Every day grew a little colder but the discomfort was offset by the vistas – the stark and beautiful Mexican coast during the day or the unending canopy of stars at night. It was dark, very dark, and someone commented that driving a boat at night at 8 knots is a lot like a ride on Space Mountain at Disneyland.

ZUZANA PROCHAZKAWeatherfax readouts are scrutinized as class is in session.YACHTING 101

The midpoint of the trip up the coast, and a common stop for most boats, is Turtle Bay, where a whale welcomed our early morning arrival. Pangas offering fuel ran out to meet us in this safe harbor that offers provisioning, Internet access and even a medical clinic. Our special treat was dinner at a local home, cooked for us by Olivia, a local who caters for passing boaters or provides meals in her front room, complete with entertainment featuring her two singing Chihuahuas.

The next day, the second half of the trip started much as the first, with calm winds and long, grey rolling waves full of dolphins. We stayed on the outside and spent much of the day getting past Isla Navidad, Isla Cedros and Islas San Benito. A few days later we motored past Ensenada. Conditions were so calm that we pulled up to check into the country at the police docks in San Diego with the main still up.

Since actual sailing had been limited to a few hours here and there, Brian decided on a day of yachting on San Diego Bay to give the crew another lesson at running the boat under sail. As it turned out, he was right to revisit crew coordination before the last stretch.

THE FINAL EXAM

The next morning, I woke at 5:30 a.m. to the sound of halyards slapping like the tolling of a school bell. Southern California is the land of lazy sailing where true wind rarely tops 10 knots. There is never wind in the early morning unless things are about to get sporty. The Baja Bash might not have been all that so far, but the West Coast wasn't going to let us get away without a serious final exam.

Turning the corner around Point Loma, the seas grew lumpy. This wasn't on the syllabus. Or was it? One look at the skipper's grin and it was obvious that he expected a blow. After days of calm motoring, the crew had grown a bit complacent, cocky even, but a lesson in humility was coming.

We brought up the number three genoa and a staysail, and with one reef in the mainsail, we cut the engine and started sailing – surprisingly close to the direction we needed to go, and with only a few tacks up the coast because Alaska Eagle points so well.

The seas grew throughout the day. First there were 8-footers and Eagle thumbed her nose at them. But they continued to build and by 4 p.m. the seas were fast approaching 20 feet, with the big waves cresting and breaking. It was becoming an E-ticket ride.

ZUZANA PROCHAZKAAlaska Eagle shows her racing heritage as the day gets off to a sporty start.I was sitting with some of the crew in the saloon eating lunch when a giant wave came in through the center cockpit hatch, dousing us. Straight faced, a student commented that his sandwich had been a bit dry after all. Karen noted that it was a first for her, despite all her years sailing on the boat.

We soon found ourselves heaving to repeatedly as we struggled to keep things on deck under control. First, there were the heavy sausages of sails on the foredeck that kept trying to snake their way overboard, no matter how many knots we tied. On the second heave to, we tucked a second reef in the main. Velocity made good toward our destination was only 2 knots in the previous hour, and the iconic twin domes of San Onofre power plant, a Southern California landmark, teased us, still looming there in the same place.

We hove to a third time for a real lesson in teamwork. It was time for the number three to come down and get Alaska Eagle on her feet under double reefed main and staysail. Five of us on the foredeck hauled and pulled to free the halyard and unclip the hanks with freezing hands. Crewman Bill Pink had been on the wheel for an impressive 90 minutes during this mess, and his arms and shoulders were aching. "I had two thoughts and neither of them had to do with how much my arms hurt," he told us later. "First, I thanked God that I was steering and not up there on deck with you guys as you went up and down 15 feet with nothing but sky behind you one minute, and then down in the trough the next. And second, I wondered what I would do if the next breaking wave swept you all off the deck."

Spray was everywhere and with the screaming wind, we couldn't hear each other speak. Every other wave sent a cold rush of salt water down my foulies and then tossed my bruised knees back onto the anchor chain that runs 20 feet along Eagle's foredeck back to the mast. We finally pulled the sail down despite the wind and with little ceremony, stuffed it down the forward hatch where it stood like an 8-foot, crumpled, soggy peak – a reminder of an impressive effort.

The day was sunny and probably quite enjoyable inland. But out here, Alaska Eagle was the only thing moving. Even the Navy off Camp Pendleton had stayed home. The wind was now steady at 30 knots and gusting to 35. But with the proper sails up, the boat pounded along at 8 to 9 knots, a bone in her teeth.

Around 6 p.m. we came bursting into the tiny harbor of Dana Point at 9 knots, where Brian spun the boat on a dime behind the jetty and stopped right below a pole flying two red flags signifying gale conditions.

We had made it in and the sudden calm was like a slap. I heard people on shore cheering and honking their horns. One man yelled into the wind, "I've never seen anything like that!" I wished I were on shore to capture the moment. What a fitting welcome for a former Whitbread winner. We pulled down the sails and squeezed into a guest slip, grateful for a safe and steady haven for the night.

The next morning we had a calm, two-hour motor up to Newport Beach. A visitor on board would never have guessed at the previous day's events. Our Baja Bash might not have happened in Baja, but it taught us a few lessons and left an indelible impression of what the uphill slog might have been like under different circumstances.