Three board elements I hate, and three I love.
At Worthington HQ, we are continuously fighting about what "should" be on a board. Here is my OPINION of constant elements on a gameboard in no particular order—first, things I hate:
Compass Rose: First, ask yourself: "Will I use this map to orient it with the magnetic north and then traverse the land shown in the game?" No? Do you plan on your customers to pack for a weekend hiking trip with nothing but your hard-mounted board in their pack? No? Then the final question, if you want to have the compass on the board, will it aid in the game's play? Only then will you need it. I try to put a compass on games that rules or cards dictate travel by North, South, etc. directions. I also will use it when North is not at the top of the board. Some games need the game rotated or even totally inverted to allow the player(s) to enjoy the gameplay. Not all battles occur with southern units attacking northern placements (even in the Civil War, the Confederates were in a more northern position attacking south). Everything on a board should have a reason; compasses on boards that serve only as decoration, I loath, but with that, many boards have beautifully designed and functional compasses.
Hexes: There I said it. They may be great for maneuverability, but gosh, they are bear to lineup and design, so they do not look like chicken wire. I have tried thin black lines, thick white lines with a black shadow, sometimes I match it to the terrain's color, and others I try to make a statement with them. No matter what, I hate them. The most prominent design issue is there is no way to quickly create a grid in Adobe Illustrator without a master's in Quantum Theory. A hex, by design, is longer point-to-point than it is flat-to-flat. When placed in a grid, a row of hexes lined up flat-to-flat are spaced further apart than the height of the row, which is only the height of the length of one side of the hex. I hate them.
Rules: The board is for playing, rules are for a book. I know that putting rules on the board in some instances make gameplay faster and easier. I agree with that, but sometimes it seems to be a lazy way of explaining to a player what to do. One of the main reasons you should put rules on a board is when something different happens in that area versus the standard gameplay. Others love seeing a million charts and paragraphs of text on their board, plus a rule book and fifteen player aid manuals. In my opinion, less is better.
Now, for things I love on a board. Some of these I love for the function, others I love creating.
Borders: At the beginning of my game creation odyssey, we attempted to fill every inch of the board with playable items, as most of our hexes or movement points fell to the outside edge of the board. As time moved on, we started to lean in and appreciate the open space a margin can provide to the game's overall enjoyability. Then we began creating borders. The borders were at first simple color or line to denote the board's edge or mark where the unplayable area began. But after time and some mistakes (our game SeaKings, is an example of what not to do with a border), I was able to make the border into the game's storyteller. Like a jewelers loupe, the border frames the board, allowing you, the player, to focus on the game at hand and leave, ever so briefly, the outside world. It is an ever-present visual reminder of the timeframe and era to which the game is set. At the time of this writing, we are developing a game on the Chinese Boxer Rebellion of 1900. The small, simple border on this board has become an encapsulation of the game aesthetics with its deep lacquer reds and gold geometric embellishments the Qing Dynasty was known for creating. That contrasted with the harsh illustration of the colonial compound with the "western" legations. All the elements build a visual of the conflict ensuing for the soul of the Chinese way of life. Something as simple as a border can do all this.
Timer Tracks: These tracks either count the turns down, or track the player's VP, or sometimes something else entirely, but they always lead to the impending end of the game. The simplicity of these tracks makes them fun and straightforward to build, but the finite-ness of their meaning can turn a casual game into a mad dash for the player near the end to complete the task. One design method I employ in a timer track is to gradually change the color from dark to light or increase its vibrance, visually signaling the end is near. As a designer, I enjoy a simple linear chart that can drive the player's motivations. No matter a player's best-laid plans, as the bell tolls on the timer track, the player must react to that first, as time is the only adversary you cannot stop.
Roads: Almost all games need something like a road to connect two points; it may be called a path or a line, but in the end, it connects to points or objectives to each other. Technically I love making these. The process for making a road is what I love so much. Using Adobe Photoshop and Adobe Illustrator, all the map elements get divided among the applications. Roads almost always fall to Illustrator to render, for the simple fact of they are super easy to create with a simple trick. Spoiler, this is going to get nerdy. By placing all of my roads on the same layer in Illustrator, I can adjust all the elements globally. As such, I can add a standard stroke color, let's say white, for example, with a standard stroke width of 5px. Then I can add an additional stroke of black at 7px under all the white strokes. The result is a white line that can intersect and curve with a 1px black border automatically following it precisely. The beauty is the simplicity of the effect. Rapidly all the game's roads can be changed in width or color, all from Illustrator's Appearance Panel. I love it because it is a simple solution that has been a labor-intensive element in my earlier games.