Naming My Boat

On a recent stroll through the harbour district, I spied a large boat tethered to the dock, its name emblazoned in gold letters across the stern—Crappy Diem.  An obvious play on the Latin phrase carpe diem, to seize the day, I could only conclude the owner must believe the day had turned the tables and seized him somehow.

For some period of time when my wife and I lived on a lake, we had our own boat, a twenty-foot inboard/outboard that seemed the epitome of Muskoka chic when we were out and about in it.  A sleek, blue-and-white fibreglass craft, a bow-rider, it took us on languid cruises in the early evening, waving casually at neighbours as we passed their docks.  It pulled us across the water on sunny afternoons, slicing and skimming the waves on a slalom ski, at least until we fell.  It even served as a gentle cradle for young grandchildren when idle at the dock, gently rising and falling in the lapping water.

We had that boat for almost fifteen years.  But never, not in all that time, did we christen it with a name.  As I think about that now, I’m baffled.

You see, the names people give their boats have always intrigued me.  In fact, over the years, whether boating with friends, visiting tropical marinas, or sauntering through boat-shows, I’ve enjoyed a fascination with the names that grace the hulls.  My favourites are those that employ clever plays on words, those with double-meanings, or those that hint at their owners’ occupations.

Ecsta-Sea is one I recall, and IntimaSea, bespeaking a hankering for bliss and solitude on the open water.  Anchors Away, I suppose, implied a desire to be ever on the move.  And there was Log-a-Rhythm, which I thought might belong to a retired math professor who loved the roll and sway of the open water.

I saw Squanderlust on a double-masted craft, all shiny teak and gleaming brass, and I thus supposed it cost someone a small fortune.  Miss Behavin’ struck me as a clever name—although the gals aboard seemed to be comporting themselves quite properly, at least while I was watching.  And I was pretty sure the guy who owned Tokin’ Reward had profited from the illicit drug trade. 

One imposing cruiser with a middle-aged woman at the wheel bore the name Alimoney, and I silently congratulated her.  Can’t Get Enough, embossed in graceful script across the stern of a large yacht, referred, I chose to believe, to its owners’ love of sailing.  And I was pretty sure a retired lawyer or judge owned the Legal-Ease.

I liked Slalome, too, conjuring as it did the image of a graceful, veiled dancer atop a single ski, sending sparkling rooster-tails soaring into the bright sky overhead.  And the owners of Three Sheets to the Wind, I assumed, must have altogether too much time for drinking-games.  Another of my favourite names adorned the rear of an overwhelmingly garish craft, which either had more than one head aboard, or belonged to a retired con man: Four-Flusher.

There was the Good Ferry, perhaps implying a generous benefactor’s involvement.  Summer Lucky might have spoken to the owners’ belief that some others are not.  And In Limbo could have implied either an irresolute skipper or a love of pole-dancing, Caribbean style.

Most boaters and sailors, at least in my experience, use feminine pronouns when they speak of their crafts—as in, She’s got a lovely way about her!  I, on the other hand, invariably referred to my boat with the impersonal pronoun—It needs more gas if we’re going to take it out.  Whenever I consciously tried to emulate those real boaters, I felt slightly ridiculous personifying an inanimate object.  It was a boat, not a friend!

Anyway, it’s gone now, that boat, sold along with our home on the lake several years ago.  But if I were to own it still, and if I were to affix a name to it—in keeping with my fascination with boat names—what, I wonder, might I come up with?

Would it be something clever, such as Buoy-O-Buoy, to convey my joy at being at the wheel?  Would Over-Bored be too cynical, implying that I have nothing better to do than race around the lake, burning fuel?  Would PenmanShip be appropriate, given my penchant for writing, or is ship too grandiose a word for a bow-rider?

Perhaps I’d choose something to reflect my rudimentary skills and ignorance of things nautical; Worst Mate could work.  A remote possibility, if my wife would continue to join me on watery excursions, is Miz ‘n’ Masta, except I don’t know what a mizzenmast is.  And my wife would hardly concede that I was the master!  Maybe, as a retired educator, I might go with School’s Out.

Of course, one’s financial health severely limits one’s boating pursuits, so the notion that I’ll ever again own a boat is far-fetched.  With the rising price of fuel, the soaring costs of docking, storage, and insurance, and the depreciation that swiftly erodes the purchase value, the whole issue is moot.

But still, what if?  I’d probably want a nice pontoon-boat now, a Bennington perhaps, with a powerful outboard to cruise the sparkling waters, the motor a mere whisper in the summer breezes.  We and our guests would nosh, drink, and converse amiably for hours out there, comfortable in the plush leather seats, shaded by the Bimini top.

And so, the question gnaws at my mind—what would I call this boat if I were to christen it?  A cynical choice might be Hole in the Water, as in something to pour money into; I do remember that aspect of boat-ownership all too well.  On a cheerier note—because it’s a deck-boat—All Hands on Deck, or perhaps Decked Out, could work.  I might also consider Boat of Us to reflect the togetherness my wife and I have long enjoyed, Didjabringwine (no explanation needed), or Throttled Back to echo our lifestyle.

There would have to be a name, though, for it would be a shame not to have a grand title for such a luxurious craft.  Daddy MoreBucks might be fitting, although I am far from being thusly endowed.  Carpe Dime would be more appropriate, given that I’d have to seize every spare cent to afford it.

More likely—despite my love of boating on the open water—my pecuniary circumstances would be likely to influence the selection.  I think I might have to settle on For Sail. 

And then I’d be on the lookout for the highest bidder.

_{© J. Bradley Burt 2022}