The Name Game

Boaters Reveal the Origins of Their Boats’ Names

Boat  names have always intrigued me. In the past, boats seemed to carry prosaic and graceful names. Now, sleek and shiny fiberglass yachts carry more adventurous and novel titles.

Surely some of these names will reveal a story of fame and fortune, of happiness or happenstance. So, with notebook in hand, I wandered boatyards to meet owners and ask about the thought-provoking names that seemed to surround me, ready to reap a rich harvest of narratives.

Well, it didn’t quite work out that way. Always on the lookout for a name with a tale attached to it, I found my first subject at a marina in Toronto. It was a lovely looking 44-foot Tollycraft and its name was “First Mate.” I rapped in the gunwale and was invited aboard.

“Actually, the name simply records a very important moment in my life,” said the skipper in answer to my questions.

He sat up straight recalling the moment. “I knew it was bound to happen someday, of course,” he said. “But it’s still a wonderful surprise when the moment comes.”

“Yes, yes. Go on,“ I encouraged him.

“Well we had been meeting in the cabin weekly, and one day, for some reason I knew that this was the day. That this would me my first mate,” he remembered.

“And it was?”

“Oh yes,” he said proudly.  I had him off-balance from the opening and mated his king in just 14 moves!”

I tried to look enthusiastic but chess was never my strong point.

My next attempt was at an exclusive yacht club in Miami. A super Cigarette named “Broad Reach” rocked to the rhythm of the outgoing tide. The skipper was a handsome young Adonis.

“Funny name for a powerboat,” I observed.

He laughed. “Not if you know the boss’s daughter,: he replied. “I don’t even own this beauty, I’m just paid to drive it for the family. But they did let me name the boat. This is private little joke.”

He shook his head. “Both mother and daughter do a whole lot of reaching for just about everything they want. And that includes me.”

“Didn’t they get the point when they saw the name?”

“Are you kidding?” He replied. “The entire family knows so little about boats that they think a flying bridge is when daddy loses his dentures when I take them over a big wave out on the Gulf Stream.”

Not a pretty picture. I mumbled a goodbye.

In Vancouver I came across a nautical type working on a gin and tonic on his fancy trawler. On the transom, ominously spelled out in gilded script were the words “Dry Rot.”

Had I finally hit pay-dirt?

“I see you’re advertising your problem,” I remarked. He looked puzzled until he realized I was talking about the name on his boat.

“Good heavens,” he said seriously. “You’ve got it all wrong. Anyway, this trawler is made of solid glass and it’s not easy to develop dry rot in that stuff.”

Well tell me then,” I asked, “what on earth possessed you to give your boat a name like that?”

“I would have preferred to call it “China Clipper” because firstly, it was built in the Orient and secondly, I paid too much for it.”

“Then why don’t’ you call it that?” I asked.

He pointed to the lettering.

“When I bought this trawler from a broker, that name was already on it. Someone’s idea of a joke. But do you know how much it would cost to have it removed and replaced with “China Clipper” in golf leaf?” He shook his head.

“I need a new marine toilet and my positioning system is out of date, and a dozen other essential things need doing before I get around to something as frivolous as a name change.”

I agreed. Besides, it’s supposed to be bad luck to change the name of a boat.

It was in the romantic bay at Martinique in the Windward Islands that my next chance came. We had been invited aboard a magnificent 58-foot Hatteras and as we pulled up around the fantail in our dinghy, I saw the name “Twin Berth.”

After the second cocktail I gathered enough nerve to ask the hostess whose idea it was to move out of the queen-sized bed I had glimpsed in the master stateroom, and into a pair of dingles berths.

“You must be kidding,” she chided. “It would take a hurricane to move either of us out of that comfortable bed.”

“Then why the name?”

“Oh that,” she said. “It was probably because we spent too much time there under a tropical moon.” 

A light went on in my head. “You had twins!”

“Twin births.”

My final attempt at weaving a story out of a boat name came when we were visiting friends aboard a narrow-boat on the Thames River below Windsor Castle in England. Close by I spotted a lovely little launch, all varnished wood and canopy.

I strolled nonchalantly down the tow path until I had a clear view of the transom and , sure enough, in scripted gold leaf were the initials “H.R.H.” flanked by lions.

“Good day to you, sir.” A voice said from beneath the canopy. I turned to see a gentlemen standing dressed in some sort of navel attire.

“Do you come with the launch?” I asked facetiously.

He laughed. “Of course I do. Who do you think owns it, the Queen of England?”

“Well, as a matter of fact, that’s exactly what I thought,” I replied. I pointed at the transom. “After all, isn’t that her title in gold between the royal lions?”

“Gold leaf,” he corrected me. “And those happen to be my initials, not hers.” He held out a hand. “Harold Rosen Higginbottom Esq., at your service.”

I felt just a little annoyed. “Well, what’s with the special navy uniform and those rampant lions?” I snapped

“Now, now. Don’t get your shirt in a knot,” he replied. “It’s all just part of the image. I’m a salesman, you see, and every little bit helps.”

“What do you sell?” I asked, somewhat mollified.

“I paint names in gold leaf on boat transoms,” he replied.