Even at this late stage in our Year of Wonder, Christi and I continue to punish our aching, weary bodies with extreme activities like attempting to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro. Both Christi and I approach this trip with trepidation: me because I tried climbing a 20,000 ft mountain in South America and failed miserably; Christi because it is not in her DNA to want to climb a peak just ‘because it’s there’ to quote the famous British mountaineer George Leigh Mallory.
Mt. Kilimanjaro National Park is actually in neighboring Tanzania so our first task is to get to the trailhead. And that is easier said than done. The Jamii shuttle service between Nairobi and Arusha is 2 hours late leaving the Kenyan capital on its 170-mile, 5-hour journey. And barely have we reached the suburbs of Nairobi when the shuttle grinds to ear-splitting halt as the second of the shuttle’s two rear axle springs break. I can’t completely blames the Jamii shuttle service as the roads here are in an atrocious state, with potholes the size of the Yellowstone caldera and as deep as the Grand Canyon. We wait 90 minutes for a replacement shuttle to appear. There is little to be seen on the ride as the bus creates its own dust storm, although the driver can see sufficiently well to stop for customs and immigration at the Kenyan / Tanzanian border. Once again Christi’s visa is much more expensive than mine/(US$100 vs. US$50). Thirty minutes beyond the border the rear axle on our replacement Jamii shuttle bus bursts into flames and we are forced to evacuate and quickly recover our bags, which are strapped to the roof. The only way to continue our journey to Arusha, the largest town in northern Tanzania, is for a group of us climbers to hire our own minivan. While someone more proactive than me negotiates the fee, I photograph a few Maasai people who as usual appear out of nowhere. We leave the smoldering Jamii bus and complete the 170-mile journey from Nairobi to Arusha in a total time of 11 hours.
Still tired and grubby after a night in Arusha, we leave the town in the company of our guide (Charles), a cook (Henry) and three un-named and silent porters and lots of supplies and equipment. Apparently it will take a small army of local experts to get Christi and I anywhere near the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro. There are various trails to the roof of Africa, the most frequently used is the Marangu route. This is the only route to have permanent huts at each of the three campsites on the mountain, which hopefully will make the adventure a little less uncomfortable. Charles offers two pieces of advice which he repeats constantly throughout the climb. Pole, pole (Kiswahili for slowly, slowly) and ‘water is medicine’. To these wise words we add a little 21st century medical magic of our own from Christi’s portable pharmacy in the form of Diamox. The only downside to all the water we drink and the fact that Diamox is a diuretic is that we need to pee frequently – day and night.
Our first hike is 4.5 miles from the Marangu gate trailhead (elevation 6,400 feet) to the Mandara huts at 8,860 feet. We plod along gently (which is our normal pace by the way so Charles does not have to tell us to walk more slowly, although he may wonder whether we will ever arrive) through montane rainforest. We stop frequently to photograph the scenery, which adds further to our hike time. The hike takes 5 hours. The other reason not to hurry is that there is little to do once we get into camp, other than eat and our cook and porters (who double as waiters apparently) do a wonderful job at providing us with varied and plentiful nosh. Interestingly we barely see the porters apart from at meal times and to be honest I am unable to remember their faces, so it’s a good job they recognize me. We eat in a large communal A-frame hut and our territory is staked out with a Maasai blanket which doubles as a table-cloth.
Christi and I sleep okay, but wake to thick mist and fog on the slopes of Kilimanjaro. Even though it is not raining everything is dripping wet outside of our hut. Today we hike 7 miles to Horombo camp at 12,140 feet. The distance and the elevation are both more noticeable today. Charles ambles along sometimes behind, sometimes ahead of us. I think he wants to give us as much independence as possible, but maybe he remains unconvinced of our ability to summit Kilimanjaro. It’s not as though we have done any special training for this climb or attempted to acclimatize ahead of time. Christi and I are truly just winging it this time. Initially the terrain remains montane rainforest, but after a couple of hours we leave the fog, mist, and wet rainforest and enter the alpine zone, dominated by moorland and heather. The sun comes out and we exchange our wet weather gear for sunblock and sunglasses. Some of the more interesting plant species we see are Everlastings (which resemble dried flowers) and Giant Groundsel. We stumble into Horombo camp after nearly 7 hours of gentle hiking. The Horombo huts are filled with people on their way up and on their way down and there is a big difference between the two groups. The people on the way up are nervous-looking and not sure what to expect over the next 48 hours. The people on the way down are tired but overwhelmingly elated. This merely adds to our nervous sense of excitement.
Before we make our summit attempts, Christi and I have an extra day of acclimatization here in Horombo land. Charles takes on a leisurely stroll (5-miles round trip; about 4 hours) to the Saddle (13780 feet) via an interesting formation called Zebra Rocks. Zebra Ass is a more accurate, if slightly less polite, description. We return to Horombo hut at 12,140 feet and over dinner Charles impresses upon us what lies ahead. The summit of Kilimanjaro is 19,341 feet, a vertical elevation gain of 7,000 feet or 1.3 miles straight up – ouch!
After a nervous night we awake to find the montane rainforest below us enveloped in a sea of cloud. We have an early morning start for Kibo hut at the base of the main Kilimanjaro crater. It’s a 6-mile hike across alpine desert (like a lunar or martian landscape). A cold wind blows; it’s a bleak and desolate landscape. And the further we walk the larger Kilimanjaro looms above us. We arrive at Kibo hut at 1.30 pm, 5 hours after departing Horombo campsite. For once we are a little quicker than the average. Kibo hut is at the rarefied altitude of 15,430 feet. The hut is divided into a series of 12-bed dorms; Christi and I share our dorm with a party of very confident German climbers. We have 10 hours to kill before we begin our summit push. There will be no sleep tonight. As usual Charles, Henry, and the porters disappear and only reappear to feed Christi and I. We try to relax, but we feel nervous. We eat a little, checks our packs and equipment, and wait. And wait.
We are among the first to leave camp (so Charles really is worried about our ability to summit!): Christi, me, Charles, and Henry the cook tags along in case one of us can’t make it then the other can continue while Henry brings the other person back to the Kibo hut. It is of course pitch black, although there really are a billion stars in the sky. We can see them when we turn off our headlights. I’m wearing six layers up top, four down below, two pairs of socks and three hats. I look and feel like the Michelin Man, but according to Charles it will be very cold on the summit. We zigzag ever upwards across a vertical scree field, but all we can see is two steps in front of us and the outline of Charles leading the way. Remarkably we reach the crater rim at 4 am (Gilman’s Point, which is 18,650 feet above sea level). Charles had calculated it would take us 6 hours to get this far; we did it in 4.5 hours. This is actually bad news because dawn is still 2 hours away, while Uhuru peak (at an elevation of 19,341 feet) a mere hour further around the rim. This is not a place to dawdle, though. The vicious, biting wind and sub-zero temperatures make for dangerous conditions. We reach the remnants of the once mighty icefield that covered most of the peak at one time and the ice spikes called penitents. I try to take photos, but my battery freezes every few minutes and I have to remove it from my camera with my gloves off (painful) and warm it inside my many layers of clothing. We summit at 6 am – and have the photos to prove it. I am very proud of Christi. We thank the guides profusely, but mostly they want descend as quickly as possible. I, on the other hand, want to savor the moment and take more photos. There is also one other special thing I need to do.
I rummage around my day pack and retrieve a small box. Christi is eager to leave also, complaining about the extreme cold. She is more than a little surprised, therefore, when I go down on bended knee and open the box to reveal an emerald engagement ring (Christi’s preference). “We have had 10 great years together,” I begin, “and our Year of Wonder has been truly spectacular. I should very much like to spend the rest of my life sharing wonderful experiences with you, so Miss Christi Motter would you do me the honor of marrying me. I love you sweetheart.” Christi is shocked – not so much by the proposal, but by the fact that I actually brought an engagement ring with me to the summit of Kilimanjaro (which I purchased just the day before we left Nairobi from Tiara Jewellers and very nice people they are too). After a seemingly long hesitation she says ‘Yes’.
It took us 6.5 hours to reach the roof of Africa and only 3.5 hours to return to Kibo hut. Charles decided that the best way to negotiate the monster scree slope was to run down it. He grabbed a reluctant Christi by the arm and dragged her screaming down the mountain. The climb up Kilimanjaro may have been ‘pole, pole’, but the way back is all about speed. We barely have a moment’s rest, a snack, and time to collect the remainder of our possessions before Charles is urging us back to the Horombo campsite. I do find a few moments to finally place the engagement ring on Christi’s finger, which she was loath to do on the summit. I think all our mental and physical reserves are gone now as the return hike to the Horombo huts takes a long, tedious, and painful 3.5 hours. I can no longer embrace the scenery or the park; I just want this to over. We reach the huts at 3 pm, some 31 hours after we left early yesterday morning. And that is 31 hours without sleep. Henry, our cook, and the porters supply us with plenty of food and drink and Christi and I are in bed and asleep by 7 pm.
We sleep for 12 glorious hours without disturbance. The disappointing news is that we have to make it all the way back to the Marangu gate today and then drive 2 hours back to our hotel in Arusha. It’s an exhausting 12-mile hike with a lunch stop at Mandara hut that we complete in quite grumpy mood in 6.5 tedious hours. We have hiked a grand total of 50 miles over the last 6 days with a vertical elevation change of over 13,000 feet (2.5 vertical miles) and thoroughly deserve the summit certificates awarded to us by the Park and countersigned by Charles.
As we drive back to Arusha, fatigue really begins to set in and our bodies begin to seize up. Say goodbye to Charles and our crew (with tips) and collapse into bed at the hotel. Fortunately our return journey to Nairobi the following day aboard the Riverside shuttle service is unremarkable and completed in the regulation 5 hours. Tonight is yet another auspicious occasion: the world cup final between Spain and Holland. It is a terrible, terrible match. The Dutch game plan is to kick the Spanish team into oblivion, which ultimately fails and Spain claims a 1-0 in extra time.
Mega blog post by Rod Phillips, author of Weary Heart – a gut wrenching tale of love and test tubes.
Speak Your Mind