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Social Climbing
By Jeremy Cuff
For many people today, holidays aren’t necessarily a fortnight on a Balearic beach. Today’s adventure seekers might be diving with sharks, cycling through South America, island hopping across the Pacific or perhaps climbing Africa’s highest mountain…
Johannes Rebmann, the first European to clamp eyes on Mt. Kilimanjaro was ridiculed on his return to Europe with improbable tales of a snow-capped peak on the equator. The “experts” of the time scoffed at the very idea – impossible, it cannot exist, an optical illusion!
We had to take Rebmann’s word that it did exist as somewhere to our left, the might of Mt. Kilimanjaro lurked hidden among clouds. Directly ahead, as we approached Arusha from the Kenyan border loomed the lesser, but still impressive bulk of Mt. Meru.
After a brief encounter with the hustle and bustle of Arusha, arrival at the Dik Dik Hotel in nearby Usa River was a relief – our secluded and comfortable base for our assault on Africa’s highest mountain.
Marcus did the meet and greet as one of his staff poured champagne. Iridescent sunbirds danced among the flowers, monkeys crashed through the trees and swallows scooped insects over the swimming pool. With the backdrop of Mt. Meru, it was a splendid setting.
The elevated water tank at the Dik Dik doubles as an observation tower, affording commanding views of Kilimanjaro when it isn’t cloudy. I made several visits during the couple of days preceding the climb as if to size up the opponent. The elusive “Kili” remained hidden.
We’d chosen the popular Marangu route to conquer the mountain. Our itinerary consisted of a night at Mandara Hut, two nights at Horombo Hut, a night at Kibo Hut and a final night at Horombo on the way back.
It’s also possible to spend a single night at Horombo on the ascent although an extra night aids acclimatisation, giving trekkers a better chance of reaching the summit. Why come all this way and fail because of one day?
Marcus’ briefing consisted of a chat about what to expect, just in case we hadn’t bothered to find out. I think he was surprised that we had no questions. To our surprise, we weren’t going up with a group – just the two of us and our support staff. We would meet other trekkers on the climb itself.
After an enjoyable safari in the Arusha National Park, we returned to the Dik Dik where our thoughts turned to the mountain. It was our last chance for a restaurant meal, a hot shower and a comfy bed for nearly a week. We also prepared our gear, checking everything carefully. We knew that we couldn’t go back and we couldn’t buy anything once there.
We met our crew of guides, porters and cooks (Fredrick, Eliapenda, Eli…) in an octopus of hand shaking and greetings, and set off towards the Marangu gate some two hours away. It was chilly and dull – not quite what we’d expected close to the equator. And we still couldn’t see the mountain despite being in its shadow for the last two days.
Cloaked in misty clouds, Marangu was humid and damp. At the park gate, expectant porters gathered hoping for work. With a full compliment of staff, we couldn’t help them and passed through offering no employment opportunities.
At the Mt. Kilimanjaro National Park’s office we met Alan, a friendly and jokey Londoner. He was doing the trek on his own (porters, guide and cook excepted), having left his girlfriend on the beach in Mombasa. We also met a fifty something couple from Devon. He was an authentic Russ Abbott lookalike. They were going for it without the acclimatisation day – four nights on the mountain.
The hike from Marangu gate to Mandara Hut is within the dense forest zone. Supposedly one of the wettest places on earth, the forest acts like a huge sponge – absorbing and retaining water. Each branch seemed decorated in lichens or cushioned with moss, often both.
Mysterious bird species announced their presence with eerie songs. Although most often heard, it’s sometimes possible to glimpse them flitting through the canopy or skulking in the undergrowth. Most strange was a Green Ibis, curiously nodding on a branch above the trail. Monkeys are also numerous in the forest, Vervets in particular.
At the halfway point to Mandara, we stopped for the first of many packed lunches. We ate everything and drank plenty of water, mindful of the need to keep fuelled up. I could already feel a shortness of breath even below Mandara. We also began to encounter returning trekkers who would often greet us with “good luck, you’ll need it”. Some looked like they’d had good luck. Others didn’t.
At Mandara, we met Jamie and some of his entourage. He was a tour leader for the Explore group. A traveller through and through, he enjoyed nothing more than sharing good old travellers tales. On the subject of “Kili”, he explained that someone had been carried off the mountain the day before with acute altitude sickness, touch and go apparently.
We also met Des and Helen. Like Alan, they would be our companions throughout the trek. Veiled in a Yasser Arafat headscarf, Des described the route of their travels which had begun in the Middle East, involved a dysentery induced hospital visit in Jordan before moving on to Kenya and finally Tanzania. After Kili they planned to heal their blisters in Zanzibar.
Also at Mandara, we encountered a plump and sweaty forty-something who we named “the great trekker”. Resembling a dishevelled version of the athlete Brendan Foster, the great trekker had it all planned out, knew everything about the mountain and seemed obsessed with the time taken for each stint. Like a large child, he had to be in the front, leading his group into the uncertain adventure of Kili.
Early nights are the norm on Kilimanjaro and conversation aside, there’s nothing to do in the evenings. Tiredness descends quickly with nightfall, ensuring that no-one burns the midnight oil.
The huts were actually quite comfortable and I slept well. Before light, I got up and left the hut. Some of the noises of the forest were peculiar and even disturbing – the main culprits were monkeys. As light returned, I drank tea and watched Mandara slowly come to life. There was even a Japanese group performing their Tai Chi.
The next stage of the trek from Mandara to Horombo is mostly within the moorland zone. It was dull as we left the forest near Maundi Crater although the weather slowly improved to become “T-shirt weather with feint, warm sun.
Wildlife abounds on the mountain and there’s plenty to see. The altitude creates climatic zones, each with its characteristic flora and fauna. A highlight of the moorland zone was a stunning sunbird with a streamer tail. Strange plants adapted to extremes of temperature are also features of this area – many are found nowhere else.
Rumours persist of leopards, buffalo and even elephants in the forest and low moorland zones although none of our guides had ever seen any. Perhaps the rumours were false. Very surprisingly, hunting dogs do live on the mountain according our guides – faecal evidence of which we found above Horombo. Could they have been jackals instead?
By Horombo, talk was about the mountain as descenders mixed with ascenders. Gilman’s Point, Uhuru Peak and altitude sickness seemed to permeate every conversation. The altitude here is 12,500 feet (3810m), high enough to assess how well we were doing.
One trekker had been ill since leaving Mandara and was grim by the time he reached Horombo. On the acclimatisation day he was no better and had to return to base 8,000 feet short of his target. It must have been a huge disappointment.
Altitude sickness can strike in a number of ways and in varying degrees. A Scottish trekker’s story was particularly amusing. He recounted various bizarre incoherences that included seeing rhinos, dik diks and mice emanating from the feet of fellow trekkers as he approached Gilman’s. I called it “a very personal experience of the mountain.”
A good motto for conquering Kilimanjaro is “walk high, sleep low”. Whilst at Mandara we walked up to Maundi Crater with Alan (sadly covered by clouds) and from Horombo, also with Alan, we trudged part way towards Kibo Hut glimpsing Mawenzi (Kili’s second highest peak) and to much amusement, a solar powered trekker (apparently to power her video camera). On the acclimatisation day we walked to Zebra Rock. No loss of appetite, no headaches – fingers crossed!
The walk to Kibo Hut was pleasant, sunny and warm, passing from the upper moorland into an area known as the saddle, the alpine desert between Mawenzi and Kibo (Kili’s highest peak).
Perhaps an hour into the walk, we crossed a nondescript but nonetheless significant stream. A sign indicated its importance by proclaiming “last water”. Many of the porters still use this supply. I later hoped for their sake that the source wasn’t close to the “Glastonbury Festival style” toilets at Kibo Hut!
We took our time and marvelled at the spectacular views of the snow-capped dome of Kibo and the jagged inaccessibility of Mawenzi – distances being difficult to perceive in the clear air.
Somewhere across the saddle, we met (a now unshaven) “Russ Abbott” and his wife returning from their attempt at the summit. They’d failed, reaching about 5000 metres before a combination of cold, exhaustion and altitude sickness turned them back. They didn’t seem too disappointed and I wondered if their fortunes might have been different had they opted for the acclimatisation day at Horombo.
At Kibo Hut, Jamie and I sat on some rocks, our conversation drifting to Vietnam where we developed a craving for spring rolls in the process! As our minds travelled southeast Asia, trekkers and porters lugging uncomfortable boxes of supplies trickled into Kibo from the alpine desert below, slogging wearily up the final slope. Having watched them work for the last few days, I couldn’t imagine a more punishing job than a Kilimanjaro porter. That said, they probably get used it.
To best prepare for our attempt at the summit, we walked high with Des and Helen before sleeping low (relatively speaking) at an altitude of 15, 520 feet (4750m). At midnight our target was Uhuru Peak at 19, 340 feet (5985m).
Kibo Hut is a place where human dignity begins to break down. Altitude sickness is the main culprit. Each room can hold about a dozen trekkers and it’s easy to see who’s suffering. During our “last supper”, a Dutch trekker comically threw up into his soup bowl. It’s quite common practice for the guides and porters to eat the leftovers. We kindly explained to his guide that the soup was no longer edible.
Later, as I laid awake restless and unable to sleep, my small time misery was alleviated by the sounds of anonymous trekkers in a much worse condition than myself puking outside. The exact sequence of events was a creaking door, then hurried footsteps, followed by the finale of intestinal upheaval. Even “the great trekker” made a swift exit clutching a roll of toilet paper. He later announced that he would only travel as far as Gilman’s, as if to cover himself in the event that he failed to reach Uhuru.
At around midnight, Kibo Hut began to stir. Guides and porter appeared to organise their troops. For our minds and bodies, judgement night had arrived. The steep, rapid (in altitude terms) ascent, the endless scree, our tolerance to altitude and our willpower would be our judge and jury.
The object of leaving at midnight is to arrive at the summit (or at least Gilman’s Point) by sunrise, leaving enough time to return all the way back to Horombo by the afternoon. The scree is also easier to climb when frozen. All in all, about 15 hours hard labour.
It was a beautiful night, sub-zero but still with a silvery crescent moon lighting the cloud cover several thousand feet below. Above us, a glittering dome of stars sparkled vividly as we began our attempt to get 4000 feet closer to them.
Setting off at night is also good for the psychology – you can’t see how far you’ve got to go. We passed a couple of groups early on and settled into a slow plodding rhythm. I watched Amanda’s feet for the next few hours as we zig zagged further up the scree. During occasional rest and drink stops I would look back towards the silhouetted Mawenzi and the hopeful lamps of trekkers below us. Above us was Alan, perhaps twenty minutes ahead.
As the hours passed, I felt fairly good – driven by a constant thread of energy and knowledge that with each step I was closing the distance between myself and the goal of Uhuru, assisted by the natural energy of imminent sunrise. It was 05.15 when we reached Gilman’s and only half-light, the sun yet to appear above the horizon.
I remember saying something obvious and unoriginal like “Wow, we’ve done it” as my eyes adjusted to the whiteness of the snow filled crater. There was time for a cup of tea but we hadn’t really “done it” – there was still Uhuru.
The push to the “Roof of Africa” around the crater rim was tough – really tough. I began to suffer, needing regular stops to rest and catch breath, slumping over my walking pole. There wasn’t much breath to catch although the thought of turning back didn’t occur – I seemed pre-programmed to continue no matter how exhausted my condition.
Our mission to reach Uhuru became almost overwhelming as we staggered on with leaden legs. Even the spectacular sunrise was given only a few cursory glances, though in retrospect, I should have stopped and photographed it.
As the sun climbed above the horizon, my tinted goggles came into their own as blinding light reflected off Kili’s fascinating remnant glaciers. I tried to take in the surroundings as much as my physical condition would allow. I also urged myself to “take photographs” although my increasing altitude sickness caused minor confusion with shutter speeds.
As we approached the summit, Alan was on his way back down. In a commotion of hugs, handshakes and congratulations he uttered, “That’s the hardest thing I’ve ever done”. I didn’t disagree.
A few minutes later and we’d done it too. I celebrated by collapsing in a heap on some comfortable looking rocks. Eliapenda handed us cups of tea and Fredrick asked if we needed oxygen. I was very tempted.
Reaching the summit can be an emotional experience. Helen appeared and immediately burst into tears. She had to leave Des behind at Gilman’s, explaining that he became cold, incoherent and “sort of blacked out”. Amanda gave her a reassuring hug and a dextrose tablet.
Emotional in a different sense, a trekker from the Machame route had prepared for his visit to Uhuru by composing a tune, which he played to us on a backpack guitar. It made me laugh and I even photographed him but I couldn’t remember the words.
The soup regurgitating Dutchman, having sat up all night at Kibo Hut drinking water and eating biscuits had recovered and made Uhuru. His Latvian friend, who seemed fine at Kibo Hut, didn’t make the summit. Altitude sickness works in mysterious ways.
And so, in this strange gathering of humanity in this equally strange place, we had perhaps twenty minutes to savour our goal, enjoy the camaraderie, congratulate each other and recharge for the journey back. The view, of course, was stunning – the huge crater (said to be still potentially eruptive), the glaciers, Mawenzi, Mount Meru and the vastness of Africa beneath us. It had been worth it.
I suffered again as we returned around the crater rim to Gilman’s, needing more frequent stops than on the ascent. Stumbling and lurching through the myriad of obstacles, I willed myself to stay alert – a misplaced foot could send me tumbling to a potentially serious injury in one of the most difficult rescue locations on earth. We reached Gilman’s without incident where I had to lie down for about fifteen minutes, unable to go on.
From Gilman’s, trekkers can indulge in a spot of “scree-surfing” – the quickest way of getting down. It would have been fun had I not been so exhausted. The upside is the speed of the ascent; the downside is that it’s hard on the knees and toes.
Eli was waiting with a cold ribena as I stumbled back into Kibo covered in dust and completely knackered. He congratulated me as I glugged the fluid messily and without any sense of ceremony. I asked him for more and repeated the exercise. Amanda followed shortly after in a similar condition.
I headed straight for my bunk at Kibo Hut and put my feet up. Amanda was feeling better than me as I grumpily huffed and puffed at her cheery attempts to get me mobile again. I was eventually convinced by her argument that I’d feel better at lower altitude and we finally set off to Horombo.
Arrival at Horombo was a huge relief. I felt like death warmed up and unable to be sociable, even though I wanted to be. We sat amongst some ascending trekkers who quizzed us about what to expect – my replies to their questions would start and then fade away. I looked as grey as a day in Calais. I couldn’t eat any food and all I wanted to do was sleep – for about fifteen hours.
The restorative powers of sleep surprised even me as I woke to a lovely sunny morning feeling fine, content in having achieved the aim. The ascending trekkers had noticed my transformation. This time they were told with great enthusiasm and detail what to expect – a contrast to my monosyllabic mumblings of the previous afternoon. They said that my deathly pallor had filled them with dread and that my speedy recovery had removed it. We gave them the obligatory “good luck, you’ll need it”.
We packed our gear for the final leg – the walk to Marangu gate. After a last look at Kibo, we set off, determined to make the walk as leisurely as possible. With seemingly the hard bit over, Kili had a final sting in the tail for Amanda. Her heels had started to blister badly from Mandara onwards, changing her purposeful stride into a painful hobble. I encouraged her by saying “not far now” although *I was never sure how far “not far” actually was!
Back at Marangu gate it was still humid, damp and cloudy. We said goodbye to our fellow trekkers and thanked our crew who sang us a song – about Kilimanjaro, of course. We’d thoroughly enjoyed the climb but said afterwards we’d never do anything like it again. We have, of course, since changed our minds.
Autumn 1999
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