The Art of Walking Slow in the Rain: Mt. Kilimanjaro 2020
Mt. Kilimanjaro, a stratovolcano which sits on the north end of Tanzania, is the tallest free-standing mountain in the world and Africa’s tallest peak (5,895 m, or 19,341 freedom units). It is a generally accessible mountain, and as a result summit attempts are made by tens of thousands of people each year.
Back in early 2019 I was invited by an old friend to join on a team he was putting together to summit Mt. Kilimanjaro. It was a trip that had been discussed for a number of years but was finally brought into fruition the moment a majority of us paid our $350 deposits to the Climb Kili guide company.
The head of the team was Dan Wenker, a sales executive from Atlanta and a dear family friend of mine. I give him credit to introducing my dad to mountaineering from our days in Yakima, who in turn introduced me to mountaineering. He celebrated his 60th birthday back in November and had been talking for years that climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro was what he wanted to do to celebrate the milestone.
In the end, nine people joined the expedition, including Dan and me. The rest of the group was as so: Caroline Wenker, Dan’s daughter; Reg Blackburn, an old neighbor of Dan’s; Drew Christohon, a coworker of Dan’s; Doug Corbett, a college friend of Dan’s; Mai Herr, a friend of Caroline’s; and Pete Shepard and Jim Zingerman, friends and old climbing partners from Yakima.
As far as climbing pedigree was concerned, Pete had the most experience at altitude, highlighted by his expedition on Mt. Denali in Alaska. As far as elevation was concerned, the next highest anyone in the group had been was 14,500’, when Dan, Caroline, and I climbed Mt. Whitney back in 2017. I had climbed and summited peaks in the Cascades with Jim in the past. As for the rest of the group, they hadn’t experienced anything like this before.
That was okay, though, as Mt. Kilimanjaro is not a technical climb to begin with. In fact the trail is fairly easy. On top of that everyone who climbs the mountain is required to go with a team of local guides and porters, who are responsible for carrying gear, setting up camp, and cooking food for their clients. The only weight the mzungu have to bear is their daypacks.
Yet the success rate sits around 60%. The difficulty of the climb lies in the altitude and acclimatization of the climbers. Go up too fast and the climber will likely succumb to altitude sickness and flush their summit bid, and thousands of dollars in guide and travel fees, away. It is easy to fall into this trap if you’re not paying attention, due to the general ease of the trail. 70% of climbers experience some brand of altitude sickness during their time on the mountain.
The other variable, as with any mountain, is weather. The popular times to climb Kilimanjaro are during the dry seasons while the Northern Hemisphere is experiencing the dead of winter or the late summer. This decreases the chances for bad weather and therefore increases the chances of reaching the summit. We positioned our climbing dates to coincide with one of the dry seasons, but the weather is always variable and unpredictable on the mountain.
As previously mentioned, all Kilimanjaro expeditions are required to be led by local guides and porters. This is a national law of Tanzania, which is used to create jobs in the local area and increase climber safety on the mountain. I have never been guided by a climbing group outside of more-experienced friends, and have always carried my own equipment, so being guided and having porters was a brand new experience for me. They turned out to be a Godsend! Cooking meals aside, being able to reach camp with everything all set up, especially in the rain, was amazing and greatly increased our success on the mountain. Oh and they also cooked all of our meals.
Did I mention that they carried virtually everything up the mountain too? These porters were different animals, enough to make anyone with the slightest climbing ego rethink their life. As the mzungu walked slowly up the mountain sporting their $600 Arcteryx rain jackets and $400 hiking shoes that still were sopping wet at the end of the day despite the salesperson at REI claiming they were “waterproof”, the porters were traveling twice as fast up the hill, carrying three times the weight, while wearing donated cotton sweatshirts and secondhand climbing shoes that were three sizes too big. Then when they arrived at camp, they set up camp, cooked food, and catered to their clients’ every need, all with a smile on their face. When the mzungu reach camp, they eat, sleep, and complain about the weather.
If you ever want to feel privileged, climb Kilimanjaro.
On the surface, people will cry foul at the working conditions of the guides and porters. Our group had multiple discussions during the climb regarding how much work the porters do with not much to show in return. However, this isn’t as much the case when digging deeper. Being a mountain guide is one of the most sought-after and respected jobs in the region, and being a porter also pays decently for the area. Comparatively it may not seem that way, but Africa is a poor part of the world, and our thousands of dollars in fees and tips actually go a long way in these parts. For example, the lowest-on-the-totem-pole will make around $8.50 a day, compared to the minimum salary of the area, $2.25 a day. There have also been agreements set up by the local climbing companies that set minimum wages and place restrictions and prevent porter abuse. For example, the weight that a porter can carry is heavily controlled. As clients, our equipment packs could not exceed 15 kg. While we were waiting to enter the gate, I passed by a long line of porters who were weighing their bags. Granted they took multiple bags up the mountain at a time.
Take it as you may. It’s brutal work in exchange for compensation that may not seem like much to us, but to them it’s a livelihood. Abuse is still rampant in the industry, which is important to recognize.
I still don’t think the porters’ skills are recognized enough; they’re badass for what they do.
Anyway so that’s the flavor of a Kilimanjaro climb. To our specific expedition now. It was the climb that rain jacket test engineers dream about.
We all arrived at different times into Arusha. I had spent a couple days up north in Nairobi and bussed down to Arusha. Mai, Caroline, and Doug had arrived at the hotel before I had, and the rest of the group arrived later that evening. The next day would be a rest day for the newcomers to recover from the jetlag, and then we would be off. That day we met our main guide, Raymond, who was fairly soft-spoken, but very knowledgeable of the mountain and who was a great leader for the expedition. The most important note he had made to us was the practice of pole pole (po-LAY po-LAY) which was a Swahili term which roughly translated to “take it slow”. As I had mentioned before, Kilimanjaro is not a technical climb and clients may have the urge to show their strength and training off and go fast for the first few days, which may sabotage the time when they really need that strength and training.
The altitude was what I was most worried about, so my plan was to religiously embrace this pole pole. Additionally, we were all advised prior to the trip to be prescribed some Diamox to help with the altitude sickness. At dinner that night, Jim, who was our de facto doctor on the trip, advised that we take one to ensure that we wouldn’t experience any ill effects from it. No one on our team experienced adverse side effects so we were good to go! After that it was off to sleep in a real bed for the last time for a week.
Day 1: The Wet One
We left the hotel around 8am. About an hour outside of town, we could finally see what we were dealing with, as the mountain poked out of the clouds for the first time. There was no need to sugarcoat anything, it was a big mountain.
We arrived at the trailhead around 10am. We immediately realized that we were not the only ones with this idea. This was also the first time seeing other nationalities outside of the locals and the Americans in my group. There were Swiss, Aussies, Koreans, and a 40-person contingent from Russia. We were one of the last groups to arrive to the trailhead, and consequently, we were one of the last groups to leave.
I noticed one of our porters wearing a peculiar hat. In American professional sports, when a championship game is played, apparel companies will make two sets of shirts, hats, and other memorabilia, one for each team, then hand out the set for the team who won the championship. The other set is sent as donations to the African people. Now, it wasn’t a requirement of mine, but I really wanted to find a local with a shirt or something that showed the wrong team winning the championship. I was in luck because one of the guides was wearing a hat celebrating an Eastern Conference Championship won by the Tampa Bay Lightning back in 2018 (the Washington Capitals won it in reality). I was the only one in my group to take joy in this small detail. The guide had no clue what I was talking about. I guess I was “that guy”, but I found it pretty novelty.
Also quick note: something that took me an embarrassing amount of time to realize (a couple days) is that just because a local was wearing a shirt or a jersey of some team didn’t automatically mean that they were a fan of that team. They may have been, or became one because of it, but it was very likely donated.
Anyway, shortly after our lunch we were ready to begin. As we passed through the gate, we suddenly were caught in torrential rain. It made sense, as we were in the rainforest zone at the time. It climactically downpoured on us and most of all of our stuff got soaked through. Pretty quickly, everyone’s boots had soaked through, and our clothes were pretty much one-and-done until we had a chance to dry them. As we were pole-pole-ing up the shallow grade, hoards of porters went by with a pack on their back, a pack on top of that, and one on their head, all wrapped in plastic. A majority of them wore ponchos and the like. Everyone else was wearing the heaviest raingear they could find, and rain covers on their packs. Despite the cover, rain was accumulating at the bottom of my cover, creating a puddle underneath my pack which Raymond noticed as we took a break. As we neared our first camp, 6.5 miles into the trail, the rainforest quickly changed into the moorland zone; it was pretty abrupt too, one second we were walking among dense trees and ferns, and the next we were among brush and less dense trees.
Upon entering camp some of the team’s packs that the porters carried up were soaked through. My stuff was relatively dry thankfully, but not everyone had the same luck. For instance Dan’s clothes in his porter pack were pretty wet. I also was able to experience the luxury of my feet not being soaked through. I did not plan to wear that I wore today again until it dried out, save my rain jacket and boots. That being said I was excited to enter the tent and put my parka on and warm up. I was pretty chilly from the rain and I wanted all the warmth I could produce.
The talk in the mess tent that night was fairly grim. Some of the team were discussing doomsday scenarios if the rain never let up. We were not prepared for the amount of rain that had come down this afternoon, and if we were to experience it again, it would sabotage our chance to reach the top.
Raymond and his assistant guide Dustin came into the mess tent to take our oxygen saturation levels. This would occur daily to ensure that our bodies were suited enough to handle the higher altitude. 80% was the cutoff mark, but we were all above 90% so we were good to go. As for the rain Raymond reassured us that if it did rain again that it would be nothing like the downpour that we had experienced that day. That was reassuring, but what was not reassuring was that Raymond’s last expedition experienced rain every single day.
We would try to leave out early tomorrow morning, hoping to miss the rain that would come in the afternoon, if at all. Meanwhile, down in a different section of the camp, the Russian contingent were all out and partying (supposedly). Apparently, little rain no match for Russian group.
Day 2: More Rain
The day started at 0500. It had continued to rain throughout the night but it stopped around the time we woke up. After a breakfast of porridge, toast, and sausage, we were on our way. The sky was partly cloudy and we could easily see the surrounding areas, including the top of the mountain. We left in order to beat the potential rain in the afternoon. As a result, we were the first ones out of camp.
Slowly, the porters began passing us one by one. As they passed, they would let out a “Jambo” to their fellow workers and mzungu. Sometimes, “hello” is really all you need to know in the local foreign language (along with “thank you”, which in Swahili is asante sana). They would also shout out hakuna matata at times, catering to their Western clients, who were familiar with the term (which does actually mean “no worries”).
The porters who were passing us included recognizable faces such as our waiter Nester (who I had originally nicknamed Moose for his hat which had a moose on it, but it never caught on so I gave it up after a couple days) and our cook, Simon, who was transporting eight dozen eggs on his head as he was hiking up. Miraculously, all 96 survived the trek.
Clouds were intermittent but it stayed mostly clear throughout the morning. The terrain got a little choppier than the day before, with a little bit of scrambling and bouldering. The terrain was not expected to become technical, and ropes were not expected to be used. We were going to climb Kilimanjaro without ropes.
#freesolokili
Take that, Alex!
Later on, we noticed that Doug went ahead. After a little while he disappeared ahead. I’m not sure if he wasn’t thinking about his pace, but from everything I’ve heard and read that not practicing the art of the pole pole would sabotage his summit bit. I asked a porter to go up and catch him to make sure he didn’t run off and screw up his climb.
We took a break in a flat area before continuing our trek upward. There were a couple latrines, so I took the liberty to use one. As I returned the guides informed us to don our raingear. There was an audible groan as our rain jackets and backpack cover came on. It was light at first, so I opted against rain pants, but it became heavier as the time passed and swore I wouldn’t make that mistake again on this trip. I only brought one pair of pants.
We ended up at camp that day in the same condition as we had the day before. My rain jacket was saturated as a result. No one else was much better. We arrived at the camp around noon and we had a lunch of pasta, soup, and tea. We spent the afternoon alternating between the mess tent and our own tents.
As the afternoon wore on, the weather cleared up, but we were quickly socked in again. This time we could hear thunder rumbling in the distance. I was hoping that wouldn’t be a huge danger to us. I’m not afraid of many things, but being trapped outdoors in the middle of a thunderstorm is one of those things.
We were treated to a dinner of pumpkin soup, rice, and avocado salad. Two days of torrential downpour was really beginning to eat at the group’s morale. Most of the team had never really climbed or hiked in the rain, as they would avoid the expedition if the forecast called for it. However this wasn’t a weekend venture in the Cascades; we had flown halfway around the world for a climb that we had been planning for a year.
The traditional Northern Hemisphere winter was typically the dry season in this part of the world. Over the past couple years though, the first dry season was more wet than previous. Pete had the best explanation (which I later looked up for official terms to appease the meteorologists who read this): in this part of the world, the weather is affected by what is called the Intertropical Convergence Zone, which is a band around the equator where winds from the Northern and Southern Hemispheres collide and rise, which creates a band of precipitation. The position of the ICZ is influenced by the warmer weather of the hemispheres in their respective summers. Normally, the ICZ is south of Tanzania this time of year, at which point southern Africa is experiencing a wet season. However, Pete made mention that when he had flown into Amsterdam on his way here, he had noticed that the weather was in the 60s, abnormal for this time of year. That caused this band of weather to rise north and trap us in an unscheduled wet season. Coupled with that, this area of the world does not have the topography to push weather like western North America with the Pacific Ocean and mountain ranges manipulating the weather patterns and keeping the weather variable. All this combined would make for a very wet trip as we continued.
I had a different theory. It had to do with a certain song that had suddenly came back into popularity. Every time that song is played, the weather gains power.
What we really needed was for Toto to stop blessing the rains down in Africa.
Day 3: The Bull’s Head
We woke up to clear skies. Pete made mention of the Big Southern Cross constellation, which could only be seen in the Southern Hemisphere. As this was my first time south of the equator, it was my first time seeing the constellation. I tried to take a picture with my DSLR, with semi-favorable results.
As we ate breakfast, the sun continued to rise and we could see more clearly the top of the mountain. As we were readying to leave camp I notice a large thunderhead in the distance. It looked like the head of a bull. I was hoping that it would not be an ominous sign.
Today our route was going to take us up to the Lava Tower, which at 15,500 feet, would be the highest a majority of us had ever been. After lunch up there we would then drop back down, finishing at Barranco Camp where we would sleep that night.
We left camp in single file, going at the pole pole pace. The beginning of the hike that day was beautiful, especially with the top of the mountain in the distance. Some of us hung our wet clothes on the outside of our packs in hopes that they would dry out in the sun.
As we continued to ascend, the clouds began to roll in. There was no precipitation at this time and the guides did not instruct us to don our rain gear. It wouldn’t be until the next stop where the guides decided it would be a good idea for us to wear our rain gear. This news was not received well by the rest of the team, who, you can imagine, were all over the rain.
Meanwhile porters continued to pass us. I saw a couple on the side of the trail, resting, the altitude beginning to affect their performance. That wouldn’t bode well for their employment status. Additionally, as some porters passed, the guides would yell out “Simon!” I looked around. Our cook was nowhere to be seen. Was there another Simon in the group?
As we were nearing the top of Lava Tower, Doug was beginning to not do well. Pete was nearly coughing up a lung but I wasn’t as worried about him as I was Doug. I wondered if his joyride from the day before had affected anything. I couldn’t imagine that it had an effect, especially since it was only a half hour. Maybe following pole pole was really that serious.
It began to snow as we reached the crest of the Lava Tower. We were expecting to see the mess tent up there but it was not set up. After taking pictures at the sign, Raymond grouped us together, saying that it would be a better idea to go ahead considering the weather. He had heard reports from the day before that the streams at the bottom of the valley were impassible yesterday afternoon due to all the rain that had fallen, causing more water to flow. The teams that were stranded had to turn back and make their way back to the camp they had stayed at previously. What had made matters worse was that the porters had already crossed the river and could not cross back, so the climbers did not have anywhere to stay that night other than the ranger station and the covered areas outside the latrines. Considering all we had been through at the time, a hot meal at this point in time was not worth it. We all decided to continue trucking and relying on our snacks for energy as we made our way down.
The descent from the Lava Tower was steep and more strenuous than anything we had done on this climb. This was also the first time that we had to descend on this climb. The next couple days would be like that: climb high, sleep low. It is an effective way to acclimate. Anyway back to the descent: we ended up splitting up into separate groups at this point. The rock was slippery so we really had to watch our footing as we went down. I thought this section was fun to maneuver about, following the trail that was cutting through these rock features. Hopefully tomorrow would be more of the same but upwards.
As we reached the valley floor, we noticed the river beds. The water was down at the moment, but we could tell where the water had been the day before, as it had left silt five feet up the cut that the river created. We were lucky that we were not the group the day before. We crossed another river which had a similar story: silt deposited high up the bank.
As we continued, the weather cleared up again, and most of us took our rain layers off. That lasted a whole 15 minutes until the rain began again. This time it did not let up. As we continued down to Barranco Camp, the group morale was decreasing with each step. Our efforts to dry everything were for not as my jacket became saturated again and everyone’s boots were sopping wet. At the very least we were happy to be done and finally be close to being out of the rain. After signing in at the ranger station we all reconvened and trekked towards the group of orange tents that we would call home for the rest of the day and night. The clouds were low at this point so there was not a clear sight of the feature they called the Barranco Wall. There were parts we could see, but no defined trail that cut into it.
After a lunch of chicken, potatoes, and grilled cheese sandwiches, we all retired to our tents for the afternoon. The rain was still falling. Most people immediately started napping while I read and took notes of the day’s happenings. Based on the banging on the tent, the rain was going in and out. After a little while I shut my eyes.
10 minutes later I was woken up by someone coughing and throwing up outside.
Oh no! was obviously my first thought. Who could it be? was my second thought. I knew Doug was having some difficulty with the altitude earlier, but he had since descended from our apex that day. One of the porters may have over exerted himself? I was beginning to notice porters beginning to struggle as the elevation continued to rise.
I unzipped the tent and looked out to find Pete with his hands on his knees as everything in his stomach was trying to come out.
Pete? Of all the people in the group to have altitude sickness, him? He had been harboring a bad cough for most of the trip, and today seemed to be the worst of it. It couldn’t have been altitude, right? He was the most seasoned of all of us. Maybe food poisoning? Then again, more people would start being sick considering we had all been eating the same meals with each other for the past three days.
Later on, I found Pete and Jim in the mess tent. Jim was interviewing Pete as if they were sitting in his doctor’s office back in Washington. The key detail was that Pete didn’t feel the Diamox working earlier that morning. Normally, when Diamox is being processed by your body, a side effect that comes with it is tingling in your hands. Pete had not felt that earlier in the day.
I had suggested ginger tea for the group and ran the idea past Nester, who happily provided some. I for one was a little queasy but that was because I’m squeamish and also around a vomiting person. The ginger tea was a welcome fix.
Not to further interrupt the doctor and his patient, I stepped outside. The clouds finally lifted to where I could see the full Barranco Wall for the first time. There were a couple late parties that were trekking up the Wall. Their colorful line of packs helped me make out the trail that zigzagged up the Wall. Soon that would be us.
With the rain stopped I ran around camp with my camera, taking pictures of the surrounding landscape. The low clouds obscured the landscape, making for some really cool shots.
Sure, it would be cool to have a clear day, but we had to make with what we had. Right now we had variable cloudy weather, wet clothing, and rock-bottom morale.
Oh, and a sick person.
Other members of the group began to wake up to the news that Pete was sick. Dan was the most physically distraught; between the low morale of the group and now that someone is sick, the expedition was beginning to fall apart.
Jim and I were trying to figure out how Pete was going to get off the mountain. At this point, unless a miracle happened and that he could replenish his calories to a point where he could continue to climb, there was no going to the top for Pete. We were looking for ideas. Jim thought he had spotted a helicopter on the other side of the gully we were staying on. Being near-sighted and without my glasses at that point I was unsure if it was a helicopter or rock. My glasses later confirmed it was a rock. According to Raymond, there was a trail from this camp that led down to the bottom, but it was a rugged jungle trail that would be very difficult.
The other option would be to climb up the Barranco Wall, make it to the next camp, and then hike down the day after. That downward trail was much calmer. Pete would see how he was feeling in the morning, but he was keen to the latter option.
Doug joined the group in the middle of dinner. After his afternoon nap he felt much better, however he did not eat much during dinner. He was the last in the group to learn about Pete’s ailments. He was as shocked as the rest of us were when we learned.
When Raymond and Dustin joined in later, Pete made the decision that he would make his way up the Barranco Wall and head down the day after. We would start an hour later in order to give Pete as much time as possible to feel any sort of better.
As we laid asleep, Dan suddenly woke up in a terror! He was fumbling around in his sleeping bag. Obviously, this all startled me. “What is it?”
“I thought I had a big bug crawling on my leg. I think it’s okay. Sorry to wake you up Joe-Joe.”
Meanwhile, at the foot of my sleeping bag, I noticed water dripping into the tent and onto my sleeping bag. The entire bottom of my sleeping bag was drenched. Being a down bag was not a good combination. I stuffed a sock into the pocket next to the leak so the water could be diverted to the sock and not my sleeping bag. However the clothes that I stuffed in my sleeping bag to keep dry were now damp. It was midnight at this point and raining really hard. Not gonna lie, this is not the madness I had signed up for.
Whatever, it’s all part of the adventure.
Day 4: Climbing Up The Wall
The Barranco Wall is advertised as the one true technical part of the Machame Route. The trail cuts and zigzags a thousand feet up this steep rock face, requiring its climbers to use all fours and scramble up some rock features in places. This terrain would be a nice mix-up from the generally-tame trail that we had been trekking on for the past three days.
It continued to rain all night, subsiding around 5:00. By 5:30 the sky had cleared and the stars came out. We could see the lights from a community down at the foot of the mountain. The foot end of my sleeping bag was still damp and so I laid it inside out in my tent to dry while we were eating breakfast. Consequently I had to burn through another pair of socks, since the ones I was wearing were wet. I was down to three pairs of dry socks, not ideal but better than the rest of the team. I assumed one of the group members would borrow a pair, so in reality I had two pairs left for the last four days. If I could save one pair for the summit day that would be most ideal.
Pete had decided that he could not get himself to recover from his stomach bug and relinquished his opportunity to summit. He decided that he would head up the Barranco Wall and down, and then head down the mountain the next day. We were all pretty confident he’d be able to make it up to the top of the Wall. He had the highest mountaineering pedigree of the group, and as effed up as he was at the time, had the skill and stamina to make it to the top of the wall.
This had been the first opportunity to meet the rest of the porters, since all other opportune times had been ruined by weather. As we were packing up for the day ahead, the porters presented a fifteen-minute-long song and dance routine to us which was quite entertaining and helped boost the team morale before setting off on the climb. Prior to this, all we had seen the porters do was carry heavy loads up the trail at twice the speed as us and with much inferior gear, only to arrive to camp to see them set up everything for us and then provide us food. It was nice to see the porters in an environment where they seemed like they were enjoying themselves, away from the backbreaking work and the mzungu guilt that our group had been feeling for the days prior. In all honesty, it seemed like it’d be fair if we provided them with entertainment instead of the other way around. Nonetheless, it was nice to see the porters and guides jump around and enjoy themselves around us.
Also they called everyone Simon. I thought Simon was the cook. Were there multiple Simons in this group of porters? Is Simon a nickname? Are they messing with us?
Anyway, as the singing and dancing was going on, the clouds began to roll in, and I was beginning to become antsy to start climbing the wall. The trail was narrow, and becoming stuck behind a slower group, or a large group like the Russians, keep us on the wall and in the threatening rain longer.
We weren’t the first group to leave camp, but we did leave before the Russians did. Pete led the charge, trailing just Dustin.
Pretty early on we were introduced to the flavor of the day. We quickly encountered features that required some scrambling. Most of us stowed our trekking poles, as we would not need them on this route. The guides were good with lending a hand to those who needed it. I also helped with giving others beta on where to place their hands and feet for extra stability. There were some parts that were not for the faint of heart. One example was a feature known as the Kissing Wall, a narrow pathway with a shear rockface on one side and a 20-foot drop on the other. Maneuvering past this feature required you to shuffle along the path with you face up next to the rock, close enough that you could kiss it. A couple people in the group did just that.
The late start did have us running into more people. Also too were the porters that were carrying triple the weight up this crazy terrain. It again blew my mind the feats that these porters accomplished carrying all this gear on their backs and heads with little to no effort. Since there were few spots to pass, we frequently stopped to allow the porters to pass us, as they were going faster than our pole pole. Their business was cutthroat, one that didn’t care if they ended up with altitude sickness.
The frequent stopping was benefitting no one better than Pete. These impromptu breaks allowed him to gain enough energy between the active time between the porter passes. It was a cycle that would involve leaning down, dry-heaving, and catching his breath to muster the energy for the next interval. To say he was a trooper through all of this is an understatement. None of us could imagine trying to accomplish the wall in the state he was in, with a deprived caloric bank. He was certainly the toughest out of all of us in this situation. Also having to do this at 12–14 thousand feet was another challenge entirely.
Personally I had a blast through this section. This low-risk scrambling up rock features is my favorite type of climbing. I reminded me a lot of the terrain I would climb back home in the Tetons.
The final part of the wall was a 30-foot scramble on a low-angle rock face, a nice grand finale for the wall. The Russian contingent ended up reaching us just as we reached the top of the wall. At this point the trail was socked in and, to the surprise and delight of absolutely nobody in our group, it was beginning to rain. One misfortune that this weather was causing was that it was preventing us from the views that we would be experiencing otherwise. I guess a return trip would be necessary. But first, getting through this one.
The rest of the day’s trek would consist of a long downhill followed by an uphill to our camp for the evening. The entire time we were socked in, so views were impossible. Like I had said before, I am sure it looks really cool with no clouds involved. When we reached the bottom of the valley, we crossed a stream. Supposedly this stream was the last water source we would encounter for the duration of the uphill climb, meaning that all other water would need to be carried by the porters up to this camp and the one the next night. On the other hand, this camp was the food re-supply camp, as this camp was relatively accessible from the bottom of the mountain.
As the story for most days, we arrived at camp soaked, and it continued to rain throughout the afternoon. After a skier’s lunch of pizza and french fries, we retreated into our tents. For those of you who said Kili wasn’t intense, a majority of this trek has been pretty much spent, well, in tents (it’s a pun, okay!).
This was also the afternoon I finished my book, Bill Bryson’s newest about the human body. Between my insomnia and the afternoon downtime I’ve had a lot of time to read on this trip. This is also the first time where I’ve longed for a Kindle.
Day 5: The Day Before
This day was known to be, impending weather aside, the “calm before the storm.” For this day, we would have a nice calm morning, and also 3000 feet of elevation gain, hike up to Kosovo Camp at 16,300 feet and resting for the day, only to wake up and start the summit bid at midnight. For those who would be unable to nap, the idea of being awake for 40–48 hours straight was a daunting one.
The sky was clear when we woke up at 5 am that morning. By this point the stench in the mess tent was beginning to become unbearable; four days of downpour did not help with the cause. As long as we endured the first couple minutes in there before our noses decided that not capturing that smell was a good idea, then we could bear being in the mess tent.
Prior to leaving we bid farewell to Pete, who was heading down that day after his monumental effort up the Barranco Wall the day before. He was accompanied by a guide and a porter to carry his pack down. The porter was the “2018 Eastern Conference Campion Tampa Bay Lightning Hat” guy, so I made sure to document the hat via a photo prior to his exit, assuming I would never see him again. After they headed down, we began to head up.
The trail snaked up amongst boulder fields and the like. Many cairns had been built on the side of the trail. Save for moss and lichen finding homes on the rocks, there wasn’t much for vegetation at this elevation, just dispersions of igneous rock created from whenever Kilimanjaro’s last eruption was. Some of the terrain reminded me of home, the high desert regions of Washington and Idaho, regions dominated by volcanic activity at some point.
The first part of the hike was uphill, then it dipped down into a valley before we climbed up onto a ridgeline to our final high camp. We had been told that we had received special permission to stay at Kosovo camp for this climb. It helped out in our favor, as it was 1000 feet higher than the other camp.
Even though I had handled Lava Tower well, I was having a difficult point with this section. I could feel the shortness of breath settling in and the woozy feeling that comes with oxygen deprivation. My hands had vibrated that morning, signaling Diamox activation, but I wasn’t feeling great during that stretch. A break at the bottom of the valley helped me catch my breath and recollect myself. I finished the rest of the stretch without a problem.
After the valley it was section of switchbacks up to the next camp and the ridgeline hike up to our campground. As we reached the first camp it began to rain. We were required to sign into this camp because Kosovo camp didn’t have a ranger station.
As we hiked through the camp, we realized the Russians were staying at this camp. After Barranco, they had elected to skip the campground we had stayed at the night before and hike straight to this camp, allowing more time at this elevation. It would also require them to climb a thousand more feet on Summit Day.
The trail outside of the camp turned into a slippery scramble up a rockface. Reg noted that it was a good thing that we were going up this in the daytime and going up instead of down when it was slippery. I agreed.
As we approached Kosovo camp, the rain turned to snow. I had wondered at what point it would be cold enough for that. The snowman that greeted up at camp provided the answer. It was around 11:30 am at this point.
After a grilled cheese lunch, we retreated into our tents to nap. I slept for maybe ten minutes, then laid awake in anticipation of the climb tonight. Could it just be 11pm already? Dan woke up and went out to pee. At this point the snow had momentarily turned to rain. “Fuck.”
Fuck indeed.
Bless the rains? Why couldn’t they have blessed the sunshine.
The rain eventually stopped, and since I couldn’t sleep, I was tired of hanging in the sleep tent and I went out to the mess tent. There I ran into a porter, Eli. We started discussing the climb so far, as well as his life outside of the mountain and his aspirations (he, among many other porters on the mountain, aspired to be a mountain guide). I felt like at this point of the climb, away from the torrential downpours of the lower elevations, I asked if there was anything that would turn us away from the top at this point, outside of altitude sickness. Eli mentioned that his last expedition had to turn back due to high winds at the top. Considering the weather patterns so far, I wouldn’t be surprised if we were greeted by bad weather again.
Or not. The weather forecast that we had seen prior to the climb showed a clear summit day. However that was five days ago and the forecast didn’t predict this much rain. I was still confident that the top would be clear though, despite having no basis outside of the supernatural.
After my dad, Pete (not to be confused with Pete Shepard who went down the mountain after the Barranco Wall) passed away a couple years ago I began to associate coincidental weather patterns (and beautiful sunsets) with him helping to pull the strings up above to give us the opportunity we would need to summit a mountain, run a good race, or have an epic day on the ski slopes.
Some of the group had climbed with my dad in the past. Dan was really good friends with him. He certainly would have made this trip if he were still alive. One notable characteristic was that he would work harder than anyone else in the group. We joked for the last few days amongst the downpours that it was Pete making the climb harder, because he was so tired of hearing us saying how the climb “wasn’t going to be that bad.” The rain was a way for him to say “oh, that bad, huh? Well I’m going to make you earn the summit!”
I theorized that as long as we reached this point, Camp 5, we were good to go for the summit bid. There was no need for a weather report. My dad would clear the weather up for us, I was sure of it!
I caught Dan in the mess tent later that afternoon. His spirits were a bit down due to the weather not really clearing up by this time. I had told him what I heard from Eli and his past expedition, followed by my continued faith that the summit was going to be clear for us, something that I would believe until otherwise disproven.
“There’s a weatherman up above looking out for us,” I said.
“Is that right, now?” said Dan. He knew exactly what and who I was talking about.
After dinner Raymond and Dustin came into the mess tent to brief on the final push to the summit and take our blood-oxygen levels. I had heard that the guides would discourage those with less than an 80% level to attempt to summit. Three members of the group, including Dan, were below that mark. The guides were a little hesitant with the numbers, but due to the pedigree of the group and the relatively low heart rates of the sub-80s, they would allow us all to attack the summit in a few hours. The blood-oxygen levels may also improve over the course of the next three hours.
Afterwards it was back into our tents for a couple hours. The 10:30 wake-up call couldn’t come soon enough.
Day 6: Summit Bid
I may have been dozing for a half hour or so when Dan’s alarm went off and Nester delivered coffee to our tent. 10:30 on the money. It had cooled off during the night, so everything inside the tent was damp and everything outside was frozen. It was a time trying to tie my hiking boots. What I also noticed was the sound, or lack thereof, coming from outside the tent.
“You hear that?” I asked Dan.
“What.”
“Exactly.”
Silence. There was no rain beating down on our tents. In fact it was a partly cloudy night, with the moon out to greet us as we began our trek up the last 3,000 feet of the mountain. The mountain was out for our bid just as I had prayed for. At least for the moment. Things can change fast on this mountain, as we have all previously experienced.
We were served breakfast at this point; the regular fixing of porridge, as was tradition, along with other light snacks to fuel us for the beginning of the push. Mai was feeling a little off at this point and did not each much. We were all a little woozy in some regard; granted, alpine starts do mess with your Circadian rhythm quite a bit, and I’m sure symptoms are elevated at 16,000 feet. I imagined the sunrise at the top would make it all worth it.
After breakfast Raymond and Dustin rolled in, along with Eli and one of the Simons. These four would be leading us up to the top, as the rest of the porters would stay down at camp and rest up before shuttling all the gear down the mountain. We grabbed our gear and were on our way just before 11:30.
Until we weren’t. Mai had began to throw up her breakfast. She was feeling a little off so maybe the vomit allowed whatever was ailing her to be expelled from her body. At least that’s what we all thought, until 20 meters later when she couldn’t hold whatever was left in. At this point even if she was able to keep everything else down she wouldn’t have had enough calories to complete the rest of the climb. Her bid was done.
Altitude is serious business, folks.
And then there were seven. We began to pole pole up the boot track that was carved into the snow. It was going to be a long slow trek, and at this point people had headphones in to drown out the monotony. Through my headphones I listened to whatever I had downloaded onto my Spotify at the time, which included some Muse, Killers, and Backstreet Boys.
While the sounds were being drowned out, I was hyper-aware of the activity going on around me. I was doing my best to pay attention to the people up in front of me. How were they doing? Were they moving okay? Or were they wobbling around, about to lose their balance? I also noticed the headlamps of other groups making their way up to the top. I kept looking for a large group of lights indicating the Russian contingent. I wouldn’t have been surprised that they would reach the summit first despite starting 1000 feet below us.
We played leapfrog with a few groups. One would pass us while we were on a water break, and then we would pass them while they were on theirs. We passed a Chinese couple at one point. They were wearing funky ear-flap knit hats. The husband was dancing around. The porter scolded him, “no dancing on the way to the summit!” It wasted energy.
Back to the conga line we went. I was trying to stave off any altitude sickness that I could feel. At the moment of borderline queasiness I would take a few breaths, ensuring to blow out all the carbon dioxide in my lungs, then take a sip of water. I was munching on gummy bears at this point as well. I had to keep the calories up, and this was the last item in my pack of goodies (although I did save them for last).
Meanwhile I was looking out for others, on how they looked and faired against the high altitude. I had only come into contact with altitude sickness once, on the Grand Teton with a friend who had flown in from sea level the day before. Prior to turning around he looked like he was going to fall off the edge of the mountain. That was the visual sign that I was looking for in the others. If someone was looking a little woozy I would let the person behind them know to watch for them. The conga line kept rearranging as we took care of each other as we climbed, one slow foot at a time.
In the beta I read, the summit-push crux was Stella Point, where we reach the crater rim. While not technical, it provides us the first look at the summit, and dauntingly the final thousand feet that lay in front of us. For unprepared climbers who thought they had seen the top all along, the sight could be discouraging, shooting down their mental capacity and forcing them down the mountain.
For us, it was windy. The wind was whipping through the crater, and the bitter chill it brought nearly froze me. I was wearing an Under Armour thermal and my Patagonia Micropuff, but I still opted for the Eddie Bauer parka that I had rented a few days earlier. That was a good idea. My heavier gloves were on the side of my pack, but due to the wind they had frozen in place. Simon helped me pull the gloves on, while I tried to thread my fingers into the frozen contorted pockets that made my hand look broken. I don’t remember what brand my gloves were.
The guides also thought that this would be a good time for tea. While it may have been best to continue moving so we didn’t freeze to death, pole pole. The tea was nice to have as it slowly warmed me up (or maybe that was the addition of another thick layer). After finishing the tea, we started our final summit push.
I don’t remember much of the final push. As we begun, the sky went from black to dark blue and then lighter until it was the sky blue we all know. The alpenglow always seems surreal while on the mountain, especially when the time of day is turned upside down. We had been active for six hours and it was 5:30 am when the sun rose. And in the distance, the iconic sign placed at the tallest point in Africa.
I wasn’t thinking about the push or the struggle at this point. The only thought going through my head at that point was of my dad, of how he pulled the strings of our expedition, throwing our group into the gauntlet of wet misfortune, seeing where we would crack and give up, and those who had continued on would be met with the wonders of a clear day on top of Mt. Kilimanjaro.
The path began to flatten out. The top was closer with each slow step. Just prior to reaching the summit, Doug lost his balance and fell. Oh no, you are getting to the top even if we need to carry you on our shoulders. He regained his feet and continued on, and on, until…
“PETE CAME THROUGH!”
The was Dan’s first remark to me as we reached the top of the mountain. He obviously had been thinking the same thing that I was as me made the last push to the summit. We embraced. Some tears were shed. Caroline joined in with us. I wished Dan a happy birthday. It was a truly touching moment.
After we let go, I let out a yelp in celebration. In the craziest of events we had done it! We spent 20 minutes at the top, taking pictures with various combinations of people at the sign. I spread some of my dad’s ashes that I had carried up and placed a “PM” sticker on the summit sign, where it joined many other stickers from past climbers.
After having our fill for pictures, we began the journey back down the mountain. I remember thinking at this point that the rest of the story was going to be summed up in a paragraph saying that we got down in two days and were excited to be back in civilization and ready for a hot shower. That turned out to not be the case.
Day 6, but this time down: That Time I Got Altitude Sickness
This will be graphic. If you want to skip down to WE’RE ALL GOOD AGAIN, go for it. Otherwise I will try to calm the image with pictures of cute animals we saw on the safari after we left the mountain.
The sensations started to creep up when we reached Stella Point again. We stopped to take a picture of the sign that commemorated the spot, considering that we were unable to do so in the dark. I had small waves of nausea hit me before this morning, so I ran my protocols, a combination of water and ensuring that all of the CO2 was out of my lungs. I added in a ginger chew as well at this point, assuming that it would calm my stomach.
We started again. Five minutes later I lost my lunch (breakfast? 2nd breakfast? Post-summit snack? I’m not sure what to call it but it was yellow). After a couple sips of water everything came out again. I was leaning on my poles, projectiling off-trail so no one else stepped in vomit. Okay, so no water right now. I’ve had food poisoning in the past and this is what it felt like. We were coming down the mountain, to thicker, oxygenated air, why would it be altitude sickness?
I looked and saw that Doug was going through a similar ordeal, with Simon the guide helping him down. I also saw the Chinese guy was also having trouble, being helped down by his guide.
I was delusional at this point too, trapped in a bubble of heat and exhaustion. It was a crystal clear morning and the African sun was radiating off of the snow, blasting me in two directions. I had since taken off my puffies and was in my Under Armour thermal. I did not pack a lighter shirt assuming that the weather was going to be cold throughout our summit bid. I was cooking and needed some sort of reprieve.
I stopped to rest; losing my calories had weakened me, and there was no way of replenishing them because I would simply throw them back up. I sat behind a rock, and heard a familiar voice.
“Joe! How are you feeling?”
Doug was also taking a rest right next to me. I was so encompassed in my own misery that I didn’t notice him at first. I simply stared at him, hoping the expression on my face translated into something along the lines of “I feel like shit, Doug.”
“Quite a way to go down,” he said. I simply nodded. After a couple minutes, I used whatever energy I had to travel a couple more switchbacks until I was in the same position.
If it is altitude sickness, I just need to go down. I figure I will be good at high camp, since I acclimated there.
This was the motivation I needed to force myself down the mountain.
I wasn’t sure at what elevation I was at, but descending would help me feel better, or so I thought. This part of the mountain was turning into a combination of snow and scree. I began to realize the best chance of me getting down as quickly as possible was to abandon ship and the help from the guides and essentially run down the mountain. I also realized that when I stopped it was really difficult for me to return to motion.
So that’s what I essentially did: ran down the mountain. There were times I stopped, and when I did I keeled over and supported myself on my trekking poles. During these times I wanted to stop, lie down, and sleep. I needed to reach 16,600’, as that was where the reprieve was going to be.
I don’t remember how long this section was. My memory tags it as a half-hour or so, but in reality it could have been an hour or maybe two to get down. Normally scree is a climber’s worst enemy coming down a mountain, but today it was helping me quite immensely. Each step would bring me another two vertical feet or so down, just as long as I stayed upright, which I failed to do a couple times, landing on my butt, wanting to rest for a bit, and then find some form of power to stand back up and continue down.
I eventually made it back down to the rock formation where our campsite was. There was still a bit of traversing on the rock needed to reach the tent city, but I was closer. At this point however I reached a jam of people in front of me. Guides and their clients were moving slowly in front of me, also not feeling well. This didn’t bode well for me, as stopping would stop my momentum and make me feel like collapsing. Even though I was pretty close to camp, I did not feel any better. The goal now was to crawl into my tent and try to rest; it was the only thing moving me forward at this point.
As I stopped, I leaned against a rock to stay upright. It wasn’t comfortable; lava rock is usually pretty sharp. Given enough space in front of me at this point I tried as hard as I could to propel myself forward. The camp was just below me, about 100 vertical feet to go at this point. I tried running but had to stay careful or else I’d go down on the sharp rock (lava rock is a little less forgiving than the scree/snow smoothie from up above).
Before too long I made it back to camp. Unfortunately I wasn’t feeling any better at this point, but I did reach my destination. I guess it’s not altitude sickness, I thought in my confusion as I entered the Climb Kili camp.
At this point I looked around, then collapsed.
I was in my tent when I came too. I wasn’t sure how long I had been out but whatever the time I still felt like crap. I woke to the sounds of Dan, who greeted me cheerfully, “how about that, Joe!?”
I could only get a few mumbles out until Raymond poked his head into the tent, telling me to get out. “We need to get you down the mountain.”
“It’s food poisoning,” I replied.
“No, this is altitude sickness. Our chefs are great. For sure not food poisoning, definitely altitude sickness.”
From what I had seen from Pete a few days prior made me feel wary about that claim but I didn’t continue to object. Anything to make me feel better would be enough for me.
They took my blood-oxygen level: 81, just above the threshold of not allowing us to head up the mountain. My pulse was at a rate of 144, something I would expect on an easy run, not from sitting on the ground. My body felt like it was boiling too.
“We’ll get a guide for you and take you down,” said Raymond as he ran off to fetch someone who could take me down.
I turned to Dan at this point, asking him how he was feeling. “Oh I feel like shit.” Glad I wasn’t the only one. “How are you managing?” he said.
“I’m just happy I summitted.” It was true; thankfully I was experiencing these symptoms coming down versus going up. I could accept the pain and misery with a summit photo that would garnish 125 likes on Instagram.
Raymond had recruited Eli to help me down the mountain. In a mad rush to collect my items we headed down. My mouth was parched and tried to down some water, but it came back up pretty soon afterwards. Meanwhile I couldn’t find my puffy among the items in the tent. Maybe it ended up in another bag somehow? I would need to be in another state of mind to figure it out, I thought, the most important thing right now is to continue down the mountain.
Thankfully, it wouldn’t take another five days to climb down. When explaining the itinerary to people, they’re puzzled as to why it takes six days to climb up the mountain but one-and-a-half to climb down. Outside of the point-to-point nature of the route there are other factors, like acclimatization and that normally it takes longer to go up and inclined surface than to go down. In this case, we were taking the short route back.
Eli and I were off to the next camp. The first portion of this route would double-back us on the route that we had taken up the day before. Once we hit the spot where we started up the ridgeline, the trail continued down to the last camp, the Mweka Camp. This trail is the shortest and fastest way up from trailhead to the top of the mountain. Raymond had travelled this route up and down in 22 hours. His guide partner, Dustin, had completed it in under 12.
Anyway, enough of the rambling, back to my descent down the hill. There was some vomiting at the beginning, but once there was nothing left to upchuck my body stopped doing that thing. Walking down was essentially a cycle of me walking a few steps (walking is generous, I was stumbling and the only reason I didn’t fall on my face was because the rest of my body was moving forward, “falling with style” as the locals say, maybe), and leaning on my trekking poles, trying to dig deep into whatever was left in my energy reserves to continue moving forward. Thankfully, we climbed down the notorious rockface with ease, something we were all a little nervous about yesterday.
After we crossed through the lower campsite, the hike was pretty smooth sailing for a while. The terrain was bare and consisted mostly of lava rock and lichen, with a few bushes here and there. Not much grows at this elevation.
Scattered along the trail were rusted-out gurneys with two wheels in the middle that I believed were still used to carry people down the mountain. My theory was confirmed when we saw a couple porters wheeling one of these gurneys up the mountain to go rescue someone. Oh to be that person. Of course, my pride was happy that we didn’t have to go to that extent to bring me down the mountain.
Before this trip, my highest elevation gain was at 14,440’ on Mt. Whitney. What was interesting was that when we hit this elevation going down, my stomach was beginning to settle and the nausea had disappeared. I was still at a low-energy state, but I tried my hand at sipping some water and it went down fine and stayed there. Progress!
Even though the water was going down fine, the thought of eating anything still made me feel nauseous. Adding to the fact that all my calories were scattered in piles between here and Stella Point, I had also been awake for over 36 hours, barring the half-hour or so I had dozed off before Nester woke us up in what seemed like a world away.
On the plus side, we were going downhill, of which I would just be able to stumble down and let gravity do the work. However, I wasn’t sure how much longer we had to go. We still needed to descend 4,000 vertical feet, which could take two hours, or three, or seven, depending on the terrain that awaited us.
As we continued descending, the terrain was beginning to pick up more vegetation. We were beginning to enter the Moorland zone of the mountain. Eli stopped around this point and pointed out a small encampment in the distance. “That is our camp.”
Something that is interesting about climbing is that trips always take much longer than you originally think. I call it “distance dilation.” Of course, I fell for it again in this instance, because the camp looked like it was sitting about an hour away. This was a good sign since I was really tired and all I wanted at this point was to sleep.
Let’s ignore the fact that we still had about 3,500 feet to descend and that it would take much longer than an hour to reach Mweka Camp.
As the landscape became more dominated in heather shrubs, I was beginning to reach the end of my energy stores. There was only so much I could do to push forward. The trail began to turn from a trail flush with the surrounding landscape to a drainage, where the trail cut and slithered a couple feet below. This feature provided a convenient ledge for me to sit on and rest.
The intervals started around five minutes in between sitting and resting. Then it turned into a couple minutes and then a minute and then thirty seconds to finally a couple steps. Eli was a champ during all of this; he was very patient with me traveling down, not trying to push me by any means. I probably wasn’t the first victim of altitude sickness that he has dealt with. If he wanted to be a guide, this was great on-the-job experience for him.
At one point I sat down and shut my eyes. Meanwhile, Eli was conversing with a porter who was bringing supplies up. I remember them having a conversation, but I don’t remember what they discussed, mostly because it was in Swahili and I didn’t know that language, was unsure how long it lasted, maybe ten minutes. When I awoke from the doze, the porter continued up and Eli and I continued down.
At this point I felt much better. I didn’t feel the urge to stop and rest every minute like before. I was super thirsty though and didn’t have much water left. Hopefully we were close to Mweka Camp. Checking my altimeter on my watch at this point we had another thousand feet to descend.
We stopped and I grabbed some water from my pack that Eli was carrying. He asked if I was feeling better, to which I said “loads better” and thanked him for being so patient with me. Remembering the conversation yesterday, Eli’s main aspiration was to graduate to becoming a mountain guide. It seemed like Raymond was providing him an opportunity to reach that point, with the invitation up to the top and the task of bringing me down the mountain.
Now to the question that had pondered me all trip. “How does the wage of a porter or guide compare with the rest of the area?” Due to Eli’s limited knowledge of English, the question had to be rephrased a few times before he could understand and respond.
“It’s good,” he said, “It’s comparable. Guides make more. You can go to school to become a guide or be a porter.”
“It seems like backbreaking work for what seems like so little,” I replied.
“It’s in the middle of what people earn in the area,” said Eli.
It’s an interesting perspective. Where I come from, the standard of living is so much higher that other countries (especially third world), that the idea of living on so little is foreign, literally. For them, working and surviving the brutal conditions on Kilimanjaro is something likened to “middle class” for the region. I was unsure what “middle class” was considered, lifestyle-wise, in this country, and how it compared to the living conditions I had seen in Arusha and through the cities and townships in Kenya that I had toured prior to the trip.
Westerners could perceive the work on the surface as borderline abuse (and in some cases it can escalate to that, which is why there are organizations in place to ensure it doesn’t happen). At some point in the history of development of any society, there is always a point of abuse and poor conditions on the job being commonplace. Maybe it isn’t as common in Tanzania?
In the end, it’s just another job to these people.
Sooner than not, we entered Mweka Camp. Eli went to talk to the ranger at the station while I sat at the sign that welcomed up to the camp. All I wanted to do was crawl into a tent and fall asleep. Pretty soon, Eli walked back and pointed me to the station, where I needed to sign in. The camp was down the hill a little bit, but not all the tents had been set up yet.
“Are they updated?” I asked Eli. I was wondering if Mai had heard anything of the results of our summit bid. Eli shrugged.
Mai was dozing in the one tent that was set up at that moment. I crawled in. I told her about the successful summit bid and the few of us who came down with some altitude-related illness, mine being the worst of it. Meanwhile, while we were climbing, Mai had gone back to sleep and had woken up for breakfast before heading down to Mweka Camp. She mentioned that she did feel better upon waking from a full night’s sleep. I laid on the empty sleeping pad in the tent, and using my pack as a pillow, fell asleep.
The rest of the group arrived a couple hours later. I mustered up enough energy to greet them and rummage through the rest of my stuff to see if my puffy would appear. It did not. I told Raymond to be on the lookout. I did not eat anything at dinner that night, but I was able to drink down some electrolytes, which my body desperately needed at that point. That night was not late for any of us. Doug had passed out once he arrived at camp and didn’t even join for dinner. The rest of us were in our tents before the sky darkened.
Day 7: If the boot fits…
Jambo! Jambo bwana! Habari gani? Mzuri sana! Wageni, mwakaribishwa! Kilimanjaro? Hakuna matata!
The morning was filled with sunshine and celebration. While we couldn’t claim a 100% group success, a majority of the team had made it up to the top of Africa, now clearly visible. The groups summitting today would be provided the similar clear-summit experience we had the day before. With the sickness and exhaustion caused by the long alpine-start day behind us, we were able to begin taking in what we had just accomplished.
I was able to stomach some food this morning, but it was mostly the tasteless porridge and toast. It was something though. The trek today consisted of 4000 feet of descending to the Mweka Gate, where we would catch the bus back to Arusha. I wouldn’t need nearly the number of calories.
As we began to pack up, I asked Raymond if he had seen the puffy anywhere. He hadn’t. It was a bummer, it was a nice jacket, but on the plus side some porter would put it to good use.
Another group began down the trail next to us. One of the men in the group shouted “Chiefs!” I imagine he had received news that they had won the Super Bowl the day before. It would be interesting what would be waiting for us on the other end of this stretch. We had been out of civilization for a week at this point. Did anything drastic happen? What was the status of that new coronavirus coming out of China? I was excited to check in with my mom and girlfriend and everyone back home to tell the crazy story of our adventure. They had received snippets from the guides via email, daily digests of the day, but they would certainly prefer to hear from me.
I was also excited to wear another pair of pants. I only brought one pair up the mountain. I pack light.
Prior to leaving, the guides and porters again performed their version of Jambo Bwana, celebrating the successful trip up the mountain. While I was desperate to begin the trip down, I forced myself to pause for a moment of celebration with the rest of the team, a majority of which I’d never cross paths with again: the guides, porters, and that same Asian lady from the Barranco Camp sing-along. Save the Asian lady, the rest of them would be traveling up the mountain again tomorrow, momentarily befriending another group of Westerners for a week.
Afterwards we began the six-mile trek back down to the Mweka trailhead. The trail was more rugged and the landscape now within the rainforest. At this point, I was ready to get off the trail and back into civilization. What was interesting was the lack of wildlife in this forest. Last time we were in the rainforest it was pouring down rain, so naturally we wouldn’t see any. Today was nice and sunny, but still nothing. Later readings confirmed that animals tend to stay away from people on the mountain, so not seeing them made sense.
The trail turned to rugged to calmer to something resembling a service road. In due time we made it to the Mweka gate, marking our end to the Kilimanjaro journey! After taking pictures at the gate we stopped at the visitors center to wash our shoes off and wait for the bus. I was able to connect to wifi here, where I sent some greetings back home and checked on updates of everything happening a world away. One of my friends sent me a picture of his breakfast, which for the first time in the last couple days I had an appetite again.
The bus arrived and we packed up, heading down the mountain into the cultivation zone past Tanzanian civilization. There were schoolkids waving at us and people on motorbikes zipping past us. We had one more stop: there was a larger visitors center which served food and had a gift shop. Here we would eat lunch, exchange tips, and donate old gear to the guides and porters. I made the intent of donating my hiking boots; they were seven years old that this point, and from my perspective past their service life. However they were still functional (and decently waterproof) and in the perspective of any of the porters, they would be the nicest pair of boots they’ll probably ever own.
Raymond saw me taking my boots off to throw in the pile and called me over. He called Nester over as well. After conversing to Nester, he motioned me to give a boot to Nester to see if they fit him. They did. I was honored for him to receive them, especially since he had been a great waiter and busboy for the entire trip.
As the pile of donations had been collected, the porters chose an item one-by-one based on an order organized by Raymond. While we didn’t have a use for these items, they would still continue to serve climbers. These items would continue to go up and down Kilimanjaro, along with the rest of the items donated by hikers past. After being surrounded by their backbreaking work and good attitudes during the entire trip, it was a nice gesture to provide them with quality gear they could use in future treks.
After the festivities we were back in the bus and heading back to Arusha. The climb was over for us but it’d be different tomorrow. As we continued our trip to the Serengeti, the guides and porters would be up the mountain again, providing another group the opportunity to reach the top of Africa.
We lucked out in the timing of our trip. After our expedition, only one other group was able to reach the top of Kilimanjaro prior to the COVID-19 pandemic. Afterwards, there was a hiatus while the world was in lockdown. Maybe we needed a global pandemic to realize just how privileged we were to travel across the world to experience the freedom of the hills.
Climb Kili resumed climbing operations back in June 2020, being one of only a few companies who has been providing mountaineering and safari services during this time. Still, the general lack of tourism that has stemmed from the pandemic has wrecked the livelihoods of the guides and porters, who rely on a steady stream of aspiring Uhuru-summitters throughout the year. Multiple crowd-sourced fundraisers have popped up to help bridge the gap until the pandemic has passed.
I’m not here to preach on my soapbox about porters’ rights. I just wanted to account for what my experience on a portered climb was like. I had friends in the past who have climbed Kilimanjaro and have discussed the unfair treatment of their porters. However, I did not witness any abuse, verbal or otherwise, while on my trek. That being said, just because I didn’t see it, doesn’t mean it exists. Kilimanjaro is not alone when it comes to porter abuse; it exists all around the worldwide mountaineering industry.
Organizations associated with Kilimanjaro expeditions have been fighting for porters rights and fair salary. The Kilimanjaro Porters Assistance Project has been providing services and education to those working on the mountain. You can read more about them HERE. Climb Kili is not an official member of this coalition but still works to recognize the rights and fair treatment of their staff members, which you can read about HERE. While website testimonials and descriptions can present a rosy picture to what reality actually presents, I was very happy with my team of guides and porters and they really helped make the trip possible. At the end of the day, they provided a service and did their job well!
