As much as I hate to see good champagne poured down the drain — or in this case, into the ocean — it was a necessary sacrifice.

After all, it had taken us almost four months to officially rename our new boat after peeling her old name, Iola Anne (after the former owner’s mother-in-law), from the transom. For weeks we’ve been sailing around sans moniker, which is not only illegal for documented vessels (sorry, Coasties) but perhaps even more importantly, runs the risk of pissing off Neptune.

So last Thursday, we made things right and officially denamed our boat, which involved offering all but a small glass — sniff — of Möet et Chandon to Neptune. In my view, the big guy downstairs might well have been fine with a good rum, the quintessential sailor’s drink, but since we were out to appease we figured it was safest to stick to tradition. And the man, we’re told, does not appreciate tightwads. So a decent champagne it was.

The following afternoon, the guys from Prism Graphics came by to put the new Three Sheets decal on the transom. We rushed to the marina excitedly after work to have a look, and it was perfect. We went with basic black in Georgia, the same font used for our website logo. When it comes to décor we’re minimalists, so we decided against Prism’s recommendation to go for a color that matched our navy canvas, plus a silver or gold shadow around each letter to draw out the name. Clean and basic was better, we thought.

After we admired the name, Marty papered it over in anticipation of our official renaming ceremony on the weekend. We figured the christening was a good time to re-up with Neptune generally, so we joined forces with the Sloop Tavern Yacht Club, which we belong to, and organized what we hope will become an annual tradition: the inaugural Neptune’s Bash and Rendezvous.

We headed over to Bremerton Saturday morning, a full keg of Maritime Pacific Islander Pale Ale chilling in the cockpit. Sure, the weather sucked, but what’s a little rain and cold when you have a fun bunch of people, beautiful boats to enjoy and a keg of beer to share?

Marty unveils the new name.

The dozen other hardy skippers and crews arrived in the afternoon, most having trouble landing due to a strong current running through the marina (note to self: avoid arriving at the Bremerton marina during a flood tide).

Once everyone was settled in, it was time to rechristen our boat and make an offering to Neptune in the hope of ensuring a season of fair winds and good sailing. With the crowd of Sloopers gathered around our stern on the dock, we first made an offering to the sea gods, reciting the following (with a large dose of inspiration from John Vigor):

We mariners gather here today to call upon the gods of the sea and wind to bless us and grant us safe passage as we embark upon another year of sailing the magnificent waters of Puget Sound and beyond.

Mighty Neptune, king of the seas and all they contain, and Aeolus, ruler of the winds that blow across all waters, we offer our collective and heartfelt gratitude for delivering our vessels from tempest and torrent, for protecting us from the darkness of these deep, frigid waters, for allowing us to reach safe harbors. We acknowledge that our unscathed passage relies upon your benevolence, and we thank you for the gift of your blessings during our previous journeys.

Today, we have come together to make our humble offering and request that we are once again afforded the same privileges and safety your munificence have allowed us. In return, we pledge to serve as faithful and conscientious stewards of this domain you have allowed us to inhabit.

We authenticate our request with offerings of libations, in recognition of the venerated rituals of the sea.

And with a hearty round of cheers, the group made its offerings, tossing liquid toasts into the water. Then I read an invocation to Neptune and the wind gods as Marty poured offerings of (yes, more) champagne into the water before unveiling the new name.

With the official business over, the festivities got underway. The keg of beer was hefted onto the dock and boaters brought out dishes for an appetizer potluck. Happy hour happily morphed into dinner time, and the rest of the evening was spent socializing on the dock and visiting each others’ boats in a sort of floating progressive cocktail party, trading stories about our boating histories and sailing aspirations.

Sunday was spent lazing around reading, checking out the vendor booths at the marina set up for the Kitsap Harbor Festival, and walking around Bremerton’s largely deserted downtown. In the late afternoon, the crews congregated on the dock again for more happy hour cocktails and snacks, then walked over the Manette Bridge for dinner and, yes, more libations.

Afterward, the group headed back to the marina, hopefully not disturbing too many of the good people of Bremerton along the way. It was another late — albeit fun — night.

Iola Anne is now officially Three Sheets.

Most boats left early the next morning, making their way back to their various homeports. We waited until the deluge of rain subsided, then headed out into Rich Passage. Charcoal death clouds hung ominously over the mountains, and downtown Seattle was completely socked in. But as we neared Elliott Bay, the sky cleared and we enjoyed a great sail for the last few miles. By the time we were back in our slip it was sunny and warm, just in time for Marty’s parents to arrive for a barbecue dinner.

Neptune smiling on us? I’d like to think so.

Abysmal weather notwithstanding, it was a terrific weekend. It’s always fun to meet fellow sailors and check out OPBs (Other People’s Boats), and it reaffirmed why we all spend untold amounts of time, money and sweat equity to own these floating money pits known as boats. Because sailing is a transportive experience that’s impossible to describe. Because it’s the best way to travel and beats the pants off camping. And because boaters are some of the coolest people on earth.

The weekend was meaningful in another way. Buying Three Sheets, going to Mexico to decommission her, having her trucked to Seattle and then putting her back together for relaunch was a long process. Much of the time we spent onboard the boat before we relaunched her was in Mexico, and it took a while for us to see her in a different context, to feel like she was a Northwest boat.

And in the same way it takes time to settle into a house that previously belonged to someone else, it took time to make Three Sheets ours. Slowly, over the past few months, we’ve moved our things onboard, got rid of gear we didn’t want, put our clothes in the hanging lockers and cupboards. But still there was something missing.

Not anymore. With her beautiful name now in place, she finally feels like Three Sheets. She finally feels like ours.

About Deborah Bach

Deborah Bach is the editor and co-founder of Three Sheets Northwest. She is an avid sailor and long-time professional journalist. You can find Deborah aboard Three Sheets, an Island Packet 38, with her husband Marty and their cat Lily.

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