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.

Midnight, January 1, 2011

We set off on our final ascent to the Kilimanjaro summit just before midnight.  A chorus of shouts and whistles from other climbers told us that the clock had struck midnight and ushered us into the New Year.  The ad hoc celebration on the mountain in the dark of night and freezing cold was a far cry from the festive New Year’s parties taking place all over the world.  Still, there’s no place at that moment where I would rather have been; it was surely one of the most memorable New Years of my life.

Our head lamps illuminated a pathway between the buildings and tents at Kibo Hut.  We weaved our way through the camp to the base of the mountain and passed row after row of identical tents, falling in line behind a long line of climbers waiting to ascend.  It seemed as if the entire camp had emptied and prepared to climb at the same time.  Just after midnight, hundreds of climbers set off together up the mountain like lemmings.  We passed some idle climbers and waited behind others.  I hadn’t anticipated being caught in a mountain traffic jam!  The constant starting and stopping to wait for others ahead of us made the climb to Gilman’s Point one of the most strenuous activities I’ve ever undertaken.  Although slightly lower in elevation than Kili’s highest point, Uhuru Peak, Gilman’s Point was by far the most difficult part of our climb.  Our guides made the climb easier by shouldering our daypacks, but we still needed to haul our bodies to the top.

The makeshift gravel path went straight uphill for about half an hour before it started to switchback across the mountain face.  I tired after a couple hours.  My heavy jacket insulated my body from the cold and muffled sound as if I were wearing a space suit.  Despite the humanity teeming around me I felt strangely alone and isolated.  Stealing glances up and down the mountain from time to time, I spied the twinkle of climbers’ head lamps forming a long, unbroken line from Kibo Hut below to Gilman’s Point above.  I wondered what the mountainside looked like in the light of day but thanked God that I couldn’t see how steep it was.  The gravity of how difficult this climb was had finally sunk in.  Nothing I had done until now had prepared me mentally or physically for this.  At full strength and at lower elevations I might have climbed the 1,100 or so meters to Gilman’s Point without much effort.  After five consecutive day of intense hiking in the wee hours of the night, I was weary and ill prepared for this daunting challenge.  It was coldly comforting to pass by other struggling climbers, not so much because I was in competition with them but because it reminded me that I still had strength to continue.  At the same time it was a bit deflating when others passed me by seemingly without effort, especially a group of elderly Asian climbers who ascended as if they were on a leisurely afternoon stroll.  I felt empathy for a handful of doubled-over climbers who were obviously not going to make it to the top.  Young and old, men and women, age and gender – nothing mattered here as much as one’s tolerance for high altitudes, discomfort, and even pain.

Tom, Kay, the guides, and I hiked about an hour before we stopped for our first respite.  Stopping turned out to be my undoing.  We rested for about five minutes and consumed snacks and water.  Fatigue suddenly hit me with a vengeance.  Once we started hiking again, I couldn’t muster enough stamina to continue and asked to stop again after just 20 minutes.  Then again after ten minutes, then five, and finally two.  At long last, after 10,000 feet and five days of climbing, I ran out of steam just 200 meters below the mountain ridge!  I could see Gilman’s Point not far above me, but I just couldn’t will my body to go on.  I was spent.  Altitude sickness had claimed another victim.  My companions were worried about my health and wanted to help me feel better, but there was little they could do for me.  Kay tried to feed me an energy boost, but I didn’t have the appetite to stomach it.  Turning in an Oscar-worthy performance, I melodramatically urged the group to go on without me and let me rest on the mountain.  After ten minutes I willed myself to move again but hiked no more than a few steps before stopping again.  My legs were failing me, my breathing giving out, and finally my will conceded defeat.  I was not going to make it to the summit on my own strength.

August was determined to get me to the top of Kilimanjaro.  Slinging my arm around his shoulder, he helped me climb the final 200 meters to Gilman’s Point.  I stumbled along the way and could barely keep my footing, but somehow we made it to the top.  I remember the sensation of being carried at times by August.  Half an hour later as the sunrise peered over the horizon, we hoisted ourselves over the top of Gilman’s Point.  The mountain peaks and scattered clouds dotting the Serengeti below was one of the most breath taking views I’ve ever seen.  Everything was a blurry haze, but I was exhilarated to have at made it to the top of the world.

I don’t know if I could have made it to the top of Gilman’s Point without August’s help but am certain that his assistance was crucial in my time of need.  I don’t know if I can truly say that I climbed Kilimanjaro on my own, but then again, it’s good to know there was someone I could lean on to finish the job.  We have all experienced challenges from time to time that are too difficult for us to face alone and have all needed another’s strength at some point in our lives.  During times like this.