Clear Names, Safe Sailors, No Frustration

Because when the seas are rough and the radio is crackling, the last thing you need is to repeat your boat’s name fifty times.

This is the day that I met my “Hold Fast.” ❤️ Although when I first saw her on the yard, her name was “Remember Me.” And now we’ve sailed more than 40,000 miles around the world. On that note, here’s a practical tip for folks looking to do the same.

Initially, I was going to re-name her “Perseverance.” I had already paid the documentation company, and the Coast Guard had almost stamped the papers—it was a done deal. But then came an epiphany, the kind that sneaks up on you like a flying fish smacking you in the face at 2 a.m. I remembered my first adventure cruising—six months in Mexico aboard my boat Serenity. Now, Serenity is about as straightforward as it gets in English. But in Mexico? Over the radio, in offices, in conversations, it always added just a bit more effort or frustration—it turned into a game of linguistic Twister. And understandably so. I was visiting their country, where English isn’t the primary language. So it was on me to prevent frustration on both sides.

So here’s my salty nugget of wisdom for anyone dreaming of circumnavigation or just cruise outside your home country: don’t saddle your boat with a ridiculous name. Skip the stupid pun that only makes sense after three margaritas. Sexual innuendos won’t go over well, I promise. You will be shunned or made into a joke. Forget the jumble of numbers and letters that sounds like a Wi-Fi password. And please, for the love of Neptune, don’t give it a name so long it feels like reading the closing credits of a movie.

You’re going to call that name out on the radio hundreds of times. You’ll be writing it on hundreds of documents, spelling it for officials who don’t speak English, and maybe calling it out when the seas are howling and you need help right now. If your boat’s name is a tongue twister or a cultural in-joke, you’ll regret it faster than leaving your deck hatch open in a squall.

Hence why I chose Hold Fast. Besides the obvious nautical meaning. It's sharp, clean, easy to say, easy to spell, and it rolls off the tongue like a perfectly timed tack: Hotel, Oscar, Lima, Delta, Foxtrot, Alpha, Sierra, Tango.

And one last bit of advice from a hard lesson learned: the font matters too. Fancy cursive or artsy twists might look nice at the dock, but out here clarity wins—it’s about practicality. I went with a plain typewriter style—clean, simple, and easy to read from a mile away with binoculars. Is it an eye-grabber aesthetically? No. Do I care? Maybe a little. Is it practical? One hundred percent. That readability saves effort, stress, and perhaps will save your life one day.

And yes, I can already hear someone pointing out that you’re not supposed to rename a boat. Fair enough. But I did the proper ceremony to appease Neptune and the sea gods, and Hold Fast sails on with their blessing. I even followed the old tradition of hanging a fresh green branch on the bow for my first leg—and I still have it, four years later. Not on the bow, of course. 😂 I don’t leave port on Fridays, I don’t carry bananas aboard, and I respect the old myths. At the end of the day though, she’s my vessel. I own her, and I chose her name. That’s as nautical as it gets.

Fair winds, my friends!