Voyage of Ebenezer III, 1,000 miles up Baja California. Part 2: Cabo to Bahia Santa Maria

The music from the Cabo bars was still pumping, astonishingly, at 7am, when we woke to the dawn casting the eastern sky in gold beyond the rocks that guard the bay. We were definitely back in civilisation. The kind of civilisation, though, where you can dive off the boat for a morning swim in water so clear you can see the anchor chain all the way down. The water was cool and silky, and especially blissful considering the one drawback of living on a 36ft boat is the lack of a shower!

Sunrise over the Arches

Reclining on the bow in the sunshine afterwards, I gazed along the beach to where the hotels became ever more stylish and expensive, and saw two dark blobs. Horses! I have a radar where these things are concerned. I squeaked my discovery, and was granted leave from the captain to investigate further that afternoon. Before then lay the serious business of refuelling and finding our berth, so we made all shipshape and motored over to the marina. We were a rare specimen, being a sailing boat, as this is sport-fishing Mecca and high-powered, sunglasses-defying powerboats, gleaming white from their hulls to the tiny fish-spotting seats high above the decks, were everywhere. Gin palaces with identikit crew members in starched shorts and polo shirts rode at the entrance, too large to enter the slips. A reminder of earlier, wind-powered times was a two-masted ship, albeit one now host to drunken partygoers rather than drunken sailors.

A pair of brown blobs beside the big white hotel are horses, I promise

Tidying up the cockpit lockers. At least, sorting them, and then tidying
 

Cabo's guardian rocks,
which end in a natural arch not visible from the harbour

Cruise ships arrive here in their droves,
floating monstrosities from a yachtie's perspective!

Entering Cabo marina, past gin palaces and party boats

Refuelling was swift and easy, thanks to efficient staff and a diesel dock as smart as any gas station in California. After tying up at our slip opposite the 'Luxury Avenue' shopping centre, we scrubbed Ebenezer III down and rubbed Vaseline on the rubber seals of the hatches to keep them from drying out in the sun. Richard and Dennis made a valiant effort to revive Otto, our autopilot, who had been sleeping on the job for the past couple of days, but he resisted all efforts. Can't get the staff these days. Still, it had felt a little bit like cheating to sit by the wheel when on watch instead of keeping to the course oneself, and at least everything vital was still in fine fettle. The new engine, installed before the Baja Ha-Ha, and new sails had repaid their investment many times over. The staff of IGY Marina were polite and helpful to a man, as was the customs chap who came to check us out of the country. Because we weren't planning to stop at a major port again before San Diego, the paperwork had to be done here, and it was blissfully smooth and friendly. Lazy and rude these Mexicans are not! 

Attempting CPR on Otto, to no avail

The glitzy side of Cabo: luxury fishing boats and luxury shopping

Ebenezer's mast can just be glimpsed among the motorboats

With the boat (and ourselves) clean and tidy, the boys set off on a provisioning trip and I was released  to find a horse. On the advice of IGY Marina staff, I left the harbour and crossed the road to the tourist office, a tiny room with an even tinier puppy - the perfect conversation opener! According to the man there, the horses I had glimpsed on the beach could not be ridden on the beach, but there was a better option. Ten minutes later I was rattling through the back streets of Cabo with a large Mexican, hearing about his experiences in Chicago and California as an illegal immigrant ('I used to ride horses, but I ate too much in America and now I'm too fat'), to Migrino Beach, where, apparently, part of the movie Troy was filmed. Dusty tracks wove off the main highway to rickety shelters among windswept scrub, where a collection of sleepy looking horses dozed. To my delight, there was no one else there but me and a guide, Enrique, who spoke no English but was a willing hand with a camera. My little chestnut horse, Compadre, had a weeping eye and was terribly thin, but when I got on and the driver had taken off the lead rope ('you rider!'), he pricked his ears and jogged off as if he was heading to the start of Royal Ascot. He was fit and strong and sound, and gave me a lovely ride. Once on the beach, we galloped flat out along the soft sand (no wonder these horses are fit), then turned and jogged back. Blazing sun overhead, the blue Pacific glittering to the west, a keen horse underneath me and, to cap all, whales spouting and splashing just off the beach. Oh, and flying fish too! I could not stop grinning with delight and Enrique and I shared gasps of wonder, our pleasure in the sight transcending all language barriers. 

San Migrino Beach. An unexpected piece of heaven

Enrique with Compadre and Tequila

For some reason, Enrique invited me to sit on Tequila for a minute,
I think just for a picture!

So, I didn't pack riding gear... Bare feet feel good in rawhide stirrups!

Shortly after Enrique took that last picture, we turned to see Tequila disappearing at full gallop into the hills... Enrique had failed to tie him up tightly enough and he done his, apparently well practiced, disappearing act. We turned back towards the stables, but Enrique soon got tired of walking and hopped up behind me. Compadre wasn't too keen, and bucked a couple of times to show his displeasure, but we both stayed on. Down on the flats amid dry bushes, quad bikes appeared, setting off to try and catch the wayward horse, and we followed them for a spell up the winding, dusty tracks. It was well over my allotted hour, though, so Enrique took Compadre and I was whisked back to base on a quad bike behind a substantial, somewhat pungent Mexican. In the car, my driver told me all about Tequila's penchant for escaping, and reassured me that he had been heading for the company's second stables and not just off into the wide blue yonder. Whales, sunshine, sand and excitement - an afternoon to rival any Brad Pitt epic!

My noble guide and the escape artist

Pacific paradise

Dawn the next morning saw us slipping quietly out of the marina under a bright full Moon, rounding the Arch at the entrance to the bay, its curved shape inky black against the silver-lit water. Many lights on shore showed the ever-increasing spread of the resort of Cabo San Lucas, luxury hotels patterning the ocean's edge with swimming pools and balconies. The glitzy edge of Cabo is just that, however, a silk edging to a dusty interior where the local Mexicans live in, if not poverty, certainly not affluence. On my drive to the stables I had passed the usual assortment of broken-down cars and skinny dogs, but also laughing schoolchildren in neat uniforms and brightly painted houses. Tourism is clearly vital, but seemingly welcome, too, as it is hard to see many other ways of making money in what is, simply put, a desert. Fishing is tough work, as it is anywhere, so taking out a few rich Westerners to catch a bonefish or marlin must be child's play. None were out as we set the sails close hauled to a light westerly and headed into a gentle swell and unusually calm seas around Cabo Falso. 

San Migrino beach, backed by typically rocky, arid scrub 

Three men in a boat:

Mexican fishermen in a tiny panga about 20 miles offshore

When I awoke after an extremely good sleep in comfortable seas, we were off the beach on which I had ridden the day before. And the whales were still there, determined to entertain. There were humpbacks on every quarter, leaping clear out of the water and crashing back, sending up fountains of spray. Two together near the beach waved their pectoral fins like synchronised swimmers, bidding us 'good morning' in the most polite fashion. It was an amazing display, a rare treat, that was followed after a lunch of tuna and bacon by another gymnastic triumph of the seas: a school of fish was powering away from a pod of dolphins, springing high and wriggling through the air in a desperate attempt to avoid being lunch. Dolphins leapt six abreast behind them, crossing our bow only yards away. Glorious. 

Up in the air...

...and splash!

Flash of flukes

Pair of pectorals off San Migrino Beach

Hitherto strangely quiet and calm, the seas decided to give their own display towards evening. The winds got up, right on our nose, and the waves grew steep and high. My blissfully steady stomach allowed me to cook quesadillas for a windswept supper in the cockpit, before I went on watch in bright moonlight that allowed me a slight warning of the walls of water crested with white that were coming our way. Richard stayed on deck in case it got a bit much for me, being a lot more sea than I've ever seen before, but I managed to keep us on course, steering slightly diagonally across the waves to minimise the crashing descent on the other side. The wind got up to 15 knots and the biggest waves to maybe 6ft, but with Ebenezer riding them well it was exhilarating, rather than scary. Sleep was a little difficult to come by, but I got more than the boys, after they decided it was a little too wild for me to go on watch at 0200. I didn't argue.

Dennis chilling at the wheel before the winds picked up

Dennis woke me with a shout of 'field of ponies!' They know me so well already. The Isle of St Margarita was in sight on our starboard beam, with a lonely white lighthouse on the southern tip. I wonder what kind of life the lighthouse keeper had. Hard to imagine anywhere more lonely, with not even a scrap of level earth for a garden. We glimpsed a two-masted cutter to the west and hailed her, a rare moment of sociability in the ocean. A whale crested nearby and a turtle waved hello. Above, frigate birds wheeled and, as we approached Bahia Santa Maria, pelicans and gulls dived and gulped down supper. It was clearly a well-stocked area, giving a lifeline to the hardy fishermen who live here. It's a lonely place, the only sign of 21st-century life a wisp of smoke from some kind of factory or power station in the large bay that lay beyond the low dunes. We anchored in the lee of Cabo San Lazaro, 1,275ft high, the only high point for miles. It's a windswept anchorage, but sheltered from the swell and beautiful in its wild loneliness. 

Someone's home, that white speck. The loneliest job in the world?

Making good time

Two for two: fishing trawlers passing pink-tinged peaks

My favourite spot

The peak protecting Bahia Santa Maria 

Approaching the anchorage

Margaritas were duly mixed to celebrate our arrival, and in honour of Swallows and Amazons, I made crushed new potatoes and pemmican (corned beef). It was Arthur Ransome's classic book that first made me fall in love with sailing, yet to my astonishment, our esteemed skipper had never even heard of Cap'n John, the Boy Roger or Nancy Blackett, Amazon Pirate and Terror of the Seas. I brought him a copy as a voyage present and he instantly began devouring it, so what better way to mark our first anchorage in a bay equal to Wild Cat Island than a meal Mate Susan would have been proud of? Especially when it's washed down with some good red wine and a recording of Dylan Thomas reading his poetry. Magic. 

Cheers, boys!
 

Happy sailor!

Next instalment: chance encounters and chancy exits

Voyage of Ebenezer III: 1,000 miles up Baja California, Mexico. Part I, Puerta Vallarta to Cabo San Lucas

Of all the constellations in the night sky, I look for Orion the Hunter first. In the UK, he stands out clearly as I glance upwards for luck before a day’s hunting, his belt and sword easily seen against the empty blackness. Yet in the Pacific off the coast of Mexico, the skies around him dazzle with a million more stars, with not a scrap of light pollution to dilute their intensity. The Evening Star shines so brilliantly that it lights a path across the waves and dozens of hitherto unknown constellations blaze overhead. It is only the Moon, as bright as day even when waning, that has the power to dim the glitter of the stars.

Sunset in the Pacific

I was sailing aboard Ebenezer III, the Catalina 36 belonging to Richard Schaper that had given me so many happy hours in San Francisco Bay, from Puerta Vallarta in Mexico to San Diego, California. The crew of four – Richard, first mate Dennis, mate Rick and me – stood two-hour watches, of which mine were 1000-1200, 1800-2000 and 0200-0400. Thus I had ample time to observe the stars, and I never grew tired of the sight. Standing at the wheel in the dead of night, alone in the cockpit with the rest of the crew slumbering below, there were no distractions, no demanding Facebook alerts or news headlines, nothing. I contemplated the answer to life, the universe and everything (I know, 42), recited poetry (Hunter Trials by John Betjeman) and even sang (John Peel and The Sound of Music), at least, when I knew the others were safely asleep and out of earshot. Every watch, I spoke the melodious verses of Sea Fever by John Masefield, my favourite poem. How extraordinarily lucky I am, to have experienced the life behind the immortal lines 

          I must go down to the seas again, to the lonely seas and the sky

         And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by 

At 36ft, Ebenezer isn’t quite a ship of the line, but whenever possible I chose a star that lay on our compass heading and steered straight for it. Some nights, we sailed due West, into the path of the Moon, her reflection splintering around our bow. When the waves were up, we smashed through them, the spray sparkling green and red like fireworks in our bow lights. On dark nights, with heavy seas, I stood with feet spread wide, riding the boat as if I was hedge hopping on a good horse, braced for the lurking wave with steep trough beyond into which Ebenezer plunged with a crash that shook the shrouds. The very first night, phosphorence gleamed in our wake and jellyfish flashed out like disco lights, round green-white discs that pulsed and gleamed astern. The bow wave was edged with shards of icy jade like a necklace of diamonds, spreading out into the inky water. 

The noble Ebenezer III

I flew into Puerta Vallarta, Mexico, after 40 hours of travelling that included eight hours trying to get comfortable in Los Angeles airport – not to be recommended. A view of central American jungle and a margarita in arrivals swept all lethargy away, and the obligatory snifter on board Ebenezer at Marina Vallarta set the seal on my good mood. Snow at Salt Lake City on my first layover was a distant memory amid 80˚ heat, swimming pools and signs saying ‘beware of crocodiles’. I was so tired, especially after more magaritas at happy hour, that it all seemed like a fever dream brought on by listening to too many episodes of Desert Island Discs, but an unbroken slumber in my berth meant I was raring to go on Saturday morning.

A yellow flycatcher finds a nautical perch

Not keen on tigers in cages, but this resident of Marina Vallarta seemed pretty relaxed

Gotta look good for the tourists!

Christmas in 85˚ heat. Perfectly normal

Ebenezer in harbour mode, adorned with towels and with 

the dinghy raised to allow air to cool below, in theory at least

We happy few: the crew before casting off

We checked out from the port captain and harbour master’s offices – the latter still adorned, incongruously, with Christmas decorations – and set off for the open sea about midday, taking advantage of light winds and clear skies. The jungle-clad mountains were hazy above the shoreline, where pseudo-Aztec holiday resorts cluttered the beaches. I could imagine the native inhabitants looking down disapprovingly from their citadels at the mess modern humans have made of the shoreline. Fortunately, we were fast shaking the dust of the land from our feet and entering a more natural world. Only half an hour after leaving the marina, we saw our first whale, and another minutes later, one spouting on the port beam, one astern. Six in the first hour! Pelicans and cormorants dived, frigate birds soared and sleek shearwaters skimmed the surface. I reclined on the bow in the sunshine, leaning comfortably on the dinghy that was lashed just in front of the mast, and felt every muscle relax with the motion.

Heading for open sea

Bit tricky to photograph Ebenezer herself, but we looked a bit like this!

Happy feet

Leaving Bahia de Banderas past Punta de Mita

The beginning of my first watch could not have been more memorable. It is a favourite pastime of dolphins to ride the bow wave of a boat, for no other reason, seemingly, than because it is fun. (Douglas Adams put it best when he said in The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy that Man thinks he is more intelligent than dolphins because of all he's achieved, the wheel, New York, wars and so on, whereas all dolphins had ever done was muck about in the oceans having a good time. The dolphins had always thought they were more intelligent than Man for precisely the same reasons.) A dozen of them, streamlined and gleaming, leapt to our bow, phosphorescence glittering green along their sleek bodies, crossing and re-crossing, seemingly only millimetres away from Ebenezer's dark blue prow, springing out of the water in joyous abandon. I watched, entranced, holding on to the forestay, as the sunlight faded and the Moon rose, casting a white ribbon on the sea. 

And so my watch begins

By the end of my watch, at 2000, the men had turned in, so I followed suit, setting my alarm clock for 0150. Normal sleeping patterns are forgotten here - bedtime is when it gets dark, as each of us would rise in the small hours to take our post at the wheel. It is remarkable how quickly one gets used to a new routine, to the rhythm of the sea, and although a nap in the afternoon was often welcome, I didn't feel unduly tired. Rick's banana pancakes made getting up in the morning much easier! Life settled into a comfortable routine: I would wake about 0730 (sometimes later, I confess), have breakfast and then write my log in the cockpit before going on watch at 1000. After lunch - often our main meal, so we could eat together in the daylight - I would read in the cockpit (I finally had time to concentrate on and finish Anthony Trollope's The Eustace Diamonds with its splendid hunting scenes), doze or sew, sit on the bow if it was calm enough, practise knots or simply chat. Naturally, I instigated afternoon tea at 1600, a tradition that was enthusiastically embraced by my American colleagues. Supper would be about 1800, as it was getting dark, with one of the boys taking the wheel while I wolfed quesadillas or fishcakes, then after my watch it would be time to curl up in the V-berth with a book. We took it in turns to make food and wash up, with Richard and Rick proving gourmet cooks. Dennis was banned from the kitchen early in married life, but is an excellent dishwasher. A simple but entirely satisfactory life!

Dennis in his favourite corner (and mine), complete with Kindle

A Pacific cloudscape on a calm evening

A serene spot to watch the sunset

Our route was the Baja Bash, the reverse of the popular cruising rally down the Baja California peninsula known as the Baja Ha-Ha, in which Richard and Dennis had taken part last November. Heading north/north-west, we were sailing against the prevailing winds most of the time, which meant we could seldom purely sail (tacking would have taken weeks longer), and had to motor-sail instead. It's not quite the purest way to make a voyage, but we soon got used to the gentle throb of the engines, and we sailed close-hauled whenever possible. The Bash part of the name comes from the steep waves, especially where the Sea of Cortez meets the Pacific, which causes boats to plunge and crash in a somewhat noisy and disconcerting fashion. Fortunately, I had not a smidgen of seasickness, even when cooking in the galley, but my slumber was occasionally disturbed by my entire body momentarily leaving my bunk... The main difficulty lay in pouring the water for afternoon tea, but luckily, we had calm seas much of the time. Oddly, contrary to the usual pattern, the winds were often stronger at night, leading to exciting hours when waves would loom out of the darkness and my left foot would start to ache with bracing myself. Spray would break over the bow, glittering like rubies and emeralds in the bow lights, and the occasional splash would drift into the cockpit. 

The mainsail doing its best!

The way ahead

I never tired of the view of the sea and its many shades,

ink and petrol and deepest sapphire, capped with white horses

Wildlife abounded, seabirds following an occasional trawler, grey whales flashing their barnacles and humpbacks waving their pectoral fins, fish leaping ahead of a hunting party of seals, turtles bobbing along like the cool dudes of Finding Nemo. Richard set up two fishing rods to trawl behind us and, on day three, during his morning watch, he sent up the cry 'we're on!' Two beautiful yellowfin tuna were duly landed and butchered, reappearing 20 minutes later as sashimi. Twenty minutes - you can't get fresher than that. Mouthwateringly delicious. No restaurant offering will every come close. 

Are we on?

Me with the fish landed by Cap'n Richard!

Captain turns fishmonger

As I took the wheel at 1800 on the third day, the hills of Baja California were standing out soft purple on the horizon, the skies Whistler-esque in pinks and pale blues. A huge cruise ship, ablaze with lights, made its way around the south-eastern point, heading for the resort of La Paz, and the sun crept closer to water that, to my delight, turned the dark, succulent purple of Homer's 'wine-dark sea'. Night fell swiftly, with a misty, otherworldly quality, the seas falling with the wind to leave only a gentle swell. The lights of Cabo San Lucas began to appear ahead of us, mere gaudy baubles compared with the stars above, but beguiling all the same. We were coming back into the world, leaving our solitude behind us for a little while. As we anchored in the dead of night, music from the seaside bars drifted across the water and Richard mixed his trademark dark n' stormys, the traditional tipple to toast a safe arrival. They tasted all the better in the knowledge that the first leg of our epic voyage was safely accomplished - only about 700 miles to go!

A huge cruise ship makes its way past the southern tip

of Baja California, towards La Paz in the Sea of Cortez

Homer's wine-dark sea. (Not showing to advantage on screen!)

Our skipper, seeing us safely to our first harbour, Cabo San Lucas

Next time...I find a horse!