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…

December 29, 2010

After another night of downpour, waking to warm sunshine and clear skies was a real treat.  The sunlight painted the terrain in surreal colors; the rocks seemed a bit more brilliant and the shadows deep and etched this morning.  The unobstructed view of Kibo Peak, Kilimanjaro’s highest point, was indescribably beautiful.  It seemed so close yet so unattainable.  I feel immensely fortunate to have had three straight days of climbing without rain whilst my wife hiked last year in almost nonstop rain.  It’s almost as if the stars aligned on this trek; maybe my prayers had been heard after all.  Then again, maybe it was simply wishful thinking and my luck was about to change.  One never knows what can happen in an unpredictable environment such as this where fate moves like the wind.

We climbed another 500 meters today to over 4,000 meters (about 12,000 feet).  The hike was easier than yesterday’s and to our pleasant surprise shorter than expected.  We arrived 2.5 hours later at the third camp known as “Camp 30 Caves” – so called because of the small, porous caves that puncture the mystical red and brown lava outcroppings that ringed the camp.

The vertical rise above Camp 2 was steep and wet enough that our guide August advised us to use hiking poles in order to prevent slippage and to help us hoist ourselves up tricky outcroppings.  We crested the ridge without incident.  The remainder of the climb meandered gradually uphill.  We hiked through desolate ravines carved by mountain runoff surrounded by rock sentries warped by millennia of erosion.  The temperature fell precipitously, prompting me to don the inner liner of my North Face jacket, light gloves and stocking cap.  The mist descended and shrouded the land in ethereal shadows.  The cloud cover ebbed and flowed as if it were breathing, occasionally pulling back to reveal the path ahead of us before exhaling and obscuring it again.  

Wildlife still ranges at these heights.  White necked black ravens circle the camps scavenging for food discarded by humans.  Small lizards that seem to inhabit the entire African continent dwell even here; it’s unclear how they keep warm enough to survive the cold.  Apparently no one bothered to tell them that better climes lay further down the mountain.  Why any creature would live up here with a more comfortable life in such close reach is beyond me.  One week on the mountain was enough for me!

I strapped on my iPod for the first time and rocked my way to camp. Thank god for Steve Jobs.  Having thousands of songs at your fingertips is such a blessing.  A medley of inspirational songs kept me company; the landscape became my music video.  My boots couldn’t help toe tapping on the rocky path, although I went to great lengths to keep my booty from shaking.  I didn’t want to elicit odd expressions as I sauntered along the way, slipping up a couple of times as my hands turned my hiking poles into a makeshift air guitar.  Music was a nice diversion after three days of casual conversation and the pervasive sounds of Kilimanjaro.

Camp 30 Caves is nestled in an area sheltered by twisted rock outcroppings.  With sparse vegetation, mostly flowering sagebrush and moss, terrain devoid of trees, and rolling mist mixed with rain, the terrain conjured up images of Scottish highlands.  This certainly is a unique part of Africa.  I couldn’t think of a colder, more alien landscape on this continent.  The Drakensberg Mountains in South Africa are a distant second to Kilimanjaro and surrounding peaks in height.  The Sahara and other deserts are just as desolate, but none offer the tundra-like conditions one finds here.  The land here was more akin to the far reaches of the northern and southern hemispheres.

The weather when we arrived at camp was agreeable, so Betty, Kay, Tom and I chatted outside for a while on topics ranging from how to dry damp clothing to whether we managed to pick up a cell phone signal.  I’d been fortunate to pick up a signal at various points along the way and sent my wife daily updates on our progress.  So far we have yet to tire of each other beyond a few annoying personality quirks.  They threatened to toss me down the mountain after I sang an annoying rendition of that classic Billy Ray Cyrus country song “Achy Breaky Heart,” sparing me after I quit during the third stanza.  We’ve generally gotten on as well as can be expected without bathing facilities and are actually quite collegial.  So far there has been no drama fit for a soap opera.  We’ve been a great source of mutual encouragement and commiseration.  

To be continued…