Articles by mgedwards

Kilimanjaro, Day Six

Morning, December 31, 2010

I woke up this morning thinking that today marked the beginning of the end of our climb.  The next two days promised to be the most difficult yet.  We would spend most of the next 30 hours hiking almost 2,000 meters up to the top of Kibo Peak and then head back down to another camp.  Before we stopped again we will have hiked over 25 kilometers, a tall order in any locale exacerbated by the fact that we would cross over one of the world’s highest mountains.  Fortunately, my prayers for physical healing had paid off.  I woke up feeling reinvigorated with little of the pain or exhaustion that had afflicted me the day before.  I had fully expected to be exhausted after yesterday’s ordeal but woke up instead refreshed from a good night’s sleep.  I wondered how long it would last and prayed for continued strength.

It was another bright, crisp morning.  Fed up with grimy hair that I had not washed since leaving Arusha, I braved the cold weather and washed it with glacier water heated over a camp stove.  Using a small bottle of shampoo pilfered from a motel, I rinsed the residue away in a plastic wash basin.  My hair let off steam in the cold air as I wicked the moisture away with my hand.  It dried fast in the intense sunlight.  My companions chuckled at the vainly amusing sight as they did when I shaved with a cheap razor on the first two days of the trip.  Contrary to that famous Billy Crystal SNL quip, looking good can make you feel good too.

Breakfast was the same as ever.  By now our palates were resisting toast, eggs, bananas, and other food items served with unwanted regularity.  To mix things up a bit, I asked the cook for some peanut butter I knew was stashed somewhere.  After a few minutes of word play and hand gestures, he finally produced the jar.  It spiced my breakfast up.  After five days of mountaineering, even basic condiments bring simple joys.

We left Camp 30 Caves for the last time and hiked four hours to Kibo Hut on the same trail we had descended the day before.  It didn’t hurt so much this time.  The incline was steeper than I remembered while sliding downhill, but I didn’t mind in the least because it was a far sight better than what we had endured on the way to School Hut.  Betty lagged behind with August, who by this time had begun carrying her day pack to lighten her load.  Kay, Tom and I went ahead.  Our spirits were brighter than they had been yesterday.  We not only felt better but looked forward to the final ascent with anticipation.  We stopped for photos, laughed and bantered, and mused about everyone who now seemed so far away.  Kay danced to the classical rock blaring on her music player, and I dared her to try pole dancing.  She fearlessly planted her hiking poles vertically end over end and began dancing around them.  Tom and I laughed hysterically.  The levity lifted our spirits.  If you’re heading for one of the heaviest challenges of your life, you might as well make light of it.

Half way to Kibo Hut my cell phone found a signal, so I sent a text message to my wife.  She was thrilled to receive my daily messages updating her on our progress.  I let her know that we were OK and wished my family a happy new year.  My family was safely ensconced miles away near another natural wonder of the world, Victoria Falls on the Zambian border.  I’ve been told that cellular providers Safaricom, Vodacom, and Tigo work at various points on Kilimanjaro but was only able to pick up Safaricom a few times haphazardly.  I never saw a cell phone tower en route, and the signal seemed to disappear at the most inopportune moments.

We made a pit stop an hour later behind the last big boulders in the area.  There are no latrines in the vicinity; if you’ve got to go, you’ve got to go behind rocks big enough to hide you and use the bushes.  Bring toilet paper with you, or you’ll have to use whatever you can scrounge on the ground.  We saw some soiled toilet paper littering the trail.  Although the sight was disgusting, I presumed that it would soon decay and that even the most environmentally conscious climber would hesitate to pack-it-in and pack-it-out.

We arrived at Kibo Hut at 2:45 p.m. and rested in our tents until dinnertime.  After yesterday’s ordeal, today’s hike was a breeze for Kay, Tom, and me.  Betty, however, was not so fortunate.  She struggled into camp about two hours after us.  I gave up my tent to Betty and so she could extra rest before the final ascent.  August had decided that Betty would have to leave two hours earlier at 10:00 p.m. in order to make it to the top by morning.  Kay, Tom, and I begin our summit at midnight.  Lamentably, Betty never made it to the top of Kilimanjaro.  Stricken by altitude sickness and fatigue, she opted to end her climb and was evacuated from the mountain the next mountain.  We wished her well and told her we would see her again as soon as possible.

To be continued…

Kilimanjaro, Day Five (Continued)

Nestled 4,700 meters up the flanks of Kilimanjaro, School Hut is a mountain training facility for park rangers.  The camp is tantalizingly close to the rim of Kibo Peak, an extinct volcano.  The summit beckoned to me like a siren song and made me forget what we had already endured.  Remorse gnawed at me.  I regretted this seemingly pointless hike and still chagrined that we weren’t going all the way to the summit today.  It was there, right within my grasp!  Delusion hoodwinked me into thinking that I could have made it to the top.  It was as if I had been seduced by a coveted prize dangling before my eyes.  It finally occurred to me that perhaps I was overestimating my own ability and underestimating the road ahead.  At last my senses came back to reality.  If the trek to School Hut had been this difficult, there was no way I would make it to the top with what little strength I had left.   

Kay and I slumped against a large boulder.  We swapped energy bars and snacks filled with sugar jolts.  Our guide, Minja, waited for us nearby.  He rarely interacted with us and preferred to stay watchful but aloof.  We chatted with a German couple that had stopped here for the night before making their final ascent.  We lamented that we were staying much further down the mountain than they.  It didn’t make sense.  Staying at School Hut made more sense than camping at Camp 30 Caves.  It’s much closer to the summit and a short hike to Kibo Hut, the summit base camp every climber must pass en route to the top.  Our lead guide, August, told us that the Tanzanian government prohibited camping at School Hut, which was an obviously incorrect statement given that another group was setting up camp right in front of us.  Park management apparently limited overnight camping at School Hut and reserved it for elite tour groups that charged a lot of money to climb Kilimanjaro.  Although this would have been an ideal stopping point, I was unwilling to pay thousands of dollars more to camp there.

As I rested I looked out over the alien terrain.  Large boulders and loose rock littered the horizon.  The dust kicked up by a brisk wind whipped us from all sides and coated our clothing and lungs.  We could see, taste, touch and smell the earth.  The barren wasteland reminded me that we were touching the sky and yet were closer to Earth than ever before.  Low visibility and the imposing mountain face obscured the heavens that once stretched above us for eons.  I was like an insignificant insect clinging to the edge of a massive mound.

Kay and I rested at School Hut for about 20 minutes before pressing on.  I had to coax my muscles to move again.  Resting seemed to do more harm than good and reminded me of how tired and sore I was; there’s something to be said about moving on and not letting the pain register.  We hiked 45 minutes downhill at an easier pace until we reached another trail.  Minja tried to lead us uphill in the direction of Kibo Hut, but Kay and I rebelled.  Vigorous hands signals made it perfectly clear to him that we weren’t about to follow him no matter what August had instructed.  Rest and recuperation were our priorities, and we were determined to get back to Camp 30 Caves without any unnecessary detours.  Minja finally gave in and skulked behind.

We put Kibo Hut at our backs at about 1 p.m. and headed downhill again.  The journey was less strenuous than before but left me slipping and sliding precariously.  Gaiters on my shins protected my legs from the onslaught of loose gravel and rock.  My Keen-brand hiking boots, which until now had been excellent companions, didn’t fare so well.  Several times I slipped and did comical pirouettes with my hiking poles to avoid falling unceremoniously on my keister.  Unfortunately, my hips and knees acted as shock absorbers and took the full force of my shifting weight.  My muscles and joints groaned, and the pain grew acute.  With each slide I cursed the ground and resolved to give August an earful for sending us on this unnecessary hike.

Kay and I made it back to camp at mid-day.  Kay was also frustrated by the day’s events but held up much better physically than I.  As I limped into the encampment I yelled angrily, “Where’s August?”

“He’s on the mountain,” one porter told me.  Angry, I stormed off to my tent, casting my poles aside in disgust.  It took me hours to cool down and relax to the point that I was able to move about again.  Our companions, Betty and Tom, and August staggered into camp just before dark – almost eight hours after they had left!  Tom later told me that they had done the entire route, including Kibo Hut, but had spent so much time there that they barely returned before dark.  They too were utterly exhausted from the ordeal and agreed that today’s hike was fruitless.

Reunited, the four of us commiserated over dinner and expressed our mutual displeasure at August.  We decided to talk to him as a group and tell him our dissatisfaction with the day’s hike and other mistakes that had been made on this trip.  While August was caring man who did his utmost for us, he was very disorganized and clearly had not thought through some of his plans.  For example, August seemed worried about altitude sickness to a fault.  He did not take into account whether today’s climb would affect our group in other ways.  In fact, it figuratively killed all of us.  Betty was in the worst shape of all.  We were concerned that she wouldn’t make it to the summit, a major setback for a woman who had previously tried and failed to summit Kilimanjaro years before.  We were all rooting for her to make it this time.  Kay and Tom fared better physically but could have done without the visit to School Hut.  As for me, I thought that the hike had wasted too much of my strength and left my hips and knees badly weakened and bruised. The high altitude also left my respiratory condition worsened.  I began coughing more.  I was definitely not in the physical shape I had wanted to be in before my final ascent.  Altitude sickness I can handle.  Not making it to the top because of today’s hike was unacceptable.

Tom, Kay and I talked to August after dinner and suggested some ways to improve.  (Betty went to bed exhausted.)  We told him that the guides needed to speak English.  We shuddered to think what would have happened if one of us had been injured along the way.  How would Minja communicate his rescue plan to us — let alone rescue us — with such meager English?  We suggested that August change the route to avoid such a difficult acclimatization hike.  We offered other tips to improve communication to ensure that we would have a more pleasant and safer hike.  In hindsight I was glad August was gone when I had arrived at camp; it was more productive for cooler heads to prevail and talk to him civilly as a group.

In spite of today’s difficulties, there were some positive developments today.  Camp 30 Caves offered us much needed sanctuary from the elements.  In the evening when the clouds parted, the mountain appeared in full view and offered us a spectacular show as the sun set.  The peak has become a beautiful focal point to ease my mind of life’s challenges, stresses, or discomforts.  In spite of such an arduous day, the night finally brought peace.  I slept very, very well.

Lesson learned:  Question your guide’s advice if something seems amiss. Guides tend to apply a one size fits all formula that may not be optimal for you.  For example, acclimatizing may be good for those prone to altitude sickness.  It may not be so good for someone with no such symptoms who might be better off resting weary bones.

Kilimanjaro, Day Five

December 30, 2010

Today was the most difficult day yet. We ascended over 1,300 meters from Camp 30 Caves to School Hut and back again to 30 Caves, a torturous six-hour circuitous route that left us at the end of the day no closer to the Kilimanjaro summit. The day was devoted entirely to acclimatization, a word I have come to dread. I should have known that today’s climb was going to be a challenge when my heart began to flutter as we set out – a nice feeling if you’re in love but not when you’re getting ready to go vertical.

The cheerfully warm morning was a welcome change from last night’s freakish deep freeze. The sunlight evaporated any vestige of frost and dried our damp gear. We enjoyed our breakfast in the fresh air at one of the few picnic tables squatting along the way; it was the first and only time we could escape from the confines of the mess tent. The meal was a repeat of what we had been served for days on end. We rather reluctantly consumed an eclectic meal of fried eggs with toast, fruit, and millet porridge with the flavor of Malt-O-Meal and consistency of gelatinous snot. I treated myself to mocha coffee, a guilty pleasure I learned to indulge when I lived in Korea. The Koreans enjoy a sweet instant coffee known as “Maxim” (pronounced MAYK-shim) served in foil tubes that contain a combination of Nescafe-style instant coffee, powdery sugar, and something that passes as cocoa. “Maxim” tasted much better than the African instant coffee, tea or Milo chocolate drink mix I had been drinking until then on a rotational basis.

Kay and I departed earlier than Tom and Betty and soon left them far behind. Betty’s pace was slower than ours, and Tom thoughtfully lagged behind with her. Kay and I sprinted ahead with our guide, Minja, while group leader August hung with Tom and Betty. While we thought it inspiring to have the stamina to forge ahead of our companions, seasoned porters easily passed us by in loafers and 15 kilograms or more on their heads and backs. Their passing left our egos tattered. We maintained a brisk pace uphill for a couple hours but were still passed by dozens of porters who made us eat dust. Of course, it was undoubtedly because we were so busy taking in the beauty of our environs and snapping memory photos that we need not have kept such a brisk pace.

We initially enjoyed the trek. The surreal scenery surrounded us; vegetation virtually disappeared and gave way to desert. The terrain was simply otherworldly and reminiscent of a lunarscape. Rock formations grew increasingly pronounced, the boulders larger and larger. An extinct volcano, Kilimanjaro reminded me of Mt. St. Helens in Washington State after its eruption in 1981. Unlike St. Helens, Kilimanjaro has long been extinct, although you wouldn’t know it by the terrain.

Kay and I arrived at School Hut about 2.5 hours after leaving Camp 30 Caves. Most of the climb was bearable, but the final hour was immensely grueling as we strained to follow a trail that seemed to wind upward forever through a dismally gray world. We grumbled because our destination always seemed to be “just over the next ridge.” Each ridge became more difficult than the last with the trail sloping ever more vertically and our spirits beaten down. Our bodies forced us to stop frequently to let our breath catch up and our muscles rest. Still, we persevered and inched our way up the mountain step by agonizing step. Footfalls echoed with each inhale or exhale. Hiking poles pointed the way. Step by step. Footfall by footfall. Stop and start.

When School Hut finally appeared above at a distance, it seemed so far away. Deflated, we stopped more frequently, taking a few steps at a time and stopping at each bend. It seemed so far away and impossible to reach. I realized too late that our guide August had made a poor choice bartering our remaining strength away in order to prepare us for a hypothetical illness. It was not worth the effort, and I grew very concerned that the day’s ordeal had diminished the likelihood that I would make it to the top of Kilimanjaro. How could I possibly get to the top without human strength? Only superhuman strength could carry me to the top.

I looked back down from where we had climbed and wished that I could warn Betty and Tom to turn back and avoid our fates. They were nowhere in sight. Kay and I decided to press on to School Hut and hoped that they would have enough sense not to follow us.

At long last, perhaps an hour after we first sighted School Hut, we pulled into camp. The most difficult portion of the day’s hike – and thus far on the trip – was over, but we were utterly exhausted and dreaded the return trip to Camp 30 Caves. We had arrived at a place just below the summit higher than where former tennis star Martina Navratilova had climbed just a few weeks ago before she had succumbed to altitude sickness. My 50something companion proudly proclaimed that she had beaten Martina. Me, I had to settle for not following in Bobby Riggs’ footsteps!

To be continued…