HEADLINES THAT WRITE THEMSELVES

Every now and then, the universe hands journalists a gift so perfectly wrapped that they barely have to write the headline. Death at Coffin Bay. Shark mauls boy at Shark Beach. You can almost hear the sub-editors sighing with relief, fingers hovering smugly over the keyboard. No metaphors required. No wordplay needed. The place name has done all the heavy lifting. Which raises an important question: why are we still naming places like we’re daring fate to step in?

Because let’s be honest—if you go swimming at a place called Shark Beach, you are not a victim of misfortune. You are a participant in a themed experience. Somewhere between “enter at your own risk” and “what did you expect?”, personal responsibility starts to blur.

This is not to make light of tragedy—only to point out that some of these locations sound less like holiday destinations and more like rejected titles from a true crime podcast.

Names matter. We know this. We agonise over baby names for months, sometimes years, rejecting perfectly good options because they remind us of a kid who once stole our lunch in Year 4. We rename political policies to make them sound friendlier. We call prisons “correctional facilities” and wars “operations.”

And yet, when it comes to geography, we seem perfectly comfortable slapping a skull-and-crossbones label on a pristine stretch of coastline and wondering why bad things happen there.

Take Coffin Bay. Beautiful place. Oysters to die for—quite literally, if the name is to be believed. But “Coffin Bay” doesn’t exactly whisper relaxation. It doesn’t say family-friendly getaway. It says final destination. It says this is where the brochure ends abruptly.

No one has ever said, “Let’s scatter Mum’s ashes somewhere peaceful. How about Coffin Bay?”

Australia, in particular, excels at this genre. We are a nation that saw a landscape full of heat, snakes, spiders, unpredictable oceans and thought, Let’s really lean into that.

We have:

• Shark Bay

• Cape Tribulation

• Mount Disappointment

• Deadman’s Gully

• Murdering Beach (yes, really)

At what point did nobody in the room say, “Hey, maybe we’re overselling the danger?”

Imagine the original town meetings. “Well, the water here is lovely, but a man was eaten by a shark last week.” “Excellent. Write that down. Shark Beach. Next!”

Spare a thought for the poor souls in tourism marketing. Somewhere, right now, someone is trying to design a cheerful pamphlet for Shark Beach using pastel colours and smiling children.

“Come for the sunshine! Stay because you’re afraid to go back in the water!”

There’s only so much spin you can put on a name that sounds like a warning label. You can add cafés, boardwalks and yoga retreats, but when the name itself feels like an omen, you’re fighting a losing battle. No amount of artisanal gelato can overcome a sense of impending doom.

From a media perspective, these names are gold. When something goes wrong—and let’s face it, at Shark Beach, something will eventually go wrong—the headline practically writes itself.

There is no need for nuance. No room for complexity. Just place + incident = clickbait perfection.

If a shark attack occurred at “Rainbow Cove” or “Pelican Sands,” there would at least be a sense of irony. At Shark Beach, it’s less irony and more inevitability. It’s the geographical equivalent of naming your dog “Bitey” and acting surprised when the postie loses a finger.

So what’s the solution? I propose a nationwide audit of place names, particularly those involving:

• Death

• Predators

• Disappointment

• Tribulation

• Any body part followed by “Creek”

Let’s soften the language. Rebrand. Reimagine.

Shark Beach becomes:

• Ocean Encounter Cove

• Marine Life Appreciation Bay

• No Guarantees Beach (honest, at least)

Coffin Bay could be:

• Oyster Haven

• Peaceful Peninsula

• Definitely Not a Coffin Bay

And Cape Tribulation—a name that sounds like a biblical punishment—might prefer:

• Cape Mild Inconvenience

• Cape Character-Building

• Cape You’ll Be Fine, Probably

But what about history? you might ask. Ah yes, the traditional objection: history. These names, we are told, are part of our heritage. Explorers named them after their lived experiences. Someone was disappointed. Someone suffered tribulation. Someone presumably died in a coffin-shaped bay.

Fair enough. But explorers also named things after their monarchs, their ships, and occasionally their egos. We’ve changed plenty of those names without civilisation collapsing. Besides, history can still be remembered without actively tempting fate. You can honour the past and avoid becoming tomorrow’s headline.

Of course, there’s an argument that people should take responsibility for their choices. If you swim at Shark Beach, that’s on you. If you holiday at Coffin Bay, perhaps you should accept a certain existential undertone.

But humans are optimists. We see danger and think, Yes, but not today. A gentler name might give people just enough pause to read the warning sign, instead of assuming the sign is merely decorative.

In Conclusion: Words Are Warnings

Names shape expectations. They set the tone. They whisper stories before anything actually happens. When a place is named like a threat, we shouldn’t be shocked when reality occasionally lives up to the branding.

So let’s be kind—to tourists, to journalists, and to ourselves. Let’s choose names that don’t sound like the coroner has already been notified. Because no one wants their final moments summed up by a headline that makes readers say, “Well… that tracks.”

And if we insist on keeping Shark Beach exactly as it is, then perhaps we should at least install a sign at the entrance:

“Welcome. The Name Is Not Metaphorical.”