Kilimanjaro Rises Like Olympus Above the Serengeti
Ever since I started planning my trip to Africa, I had hoped to climb
straight to the top, Mount Kilimanjaro, 5896m (19,340 ft). I encountered
my first setback long before I even glimpsed the volcanic monster.
It started as a small bump on my arm, it grew larger and redder. Tina,
our courier, looked concerned when I showed it to her, "Maybe you picked
up a maggot in the delta". At first I thought Tina was pulling my chain,
but as she got the scalpel out of the medical kit and prepared to operate,
I decided even she wouldn't take it this far. Much to everyone's
disappointment, no maggot was found, just lots of puss.
The bump didn't seem to be getting better, but our truck was leaving for
Arusha, so we hopped on and headed north. It was to be a four day
journey, travelling from dawn to dusk everyday, no tourist stops on this
one. After the first day, my arm was looking pretty bad, red and
swollen, you could see red streaks going up my lymph system to my armpit.
Infected? Damn right it was infected. I started on a course of
tetra-cylene that Sara had, and tried to keep my arm below the rest of my
body to slow the infection. By the next morning, the streaks were gone
and things were looking up.
We traveled through the outback of Zambia, passing numerous little grass
hut villages. There were a lot of grass fires burning, often they were
close enough to feel the heat from the moving truck. We crossed the
border into Tanzania, stopping just over the border due to an alternator
problem. It didn't take long for most of the village to arrive to
investigate what we were doing. It was a bit odd cooking our dinner while
40 people starred at you, but what can you do? They stayed long passed
dark, watching Mike work under the cab of the truck. This was apparently
the best entertainment they'd had in a long time.
With our alternator jury-rigged back into operation, we headed out in the
morning. We got dropped off in Arusha several days later, goodbye Truck
Africa, hello independent travel. We checked into the YMCA and headed to
a hospital recommended by Tina.
Three men taking a break at the building in from of the YMCA.
Despite being 7pm on Sunday, I was ushered in by the nurse. The doctor
looked to be fresh out of some cracker-jack med school and kept asking for
advice from the nurse in Swahili. It was all a bit scary, he was
obviously nervous, I don't like nervous guys with scalpels. The deed was
done, my abscist was cleaned out and I was given a round of the proper
anti-biotic for the problem. Neil and Sara headed out on safari in the
morning, I decided to wait in Arusha for several days to see how my arm
healed. I explored Arusha, repeating the phrase "no safari, have safari"
to every local that approached. After a checkup visit with a more
competent doctor, I was ready to hit the mountain.
My support staff: a guide and two porters.
You can't just put on your boots and start up Kilimanjaro. You have to
hire a guide, the guide requires a porter for himself, and then while
you're at it, might as well get a porter for yourself as well. I had paid
a company in Arusha to make the arrangements, around $600 for a six-day
trek, plus another $100 to cover the Visa surcharge (don't use credit
cards in Tanzania!).
The rough terrain this guy covered with this basket on his head was amazing!
I decided to climb the Machame route, a more scenic alternative to the
standard "coca-cola" route (called this because you can purchase coke and
beer at the huts on this route, though the price varies proportionally to
the altitude). The safari company had said there were two other Americans
on the trek with me, but apparently the Americans had decided on another
route (or didn't exist at all). After a bus, a crammed minibus, and a
45-minute walk, we were at the trailhead. You get what you pay for I
suppose, and I had paid the minimum I could find.
We started up the trail, I carried a daypack with my camera, money belt,
first aid kit and some water, everything else was carried by the porters
and guide. Only the guide spoke English, but it wasn't really of
conversational quality. The porters were dressed in cotton, wearing low
boat shoes, the cook/porter carried everything in a big wicker basket on
his head, amazing.
On a little pre-dinner hike, Shira plateau.
I had the flu or something that day, I was feeling awful before we even
left Arusha. I would have delayed the trip by a day or two if I'd known I
was the only client. I started taking Diamox, an anti-altitude drug,
figuring I was going to need all the help I could get. Diamox is a
diuretic, in the six hours we hiked that day, I drank 4 liters of water
and it just went right through me. Leaving your warm sleeping bag three
times a night is a bit annoying.
We camped at the Machame hut, 3000m (9800ft). The huts on this route are
small and run-down, so everyone stays in tents. It took a bit to get used
to being waited on by my porters, trying to help out just resulted in
getting in their way. They would set up my personal two-man tent, prepare
snacks and meals, clean up afterwards, collect firewood, I really got
bored since I had nothing to do once we arrived at camp.
After my dinner of popcorn, soup, bread and rice with meat sauce, I hit
the sack and slept like a log. By morning, by flu symptoms were gone and
I was feeling good. We hit the trail for a steep but short 6 hour hike to
Shira hut, 3840m (12,600ft). The altitude started to get noticeable at
this point, if I walked too fast I would get a headache. I headed up the
hill for a little light exercise to help in the acclimatization. I
reached the crest of a small hill with good views of Kili, the summit
looked to be just a hop-skip-and-a-jump from here, but I knew better.
Birds sailing on the thermals at high camp, Mt. Meru in the background.
Though I wasn't overtly hungry, I ate a big dinner of pasta accompanied by
sunset above the clouds. Turned in at 7:30pm, not much nightlife up here.
We spent the next day traversing across the south-side of the mountain.
Our highpoint was 4500m (14,700ft), but we dropped back down to camp at
the Barranco hut, 3950m (13,000 ft). The walking is easy, but our pace is
slow, like a funeral march. I'm able to keep up with the porters, but I'm
not carrying much.
A nice snack of mellon at 14,000ft, now this is mountaineering!
Another pleasant day hiking, on the flat portions the guide Brenda would
whistle or sing church hymns in Swahili. We reached the Mweka ridge and
headed up to our high camp, the Barafu Hut 4600m (15,000ft). The altitude
was now starting to hit me, I was feeling nauseous when we arrived at the
hut. I felt better after eating my daily snack of popcorn and peanuts.
My legs were stiff but pain is temporary right? I can see our ascent
route to the summit, it looks steep, it looks long. Just put one foot in
front of the other, repeat. Nothing left to do but to do it.
We woke at midnight to start out summit bid. I had hardly slept a wink,
not feeling well at all. I got out of my tent and promptly blew dinner
all over the rocks. Oh that ain't a good sign at all I talked to Brenda,
he still seemed set on climbing. I reasoned that if I started to lose
motor coordination, then I would call the climb off. So up, up and away.
Sunset the night before the summit bid.
Initially the route was fairly easy, but it quickly turned steeper. I
followed Brenda and tried to keep up. With this little oxygen, it is
amazing how easily you tire. All I could think about was sitting down on
the next rock and taking a break. I did have to take numerous breaks, but
Brenda would only let me rest 2 minutes saying "After 2 minutes, you lose
power!" Mentally tough, physically strong.
Up, up, up. Headlights illuminating the rocky, scree path. Damn I'd kill
for some good solid snow steps. My hands and toes were getting numb. It
wasn't that cold, the air was calm, but with the lack of oxygen, your body
simply has trouble keeping warm. Wiggle your toes and fingers Keith.
Nobody going to break my stride, nobody going to slow me down, oh no, I
got to keep on moving
Doesn't this thing ever end? Every time we crest, I think we are nearing
the top, but ever time another hill appears looming ahead in the pre-dawn
twilight. Another wave of sickness, Brenda puts his hand on my shoulder
"Vomiting, vomiting is no problem. Do you have sunscreen? You should put
on some sunscreen." Sisu.
Looking down the route to the summit, high camp is down in one of the saddles.
The glowing yellow circle in front of me, grew dimmer and dimmer. Time to
change batteries in my maglite. My actions were slow and deliberate, but
no fumbling, a good sign. Wiggle those toes and fingers, can't forget! Up
and up we climbed.
Ichi - ni - san - shi -go -roku - shichi - hachi - kyu - ju.
With each step, one Japanese number. I pretended my old sensei from
Morris was standing next to me, calling out the cadence. I did this again
and again, for hours. Ichi - ni - san - shi -go -roku - shichi - hachi -
kyu - ju.
The rock turned to snow, I finally had semi-solid places to step. I
powered up with newfound energy. We crested the ridge and arrived under a
large overhanging boulder. "Welcome to Stellar Point!" Brenda announced.
Alleluia! This wasn't the summit, but from here it was an easy 30 minute
walk in the park to the true summit.
Predawn glow from the top.
We followed the snow trail, the pace still slow but the grade was much
easier. We arrived at the top of a small snow hill, we could go no
higher- "I'm on top of the world, looking down on creation"
Brenda and I on the summit with the obligatory pack of Mentos.
It was still before dawn, the first glows of sunrise could be seen along
the cloud line that surround the mountain. I got out my camera to snap
some photos. The lens was stuck, but I managed to free it up, albeit
temporarily, by breathing onto it. We were the first on top that morning,
but we didn't stay long. All I could think about was getting down to
where the air was thicker.
We cruised back down to high camp in 1 hours, half-walking, half-skiing
down the sand and rock slope. I snacked on some fruit and rested a bit
before we broke camp and headed down the Mweka ridge. We passed below the
clouds, saying goodbye to Kili. After 2 hours, we reached our planned
campsite, bad news- no water, the stream is dried up. My legs were
already thoroughly stuffed, but we didn't seem to have a choice. We
+carried on downhill for 2 hours along the muddiest trail I've ever seen.
I had two walking sticks at this point, probably the only reason my legs
survived the punishment.
At 4pm, we arrived at the Mweka park gate, 1500m (4900ft). It had been
around a 3000ft climb to the summit, and a 14,000ft descent to the gate.
I don't recommend this to anybody. I took 800mg of Ibuophrohen, laid down
with my legs uphill and collapsed.
The porters and guide wanted their tips before we left camp. Smart
cookies, they figure you couldn't carry your stuff or find your way back
to civilization from here. I tipped each around 20-30 US$, they seemed
very pleased. We walked out via a maze of small dirt paths through
several villages, across streams, eventually arriving on a road as a taxi
happened to be driving by. Brenda negotiated, getting the other passenger
ejected from the taxi, and getting us a ride to Moshi. From Moshi, a bus
returned us to Arusha. I bought the guide and porters a few beers at the
YMCA, and we parted ways.
Mmmmmmmm, the air was delicously thick down here
"I know that I must do what's right
As sure as Kilimanjaro rises like Olympus above the Serengeti
I seek to cure what's deep inside, frightened of this thing that I've
become"
-Toto
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