Stern Lines

Guy Talk

by Jefferson Holland

Not being of the female persuasion myself, I can only suppose that women must be curious as to what guys talk about when women aren’t around. Especially guys on boats. Since we’re talking stereotypes, it’s generally assumed that all sailors are salty talkers. I’ll admit to being a bit brackish myself—a little bit salty, a little bit fresh—but there was this one time when a particular conversation was unsuspectedly caught on a recording, a classic “hot mic” situation that gave away the secret.

This was way back in the last century, when cell phones were still fairly new and land lines all had message machines hooked in. There we were, the three of us guys—me and my buddy Kevin, helping Capt. Bill deliver a boat across the Bay from Rock Hall to Annapolis. It was one of those big trawlers, well appointed with all the latest navigation gear. Even though Bill was perfectly capable of handling it on his own, we decided we should tag along, not because he needed our help, but because our motto was Excusationem aliquam in navi excursio, or “any excuse for a boat ride.”

And it’s a good thing we went along, too, since it was on one of those clear, blustery days after a November nor’easter had blown through, and the north wind scudded whitecaps across the surface of the water. Because we had to take our time cutting through the chop, we were running a bit late and Kevin wanted to check in with his honey to let her know. His phone was dead, so he borrowed mine. He left a brief message on the machine and set the phone down on the helm dash while we guys resumed our conversation.

He did not hit the “end” button.

Back in Eastport, the message machine kept on recording. And kept on. And on.

When Kevin’s better half got home, she saw the red light flashing. She hit the “play” button. She listened for a full 15 minutes until the time ran out.

This is what she heard:

“You use milk in your grits?”

“Sure. Whole milk, not skim milk. I wouldn’t use half-and-half or cream, though.”

“Salted butter?”

“No, I use unsalted. You want to be able to control the amount of salt you add at the end.”

“I found a place where you can get real stoneground grits from this mill in South Carolina.”

“Oh, yeah, that makes all the difference. I’d never use the instant kind…”

And so on.

Yes, ladies, a full 15 minutes of grits recipes. When I got home later that afternoon, my wife asked me how it went, but she didn’t have to ask. Kevin’s wife had already called her. I wonder what they talked about.