The Sounds of the Sea: Maritime, Ocean and Harbor sound effects, with boat horns, bells, ship's sounds, creaking masts, and sea birds. 72 minutes of nautical sounds and ambience. A Nautical Sound Sculpture: Our trip begins as a gray dawn breaks in a foggy harbor. Gulls are commencing their search for food while our ship steers its way towards the sea, listening for the warning foghorns of other ships and horn buoys marking dangerous rocks. Soon we enter the deep-water channel, guided by chiming bell buoys and rolling gently as we encounter deep-sea swells. The rhythmic sounds of heavy creaking can be heard above the bow wash as various stays and rigging lines tighten with the swaying action. Sailing towards the open sea, the warning horns of other ships can be heard as each ship signals her intentions or demands right-of-way. There is the deep-throated roar of an ocean liner, the business-like horn of a tugboat, the high-pitched siren of a man o' war. Proceeding seaward, waves build and the bow of our ship begins to plunge and rise, throwing back plumes of spray. Creaking sounds become more pronounced. Under bright skies, mid-ocean birds appear, porpoises play off the bow and schools of flying fish skip across the waves. Ship's bells and rhythmic creaking mark the passage of endless time. But now the wind begins to shift and ominous clouds appear. The sky darkens as we batten down for an approaching storm. Soon the wind becomes a gale and begins to whistle and shriek through the sails and rigging lines. The ocean roars, intent on demonstrating its fury. Our vessel labors heavily, rolling and pitching wildly as it struggles forward. Tumultuous waves build. Lightening and thunder punctuate the blackness. Sheets of rain beat against topside surfaces. Sailors snug down in their bunks below, comfortable in their belief that our ship can survive the worst. Finally, the storm subsides. The sea regains its friendly mood. We begin our voyage home, seeking safe harbor. The ever-present creaking regains its rhythm. As we near the entrance to our cove, fog returns, but bell buoys welcome us back through the mist. Snug haven is reached at last. The anchor splashes down and grips securely. The long trip is over. The ship's clock strikes eight bells. All is well. Tired, but snug, we are lulled into deep sleep by sounds of distant foghorns, dreaming of tomorrow's voyage.