Salty talk from a steamboat'n sailor

by Captain Ray Skelton

I hate to let the cat out of the bag, but before you deep-six this, please bear with me in case you already know that:

Letting the cat out of the bag originates from bringing out the cat-o-nine-tails (a whip normally stowed in a bag) to flog some poor miscreant aboard ship,

Deep-six was the call of the lead-line handler when the water depth alongside a ship was somewhat less than six fathoms (were it exactly six
fathoms, he would call out "By the mark, six), or that

Bear with me comes from "bear in with me," or bring your ship closer to my position.

Fairly common expressions, they crept into conversational English from the days of ocean sailing. Not so widely known, however, is the unique language of Great Lakes sailors.

Or should I say "sweet water sailors?" That's what we called them when I was going to sea on ocean vessels, before I became a Great Lakes mariner.

Did I say "going to sea?" On the Great Lakes, despite the fact that motor vessels (diesel-powered) have antiquated the steamer, we still usually "go steamboat'n."

One of my favorites is "blowin' a gagger." After first hearing the term during a heavy storm on Lake Michigan, it took me almost 20 years to find someone who claimed, at least, to know its origin. Seems as though there was a chief engineer on an early Great Lakes steamer who had a nasty disposition and was quite a wind-bag. His name was Gagger (or, some say, Geiger). Hence, extremely heavy weather came to be known as "blowin' a gagger."

Other uniquely Great Lakes expressions evolved without things getting so personal:

An ocean ship (or "salty," as they are called on the Lakes) has a bridge; on lakers, it's the pilot house.

An ocean sailor goes "ashore" when in port; we may go to the same place, but we go "up the street."

An unemployed ocean sailor is "beached;" when we collect unemployment compensation we are "on rockin' chair."

A salty goes to anchor in an anchorage area; a laker goes "on the pick in the parkin' lot."

Most salties have stern anchors, but I have never heard saltwater sailors say, as we do, that using one is "putting on the brakes." And only the irreverent Lakes sailor would refer to his exalted captain as "the driver" or the fleet's senior master as "Whiskers."

Place names are another thing, probably because Great Lakes sailing is mostly pilotage instead of traditional transoceanic navigation. The result is that someone unfamiliar with our charts may fail to connect the name on the chart and the name commonly used.

There's an island, for example, in the Straits of Mackinaw charted as Bois Blanc. Nice French ring to it. But you won't catch a lake sailor trying to pronounce it. He says "Bah' Blo."

Chanel Encarte in the St. Clair River? Try "Sny Da Carty." Point Aux Barques may be more to the point - as in "Bar Point." Porte de Morts? "Death's Door." Seul Choix? "Sishwa." Ile Aux Galets? "Skillee Galee."

Although Francophiles may frown on this corruption of a lovely language, my view is this: Bless your hearts, you hardworking Great Lakes sailors. You average making a dock a day and you don't take yourself (or anyone else) too seriously. The work is hazardous and stressful enough. Keep the slang, don't lose your sense of humor.

Get my drift? *

*Drift refers to a vessel's movement off the desired course because of wind.