You know you have cabin fever when you decide that it’s a good idea to hike 22+ miles (round trip) in the desert to a hot springs. You know your husband loves you when he not only agrees to this plan, but does not once utter a complaint during its execution, however psychotic the plan might be.
I love water-based travel, but I was a backpacker before I was a sailor. I enjoy carrying my shelter and my sustenance on my back. I enjoy pushing myself through the point of exhaustion to a plateau of euphoria. I enjoy when life is forced to the apex of simplicity, where you are grateful for and proud of each individual step forward. Where your mind cannot be bothered with anything other than that next step. There are some similarities between backpacking and sailing…but they’re at there core, very different (at least to me).
The spot where we eventually chose to anchor at Bahia Agua
Verde was not protected from the swell that wrapped around the point. The
norther that was generating the swell was projected to last for two days
(relatively short compared the last one). Jeff deployed the flopper-stopper,
but to little effect. Neither one of us could endure 48 hours of Serenity pitching
and bucking. Our nerves were strung tight as a mandolin string. Furthermore, my legs had started to twitch and tingle as I
attempted to fall asleep most nights. They were anxious or unfulfilled or both.
My solution to this set of circumstances was to go
backpacking. And since I like having destinations when I backpack, I figured we
would hike to the “nearby” hot springs, a mere 10 miles away
(according to the guidebook). Since we would be hiking on a road, I also
expected that we might be able to hitch a ride for a portion of our journey (I
used this reasoning to convince Jeff that “it won’t be so bad.”)
We filled my backpack with all of our gear and as much water
as we could fit in our various containers. Jeff carried my camera bag filled to
the brim with food. Having barely survived the dinghy ride to shore with all of
our gear, we set out on foot.
It was hot and it was tiring and it was terrible and it was
beautiful and it was perfect. It was exactly what I needed and Jeff humored me
the whole way.
Fortunately we reached the hot springs at low tide. I say
fortunately, because it’s an ephemeral hot springs…it’s not there at high
tide because it’s covered in cold ocean water. When the ocean retreats, it
leaves a small shallow pool that is warmed by the subterranean vents. We
undressed and slipped into the hot water, which, despite the fact that we had
just hiked at least 11 miles in the
desert and the sun was still beating down on us and it was at least 90 degrees, felt amazing.
Unfortunately, we had already set up our camp and left all
of our gear a good 10-15 minute walk from the hot springs and I wanted to be
near the action for as long as possible. I was devising a plan to get all of
our stuff and camp on the outcropping next to the hot springs since we figured
that much of the route would be covered (and perhaps unpassable) at high tide.
Jeff talked me out of this plan, since our prospective
campsite would likely be inundated at high tide along with everything else. As
a consolation he agreed to get up with me at 5:00am to try to enjoy the hot
springs at sunrise. By the time we made it to the outcropping at 5:30am I couldn’t locate
the hot springs and it wasn’t for lack of trying. They were clearly consumed by the rising tide. So I waded back to shore, where Jeff was waiting for the
prognosis, and we watched the sunrise over the Sea of Cortez as we stretched
our sore muscles, preparing for the long hike back.
Our trip home was going to be arduous, primarily because it
was a hotter day and our water supplies were dwindling. An hour or two into our
trip we heard the distant din of a motor. As a dusty red truck approached we
got our hopes up and stuck our thumbs out. It was a couple from Washington who
were exploring Baja by land. We were fairly convinced they were going to offer
us a ride (being fellow Pacific North Westerners and all), but according to
them “weren’t gonna drive much further up this road.” Meanwhile, as
we were chatting with them (for >15 minutes, answering their numerous
questions about who we were and what we were doing, etcetera, etcetera), another prospective ride passed us by.
You can imagine our, how about I say confusion, when we saw
the dusty red truck return three hours and 6+ miles of walking later. They graciously informed
us that “you are almost there!” and “you’re boat is still at anchor!” before
offering us some cold beer (hello dehydration!) to make up for the fact that
they hadn’t given us a ride. Jeff politely asked for water instead (we are in
the desert after all). They filled up our water bottles and insisted that we
also take at least one cold beer (which we did enjoy immensely).
Just as we finished the cold beer, one quarter of the way of
the final hill, a government truck stopped to let us jump in the back. We were
grateful for the lift and relieved to see that Serenity was waiting patiently
for us at anchor. It was the perfect cure for an extreme case of cabin fever
(though I think I’ll be more inclined to go on shorter hikes in the future).
