The hard work behind nautical names
This year, I will be fishing and hunting from a new boat bought expressly for the purpose. Like all new boat owners, I can hardly wait for the open-water season to begin.
Before that happens, however, I’ll be busy adding a few modifications to my vessel. Little things, like better seats, and mounts for an electric motor and electronics. Also, I will have to add a live well pump and an anchor system.
And while these things are critical, the most interesting part of all is settling on a suitable name for my watercraft. One that I can call it when I start telling fishing stories to my grandkids – which will eliminate 90 per cent of the words used in that boat.
Admittedly, naming boats is not as important as it used to be. But there was a time when everyone did it. I’m guessing this was because it provided the only socially acceptable excuse for the Queen to cut loose and break a bottle.
The last boat I named was a wooden dory I made called Hope. I named her that because I had heard somewhere that hope floats. My boat did the same – until one day it didn’t. Then I renamed it Hopeless.
The problem with naming a boat is that there are too many names that are no longer in the running. The names Titanic, Lusitania and the S.S. Minnow immediately come to mind. Likewise, I cannot name my boat Adolf, Benito, Vladimir, or even call it the Trump Card. There is too much baggage associated with each of those names.
Other names cannot be used because they just don’t bode well. Though I am the farthest thing from being superstitious, I would never call my boat Leaky, Cap Size, or Where’s the Bail Bucket? as none of these monikers would instill confidence in anyone that I plan of taking out.