Review, features, engine performance, pictures, and pricing for the jeanneau prestige go.

Having sea trialed a fair share of European boats with highly styled but outrageously impractical steering stations, I was a little surprised at the savvy design and comfort of the Prestige 50’s upper helm. The benchseat was firm and suitably elevated, with ample room between my knees and the pod-type steering console. The console itself was laid out simply and logically, with an easy-to-see Plastimo compass surmounting all, a limited but smart suite of Volvo Penta gauges just below, and only the necessary interactive controls on either side of the steering wheel. And the placement of the Volvo Penta electronic engine controls was perfect—it let me flick the sticks without stooping as I assumed a standing position to maneuver the boat out of her slip.

“Clear astern,” somebody yelled from the cockpit as I bumped the mains momentarily and alternately into gear, thus shifting our bow back and forth so Gilles Rigaux of Prestige, a new and independently branded company backed by French builder Jeanneau, could deal with our bow lines. The ensuing responsiveness was a little surprising as well: Gear jammin’ a brace of 575-hp Volvo Penta D9-575 straight-shaft diesels engendered an immediate, highly controlled effect. “Clear!” yelled Rigaux from the foredeck.

As usual during the Miami International Boat Show, Sea Isle Marina behind the Biscayne Marriott was slam-full of large vessels of every description. So getting safely free entailed shoving the 50’s pulpit into a triangle formed by the bows of two other big cruisers across the fairway while carefully rotating the stern so as not to nail a piling or something else behind. By the time I’d managed to do all this, I was a total fan of an exceptionally synergistic combo—the 50’s oomphy propulsion system, her fast-acting electronic controls, and the superb sightlines that radiate from her centerline steering station topside. Indeed, there was only one part of the vessel I couldn’t keep tabs on while maneuvering—the port quarter, which is obfuscated by the flying bridge overhang. Otherwise, I could see everything, even the starboard portion of the swim platform which was visible through the open cockpit-access hatch on the starboard side.

The weather was tranquil that morning: The waters were pancake-flat with hardly a whiff of wind. So it wasn’t surprising that the 50 turned in a spirited, enjoyable performance, with an average top speed of 36.6 mph and fuel-burn readings commensurate with stateside competitors. At one point, to sample the ambiance below decks, I descended to the lower steering station where I found it easy to maintain visibility over the bow even when coming out of the hole but virtually impossible to see traffic abaft the beam while on plane; the saloon’s overhead interferes with sightlines aft as running attitudes increase. Moreover, the lower helm’s wheel seemed almost as over-tight and tough to turn as the wheel at the upper helm had been, despite the fact that the 50’s French-manufactured Lecomble & Schmitt steering hydraulics are backed up by an electric power-assist system. “We think that air in the lines is the problem,” explained Rigaux.

It pains me to admit this, but I made a muddle of returning the 50 to her slip while using the lower helm station, an exercise I decided to try in order to appraise docking visibility through the saloon and into the cockpit. Visibility was excellent, by the way, (perhaps even better than from the upper station), but I flubbed my approach all the same, relying on the Max Power bow thruster and distance-off measurements from Rigaux to save the day. Why the flub? Who knows? Certainly not the boat’s fault.

PAGES:

1

2