After three weeks of writing
a blog of the entire trip to summit Mt. Kilimanjaro, a thief decided he needed
my computer more than I. Along with the
pages of work I produced for this blog, he also took all of my grades for 8th
grade chemistry, a portion of my teaching notes, and my accumulated media from
the first 11 months in Mozambique. I try
to forget that I put off creating a system backup copy for the last eight
months that could have saved the loss of any of these personal treasures.
However, life moves on, and
I’m certain the person who stole my computer will suffer some horrific
accident; if not in reality, in my imagination.
Concerning the blog, I was
and am proud of what I started writing about my trip. For me, religion exists in nature. In nature I feel most alive, most intimate
with God. As much a testament to
physical endurance, this trip represented a pilgrimage of sorts, my own
Mecca. I will not, at this point,
reattempt rendering all of my notes into prose.
Instead, for this blog, I’ll throw you into the final ascent to Uhuru.
Our camp, Barrafu, rested on
a sharp ridge at an altitude of 4,650 m (15, 260 ft). Earlier that day, when we first arrived at
camp around 1500 (3 p.m.), our guide, Kuzlight, pointed to the trail ahead of
us and exclaimed, “Look at that f****** s***!”
Day 4.9 – The Hardest Thing I’ve Ever Done
The regular early morning
“hello” woke us from sleep. But instead
of the early sunlight entering with Kennedy’s voice, moonlight illuminated our
tent. Moonlight and the biting cold
showing its strength now for the first time on our hike. The others spoke of cold days before this,
but Iowa nurtures a person in cold and I refused to call the weather cold,
until now.
The plan sequenced a 2200
wake up call following four hours of sleep, a half hour preparation period, a
half hour for eating, then departure at 2300.
Gabby, being from Equador and using a thinner-than-comfortable sleeping
bag, had slept in her layers and required little preparation for the hike. I took my time choosing my cloths before our
short rest and after ten minutes I donned my twenty year-old Dallas Cowboys
stocking cap, gloves, two jackets above two thermals, snow pants above
thermals, two pairs of socks, and hiking boots.
We quickly consumed a very welcome bowl of hot chicken broth with
bread. Following the typical yo-yoing
that occurs with any hiking group, our small group of four set our minds and
our feet to the trail at 2330.
Immediately after crossing
the boundary of camp, the attitude of the trail became serious: changing to
switchbacks climbing a (relatively) small hill.
After summiting the small hill, the trail quickly descended into and
crossed the final valley before arriving at the base of the last, the steepest,
and the longest hill of the entire hike.
The trail, and now we, had reached that base of pebbly, ashy flow
leading up to a gap in the rim of the volcano.
That gap that almost appeared to say, “Yes, I have laid out this grey
carpet just for you, if you dare tread it.”
After a period of hiking up
through the pebbles, I took a quit look back to see what we had gained. Of course, disappointment, the same
disappointment that hits every hiker who looks back too soon, hit me. Our gain appeared minimal in comparison to
the hike ahead of us. Pole pole (a
mantra of the guides that means slowly, or bit-by bit in Swahili) evolved to a
whole new level at that point in the hike.
Imagining our pace from a different perspective, we likely appeared as a
group of arthritic old women passing down the sidewalk between errands at the
post office and the bank. Even so, at
that infantile or geriatric pace, I felt my heart rapidly, forcefully beating
inside my chest.
At that altitude, the
thinner air holds roughly half the oxygen content than sea-level air. Because the body uses oxygen to produce the
energy used for every cellular process, my body compensated in the following
noticeable ways: each inhalation was deep in order to transport the maximum amount
of air to the lungs; my blood, more thoroughly enriched with the oxygen
transporting hemoglobin, thickened; and my heart beat faster to pass more blood
through the lungs. These processes were
not instantaneous or even new to me at that point. I had been monitoring my heart rate for the
entirety of the hike. At base camp, at
rest, my hear beat at 108 beats per minute (normally less than 60). However, until this point, the physiological
adjustment my body made remained docile.
Now the intensity of my heartbeat and breathing battled to consume the
entirety of my consciousness.
After an hour of hiking, we
took our first break. After the second
hour of hiking, we took another break.
Other groups (including on large group of older folk and one pair of
Israeli soldiers) departed camp before us, but through our constant pace we
overtook them and now lead the pack.
During our breaks, we would look down to see groups of headlamps moving
along the trail from camp, but no more looked down to us.
Gabby and I forwent
headlamps. I knew for weeks the full
moon would rise during our hike. Having
shown its whole face just two nights before, the waning moon was brilliant and
for our purposes, its light made our hike all the more intimate. The blacks outlined the rocks and people
amidst the grey sea that flowed up to the sharp white snow at the top of Kibo.
After the third hour of
hiking, the snow moved noticeably closer.
I could no longer drink water during our breaks because the hose from my
camel back froze shut. As I hiked, I
recited a chant from Remember the Titans:
Hoo Hah!
How
you feel?!
Hoo
Hah!
I
feel good!
Hoo Hah!
How
you feel?!
Hoo
Hah!
I
feel good!
Hoo Hah!
How
you feel?!
Hoo
Hah!
I
feel good!
The chant not only reminded me I wasn’t dying, but
kept my breathing regular and helped to keep my spirits up.
Around 3:15 our guides told
us Stella Point, the first point on the trail to reach the rim, was about an
hour away. The trail took on a new,
greater steepness. I used my entire body
to accomplish each step, felt every heartbeat and heard each breath. Hoo Ha!
Pole pole, one step at a
time, we reached Stella Point on the rim, 200 m below Uhuru Peak. I bent over my walking stick and breathed,
heaved deeply. At this point, aside from
the physiological assault my body underwent, my mind fought against a great
amount of doubt and strain. Kuzlight
assured us we only had a bit further to go and that we’re strong. After five minutes, the Israelis arrived and
we departed.
The hike around the rim had a
more gradual incline, but we remained at pole pole pace. During the last stretch of the hike, I began
to realize the proximity of the terminus of this great struggle; that this will
have been the hardest thing I’d ever done.
For days, weeks even, the fear of injury and altitude sickness weighed heavily
on my mind, and in that moment I finally cast it all off. My eyes began to water at the happy thought.
Against the still dark,
starlit sky I saw the dark form of the sign of Uhuru Peak. Hand-in hand, Gabby and I, casting aside pole
pole, rapidly strode towards, extended our hands to, and touched the sign.
I howled! I screamed!
I jubilantly announced to the world that I had conquered
Kilimanjaro! Hugs were had, laughs were
shared, and merriment was thick at that moment atop Africa. Alone we stood, first among hundreds still
battling the mountain and their own minds, the summit to ourselves.
Even then, amongst that
esoteric celebration, the world took no time in reminding us where we
stood. During the process of taking
pictures, gloves came off in order to handle the small camera buttons, and
within a minute my hand burned. After
quickly putting the glove back on, I laughed at the familiar uncertainty of
whether my hand would ever warm up. I
would put the wind chill at -20 degrees Fahrenheit at the summit. For this reason, along with the dangerously
low amounts of oxygen, the guides only allowed us 20 minutes at the summit
before leading us back down.
At the beginning of our
descent, a cloud of euphoria surrounded me.
I now had the time (and desire) to look around. On our right, what I called snow before
turned out to be the first glaciers I had ever seen. Fifteen meter high glaciers of ice glimmering
in the moonlight. To our left, the great
crater of Kibo opened for more than a mile across. Also to our right, far, far below shown the
lights of Moshi.
After a half hour, we
reached Stella Point again, but this time a crowd waited for us. A knowing and (I’ll admit) slightly arrogant
smile stretched across my face as I looked at people sitting against the rock
wall or putting their entire body into the act of breathing with the look in
their eyes saying, “Why the hell am I doing this?” After another short break, we continued down.
Shortly following our
departure from Stella, the sky began to grey.
The colors of coats and hats now replaced the bright lights of headlamps
still hiking up the mountain and the rocks themselves started to take on a more
brownish hue. The grey, pebbly carpet
remained and allowed the feet to sink in with each step. Kuzlight demonstrated a way to use this
property in descending and another smile came across my face. The method was not new to me. For years, I played with this same method on
the sand and rock piles at home. If you
keep your weight above your knees and twist your feet ever so slightly to make
them dig into the rock, you can actually run down the rock pile (in this case
the mountain); and this Kuzlight and I did.
Because of our method, we
descended quickly.
During the descent, a
bright orange crack split the boundary between the earth and sky not only to
the direct east, but across nearly the entire eastern half of the horizon. Never in my life had I seen such a sharp,
broad sunrise. We reached halfway down
the slope before the sun herself began to peek above the edge of the
earth. The sun now continued up, and we,
down.
About an hour away from
camp, exhaustion fell heavily on me. Our
break on the ways down had been short and sparse. The frozen water in my camelback remained
frozen and no water had passed my lips for nearly 5 hours. I started to sweat during the descent due to our
speed and the rising temperatures.
Dehydration along with sore legs cast me into a gloomy mood.
When we reached camp, my
energy utterly spent, we made a quick plan for two hours rest, followed by
lunch, followed by another hike towards the gate. The guides graciously gave us three hours of
sleep, and after packing and a quick lunch, we set off to our final camp.
A half hour after leaving
Barrafu, we passed out of the alpine desert into the moorland (which has more
grasses and bushes). At this point, we
stopped. Apparently, Gabby had been
hiking on a bum toe. The pain stayed miniscule
during the ascent, but almost every step down wedged her big toe into the front
of her hiking boot and caused her significant pain. Being a little ball of duro, she toughed it
out, but now she needed to stop. I let
her try on my blue Nikes (which she later called “the most comfortable shoes
ever,”), she approved and used them for the rest of the hike.
(The night of the following
day, I was able to inspect said toe. It
was not broken, but thoroughly bruised.
The back side of the toenail rose nearly half a centimeter over the end
of it. I told her I thought puncturing
the nail was the only way to relieve the pressure and keep the nail itself, but
she laughingly elected to tough it out.)
From the moolands, we passes
into heath. Again amongst the lichen
bearded trees and rare flowers our hike continued for three more hours. Finally, once again on the edge of the
Kilimanjaro rainforest, we arrived at our last camp, Mweka.
We had descended nearly
three vertical kilometers in just over ten hours (including three hours
sleep). After a bucket bath, supper, and
dessert of saved Peanut Butter M&M’s, Gabby and I nestled down into our
first full nights sleep since night 3.
“There’s no better food than
that served with hunger, and no better bed than that comforting
exhaustion.”-Gabby
The following day, the mountain shed tears down on us as we marched towards the gate. We left the park, passes through the coffee fields, and arrived back in Moshi by early afternoon. After saying goodbye to our group, we went back to our hotel and thoroughly enjoyed a long, hot shower. We bought our bus tickets back to Dar Es Salaam for the following day and used that night for a celebration worthy of our expedition. And my, oh my, what a hike it was.
