ARCANERY Living the illiterate life

I was really worried that we made a bad gaff the other day.   As we walked up to our broker on a finger, we overheard him snorting in derision at the silly bugger who ‘two-packed his wood’.

Being paranoid, I immediately assumed that we were guilty.  Had we inadvertedly two packed our wood?   Further, was that dangerous or just stupid? 

As it turns out, the story was about a fellow who bought an old wooden boat and put the wrong paint on it.  The very inflexible two -pack paint cracks as the wooden boat flexes.  I know that wasn’t us, as our boat is fibreglass.  (Phew)

But it made me think about the stew of illiteracy we have been boiling in lately. Do you think it is possible that mariners’ use of language has the highest density of arcanery in the English speaking world?  I can’t immediately think of other fields in which there is a richer source of very particular language use. Other than the law, of course. 

At one level, marine language is no different from any other specialist field in that it has lots of nouns and verbs unfamiliar to land-lubbers that describe things or concepts that do not exist on land.  ‘Sloop’, ‘yawl’ and ‘schooner’ might be synonyms for yachts to the uninitiated but there is a world of difference to anyone who knows. Most landlubbers don’t have to heave-to and are not often at risk of broaching.  We struggle to learn the litany of foreign words about yacht design and maintenance, communications, sailing technique, diesel engine operation, navigation, weather, moods of the ocean, rules of the road, and so on. 

Even the smallest of areas of knowledge have vast volumes of weird words. We are currently grappling with knots, and we have a set of small encyclopaedias of knowledge devoted to them: what they are called, their component parts, how tie them, what to tie them with and to what particular purpose you would use them for. (Q: What kind of knot would you use to secure the fender to the rail? A: Half hitch with quick release.  Now do it.)

Old words and phrases get new power. We are literally learning the ropes. I am worried that my beloved I-phone will be scuppered and sink without a trace.  We are sailing too close to the wind so we better take another tack. I am fearful of falling overboard or being cast adrift, or up a creek or elsewhere without a paddle. WE are waiting for a good time and tide to leave this port, but THEY await no man.

That twinge of self consciousness from sounding like a pirate in a b-grade movie is almost gone.  I now comfortable sit on thwarts and look for things abeam or abaft.

We have almost got past the stage of diving for our boating glossaries and springing snap quizzes on each other. We can now tell our clew from our leech, our rhumb line from our rum supply and our spring lines from our brest lines, our forward from our forehead and our pulpit from our pushpit. But remind me again what the hell is the name of that thin line of paint stencilled just above the waterline?

Ahhrrr.