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for about a minute until my nerves had settled and then slipped her into forward and we resumed our six knots. Neither my father nor I could think of any explanation for what was happening. After smoothly making our way through the flat water it happened again! It was the same five explosions and vibrations just like before. This time I didn’t touch the throttle. I just wanted to get out of this haunted piece of ocean in one piece.

A short while later I noticed two large ships in the distance that didn’t look like the usual freighters we were accustomed to be on the lookout for. I had a look through the binoculars to try and make out what they were from their silhouettes. While I was studying their outlines, I saw puffs of smoke coming from one of the ships. One, two, three, four, five of them in quick succession.

Not too long after, I heard and felt the sounds coming from the engine compartment again! When we got a little closer, I could make out that they were warships engaging in target practice with a floating target. We were too far away to hear the report of the guns, but the sound had travelled through the water and resonated with our concrete hull just like a drum.

Dad and I took it in stride and consoled ourselves that it was a “welcome home” salute from the Canadian Navy for two weary and homesick sailors.

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It was the late summer of 1982. My father and I were returning home from our round-trip to Hawaii in the 46foot Sampson Seabreeze ferro-cement boat that the family had built from scratch in our backyard. After years of learning to sail in the Gulf Islands, and venturing out for a couple of weeks in Desolation Sound, this was to be our first—and last—“experience of a lifetime” blue-water cruise. We were pretty much exhausted from our four-