Kilimanjaro Climb

April 30 - May 7, 2011

by Tricia with David, Michael, Jeremy, Tara

 

April 30th, Day One

When I awoke in my room at the Kilimakyaro Lodge in Tanzania and rolled over in bed, the view through my window was of Kilimanjaro. Clouds had moved in slightly but not enough to obscure the all-important peak. There it stood, snow-capped and waiting to be conquered by our hopeful group of five.

Mt. Kilimanjaro is an inactive volcano, its last explosion creating the Uhuru Peak, named after the Swahili word for 'freedom'. It is the highest freestanding mountain in the world and the fourth highest of the Seven Summits, the seven highest peaks on each continent. Kilimanjaro is 5,895 meters or 19,341 feet. For comparison, Everest base camp is 5360 meters/17590 feet. The highest peak in North America is Mt. McKinley at 6194 meters/20,320 feet.

Kili can be summited via six routes of varying difficulties requiring from 5 to 8 days. We chose a 7 day Lemosho Route. The Lemosho is one of the least populated, at least until it meets up with the Shira and Machame Routes. Lemosho is a camping route and considered the most scenic. We would be tackling it during the first week of May which is the rainy season.

While Kili does not require technical climbing experience, it is a physically demanding climb. According to Wiki, "The Kilimanjaro National Park shows that only 30% of climbers actually reach the Uhuru summit with the majority of climbers turning around at Gilman’s Point, 300 meters short of Uhuru, or Stella Point, 200 meters short of Uhuru." About 10 people die on the mountain every year, typically from Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS), heart attack or hypothermia.

All of that was on my mind that morning since our planned attack on the mountain had not begun on an auspicious note.

The night before, at the beginning of what was going to be our final celebratory dinner as a group of 10, Jeremy, our official photographer and arguably the member most excited about our climb, passed out at the table, falling to the floor. Tara screamed when this happened, causing the majority of us at the opposite end of the table to assume a wild animal had wondered into the dining room. I know all of us would have preferred that to the reality of what had happened. Fortunately, one of our group is a trained First Responder and she tended to Jeremy until he felt well enough to sit up and eventually stand. The suspected culprit was the Diamox he was taking to prevent altitude sickness, but we weren't positive. He made a call to his father in the U.S. who told him to visit a hospital. He, David and the only employee at the lodge with a car and a grasp of English, headed to the hospital where they remained until just before midnight. To the tremendous relief of everyone, the results were good. After submitting to a saline drip to flush the Diamox from his system, Jeremy was given the tentative OK to begin the climb without the aid of the drug. At breakfast everyone was in high spirits once again.

We met our main climbing guides, Sinai and Antony, and after a brief stop at the hospital for Jeremy to get his blood pressure checked and receive the final OK from the doctor, we headed to Moshi to pick up our porters for the climb. On the way, we passed two shops selling coffins decorated with brightly colored beads. I didn't point them out, not wanting to put a damper on our mood, especially in light of Jeremy's recent health problem. But seeing those coffin shops, at the base of Kili for a reason, did concern me a bit.

In Moshi we met our cooks, Lucas and Dustin, as well as the 15 porters who would carry our camp supplies. Our group of hired help would total 21 for 5 climbers. The 5 of us would only be responsible for carrying our own daypacks; the camping equipment, food, and our main packs would be transported from camp site to camp site by the porters.

After stopping to fix our third flat of the trip, we reached Londeroso Gate to have our bags weighed since porters aren't officially allowed to carry more than 15kg (although they would prove to end up carrying at least double that).

All the equipment being weighed.

The porters signing in at the ranger station. At every camp, we would sign in to the ledger so the parks would have a record of the climbers' progress up the mountain.

I was experiencing gastro-intestinal distress that I attributed to the Diamox since it's a known side effect. Diamox is a medication for treating glaucoma which was proven to help acidify the blood which allows it to absorb more oxygen, making it useful for combating altitude sickness. But it wasn't without its downsides, which included diarrhea, increased urination and intense tingling in extremities. I crossed my fingers that the effect would pass. Fortunately by this time I had become increasingly inured to the 'restrooms' in Africa. Squat toilets in Japan or China seem like luxuries compared to the ones there. I doubt I'll find anything more rustic or unpleasant.

We waited for at least an hour at Londorosi gate because of a problem with the entrance fee. The weather was very cool and the clouds completely filled the sky and blocked our view of the mountains. We ate our box lunches while we waited: butter sandwich, fruit, muffin, cut veg and a drink box. I only drank the juice and ate the banana since my stomach wasn't happy with me.

We finally started on the road to the Lemosho Gate, except the road was full of deep crevices due to the rains. The follow-up van to our Land Cruiser contained our gear and the porters and it was having a difficult time navigating the muddy, broken roads. We eventually had to stop in the road to relieve the van of all its supplies and gear. Everything was loaded onto and into the Land Cruiser with us, including the porters. The interior of the vehicle was crammed with 8 people and the remaining 13 crouched on the roof or hung off the sides. It was pretty comedic, and even the porters found it amusing. They broke into the "Kili song" as we drove.

It was pretty damned funny watching the Land Cruiser slip and slide through the mud and fall into the crevices because each time it did, bags would fly off the roof and/or porters would fly out into the grass and bushes. Unfortunately the road became so bad that not even the Land Cruiser could make it. Then it began to rain. In the rain we had to get out of the car, put on rain gear, and hike up to the trailhead of Lemosho rather than drive to it. Through a series of misunderstandings and budgetary problems, I didn't buy rain pants or gaiters, both of which meant I ended up wet and super muddy. I definitely underestimated how much mud would we would encounter.

As for the hike itself, it started out fairly fine, barring the rain. A week on safari, eating and sitting on our butts in Jeeps, however, hadn't done our fitness levels any favors and immediately I was reminded of a major truth of adventure travel: the stories and triumphs are fantastic to share and photos always show you smiling. But to actually experience the adventure really, really sucks. It's hard work and it's uncomfortable and the payoff only comes afterward in the form of bragging rights. Those rights were 6 days away.

The rain let up fairly quickly, but we still had much road to cover.

Once we left the road we didn't have much of a path to follow through the jungle. The Lemosho Route is the youngest of the Kili routes so the path is less distinct, and we weren't even on the official route anyway. We had yet to reach the trailhead. We did a lot of rock and tree root scrambling, which is extremely tiring on the entire body since you're engaging every muscle to pull you up/ease you down. When the sun went down we had barely reach the trailhead and we still had our scheduled itinerary to meet. We broke out our headlamps and continued through the pitch black jungle while monkeys chittered and screeched from the trees around us. Maybe the scenery was beautiful, but with the darkness and being unable to look up from the ground for fear of twisting an ankle, I saw none of it. The hike was somewhat reminiscent of the 'Death March of Machu Picchu' that Dave and I experienced in Peru in which we hiked 18 miles through the dark on train tracks, but this was more difficult because the land wasn't level; we were ascending from 7000 ft to 9500 feet. Or so we hoped. Every time we struggled through an ascent, it seemed it was followed by a descent. The descents were demoralizing, especially with updates from Jeremy who had an altimeter on his watch which kept us informed of how much altitude we *weren't* gaining. It often seemed like we were losing altitude or staying in place rather than gaining any much needed ground.

We were miserable, tired and wet. Tara had a minor meltdown because of the ants which had nasty bites. Michael had to urge her to take a deep breath and calm down. Sinai ended up shouldering her daypack for her to keep her moving. It was a pretty tough intro to our climb for all of us. All I kept thinking was that this was only the first day. Already I was tired and gasping for breath. We walked very slowly, a theme of the climb (pole, pole - slowly, slowly), but that was tiring in its own way since you couldn't build up momentum. When, after a long, grueling ascent we reached camp, we all let out an exhausted cheer.

The tents we were given were roomy, at least for my brother and me. Mike, Jeremy and Tara were together in the other tent. Each tent possessed a front entrance area (Dave and I called ours the 'foyer'; the others named theirs the 'vestibule'). It had a dirt floor which was where we left our dirty boots, poles and anything wet. Farther inside was a zippered sleeping area. Initially, it was a bit of a hassle arranging our packs and setting up our sleeping pads and bags since most of our equipment as well as ourselves was dirty and wet and we wanted to avoid cross contamination with dry gear as much as possible.

When we finally had it all sorted, I collapsed, exhausted, onto my sleeping bag. But sleep was yet to be had. Someone called into our tent. It was our 'waiter', Michael, a wide-smiling Tanzanian who would serve us our meals and washing-up water during the climb. He set some rice sacks on the floor of our tent between our sleeping bags and covered this with a red checkered blanket. He then set out place settings and mugs for five people along with various powdered drink options like instant coffee, tea and Milo, an Ovaltine-like mix. When we realized we all would be eating in our tent, we invited Mike, Jeremy and Tara over to share our first meal on Kili: sliced white bread, 'cucumber' soup (veg soup), penne pasta and a tomato sauce with sliced carrots and peppers in it. This would become a rather standard meal. The food was good and most importantly hot, but I was too tired to eat much and I was afraid of adding to my gastrointestinal woes.

Michael returned after we'd finished and cleared everything away. None of us could stay awake much longer so the guys and Tara returned to their tent. It felt great to finally lay down, but to my surprise and dismay, I couldn't immediately fall asleep. I lay there listening to Mike snoring and the porters talking (15 of them can make quite a racket). The porters, by the way, were packed 10 to a tent with the excess sleeping on bunks in the ranger's hut.

Michael, our waiter.

The porters' tent, which also served as the kitchen.

I finally fell asleep, shivering, only to wake up an hour or so later with the urgent need to pee, something I'd dreaded ever since reading about Diamox's effects as a strong diuretic. I had packed a pee funnel for the trip, but sadly I'd left it at the Masai boma (what a bewildering discovery *that* must have been for them). I was not a happy camper as I unzipped out of my sleeping bag, put on my headlamp, slipped my feet into my chilled boots and trucked out to the spider toilet with the moths fluttering around my head. I called it the spider toilet because the outhouse was smothered with webs clogged with the mummified bodies of tiny flies. No matter which way you squatted you found your face a few inches from a milky fly graveyard.

May 1, Day Two

Waking up wasn't nearly as bad as I expected it to be, mostly because I was relieved at how well I had managed to sleep once I'd emptied my bladder. My sleeping bag had slid halfway across the floor of the tent but I was nice and warm in it. The bad part, of course, came when we had to pack up our bags before Michael set up breakfast in our tent. This involved a confusing scramble to determine what to wear, where to put the dirties, what went into the packs that the porters would carry which we wouldn't see again until camp later in the day, and what we'd need to put into our daypacks that would still allow room for 3 liters of water and a Tupperware lunch box the size of a shoebox. This packing process would become easier with practice, but on this first morning I was stressed as I rolled up my sleeping bag and tried to cram it into my backpack. By the way, I had forgotten to buy a waterproof cover for my backpack so I was forced to make do with a white kitchen trash bag which didn't completely fit over both the pack and my sleeping pad, resulting in cold damp clothes. Later, Dave and I consolidated our gear so that all the dry stuff went into his waterproof duffle and all the dirtied and bagged items went into my less protected backpack.

Packing up in the morning. You can see breakfast spread out in the middle of our tent, making things a bit more difficult.

Michael came by to collect our water bottles and bladders. When he returned them to us filled with water that had been boiled clean the night before, the water was still warm. Drinking warm water when you're hot and winded is not pleasant, fyi.

We began our second day climb with the assumption that we'd fallen behind schedule since we'd had to start hiking on the washed out road and not at the trailhead of Lemosho. This was extremely discouraging for me because Day One had been difficult enough and now we had the added pressure of having to hike longer and farther today to make up for what we failed to cover yesterday. Today's route, just like yesterday's, was challenging. Lots of narrow jungle paths and the dreaded ascents up roots and rocks. I was winded for much of the way and had lactic acid build up in my thighs.

Then it began to rain. We'd been advised to pack our rain gear in our daypacks so I had ski pants with me and a parka. As it rained, I quickly put my parka on over my pack and myself. I thought I could get away with my convertible pants, but Daniel, the guide trainee, brought over his ski pants for me to put on over my convertibles. Since he already had the pants out and was in the process of trying to pull them on up over my boot I let him do it without mentioning I had my own pants. I figured expediency was more important because it was turning into a deluge and we all stood unprotected. Picture me balanced on one leg in the middle of the jungle while rain is pouring buckets and poor Daniel is trying to jam his pants over my muddy boots. After all that, they didn't even fit me, so I told them I had my own pants and we struggled to strip Daniel's off me so we could try again with mine. By this time my legs were soaked to the skin and Dave and I asked Antony if it was even worth the effort anymore to put on the new pants. Antony said I should strip off my convertibles and put on the ski pants (something I had planned to do under drier conditions), so that's what I did. As the rest of the group continued on, Dave stayed behind with me as I stripped down to my underwear in the rain and balanced on each foot to put on my ski pants. By the time we were done, I was out of breath from all the gymnastics of wrestling these pants on over my boots and wet skin but I was glad to be in waterproof gear because the rain fell even harder. It miraculously stopped when we broke for lunch and began to pour again as soon as we resumed hiking.

We ascended some more, which wasn't fun in the rain and mud, and left the trees and most of the vegetation behind. The route leveled out as we entered the Shira Plateau. Thank god it was a plateau because the wind began to blow and our unprotected hands became red and stiff from the cold and I don't think any of us had much coordination. Reaching camp at first offered only marginal relief. The wind and rain were still pounding us and we were forced to wait outside our tents as the porters brought out our backpacks.

Once inside our foyer, Dave and I used our shaking, red fingers to remove our sodden rain gear. Everything was soaked. The rain gear didn't breathe so we were wet with sweat wherever we weren't wet with rain. To finally slough all that wetness and climb into our warm, dry camp clothes was a blessing. My camp outfit consisted of long underwear, sweat pants, ski hat and an alpaca sweater I'd purchased in Peru. Just as we collapsed onto our sleeping bags, it began to hail. It was kind of awesome but not the camp experience I had envisioned when Sinai, our guide, told us we would reach camp at 2 PM and have the afternoon to relax. I'd pictured our tents sitting in a meadow under sunny skies (where the hell I got this imagery I have no idea). Obviously, this couldn't have been further from the reality. Everything we'd worn was wet and a small lake was forming in our foyer until Dave asked the porters to divert the water.

Then, maybe an hour or two later, the sun came out and oh, how that lifted everyone's spirits. Everyone immediately began draping our wet gear over the tents and hung them from trekking poles to dry. The fog burned off, and I could get my first unencumbered look at the Shira Plateau.

The camp is typically busy, but today it was empty of all but us. The camp is called Shira Huts I. In the busy season there can be upwards of 200 climbers and porters. There are about 10 outhouses to support them.

Ranger hut at Shira Hut I.

Dave and Jeremy found a creek nearby and then a waterfall with a decent little pool at its base. Of course they wanted to jump in, and while Mike and I recorded the event for posterity and some of the porters watched with huge grins on their faces, Jeremy and Dave dove into the water. Apparently it was cold but the sun was hot enough to warm them up quickly. The ranger for Shira Huts saw this and called on Mike to convince them not to do it -- "They are crazy!" Yep, pretty much.

With most of our clothes dried out we felt pretty good. We had a dinner of fried fish and potatoes with another excellent soup. Because we were the only group at camp, most of us skipped using the outhouses, perhaps traumatized as I was by the spider toilet, and used the numerous bushes. We found out later from Antony that we are not as far behind schedule as we'd feared. It turned out our printed itineraries were slightly off -- or at least that's what we were led to believe, a fallacy which would later bite us in the ass -- and so it was great to believe we wouldn't have to make that major push to catch up to where we were supposed to be. We were already there, according to Antony.

While listening to them discuss the itinerary, it struck me how soon we'd reach summit day. The long, tiring slogs had tricked my mind into believing I'd entered some sort of tortuous limbo where I'd be doing this for weeks before we reached the peak. But it was only 4 days until the final push. I was more excited now, and maybe more hopeful. I was confident I could last 4 more days.

The five of us were generally doing well. Dave, Tara and I were on Diamox. Dave and I had experienced at times tingling in the hands and feet. Most noticeably in the feet after sitting cross-legged at dinner, although I'd had painful tinging at night which had occasionally kept me up longer than I would have been. The tingling was exactly like the feeling you experience when your limbs fall asleep and feeling returns to them, only ten times more intense. Sometimes I'd grimace and rub my feet to try to massage the feeling away. Another side effect of Diamox, which was of negligible concern on the mountain, was that carbonated beverages like soda tasted terrible. Specifically, the sweetness seemed to disappear, leaving you with only the taste of the soda water. So far Diamox had had the opposite effect gastronomically in Dave and me. I envied him, although I'd grudgingly learned to live with my 'condition'. I just wished I could eat more; I ate light since any food in my body necessitated trips to the outhouses or bushes. I didn't know how Tara was faring except that she once mentioned concern over the tingling in her feet. She had mostly isolated herself and didn't interact with us as a group. Plus, she barely ate, which the rest of us worried would become an issue as we expended more and more energy into the mountain.

May 2, Day Three

We woke up today well rested after getting at least 8 hours of sleep. We also were happy with the knowledge that today would be a short day, maybe only 5 hours. Mike reported he had woken up with a mild altitude headache which had gone away with breakfast. I was concerned because I'd become out of breath simply from walking to the 'toilets' (although this would become less of a concern since it seemed to happen every morning; perhaps I'm more tired immediately upon waking).

Breakfast on the Shira Plateau.

After packing up our gear with considerably more efficiency and speed, we set off from the plateau. My fears that the altitude was already beginning to bear down on us were alleviated. The hike was nice and we became winded in all the appropriate places. I wished all days could be like that one but then it would take a month to reach the peak. During the hike, Jeremy did his best to psych us out with comments about how difficult tomorrow would be since we would be pushing to 15k feet and retreating to sleep at 13k. He would do this often during the trip, inadvertently scaring the rest of us with his ominous reminders of what lay ahead. I don't think he realized how much it distressed us.

Even though the porters are only supposed to carry 15kg each, nearly all of them doubled up on their loads. They were speed demons, packing up camp, passing us on the trail, and setting up camp often hours before we reached it. Made us feel very out of shape.

Prompted by Jeremy's warnings, as we walked I continually asked myself if I would be able to summit. With the exception of today, each day had been difficult, moreso than I expected. I admit I wasn't in the best shape I've ever been, but I'd pushed myself hard at the gym long past when I badly wanted to stop. I remember at one point actually thanking myself for working so hard at the gym because at least it put me into *this* shape, even if it wasn't the greatest. I can't or don't want to imagine what this would be like for someone less fit. But I didn't kid myself: I feared the urge to quit, probably during summit day, might be strong. It helped tremendously that I'd told so many people that I was doing this. I didn't want to have to admit to them that I couldn't hack it. So unless AMS became an issue, I was going to try to grind this out. It was telling that I'd been thinking about what my Facebook status would be after I summited and it would run something along the lines of, "Summited Kili. Would not recommend."

We camped at Shira Huts II, at 13k feet. This was the highest I'd been up to that point and I felt fine. We made it up just before the rain and mist swept in. Again, we were the only group there. The place has a weather station and an A-frame building that looks like a restaurant but in fact holds toilets, six for each gender. Pretty swanky, too, with tiles and glass block windows. Kinda surreal seeing that up there in a place full of rocks. Jeremy even discovered that one of the men's stalls had a seat. Hallelujah! It was like a gift, haha.

I was sure that after this experience nothing would seem too dirty or gross to me. My fingernails were permanently caked with what I hoped was dirt. The bite piece on my Platypus bladder was surrounded by dirt; I didn't care, I sucked on it anyway. Dirt floated in the boiled water the porters used to fill our water bottles and bladders (or maybe it was bits of the pots breaking down). My sleeping bag was full of dried mud. I hadn't washed my face or any part of me except my hands in three days and I didn't expect to in four more. I lost the cap to my Chapstick so that was pretty crusty, too. None of it mattered when you were exhausted, cold and already dirty. Although I did plan to do a course of Cipro after this to ward off the host of infections I was sure were waiting to pounce.

Dreary Shira Huts II.

My suggestion? More sun, less fog, rain and ice.

Four of us minus Tara took a short hike uphill to a small waterfall to take photos. Jeremy had us posing all over it, trying to break our necks or something.

After a half hour or so, Sinai waved us back to camp to sign the Shira Huts II ledger. The guys looked through the ledger to see who had been there before us. They found people who had listed their occupations as 'gigolo', 'male stripper', 'Zeus' and 'princess of power'. You could write whatever you wanted for your occupation. I'd been toying with the idea of using 'porn star', but kept forgetting. It was too late to do it now without looking like a copycat.

The white triangular building is the outhouse. The building to the left is a more rustic outhouse. With the exception of the 'classy' multi-outhouse at Shira Huts II, outhouses typically consisted of a hole bracketed by two flat stones for your feet. They rarely had doors.

Mt. Meru, 15k feet.

Writing this report.

May 3, Day Four

Last night brought the worst night of sleep for all of us. I experienced a panic attack when I thought I was suffocating in my mummy bag. I nearly ripped my bag apart trying to find the face opening. I'm guessing it was a combination of the mummy's small opening, the balaclava I was wearing and the thin air. It was a pretty terrifying few seconds. In addition to the altitude, it was unbearably cold. I've never had to sleep in such low temperatures. I thought I was prepared. I wore 2 pairs of wool socks, long underwear (both top and bottom), sweat pants, my wool sweater, my insulated parka and a balaclava and I was still shivering. I eventually couldn't take it anymore and jammed foot warmers into my socks and pulled on mittens. Neither addition did enough to allow me to sleep. If I actually got 2 hours of shut eye it was a miracle. In the morning, my miserable friends revealed their their nights had been equally rough.

To make matters nearly intolerable for me, I started my period. While I had known it was coming, I had been unable to predict just how troublesome and unsanitary it could be to use the outhouses while wearing so much gear and with an irritable stomach to boot, and thus I hadn't been prepared for how much misery I would be in for. I was in such low spirits (and probably a bit hormonal) that I shed a few silent tears at breakfast. It felt as if my body was doing everything it could to make this adventure as challenging as possible for me between the intestinal problems and now this. At breakfast, I had no appetite. I couldn't eat my ration of one fried egg and half a hotdog, so I forced myself to eat a few bites of a peanut butter and jelly sandwich because I knew I desperately need the calories and fuel.

Today's plan was to hike up to Lava Tower at 15k feet and to sleep lower at Barranco Huts at 13k feet. This was an essential acclimatization process referred to as "climb high and sleep low". The climb in this case was very long and somewhat steep. Definitely a Stairmaster workout. This was our longest push without a break and I was tired and winded but as soon as we stopped for a water break I got my breath back, which meant most of my difficulty was altitude related. The others were faring far better, which made me feel a little self-conscious. But I reminded myself I was climbing under adverse conditions (self-pity can carry you for miles, lol). As much discomfort as I was in, I knew it would be awesome to say at the end that I had summited beside people for whom health issues were not, well, an issue.

The exception to this would be Jeremy. Up until then, Jeremy had been a chatterbox. Even while ascending the steepest pitches, he sounded no more out of breath than someone sitting and watching TV. He was definitely the most fit, to the point that I jokingly told him I would ferret out which sport would cause him to be out of breath. Turned out it's altitude that can quiet him. Poor Jeremy hadn't said five words all day because of an altitude-induced headache. I know how excruciating they can be after flying from sea level to Cusco, so I sympathized. Altitude headaches are not only piercing, but they feel as though your entire brain is pulsing and about to explode out of your skull. Dave, Mike and I agreed that we would ask the guides to carry Jeremy's pack for him tomorrow to help him out. He'd been carrying his huge camera anyway, which weighed a ton. And it wasn't like the guides would have a problem with it. They'd been carrying Tara's pack for her since Day One.

Lava Tower, the goal of today's acclimatization hike, is beautiful and impressive. From a distance it resembles Devil's Tower from Close Encounters of the Third Kind.

After we admired Lava Tower for about 15 minutes, we began our descent using a route on the other side. You'd think descending would be easier than climbing but we all agreed that going down was just terrible. The rocks were loose, shifting beneath our feet, there was mud and ice everywhere, making our footing precarious, and every step jarred our toes, knees and hips. There were some impressive rocky overhangs that would have made for good pictures, but climbing down rocky waterfalls slicked with ice meant that no one wanted to risk anything but getting down and out of there. I got a twinge in my knee and nearly twisted my ankle. Dave apparently fell at some point. I was really tired and sore as I wrote this.

Lobelia trees.

Our camp at Barranco Huts.

The effect of air pressure at 13k feet.

You can see the red dot of the porters' tent, middle left.

Camping in the shadow of the Barranco Wall.

Michael, our waiter, brought by tea and popcorn as a snack (apparently it's good for settling queasy stomachs). I was nauseous for about 10 seconds when I bent to unlace my boots, but it dissipated and never returned. I did have an on-again, off-again low-grade headache, but at least my appetite was partially back. I ate most of the popcorn and I ate decent portions of dinner, too.

We were aware that tomorrow would be another difficult day. We would be climbing to 15.3k feet to Barafu Huts, which is the staging area for the summit push. It was a big elevation. The plan was to reach that in the afternoon, crash for as many hours as we could, and then begin our summit attempt around midnight. Something told me I'd be hating life tomorrow and questioning my sanity, just I did often during today's climb.

May 4, Day Five

We learned that our itinerary was not, in fact, correct. We were behind. The distance planned for today was supposed to have been broken up over two days so as not to exhaust us going into the summit attempt. Now we would be attempting the summit under the most tiring conditions possible. I was not optimistic.

I slept relatively well last night, probably because I felt warm. I dreamed I was floating in a giant wave pool of warm water in San Diego. Why San Diego, I have no idea, but it was peaceful and did I say warm? I knew I was going to clutch the imagery as I climbed that night. This was the second dream I'd had about being warm, which tells you how much the temperature affected me. Previously I'd dreamed I was floating through rooms of a campus restaurant, listening to people talk about our summit attempt like people anticipating the moon walk. I floated into a room filled with large sofas covered with the plushest blankets imaginable and I sank into them and wrapped myself in their warmth. A pair of disembodied eyes kept telling me to, "go back, this isn't real", but I refused to return to my cold sleeping bag. Not sure if the lucid dreaming was due to altitude or Diamox.

Today we did a lot of difficult and extremely tiring climbing. Though there were parts that I felt I could do forever -- the steady incline climbs -- there were just as many Stairclimber moments that kicked my ass and left me gasping. Plus, we needed to scale the Barranco Wall, a very steep wall that separated us from the rest of the mountain. Antony had told us that morning that we wouldn't be traveling much lateral distance but we would be doing a lot of ascending and he was right. It was up and up all day. On the positive side, the wall was fun in a way because it required us to hand over our trekking poles to our guides so we could do free climbing. I think most of us enjoyed it because it was challenging and worked our muscles in new ways. It was also apparently relatively dangerous. I had long ago stopped looking ahead or behind me on the trail because it was discouraging to see how much farther I had to go and how little I had conquered. That didn't change on the Barranco Wall; I kept my head down. But I've since seen photos of the wall and David said that one slip would have meant probable death so this was some real climbing. It took us about 4-5 hours to make it to Karanga Camp. Had we been following our original schedule, this would have been our stop for the day and we'd set up camp. But since we were behind, we stopped here only for lunch.

Posing for photos. The thing about climbing Kili is that we don't have any photos of the really difficult parts because we were too busy trying to endure them. So pretty much every photo of climbing action that you see in this report is of an easy part.

Eating on the climb had periodically been a struggle. It wasn't until the final days that I legitimately felt hungry. The rest of the time I had to force myself to eat out of a need for energy. For lunch, the box typically contained variations of the following: half a sandwich (spread with butter or some weird veg-butter combo), a hard-boiled egg, a small, stale muffin, a finger banana, 2 inches each of carrot and cucumber, a pack of shortbread cookies, a fried item (fish, bread, or chicken leg) and a mango juice box. Of those, I usually could only manage the banana, the egg, two bites of the cookie and a bite of the muffin. Food had never been more disinteresting to me, and it sometimes worried me that I wasn't taking enough in.

After lunch we had 4 to 5 more hours of hiking to go to reach Barafu Huts, at 15k feet, the staging camp for summit. I remember being so tired during a break that I told Jeremy if someone offered me a million dollars to do Everest, I'd tell them, "F**** you." Doing this again, willingly, seemed preposterous.

We passed over an amazing field of shale that looked like the results of a war between kitchen flooring companies.

Barafu Huts, when we finally staggered into it, didn't do anything to lift our spirits. It's a camp of rocks and boulders, cold and grim, with one outhouse. It looks like it should be set against a cold, Arctic sea. Toilet paper was strewn between the rocks like seaweed and the camp smelled like the giant toilet it is. This was the first camp where we encountered other climbers. For the past five days we'd had the mountain all to ourselves, which is apparently pretty rare. It had been nice, like we owned the mountain. At Barafu Huts we saw the tents of another group, although we didn't actually see any of the climbers. Still, it was weird to remember that other people hiked Kili.

Dave and I were worried, perhaps more than the others, about the day's schedule since we had the designated meal tent. We'd arrived at Barafu around 5:30 PM. We needed to unpack and get to sleep as quickly as possible because we needed to be well-rested for that night. But Michael the waiter not only brought over tea and popcorn for a snack, an hour later he set up dinner in our tent. So during that time we couldn't do any packing or unpacking, much less get any sleep. Sinai and Antony came by to tell us the plan for the night. Wake up at 11 PM, snack at 11:30, out of camp at midnight. Dress as warmly as possible. Bring as much water as possible. If you throw up, drink some water and keep going. At the pace we'd been going so far, it should take us 6 hours to reach Stella Point.

We finally were able to lay down around 7 PM. We dozed fitfully, overly tired and worried (at least in my case) that the summit wouldn't be achieved because we were so worn out. The wake-up call came at 11 PM and it was a cold, nervous time. I'm not sure what any of us were feeling could be called excitement as we packed up our tents. Knowing it was going to be a potentially 16 hour day, I took care of business in the nasty outhouse, a process which depressed me because I was out of breath climbing up to the outhouse. I thought, If I'm already winded and tired from climbing to the toilet, how the hell am I going to climb to the peak?

Michael served us a snack of tea and cookies but I don't think anyone partook of either. The other group at camp set out at 11:15 PM, their headlamps moving up the mountain like a slow moving, glowing caterpillar. I was a little disappointed seeing them go. They would reach the peak before us.

May 5, Day Six

When I returned to the tents from the outhouse, Antony informed me that someone would be carrying my pack for the summit push. While a part of me was dismayed, my pride wanting me to carry my weight for every day of the climb, pragmatism made me not argue. My chances of summiting were no longer 40% as they'd felt in my mind. Without my pack I had a good chance of success. And when I saw that they were carrying Jeremy's pack also, I felt less guilty. This guilt would disappear completely when I saw later that the majority of the climbers that day, men and women, did not carry their packs. David and Mike, however, continued to carry their packs and I salute them, especially when the steepness of the final push became apparent.

With our headlamps lit, we started up the mountain at midnight. I ended up behind Dave, who followed Tara in her permanent position behind Sinai. Daniel the assistant guide was carrying my pack and my water somewhere behind us. The ground sparkled with frost. As we tromped upwards, my world narrowed to the circle of light cast by my headlamp and the diamond-like sparkle of the frost-covered ground. We climbed and climbed. No one talked. The gravitas of the moment was upon us all. The ground tilted more noticeably, until our calves were fully stretched and we had to lean forward over our poles to maintain our balance. I shuddered to think how much more difficult it would have been trying to maintain balance with a pack on my back. This was especially true when we climbed over patches of slick rock. I'm sure I would have slipped and fallen if my balance had been compromised by a pack. The downside of not carrying my pack was that I couldn't take sips of water from my bladder. I had to wait for group breaks so Daniel could bring it to me. This became moot later in the climb as the water froze in the hose of my hydration pak, rendering it useless.

Dave and I on the final push.

Up and up we went, and several hours later we saw the other group of climbers that had left at 11:15 PM just above us, taking a break. I couldn't believe we'd caught up to them but I was thrilled. It was a neat, dare I say proud moment to pass up their long train of climbers -- I believe there were 11 of them. We took a break in a space just above them and just as we stood up to resume climbing, they did, too, resulting in a minor traffic jam. Fortunately their guide told the group to stand to the side to let us pass. Thank god for this because the more people you have in your group, the slower your progress. Trapped behind them, we would have lost all our momentum. We zipped past them, maybe feeling a little bit cool to be going so fast, until there was only darkness above us. If we kept the lead, we would be the first to summit.

The other group, passing us, whom we then passed a few minutes later on our way to summiting.

But our progress slowed as the terrain became more difficult. I made the mistake once of looking up, and the break where the ground met the sky was still so far above us that I despaired. Tara apparently felt this despair even more acutely. Near tears, she forced us to stop and demanded to be taken back down the mountain, telling Sinai and Antony that she was exhausted and couldn't go on. Antony got her moving again by telling her, "We've passed the point of no return." He was right. The thought of descending was worse than continuing up. We'd come too far to turn back now. So on we went, but slower now, excruciatingly slow. One step, two step, three step, pause. When I had read other peoples' reports about climbing Kili, an older man had claimed his progress on the final push had been 9 feet a minute. Dave and I had scoffed at that. Well, I'm pretty sure that *our* speed that night was about 15 to 18 ft per minute, our breaths puffing hard before us. So slow. And going slow was in someways worse, because every time we stopped (after every three steps), we had to brace our bodies forward to keep our balance. The incline was so steep that I sometimes fell sideways out of line when we stopped. My calves were stretched to their limits.

It was freezing. I was grateful for my balaclava to protect my freezer burned cheeks. But breathing through cloth meant I got snotty, so my scarf turned into a snot rag. As we pushed on, I no longer cared that snot was sliding down my face and I didn't bother to mop it up. I was just trying to make it. I kept thinking, "Wave pool in San Diego", and trying to recreate that feeling in my body. The altitude began to affect us in various ways. Streamers of color flashed periodically across my vision as though I were peering into the ocean and fish were attracted to my headlamp. Tara said later the mountain told her to take care of it, so a couple of times she tried to pick up litter. Most of us became dizzy. We kept climbing.

100 meters or so from the peak, Tara forced a stop for a second time, insisting she couldn't go on. The guides again talked her into continuing. But listening to them, I no longer believed their promises that the peak was close. They'd been saying that for hours. Jeremy said Antony had told him the peak was just ahead and when he'd looked it hadn't been anywhere near, and Jeremy had gotten mad. On we trekked, the ground becoming scree. This was actually the final face before Stella Point. With every step up, you slid down a foot. I began to grow frustrated by the effort I was exerting to make zero progress.

Then above us, as the sky lightened, we could see the knife edge of the ground meeting the sky. David broke out of line, frustrated by the slow pace which was making it more difficult for him. He raced up the slope. Someone else passed me by. It was Mike. I tried to keep up, but I kept sliding down. That's when I hit my personal physical wall. I deliberately stopped for the first time in six days and leaned on my poles, gasping for breath. I thought, I don't know how I'm going to do this. I had 30 feet or so still to climb. My legs were hollow tubes of rubber. Would the guides have to carry me? I had no idea how I was going to reach the top. Then Daniel said, "Go to the right. There is a trail."

The scree slope below Stella Point which nearly killed me. You can see sunrise beginning behind us.

I stumbled my way to the trail and the ground was indeed firm enough to hold a step. I used my poles to haul myself up when my legs trembled from strain. I began to make upwards progress. Jeremy and Tara were struggling above me. I would be the last to reach the top and I considered a burst of speed, for pride's sake, but then I decided it wasn't worth it. It would turn out to be a fortuitous decision.

When I finally crested the top and staggered onto flat ground, I was completely spent. I stumbled forward, looking for my brother. He hugged me but I didn't have the strength in my arms to return the embrace. Other people hugged me, too, but I could only accept, not return. Jeremy's eyes were glistening. He said the sight of the stars had brought him to the brink of tears. I dropped onto a rock to catch my breath. I heard Tara asking Sinai, "This is the top, right? This is the peak?" He didn't answer. I laughed inwardly. This wasn't the top, which was why I didn't know why everyone else was celebrating and so excited. This was only Stella Point. We still had to reach Uhuru Peak. But from the others I learned that they'd celebrated because they knew at this point, now that we were on the crater ridge, everyone would summit. Makes sense, but at the time I wasn't in celebration mode.

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Image from http://kilimanjaro.malinikaushik.com

Mike looking down from Stella Point. It was surreal being above the clouds.

After everyone had calmed down, Sinai told us Uhuru Peak was still 40 to 60 minutes away. I couldn't believe how far it was. I'd been craning my head around, trying to see the sign. Of course it was nowhere in sight. The others were discouraged, but we had to go on. We slogged along the rim of the crater with amazing views of the glaciers on either side of us. The clouds stretched below us as they do when you're flying in an airplane.

We were midway between Stella Point and Uhuru Peak when Mike asked if we could stop to watch the sunrise. It was the most unique sunrise I've ever seen. The sun came up from under the clouds, lighting them up in such a way as to make it appear as though the ground was on fire. It looked like a volcanic erruption. Mike became extremely emotional, which was really sweet. It meant a lot to him to see this.

So high in the sky.

After the sunrise, we continued on, but people began to fall back. For the first time, I began passing people in our group. I don't know what came over me, a second wind, or sheer adrenaline, but suddenly I had all the energy in the world. I even passed Dave, who'd stopped and was leaned over his poles. I actually thought for a moment that everyone else was playing a prank on me. Why were they exhausted when I had this much energy? I continued on with Daniel behind me. Jeremy called up to me, asking if I could see the sign. I told him no. And then I rounded a mound of rocks and there it was, a skinny H on the top of the peak, the background a perfectly blue sky. No one else was there, nothing else was there. It was an amazing sight. I laughed to myself. In my head I was yelling, "Kili!". I nearly broke into a run, I had that much energy. It was the strangest physical sensation I'd felt the entire trip. I didn't run, though, because I figured I'd better conserve my energy. As I drew nearer, I began to think about summiting by myself. And it occurred to me that it would be a selfish thing to do. This had been a group effort, and it seemed wrong to 'claim' the peak for myself. So at the base of the final hill leading to the sign, I drew up and waited for my brother. The two of us waited a bit more for the others to catch up and then we climbed to the peak of Kilimanjaro.

Daniel, my guide, and I, waiting for the others to catch up. The Uhuru Peak sign waits for its first visitor of the day.

I expected more hugs since this was the real peak but I don't really remember hugging anyone. We took group and single shots and then took more photos. We had the peak all to ourselves for as long as we wanted it. The sign looked better than I'd hoped because it was draped with several colorful Tibetan prayer flags. I was happy with this because I'd seen photos where the sign was mostly naked. I'd brought along my own prayer flags that I'd purchased in Nepal and David and I posed for our photo together with it. When we draped it over the sign, though, it covered up the lettering, so we ended up stuffing it behind the sign.

Looking down into the crater top of Kili, called Kibo.

The ground is black, covered with lava rock. I hadn't remembered to bring a bag or other container so I scooped up soil from the peak and poured it into one mitten. I also picked up a souvenir rock. We took photos of the glacier below us and then finally we didn't need to take any more photos. I'd guess we'd been up there for 20 to 30 minutes. Being at 19k feet felt great, but we were done and ready to make the descent.

Farewell, Uhuru Peak.

It was awesome going back down the ridge and finally encountering other climbers, in this case the group of 11 that we'd passed in the night. We cheered them on and they offered us their congratulations. It was a great feeling, everyone was happy. Then a few minutes later we passed another group, smaller, much more grim. I don't know what their problem was but they didn't look happy at all. Jeremy told me later he passed a woman throwing up. Maybe their group had had a lot of problems with altitude. We passed more people. It was becoming busy. I was so grateful and thrilled that we'd been the only ones to see the sunrise from the ridge and had had the peak to ourselves. It would've sucked with the big mass of people that we passed all on the peak at the same time, waiting in line to have their photos taken, hoping no one would be in the background. For us, we'd climbed Kili alone and we'd summited alone. The mountain had always belonged to us.

The funny thing about summiting Kili was that I hadn't thought much about the descent. Maybe in the back of my mind I'd had the ludicrous idea that we would be airlifted down or there would be chair lifts or belay ropes. Of course none of those were present, although we all did consider (jokingly) faking medical emergencies so we could be airlifted down (we had paid for insurance, after all). According to Sinai, a helicopter rescue was only $800. Not too bad split amongst the 5 of us. Later, we would seriously consider it.

Beginning the dreaded descent.

Going down was excruciating. I'm not exaggerating when I say that climbing down Kili in 5 or 6 hours was in many ways worse than climbing up it in 6 days. Of course our physical state at that point had much to do with it. We'd been climbing for about 16 hours on 4 hours sleep, with much of the most difficult climbing occuring most recently. Our leg strength was gone, our arm strength was gone. I remember thinking as I painfully eased my body down the rocks that if someone pushed me I wouldn't even fight it; I would relax and allow myself to fall down the mountain. It would be a relief compared to bracing the poles, easing one leg down, then the other, rinse and repeat a thousand times. By the time we hit the scree again, I was done. I didn't have the strength to keep my weight forward on my toes without falling headlong down the mountain so I put the weight on my heels, which caused the slippery ground to dump me on my ass and once, flat on my back.

Daniel came to my rescue, hooking his arm through mine to keep me upright as we descended together. By that time our group was every man for himself. I saw Tara off to the side with Sinai. I don't know where Mike went. David and Jeremy were ahead of me. All I could do was hang onto Daniel and pray for solid, flat ground. It was a long time coming. The scree was so deep at one point that every step dropped you 2 to 3 feet. I told Daniel, "This is fun," because at that point it was. Then it sucked again and I stumbled down like a dumb, stunned accident victim. David steamed ahead, determined to find relief at camp. Jeremy lingered and joined me. Below us we could see Barafu camp, but it was so far away, like on another continent. I was paranoid that it was on a ridge that we'd have to climb. I didn't want to do any more climbing. I couldn't.

Barafu Huts. Our tents are on the left. The tents of the group of 11 climbers are the orange ones.

Fortunately it was an optical illusion. We didn't do any more climbing although we faced a few hairy descents on slick rock. The camp never seemed to get any closer, but finally the ground leveled out and Jeremy and I were able to hold a conversation as we walked. Down below, we heard some whoops as David entered the camp. That meant we were close. When Jeremy and I finally made it, I turned and gave Daniel a big hug, thanking him for keeping me alive. Michael our waiter and another porter let out whoops at our arrival and gave us glasses of juice. I don't know what kind of juice it was but the sugar made my head buzz. It was the best juice in the world.

I looked back up the mountain and could see Mike way up on the face. I didn't see Tara anywhere. I stumbled into the tent. David greeted me with slight surprise. He'd seen how defeated I was by the scree, and I was proud that I'd returned as quickly as I had. He told me he'd been so exhausted that he'd staggered into camp like a drunk. Our sleeping bags were packed up, so we lay on our pads. But it was freezing. I was shivering and miserable. This didn't feel like much of a reward for summiting Kili. David finally unpacked his bag and tucked himself partly into it; we were both still dirty from the mountain and wearing our full gear. I didn't want to muddy my bag so I unrolled it and draped it over me but it didn't help. My teeth were chattering. I finally said to hell with the mud and unzipped my bag and climbed in. I was still too cold to sleep, although I probably dozed out of sheer exhaustion. I roused an hour and a half later to the sound of cheers when Mike and Tara arrived in camp. Mike was done for. Tara as well.

Sinai and Antony visited us and told us something we didn't want to hear. Park rules didn't allow any climbers to remain at Barafu huts after making the summit. We had to descend on the Mweka route. It was stunning news. We'd been climbing/descending for 21 hours. We were all completely wrecked. We asked Sinai how much descending we'd need to do. When he said about another 5 hours, we were utterly speechless.

Tara refused to move from her tent. Dave, Jeremy, Michael and I discussed our options. What if we refused to descend? What if we made tomorrow a 7 or 8 hour day of descent instead of a 3 hour one? But Sinai was adamant. It was a park regulation. We *had* to go to prevent illness. So we reluctantly agreed and gave him the task of informing Tara. While we waited, we considered the weather. It had begun to rain hard. Then it began to snow. The wind and snow battered at our tents. Surely we wouldn't go out in such weather? I was so thankful we'd made it off the mountain before the weather turned. If we'd been a day later in our schedule we would've had to summit through snow. Right now, the snow might work in our favor. It might allow us to stay in camp overnight.

No dice. It took a long time, but finally Sinai convinced Tara she had to go, but at least he made a concession. We'd hike for 3 hours to a nearer camp. What a gift. Sure.

When the snow let off, we set out from Barafu Huts. We moved like the elderly, our knees and hips aching, bracing most of our weight on our trekking poles. I didn't feel any residual happiness from summiting, I just wanted to be able to lie down and pass out. We came upon a strange contraption, a device for bringing injured people down the slope. With one wheel it looked like it would be a hell of a painful ride. I asked Antony if they'd ever had to use it and to my surprise he said yes, several times. I was surprised because our group had been especially lucky in the injuries department. No one had a blister much less a sprained or broken limb. The climbing gods were with us.

Fortunately none of us required this.

We walked and walked, gracelessly. Like shipwreck victims stranded on a desert island we began to discuss what foods we'd love to have at that moment. Jeremy and I agreed on pizza, although I also would have killed someone for a juicy grilled steak. I became obsessed with a Grilled Stuft Burrito from Taco Bell (although when I finally ate one when I returned to Vegas it didn't provide the mouth orgasm it would have had it magically appeared in my hands on Kili). When we finally hit Millenium camp we were down for the count. We'd been climbing or descending for 24 of the last 28 or so hours. Mike was so worn out he couldn't even leave his tent to join us for dinner, so Michael the waiter kindly made up a couple of plates for him and Tara and brought them to their tent so they could try to eat. The good news was that we could finally sleep and Dave and I could go off the Diamox. We were looking forward to an end to the side effects. That night, if I dreamed, I don't remember it. I slept like the dead.

May 6, Day Seven

Packing up for the last time held no real emotional significance for me. Summiting Kili still didn't feel like much of anything. Mostly I thought about having a soda with ice. Or good food, not the prix fixe meals that I knew awaited us at the Kilimakyaro Lodge in Moshi. I wanted a burger. I guess it was a good sign that my appetite had returned.

Antony and Sinai promised that this final descent would be easy. A few steep descents but nothing bad. We would be re-entering the jungle, so we were instructed to dress for warm weather. Anticipating heat, rather than cold and wet, was a nice relief.

Back to the jungle.

But by this time we were all handicapped, or at least that's how we felt. Our pace started out relatively quick -- Sinai and Antony seemed determined to get us off the mountain and collect their tips -- but soon slowed as various aches and pains demanded it. My knees were killing me. Others had toe pain in addition to knee pain. We were definitely slow and becoming aggravated by the lack of water breaks. When we finally stopped at Mweka camp, the ranger station there was selling Cokes for $4. I passed, only because I figured they wouldn't be as cold as I wanted. Mweka camp is usually packed with climbers, but again, we were the only ones there.

We walked and walked, trying to reach the Mweka Gate. The guides kept telling us we were nearly there. Dave grew irritated with them for saying that because we were never "nearly there". He and I both would have preferred that we be told the pickup van was still several hours away rather than raising our hopes that we'd see it around the next corner. The road, even though it smoothed out into a legitimate, unpaved road, was still endless. Our group spaced out again as everyone settled into their personal pace. Dave was a speed demon and I followed, anxious to get this over with.

At long last I descended a hill where porters were climbing up with gear. We greeted each other, "Jambo!", and then I saw a parking lot and a First Aid van, and I knew it was over. I emerged from the jungle only to be accosted by a dozen or so hawkers trying to sell me Kili T-shirts, patches, flags, carvings, you name it. I was a bit incredulous-- did they honestly think I'd just emerged from the jungle with my wallet handy? I brushed them off and located Dave resting in a gazebo by the ranger station. I bought a Sprite, but it wasn't cold enough and residual Diamox in my system made it taste funny. Then I negotiated for a T-shirt, patch and bracelet. The others slowly trickled in and were likewise assaulted. At the ranger station we signed the ledger for the last time and received our certificates for climbing Kili. We distributed tips to our group, took a group shot with them, and had a final fun dance together. We'd been generous with the tips, going on the high side of recommended amounts, so everyone was in a good mood. We crammed into the van for the drive back to our hotel and oh, was it nice to sit down and have the road travel beneath us without us having to move.

Back at the lodge, everyone draped their clothes over the railings to dry out or because they were caked in so much dirt. Everything, including us, was disgusting. Looking into a mirror for the first time in a week was nerve-wracking. Everyone took the longest showers they could since none of us had showered in 7 days. The water that streamed down the drain was pure brown. At dinner, we studied the photos of Kili on the dining room walls. There was a great picture of the crater and we tried to figure out where we had topped the ridge. It was still difficult for me to believe I had been on the top of the mountain.

Did we really climb this?

I wouldn't do Kili again, but I would be open to trying another mountain. I lost 7 pounds in the course of climbing Kili and I feel more in shape now than when I'd begun, so I think if I trained even harder, the next climb will be noticably easier. Maybe. Even the guys, who were super fit, struggled with physical exhaustion on Kili.

The best part of Kili was learning how much I could endure and overcome. And it was wonderful sharing the experience with my brother. As we tackle new challenges around the world, something like a bucket list feels less like a list of aspirations and more like a list of inevitable checkmarks.

-- Tricia, May 20, 2011