Afternoon, January 1, 2011

My victory over Kilimanjaro was short lived when the realization dawned on me that I had to hike downhill another eight hours or more from Uhuru Peak to Horombo Huts.  I estimated that we had about more 20 kilometers descending about 10,000 feet on the Marangu (Coca-Cola) Route before we could stop for the day.  Although hiking downhill is usually easier than uphill, it’s no less difficult when you’re already worn out by 12 hours of hiking.

I savored my time on top of the “Roof of Africa.”  I was too tired to keep standing and plopped down for over half an hour on a stump-size lava rock looking out over the horizon toward the bluish-white South Glacier.  Kay, Tom and all the guides except mine, Manda, had already spent about 30 minutes waiting for me.  They were ready to head back down but graciously gave me time to enjoy the view.  Conditions at 5,895 meters (19,341 feet) were balmy; we could not have picked a better time to reach the summit.  The sun was out, the weather mild, and there was no snow around us to speak of, which is reportedly an infrequent occurrence on Uhuru Peak.  An estimated 50-100 climbers at any given time milled around the flat top, took photos, and admired the view.  I probably dallied longer than I should have.  Kay reminded me that it wasn’t healthy at this high altitude to linger for long periods of time.  I was loathed to move again.  The long trek ahead of us was an added disincentive to get a move on.

Finally, at about noon, we started hiking again.  This time we went down together as a group.  I had more strength on the descent and bounced ahead so as not to hold up our group; the others marveled at how well I had rebounded from my earlier ordeal.  My physical condition was still tenuous, and the moderate climb down to Gilman’s Point was a welcome respite.  We stopped once for snacks and boiled glacier water diluted with artificial flavors that masked the silt.  It didn’t taste too bad despite the gritty texture.  A few minutes later we were off again.  I recall crossing over some patches of ice made more treacherous by my failing motor skills.

We reached Gilman’s at about 1 p.m., over an hour faster than we took to reach the summit, and stopped for about 15 minutes to take photos.  By that time I felt better than I did at any time since midnight at Kibo Hut, and I meekly posed for some memorable photos overlooking the expanse below.  The sun cast a bright glow across the land and sharpened the outlines and shadows of ridges and rock outcroppings so starkly that it looked as if the view had been painted by hand.  I beheld Kibo Hut far below me.  It looked so tiny from here!  It was an incredibly long way down.  Some say that it’s good to conquer Gilman’s in the dark so that you can’t see how high you’re climbing.  They’re certainly right.  I can’t believe how high and steep the mountain face was.  While the ascent was not technically challenging and did not require the use of mountaineering gear, the surface was so steep and riddled with loose gravel and rock that it could have easily doubled as Black Diamond.  All we needed was pairs of skies to fly down the mountain.

Kay, Tom, and I went down with the guides in pairs.  At first Manda “helped” Kay while our lead guide August assisted me, but after 15 minutes of being yanked downhill Kay protested and refused to let Manda touch her again.  August and Manda switched places, and I had the unenviable pleasure of being dragged down by Manda.  His hands were like a vice grip on my arm.  He pulled me downhill much faster than I wanted to go, and several times I pulled back and advised him to take it easy and cautioned him that at any moment I could crash or physically collapse.  Unfortunately, he did not speak English and I didn’t speak Swahili, so I communicated my displeasure by ripping my arm out of his hands and scolding him harshly with words and hand gestures I’m sure he understood nonetheless.  He seemed use to such diatribes, undoubtedly soliciting similar responses from all his clients.  Kay had no trouble going down with August.  I occasionally stole a glance toward Kibo Hut and marveled at Tom and his guide barreling downhill fast and furiously.  They skied fearlessly downhill at speeds I guesstimated were in excess of 20 kilometers per hour!  On a steep, gravely slope such as this, it was easy for inertia to get a hold of you and cause you to slide downhill at breakneck speeds.  If you didn’t care about crashing or seriously injuring yourself, you could make it down the face of Gilman’s Point in about 20 minutes.  Tom and his guide motored down so fast that they made it to the base in what must have been a land speed record.  When I asked him later about the experience he responded that it was “incredible” and “scary.”

About halfway to Kibo Hut, Manda and I lost our balance and crashed, and for the first time on our climb my knees and hips began to hurt as if I had sustained a serious injury.  I felt sharp pain in the tendons and joints around my kneecaps and hips, and I wondered if I would need medical attention when I made it back to civilization.  My knees felt like Jell-o, and I wobbled, slid, and fell repeatedly.  Each time Manda’s strong grip threatened to rip my arm out of its socket.  We finally made it down after about an hour, but not without a series of exasperating lectures on working with me rather than pulling me like dead weight.  I wasn’t about to let him carelessly drag me into oblivion or leave me with permanent body damage; he was going to do it my way, or I would sit down right then and there and refuse to move.  He finally acquiesced, and the final half hour of our descent was much smoother. 

At the bottom of the slope I stopped and looked toward Kibo Hut.  It still seemed so far away!  I looked back at Gilman’s Point now high above us.  Did we really hike that far during the darkest hours of midnight?  I couldn’t believe how far we had gone and was amazed that I had found the strength to climb as far and high as I did.  I was exhausted once again and couldn’t wait to get back to our tents to rest.  I resolved to convince August to spend the night at Kibo Hut rather than press on to Horombo Huts.  How would I ever find the strength to hike another 4-5 hours?  I was frustrated with August for what I considered poor planning for coercing us to go on after spending all day climbing up and down Kilimanjaro’s summit.

Kay, Tom and their guides had already disappeared, and Manda and I continued on by ourselves.  We didn’t have much to say to each other, which would not have done much good given the language barrier between us.  We arrived back at Kibo Hut at about 2:30 p.m. just in time for lunch.  I was without appetite, too tired to eat anyway, and immediately went to my tent to collapse.  If I was going to make it to Horombo Huts by nightfall, I needed to get some much needed rest.  Even though I had hardly eaten anything all day and hadn’t had a decent meal in over 36 hours, sleep was a much higher priority for me.  I ignored the cook’s voice when he announced that lunch was ready.

Morning, January 1, 2011

I reached the top of Gilman’s Point 5,685 meters up at around 8 a.m. in the morning.  Weak and exhausted, I held the group back for at least 20 minutes while I gathered my breath, bearings, and body.  Kay, Tom, and the guides waited patiently on the precipice for me to recover.  A steady stream of climbers passed by, weaving between boulders and benches littering the top of Gilman’s.  Everyone in our group was primed to reach the summit; my body was holding them back.  I was embarrassed for my frailty and at the same time thankful I had made it this far.  At long last I willed myself on and left Gilman’s Point like a steam engine taken out of service.  Our leader August hovered nearby and assigned one of his guides, Manda, to accompany me all the way to the top.  Manda had tried to help Kay but handled her quite roughly; he didn’t seem to understand the concept of “handle with care.”  I was willing to overlook his unpolished behavior as long as he helped me to the summit.

I insisted on hiking unassisted to the top of Kilimanjaro.  I propelled myself forward using my hiking poles like crutches.  After Gilman’s steep face, the climb along the volcano rim was far more gentle but still excruciatingly difficult for me.  The path wound along the ridge to Stella Point at 5,756 meters and then on up to Kilimanjaro’s highest point, Uhuru Peak, topping out at 5,895 meters (19,341 feet).  Most of the snow that should have blanketed the mountain top had already melted save small patches of snow and ice clinging to the rim.  The weather was abundantly pleasant as the sun cast an ethereal glow across the landscape.  I was tempted to take off some winter clothing and unzip my heavy jacket but left them on out of concern that the sun’s intense rays would incinerate my skin.

Along the way to Stella Point I found a bit of a rhythm and hiked at a quicker pace that seemed slightly faster than molasses.  I urged Kay and Tom to go on ahead, and they were soon out of sight.  Other climbers passed me as if I were standing still.  But I didn’t mind!  I was lucky to be here at all and grateful that I wasn’t a victim being carried off the mountain. 

I reached Stella Point after about an hour and walked into an incredible view of two large glaciers gracing the northern and southern flanks of Kilimanjaro.  Their towering walls of blue ice jutted into the sky like high rises in Manhattan!  So beautiful and serene, they were an awe to see rising in thick sheets above the mountain slope.  Nevertheless, they looked as if they had seen better days, remnants of a bygone era when the age of ice roamed the Earth.  The glaciers were dwarfed by the mountain’s sheer mass dominating the landscape as far as the eye could see.  Covered in volcanic gravel, its slopes were traversed by tiny but fearless climbers who skied downhill in their hiking boots and carved makeshift routes to trails and camp sites far below.

I tried to take a photo from Stella Point with my digital camera when my clumsy hands dropped it in the dirt.  Much to my dismay the camera malfunctioned and was rendered unusable.  I was thankful to have had the foresight to pack an older, less powerful digital camera that I used for the rest of the trip.  My error was a costly mistake; I discovered later that it would have cost as much or more to repair the camera than it did to buy a new one.  Fortunately a family member repaired if for free by removing dirt from the lens – an easy enough fix.

My last bit of strength dissipated after I left Stella Point.  I struggled mightily for one-and-a-half hours to the top of Uhuru Peak.  The distances between stopping points grew closer and closer until I found myself starting and stopping at every oversized rock.  Every rock became a minor victory.  And yet I was discouraged because I never seemed to get any closer to the summit.  Each time I thought I was approaching the top I was let down by the realization that Uhuru Peak was still further away.  Even worse, climbers who had made it to the summit before me started to pass by heading in the opposite direction.  It was a clear signal that I needed to summit soon before darkness forced me to turn around.

At long last I stood at the bottom of one final uphill slope about 50 meters from the top.  It was the hardest sprint of my life.  One meter, two meters, three meters, four; I ticked the steps off one by one as pain and fatigue gripped my legs and upper body.  Suddenly the top of Uhuru Peak opened up before me like the gates of Olympus and Asgard.  There it was!  The incredibly enticing view beckoned to me.  I drew on one last energy reserve and moved like never before, hobbling gingerly toward the famous crooked wood sign with yellow lettering marking the top of Uhuru Peak.  Kay and Tom waited for me like angels with smiles and hugs. 

I did it!  I made it!  Five days, four sleepless nights and an all-night hike later, I had reached the top of Africa.  I was so overwhelmed with emotion that I wanted to cry but was too tired to let the tears of joy flow.