As always, a perfect storm of events started the thinking that led to this column.
First, I found myself in a boatyard that seemed like the Florida version of the La Brea Tar Pits. That’s where dinosaurs apparently went to die, and this boatyard is where old boats go to molder away. It was at once incredibly sad and, sadly, quite invigorating.
The editor of this fine magazine and I are both fully addicted car junkies, and the phrase that came to mind in this boneyard of lost boats was both automotive and nautical: “That’ll buff right out.”
Luckily, my wife was with me, giving a snort of disgust every time I stopped to admire the rotted remains of a boat I had once coveted. The boat itself was sad, but my own sadness was in realizing that the boat wasn’t going to be saved by me. I wasn’t going to fill my workshop with tins of resin and bolts of fiberglass cloth to attack this “simple weekend project.”
What was truly fascinating were the signs hanging from the necks of these creatures stuck in the tar. I realized there was a secret language, whether it was scribbled in marker on a plastic “for sale” sign or typed into an online ad. This language takes years to master. Let’s call it Boat Adspeak.
For example, “runs good” means either exactly the opposite, or it means that the engine runs, but the hull, deck and interior are in fearful condition. This is a boat prized by drug smugglers. It may not be fast, but no one gives it a second look.
Another phrase is “needs TLC.” Most people think this means “tender loving care.” Oh. So. Wrong. It means “tons of large cash.”
Found on some ads for boats is “aircraft-quality hardware.” This, of course, covers the span from the Sopwith Camel to the Concorde.
I’ve often seen this in classifieds for smaller boats: “cuddy cabin.” That’s a sad typographical error for “cruddy cabin.”
Another phrase frequently found in used boat sales (and charter brochures) is “sleeps eight.” That doesn’t mean real-sized people unless they plan to sleep on the cockpit sole.
“Classic lines,” especially in an ad where you can’t see the boat, means an itty-bitty interior and no stowage.
“Divorce forces sale” is code for: “If I don’t sell this piece of junk, my wife is gonna divorce me and take everything except the boat.”
One scribble I’ve never decoded is “won’t last.” Does this mean the boat is deteriorating so fast that it will soon be a pile of wood or resin? Methinks so.
A line I love is “no time wasters.” This means the owner thinks his time is so valuable that he can’t be bothered by mere potential buyers. Like a boat dealership with a sign: “Buy a boat or get out.”
As a corollary to time wasters, there is “serious offers only.” This means the owner is going to grab any offer, but wants you to bump up your first instinct to offer almost nothing.
Anything “new” is a dead giveaway. “New prop, new batteries, new alternators, new Bimini top” simply means that the owner has been throwing Band-Aids on a lot of broken stuff, and really needs you to take the boat before something else breaks.
Possibly, he means the showers. I’m always intrigued by an ad that promises “hot and cold pressure water.” That means water, yes; pressure, sometimes; cold, always; hot for 39 seconds. Rarely, all four at once.
A “benchmark design” is naval-architect speak for the slowest 50-footer ever created.
More naval architecture jargon is “fast and comfortable,” an oxymoron as blatant as “jumbo shrimp” or “military intelligence.”
As you wander the sad boatyards or peruse the online ads, just remember that most of the descriptions are boat adspeak. In fact, you can probably simplify things and call it what it really is: BS.
This article was originally published in the November/December 2024 issue.
