Climbing Kilimanjaro

B ack in early 2011 I declined the offer of a safari trip to Kenya with friends on the basis that if I was going to that part of Africa I wanted to climb Kilimanjaro. That was the seed planted, and a year or so later, with some of the very same friends, I was heading for Tanzania with the aim of climbing the ‘Shining Mountain’ itself.

A fair amount of preparation, both physical training and planning, went into the trip. First there was the decision of which route we would take, then how many days we would allow, which guiding company provided us with the best value for money without leaving it’s porters with no dinner, and of course, which safari park we would indulge ourselves with after the big climb. We did several day and weekend training walks, the most adventurous of which was a weekend in the Peak District in central England. Here we summited the mighty Kinder Scout which is all of about 300m above sea level, but nonetheless the highest point in the region. The training walks taught us a few lessons about some of the equipment we might need for the trek - reinforcing the no cotton rule for some, and highlighting the practicality of a rucksack over a handbag for others—we still had plenty of outdoor-savvy to learn!

We flew into Dar es Salaam, Tanzania’s largest city, after dark so there was no opportunity to spot the peak from the plane. Our first glimpse of it was instead the next afternoon. After an 8 hour coach journey across northern Tanzania with some relatively hairy driving, CLIMBING KILIMANJARO A Tanzanian adventure we approached the town of Moshi just to the south of Kilimanjaro itself—the principal launching point for any trek. The mountain loomed occasionally out of the clouds, looking colossal and very daunting.

That evening our individual gear was inspected by our guide—did we have all the necessaries to start the trip? It felt like being back at school for PE kit inspection —having to show someone that you had the right kind of socks. Despite our nerves we all passed the kit inspection, only having to hire the odd pair of fleecy trousers just to be sure. Next morning we drove several hours to the starting point of the Rongai route on the north side of the mountain passing through a banana market on the way – I have never seen so many bananas! We’d settled on the Rongai route as it allowed us to ascend from the north and descend to the south, rather than going up and down the same way. It was also a relatively quiet track, and gave us the opportunity to get up close to Mawenzi peak. None of us fancied either the well-trodden (and unfortunately well littered) ‘coca cola’ route.

The climb began at around 2,000m, after an hour or so of divvying kit up between porters at the road end. Our hiking party of four, plus guide Laurence, set off first in the early afternoon, but we were soon overtaken by porters carrying several times the load of our day packs. Regulations stipulated a 20 kg limit for each porter’s load but I’m sure most were carrying more than that. The first couple of hours took us through cultivated land and forest, with tall maize fields and orderly pines. Our pace was deliberately steady, but the lower temperatures were the only noticeably effect of our altitude at this point.

The first night was spent at Simba Camp (2,650m) and we had our first taste of the fantastic hospitality that 16 porters can provide from only what they’ve carried. Dinner was three courses with table service, served piping hot and with an array of condiments. The porters all had specific camp roles, we had a camp manager, cook, and even a waiter! Next morning we awoke to our first real view of what we were undertaking as we could see both the eastern peak of Mawenzi, via which our route would take us to Uhuru peak to the west. Both looked a world away from the lush green campsite. For the next two days we spent three to four hours gradually gaining height and working our way towards Mawenzi tarn at 4330m. With every step the altitude reminded you that the next step would also need to be a slow one. Looking behind us, to the north, we had spectacular vistas across Amboseli national park in Kenya. Kilimanjaro’s location just three degrees south of the equator means the journey up travels through various climatic zones which bring varying flora and fauna. Throughout the heath and moorland section we were chivvied on, and kept quiet, by Laurence’s promise that we might just see some buffalo—in fact the largest mammal we saw was just a mouse which came looking for our lunch, and the only evidence of anything larger was the occasional footprint or deposit!

By the time we reached Mawenzi tarn (4330m) on our third day we were all noticing the effects of the altitude. Our water consumption was necessarily high, sipping constantly as we were walking along helped to counter the dehydration that accompanies the body’s attempts to deal with the reduced availability of oxygen. Our steps were necessarily slow, our food intake necessarily large and the dull headaches were starting to creep in. All signs were that we were adapting well enough to our constantly diminishing oxygen supplies, and we were making the most of relatively free afternoons to take small acclimatisation excursions a couple of hundred metres above camp.

The fourth day of the trek was my favourite, and by far the most spectacular. As became routine, it started with a ‘bed tea’ delivered to my tent around 6 am. It was then an 8 km hike across the desert saddle between Mawenzi and Uhuru peaks with screensaver views of the gigantic snow-capped peaks both in front and behind us. This day was also the most challenging so far. Although it was relatively flat we were walking at over 4000 m and the conditions were very dry and dusty. It was a very desolate environment which took its toll on our motivation—I had no appetite for my deep-fried honey sandwiches (yes—really) when we found a couple of boulders to shelter against at lunchtime. We passed the remains of a plane which had crashed on the saddle back in the 1950s and made for a very eerie scene. The 8 km walk took us about 6 hours to complete and we arrived at Kibo Huts (4,700m) in the late afternoon. Until now we’d had the mountain to ourselves and had not seen another group since the first day, but the Kibo Huts campsite was relatively bustling with people converging from different routes preparing to attempt the summit that night. We had an early dinner and were straight to bed, knowing we’d be woken at 11 pm for breakfast before we started for the summit at midnight.

Breakfast at 11 pm in well below freezing temperatures at 4,700m above sea level is not a pleasant experience, especially when breakfast consists of the same porridge you’ve been struggling to eat at more civilised hours and altitudes. Unfortunately, despite my efforts to stomach such delights, this breakfast came straight back up again to remind me that this wasn’t going to be a walk in the park. Ten minutes later we started up the zig-zag frozen scree track, 1,000m vertical of zig-zags ahead of us. In the pitch black, and in my zombie-like altitude-affected state I had little comprehension of how much mental and physical effort this was going to take. From then on I could only manage ten steps at once, counting them one by one before I’d stop, rest on my walking pole, and start to close my eyes….zzz….altitude sickness makes you impossibly sleepy and I had to be woken every ten steps by one the porters who was now also carrying my day pack. The ten steps followed by a snooze routine, punctuated about every half an hour with some more vomiting, persisted for the next six hours.

At some point, we stopped for a slurp of tea and a boiled sweet in a cave which offered a ledge to lean on. I was very disheartened that we weren’t even far enough up for Laurence to risk saying we were over the halfway mark. Periodically, at one of my snooze breaks I’d have a torch shone in my eyes—I’m not really sure what Laurence was looking for—presumably signs of severe altitude sickness are somehow visible in the eyes. Every time he did this, may be every couple of hours, I had an impossible dilemma in my mind—half of me really wanted to be told that I had to go down, given an excuse to stop this endless uphill, painful, freezing plod while the other half was madly wishing him to give me the all clear to continue my mission to the summit. Each time, I was allowed to continue, another ten steps, a rest, another ten steps.

Sometime after 6 am, we reached Gilman’s Point (5,685 m) which signals the edge of the summit crater and the end of the uphill gravel slog. For us it also meant sunrise, and a sense that the worst was over now that the world was getting light and a little bit warmer. I had been oblivious of the progress of the three others in my party throughout the night, only occasionally hearing a porter shout their names in encouragement, but the four of us convened at Gilman’s Point for a few minutes rest. At this point there was the option to descend, but knowing we’d done all but a hundred meters or so of the ascent and had only another hour or so around the crater to the true summit there was no question in my mind that I was going to continue. At least one of the four of us needed a bit more persuading, but in the end we all decided to make the push for it. There followed more like two hours of stumbling, dragging, and what would have been crawling if it wasn’t for the two porters that were supporting me, to the giddy heights of 5,895 meters above sea level, the highest point in Africa and the top of the highest free-standing mountain in the world!

We spent a short time at the summit, taking the obligatory photos but there was no time for hanging around. By this time it was 8 am, the sun was fully shining, and had I not been both completely distracted by being at the top and almost completely disabled by the lack of oxygen in the air I would have been slapping on some sun screen. Having not been able to stomach anything for more than ten hours, and a block of ice in my water supply, I was completely exhausted, but somehow managed the three hours back down to Kibo huts. The scree had melted so each step was deep and dusty, but with every downward step my lungs enjoyed a little more oxygen, which made everything very much easier. I reached camp by about 11 am, after eleven hours of walking with no sustenance, and immediately crawled into my tent for a short nap knowing that within three hours we would have to be walking again to make it down to Horombo Huts at 3,760 m before nightfall.

On the last day we descended the final section of track through ever-increasing forest, eventually exiting at the Marangu Gate to collect our certificates before heading for a much-needed shower and a good night’s sleep. Next day we were headed for Tarangire National Park to make the most of our super-charged lung capacity by racing a few cheetahs.

We planned the trip entirely independently and each of us were motivated to climb Kilimanjaro for different reasons. However, the one question we were continuously asked by anyone who we told of our plans was ‘Oooh, are you doing it for charity? Can I sponsor you?’ After numerous questions such as these we decided the best thing to do was to reply with two yeses and bank all the pennies we were offered. As a result we raised the equivalent of around $6,000 which we split between a Tanzanian charity and the UK Alzheimer’s Society.