Because of the difficulties crossing the day before, we came to ground miles north of where the original float plan would have taken us. One of the things we missed out on was a famous hot springs at Punta El Carrizalito. This is a hot spot on a rocky reef that is under water at all but the lowest tides. We would have had to try out the hot spring in the middle of the day or at 1:00 AM in the middle of the night. Punta El Carrizalito was only 6 miles south of where we were camping, so I determined to get up in the middle of the night and paddle to the hot spring.
The sky was clear, there was no wind and the waves were lapping at our beach like a calm lake. The moon was down and the night was very dark. The water had bioluminescence, lighting up with every paddle stroke. This looked like it was going to be a pleasant 2 hour paddle to the hot spring. For fear of running into rocks near shore, I headed straight south and let the shore curve away from me. A few bioluminescent whitecaps passed under me as I left the first point behind me. Where did those come from? Then I was hit by a 15-knot wind coming offshore! Glowing whitecaps occasionally broke over my bow and gusts tugged at my paddle. I figured this was wind coming down an arroyo. Surely it will die down when the temperatures equalize more. My hypothesis was confirmed when suddenly the wind stopped but I heard wind waves making noise behind me. I kept going.
Crossing a patch of wind like this happened two more times and each time the wind was stronger. The 3rd time I estimated the wind at 20 knots with gusts to 25. It occurred to me that I didn't have a spare paddle and if the wind took this one I would be in Deep Trouble. I also didn't have my wetsuit or a VHF radio. I checked my GPS and it said "battery low". How many things can go wrong in one night? Answer: All of them. The wind made my chart case slam back and forth rapidly, the GPS inside was not heavy enough to hold the chart down. I resolved to cinch it down as soon as I passed this arroyo. "This arroyo" went on and on and it took an hour to get past. I wondered if it would be windy at the hot spring and waste all this effort. But as I approached the last point the wind finally died down.
I rounded Punta El Carrizalito and paddled behind an offshore rock. Herb Howe had given me directions to find the hot spring but it was pitch black and I wondered if I would find it or waste all this effort. I landed on a rocky spit and turned on my flashlight. Three rings of stones appeared 10 feet away from me! I found it! There was lukewarm water in the rings but the tide was still going out. I took off my dive-skin for fear of getting it wet and cold and got into the warm water anyway. It was a disappointment. Sticking my fingers into the gravel at the bottom I found scalding hot conditions but the tide never really got low enough to allow the pools to heat up. Perhaps digging the rings out or coming back on a lower tide would make this work better. With a tide that barely went negative, I still had cold water seeping between the rocks. This produced a temperature just high enough to prevent hypothermia. I shivered in the lukewarm water and didn't get out for 45 minutes just because it was more miserable to be outside in the breeze. At the lowest point in the tide the water became warm enough that I stopped shivering and noticed the beautiful starry sky overhead. Then the tide started back up and a wind came up from the south kicking up waves that pumped in more cold water. I had no choice but to get out and get colder.
It was a relief to put on my gear, including a paddle jacket, and start back north. The winds out of the arroyos had not died down while I soaked, they were stronger. As I approached the big one I could hear the waves roaring like a huge tide rip in front of me. I had to fight my way across this to get back to camp. I estimated the wind at 30 miles an hour with gusts stronger. The wind would rip drops of water off my left paddle and accelerate them until they rattled off my helmet when they weren't stinging my cheek. I paddled with my left knee under the thigh brace to hold onto the kayak when waves broke over me. My right knee was out of the thigh brace so I could mash down on the rudder pedal and keep the boat from weather-cocking into the wind. I had to be quick with a paddle brace several times to keep from being knocked over by larger waves. Fortunately the bioluminescence made the whitecaps on the waves glow in the dark and I could see them coming. The bioluminescence was also making glowing "footprints" behind me from the turbulence given off my every paddle stroke. Looking over my shoulder I could see these footprints receding and this gave me some indication that I was actually making progress in the night.
Finally the big arroyo wind ended and I had a break before the next two. The pattern of wind and calm repeated itself in reverse on the trip back. By the time two hours had passed and I should have been back to camp I was still 1.5 miles away. I figured out that I had been blown this far offshore by the offshore winds. I could see no clues for distances and even saw a fuzzy lump to my right that must have been Isla Monserrat 10 miles away. The wind must have had a component from the south because when I tried to use my GPS to point me at camp, it indicated a point a half a mile too far south. I turned and paddled at full sprinting speed towards this and into a strong wind coming straight out at me. I could still see my footprints moving backwards but it occurred to me that these vortexes will move even when I am standing still. No, don't think about that, just keep paddling.
I considered a new hypothesis. Perhaps all the air is blowing offshore and the calm spots that I went through were just areas close to shore where the wind jumped over the cliffs before coming down to the water. I had been traveling in more or less a straight line into different areas of calm by the cliffs and strong wind out in the bights. If I were far enough offshore there would be strong wind everywhere. The wind slammed my chart-case back and forth until it slipped out of the deck lines and flopped back and forth at the extreme end of its lanyard. Although I didn't want to let go of my paddle or slow down, I reached up and grabbed the chart case with the GPS in it. The lanyard gave way just as my fingers closed on the case. I stuffed it under my spray-skirt. I redoubled my effort and finally made it into the calm air under the cliff.
I got the GPS out for one more reading and found I was a half a mile from camp. Hugging the shore I made it back without getting into any more wind. The air was clear, the water bioluminescent under my paddles. It was calm and lapping like a lake at camp when I landed. Just like when I launched. None of my friends had suspected that I had been paddling for all I was worth in perilous conditions a short distance away. Having spent half the night risking my life I planned to sleep in late. But then the sun got me up early. The rest of the day was a layover day, so I spent it lazing about on the beach recovering and reading a book.
I have heard of a weather phenomenon called "Elephantes" by the locals because they are presaged by dark clouds on the peaks of the Baja peninsula. The clouds supposedly look like elephants roiling around on the mountain tops. This wind can blow at 40 miles an hour and has been known to sweep kayakers offshore in the Sea of Cortez. As I encountered these winds, it did not occur to me that I was paddling through katabatic winds because I thought those were always hurricane force. Researching them (on Wikipedia) back at home later I now see that a katabatic wind can come at a lower velocity. I feel lucky to have survived one.