An English country girl in California: 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!