there were closer interesting islands to visit if anyone one wished to bail out along the way. There were seven sailors in five boats who “signed up” for going.

I should mention at this point that the DCA never organises its meetings in a regimented way; we encourage attenders to be responsible for themselves while providing them with all the local knowledge we can muster. John Riley, a new Irish member, chose to sail off on his own one day to investigate Devenish Island, the impressive site of an ancient monastery. His previous visit to it had been nearly 50 years ago in 1975.     

A northwester blowing at F4 and gusting was waiting for us as we approached Broad Lough. It generated steep waves and short intervals, the kind that are excruciating for smaller boats, so it was not surprising to see the 13-foot Tideway wisely turning back. The course from the red warning line to Lusty Beg was the direction from which this wind was blowing. We navigated carefully through the gateway to the Lough, as there are a few hazards waiting in ambush as you proceed, Beechey Rock being the first, lying to port. Not only does Broad Lough have a wide maw, it has sharp teeth. After Beechey Rock there is a scatter of menacing little islands, all with outlying shoals and reefs. By now the wind was building and the short-interval waves were fit to put your teeth on edge. One by one the others turned round to go back or find quiet havens in the islands by Castle Archdale to the east.

“Should we go back, too?,” Jenny wondered.

“Not without trying to cross first,” I said. ‘Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

And that really began our education in “electro-motorsailing.” Sailing hard on the wind was impossible against this super-chop, so we rolled up the jib, which was contributing to our being blown off the top of waves, and hauled in the main and mizzen sheets. We engaged the ePropulsion, not full on, but by experimenting we discovered just the right setting to bring the apparent wind round and hold the boat there, with the sails gripping the wind and lending more power to our progress. From this point we seldom tacked, and then only briefly to avoid obstacles. We broke no records, we just moved right along, with our full attention engaged. But the slamming of the bows and the punishment handed out to the motor as it ran deep and occasionally lifted out really set our teeth on edge.

In the distance I saw what I took to be a sail at the furthest end of our course. As we moved closer, I decided it was not a sail, but a white beacon on Lusty More, helpfully keeping us aligned. We left Inishmakill well behind and kept away from the rocks off Gay Island. Then suddenly the water was churning ahead of us.

“What are they?”

“The Troublesome Rocks, according to the chart.”

“And the disturbance further along— the Very Troublesome Rocks?”

No, in fact it was The Spike, marked by a mainly white beacon, the same object I had been over-optimistic about—twice. Not a sail, not a waymark. It is not even situated halfway across, but it is an essential mark, dourly indicating a deadly hazard in our way, squat on its weather-stained base and crust of rocks.

On we went, punching our way along the chosen line against the wind. Then miraculously we began to see more detail on the far shores, especially on Lusty More, until at last we were convinced we would make it. Navigation was a little tricky as we closed with the northern islands. We passed between Stallion Cowes and Gravel Ridge Island, then left Screegan Island to starboard and slid past Cruninish Island to close with the inlet on Lusty Beg, which we couldn’t even see yet. Holding our breath, we drifted quietly into the shelter of the shore.

Marina berths at Lusty Beg

Then we rounded a promontory and saw a perfectly protected harbour with row after row of well-engineered marina berths, occupied only by one lakes motor cruiser. In the trees above the shore there were a number of stylish buildings—all very promising —and half-hidden in foliage there was a large thatched cottage—no, I do believe it’s a pub. My word, yes! A pub. Off to the right there was a superb outdoor centre with all the facilities one might expect, and there was also a promising-looking restaurant, The Lodge. Which we entered.

The Lodge on Lusty Beg. It seems to do a roaring trade in wedding receptions, but the bedraggled pair that fell through the door on this day were his only customers, and we were treated like royalty

I could tell at once that the maître d’hôtel was a sailor. He wanted to know how we’d coped with the crossing from the lower lough, what the conditions were like on the water and whether we’d seen any other sailboats. To which the answers were, “Well – Terrible— No.” Then we asked could we see the menu, please.

Feeling that we were going to have a lively time returning with that wind on our starboard quarter, we decided to order modestly. Jenny suggested that we should avoid alcohol altogether and I said we should take a look at the starter menu only. Only water, tonic and Coke was ordered, and from the menu, stuffed bell peppers with salad (J), and seafood chowder (K). When they arrived at the table we realised that our new friend had asked for the quantities to be stepped up somewhat in status from the starter menu. Sailors, eh? When they’re together they’re like a masonic brotherhood—even when there’s only three of them. But what a delightful, delicious, never to be forgotten meal, satisfying two appetites that had been sharpened by the crossing, the wind, the spray and the energy we’d expended.

We were full of ourselves, and planned carefully for leaving. We could see a quiet bay but not the wide expanse of the Lough through the window, and the turmoil we’d witnessed out past there was obviously in for the day. We would leave under jib and mizzen only, slide out of our berth quietly, courtesy of our new electric friend, taking in fenders and making sail as we went. With reduced sail and the instant compliance of the motor, we could dodge rapidly through the various hazards and meet the full challenge of the weather of the outer Lough beyond Screegan Island and level with Stallion Cowes.

And that’s what we did. Except that our plan was redundant. While we had been eating, the wind had dropped and the water had instantly flattened. It was incredible. The speed of the transformation was without precedent in my experience. We ran up the mainsail to catch the fitful breeze that couldn’t decide now which direction it liked best. We weren’t going to return like a space shuttle. If we weren’t careful, we might be returning after nightfall. What a come down!

There was 25% power left in the motor’s battery, helpfully shown by the ‘clockface’ on the screen that reduces in segments as you go. Not enough to speed us back to the club, so it would have to be used sparingly and only in zero wind. We were granted one or two wayward gusts, and in the event, with very little help from the motor, it took us only 90 minutes from Lusty Beg to clear Broad Lough and reach the little archipelago of navigational nuisances south of Duross Point, where there was some wave action once more, then calm water and finally sailing on broad reaches right down past Killadeas to the Club. And we didn’t exhaust the battery completely!

Our track to Lusty Beg and back, starting in the islands – the Sailing Club is beneath 'Killadeas' – with many tacks taken to clear the SE reach of the lough, then straight across Broad Lough both ways, there and back

The zig-zagging line on the read-out shows our muddling through calms or against the wind in the SW islands, and further up the chart we are close-hauled against the NW F4 as we approach Broad Lough. One straight line across Broad Lough shows us motor-sailing into the northwesterly then another sailing back before the wind – when it blew. We were out for just over 8 hours and our average speed was 3 knots.

 My later thoughts about our trip to Lusty Beg suggested that, as an adventure, it reflected in a minor way a problem many would-be explorers and daredevils face in our time. Had we been planning to get married then celebrate at The Lodge, for instance, the wedding entourage would have driven through the village of Kesh and taken the road from there to Boa Island, which is accessed by a bridge, then a signpost on the island would indicate Lusty Beg after a mile or two, and we would stop at a pier and read a notice telling us how to phone for the ferry to come and carry us over there. Not much adventure in that, but the purpose of the visit would lie elsewhere, of course. So many objectives, attained with pride, might be reached quite easily by other mundane, workaday means. We live in a small world, and the sources of the Nile (both of them) have been discovered and Everest has been climbed. Some expedition leaders struggle to justify their plans in the grand scale of things because, like as not, their main purpose is personal gratification and fame, not the discovery of something or somewhere or increasing human knowledge. We small fry should accept the truth that while we are not trying to achieve some lofty outcome it is not shameful for us to create our own adventures and bask in the warmth of recalling them later. Our dreams may yet take us to join stout Cortez on that peak in Darien.

Two days later we returned from Ireland on the last ferry of the day, which entered Holyhead Harbour at midnight. We had booked that time to avoid potentially infective crowds. Our next plan was to attend the following weekend’s DCA meeting at the Glenridding Sailing Centre on Ullswater in the English Lake District. However, by midweek I was feeling ill. I stopped kidding myself and took the lateral flow test, and there was the uncompromising result on screen. I had Covid-19. That was Thursday. Jenny had it by the weekend, when we should have been sailing happily on Ullswater.

Norfolk Island, Ullswater, Friday June 22nd 2023, prior to the sudden change in conditions

It was June this year before we saw Ullswater again, after attending a good few DCA meetings at other places in the meantime. I just had time to bundle this Summer's issue of Dinghy Cruising and email it to the printer before leaving for the Lakes late next day, after a hectic morning packing the van and boat.

Next morning, Friday, was pleasantly sunny, if a little unsettled. We rigged the boat and enlisted the help of the Centre's staff and their miniature brand-new tractor to launch it and enjoy the afternoon.

We closed with Norfolk Island to renew the acquaintance and satisfy ourselves all over again that there are no obvious places to land on it. The talk at the Centre had been about rough water with white horses on the second reach of the lake after Silver Bay, so we sailed down it under jib and mizzen and sure enough began to experience stronger gusts. As it was quite late in the afternoon by then we turned and started to tack back through the strengthening wind. And yes, there were white horses.

At a point somewhere northwest of Norfolk Island we avoided an inflatable dinghy with two young men on board wielding oars. We were concentrating so much on keeping the boat upright with the sails drawing that Jenny thought their shouts were indignant protests about a possible collision with us. Not at all. They couldn't make progress against the wind and were worn out and desperately needed help. They had lost their small outboard overboard from the transom, were barely holding station in the wind and were being blown backwards in the gusts.

I engaged the ePropulsion and Jenny wound in the jib. We retained our small mizzen to steady the boat. I asked for their line. No line? I handed him our starboard quarter warp, as the outboard is on that side. It is always important to line up the towing rope as closely as possible to the propellor’s direction of thrust in a small boat, to avoid the tendency to go round in circles when towing.

Nowhere to tie it off? Are you strong enough to hold it? There was no doubt about that; they would have to wrest it from his cold dead hands, as Charlton Heston once said of his rifle. I was pleased to see that a lot less than half power was needed to move them—and us—steadily along.

All fine. My gaze was fixed on our objective, where the road runs right by the edge of the lake, so our towees (tuggees?) had to call out to tell me where the distant frenzied shouts were coming from. There was a teenager out in the middle of the lake, kneeling on a stand-up and waving a kayak double paddle above his head, unable to make progress and being blown downwind. We shouted to him that we were otherwise engaged but help would reach him soon.

Jenny phoned the Centre, identified us and told them we were due west of Norfolk Island and would point to the position of the latest victim when they arrived. Their RIB came out at RNLI inshore lifeboat speed. So much so, the lad was back on shore before we'd towed the inflatable in! His paddleboard went with him, strapped down the side of the RIB. They asked us in passing if we were coping all right or should they return? We declined the kind offer with thanks. I think they've done this kind of thing before. All good fun.

By the time we were towing the inflatable inshore, the conditions on the lake had become really dramatic. That the little motor had not needed all its power to do this job against the wind was, I think, really impressive. The Falmouth Bass Boat is a well-made, heavyish sea boat of 16-foot LOA, and inflatables create a lot of drag when they are not blown up hard—like the one we were towing. We were also impressed by its endurance: two-thirds of the charge remained in the battery, even after we'd used it to get back to base, as sailing against the gusts had lost its charm after all that excitement. It didn’t take much time on the charger to replenish it that night, either.

After our first “dodgems” experience in the little harbour at Dooros campsite, the motor proved that it was worth its weight in gold for the rest of our two weeks in Ireland—and at every time we’ve used it since then. Experiences like the ones I’ve described taught us to apply its power subtly, smoothly and effectively in many different situations. Looking at its display and tweaking the throttle to use just what is necessary to attain the required performance is an easily acquired habit that saves energy. The fact that the motor can be instantly activated without any tank-filling, string-pulling fuss means that it is not just used as a last resort but is ready to be called upon quickly and quietly. The kind of invaluable use I have not described is motor-sailing with children and non-sailors, where a turn of the twistgrip can prevent an unintentional gybe after someone has demanded your attention suddenly, or avoid the sudden scare caused in non-saiIors by the harmless missing of a tack. And when you apply rudder and motor together—though this should only be done in emergencies—there is never any uncertainty about the boat going exactly where you want it to—and fast. They are the future. —KM

---

ePropulsion Spirit Plus

There are three Spirit models:

The Spirit Plus that we mount on the Bass Boat is the basic one. The folding tiller is hard-wired and not removable. In August 2023, the ePropulsion Spirit PLUS was priced (in the UK) at £1,875, £50 more for the long shaft version. ($2,287.50 + $61)   I can't imagine that you would need an LS, but check your dimensions and freeboard!

Then comes the ePropulsion Spirit EVO. It is important to note that this has the same 1276 battery and the same 22 miles range as the Spirit Plus, and both are rated at 3hp. Both are direct drive. The differences are the “hydrogeneration” facility (more on that in a moment) and you can choose a removable tiller or remote (wireless or wired as you want) and (if you buy both) the tiller and remote are interchangeable. The base price is £2,075 ($2,531.50). On both models the steering can be locked and the boat's rudder used.

The third one is the Spirit EVO Remote. Same again, with added bits for Remote Steering

‘Hydrogeneration” or “Regenerative charging” simply means that the EVO can charge its own battery if you mount it on the stern of your boat and the water drives the propellor, not the other way round. This happens at 4 knots and upward (though it’s only worth the fuss from 6 knots up). Sailing dinghies will be slowed by the drag, and as they slow they will generate less. Realistically, it's probably worth the investment on larger boats, where it can double as the motor on the tender and as a charger for both the Spirit and, once the 12v charging extras are available, for the yacht's battery —you will need a suitable bracket to hold it. Recharging like this is not an option on the Spirit Plus or the Torqeedo motors. The EVO is also compatible with standard steering gear – again, not an option with the Spirit Plus or the Torqeedo.

The Torqeedo 1103 has just been reduced to £2049 ($2499.78) and they currently have a €300 ($319.20) cashback offer. (Again, in the UK) That actually makes the Torqeedo slightly cheaper, but when you take the difference in battery capacity into account they equalise – the eProp holds more.

The EVO's generating output is rated as follows:

    Below 4 knots, non-operational

    50W at 4.3 knots

    140W at 6 knots

    260W at 8 knots

    360W at 10 knots. Above that it cuts out

A fellow DCA member thought we were unwise not to have bought the EVO, because of its ability to recharge itself. “Can't you imagine anchoring in the mouth of a stream overnight and charging your outboard's battery?”  The answer to that being, I can imagine it and that's why it ain't going to happen. No-one sleeps anchored in a 6 knot-plus tide or river current, or stops worrying about the anchor dragging if they do. And below 6 knots it's not worth the trouble, apparently. Neither is it feasible for a light dinghy to recharge while attempting to sail briskly to its destination—on a light boat that propellor is a brake.

There is an axiom that I repeat to myself like a mantra when I'm about to make, mend or “improve” something:

Over-complication is the first impulse of the ingenious mind

I thought I'd read that in EF Schumacher's Small is Beautiful but I couldn't find it after I’d located the book. Perhaps he said it in a different way and I've been unconsciously honing it in my own mind ever since.

We are all susceptible to the charms of “over-complication,” and every so often German engineering, magnificent in so many ways, is very susceptible to it too. Torqeedo electric outboards used to emit a high whining impression of a jet engine, quieter but just as irritating. Electric drive has a wide continuum of output, obviating the need for gears, and anything that introduces friction into the drive train, however small, is inefficient. Gears are necessary for matching revolutions per minute to road speed in vehicles powered by diesel and petrol. ePropulsion motors, as I understand it, always had direct drive. Torqeedo then followed suit. Both are now very quiet in operation.

I know nothing about trolling motors, though I am aware that some are efficient and quite powerful. They are focused on performing quite a different role than general purpose outboard motors, though.

The other electric outboard I own is a Norwegian ThrustMe, the “Kicker” model. (I know, I know, dreaming up names like that should be punishable by death.) It is small, neat and powerful for its size. I have an external battery that trebles its capacity. Perfect for tenders, light dinghies, big open kayaks and Canadian canoes, for one of which I am currently making a detachable outboard pad to fit where the Vikings used to locate their steering oars (on the starboard quarter).

ThrustMe had a special model for closed kayaks, a very interesting design, but it would have effectively increased the depth of the boat, hampering normal launching and landing (I hear that mantra again, echoing in the empty spaces of my mind...)  That model has evolved into their ThrustMe Cruiser, which can at least be adjusted from the kayak cockpit. It's interesting. Check it out on their website. The big question as always is, how will it affect my performance and control of the boat? I can't imagine wielding a double paddle effectively with it mounted on the foredeck, as demonstrated; however, you never know without trying. And they are a great bunch of guys; I hope they do well.           

The “ThrustMe Kicker”: better than it looks—or the name sounds!

(The usual disclaimer: I have no commercial interest, financial or other, in any of the companies discussed above. KM) •SCA•