Red Door Blog
Veni, Vidi, Vici.
I set off for Tanzania to take on Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa on 19th February. Kilimanjaro, at 5895m (19,341ft) is the highest mountain in Africa (and Europe). It’s also the tallest freestanding mountain in the world – meaning that it is not part of a range created by the shifting of the earth’s plates, instead this is just one mother of a volcano, built from millions of years of eruptions. It’s not a technical ascent – no ropes or scrambling to speak of – the real challenge for would-be climbers is the altitude, which debilitates and sickens you from around half way up. You can’t really train for this, and I certainly had no idea as to how this would affect me.
My day and a half long transit took me via Heathrow, Addis Ababa in Ethiopia, Mombasa in Kenya and finally to Kilimanjaro airport in North East Tanzania. Tanzania is a poor country by any standards. There is a basic transport and communication infrastructure developing, but most people where I saw lived a subsistence agricultural based existence. In spite of this they are a colourful and striking people. I spent the Saturday overnight in the idyllic Karama Lodge in Arusha where I first met the other 13 souls on my trek party and our guides Samuel (chief guide and super hero), Abel (very able) and Godbless (yes really!).
The next day we were up early to get over the 3 hour bus journey around the Kilimanjaro National park to the gate, where would begin our ascent up the Marangu Route. A hold up at park entry and the organising our luggage amongst our army of porters meant we were delayed in starting, but finally we began climbing at around 12.30pm.
The first day was a relatively easy ascent from the Marangu Gate at 1950m to Mandara Huts at 2700m. Distance over the ground was approximately 12kms all through tropical jungle, complete with a treetop audience of Colobus monkeys. While this was listed to take a reasonably leisurely 5 hours, the intense humidity made it hard going. Fortunately, I was prepared for this and drank water like a fish from my Camelback system (a 3 litre water pouch carried in my daysack with a tube allowing constant liquid top ups without the need for stopping). On the first 4 days we were advised to consume over 5 litres of fluid daily. As well as preventing dehydration, this would help oxygenate our blood like a Tour de France cyclist.
While we plodded up this path we were passed out by our crew of porters who strode past us carrying our baggage, food and their own equipment. They are limited by law to a load of maximum 20kg each, which they mostly bundle up and carry on their heads!
On arrival at Mandara we took an extra 1 hour excursion to Maundi Crater for a sunset view over Kenya and of Mawenzi, the second highest peak of Kilimanjaro. While impressive to look at with its jagged teeth-like profile, at only 5149m Mawenzi was not our prey – it was the presently hidden Kibo, at 5895m, that we sought. Day 1? Hankuna matata as they say in Swahili – No Problem.
A hearty meal preceded a restless night in the basic A-framed shelter at Mandara on lumpy wooden bunks, before setting off for Horombo the next morning, a journey which would take us up to 3720m and across 15kms. The landscape also changed dramatically with tropical forest giving way to sparse moorland and temperatures dropping back progressively as we gained altitude. On arrival at Horombo in mid afternoon we caught our first sight of Kibo, with its glacial cap glinting menacingly in the sun. The air also thinned significantly on the way to Horombo, manifesting itself in a marked shortness of breath and quickening pulse, even at rest. Pole pole.... a phrase that would take on increasing relevance – Slowly slowly.
The third day was what Samuel called our ‘rest day’ – a short 5 hour excursion around Horombo to acclimatise to the altitude, taking us up to 4200m at Zebra Rocks and the saddle between Kibo and Mawenzi peaks. Horombo was a like a buzzing village, with climbers on their way up and down on the Marangu route, mixing with those coming off Kibo on the Rongai route allowing us to earwig accounts of from our peers. While there was success and failure, there was a common theme to the tales – the 48 hours that lay ahead of us would be the toughest of our lives. Asante sana – thank you very much.
We set off early on day 4 for Kibo Huts, a 15km ascent up to 4700m that would take us nearly 7 hours. Again the landscape changed, becoming an Alpine desert – think Spaghetti western at 5 degrees centigrade with diminishing oxygen and you’re there. As we passed the last water point at 4130m, Kibo loomed over us like an unassailable fortress taunting us with its majesty. We arrived at Kibo Huts around 3pm. Here the air is so thin you cannot catch your breath. Your heart thumps in your chest like a bass drum in a thrash metal track and your head and neck ache making you feel like you’ve the world’s worst hangover.
We had a briefing over an early dinner at 4pm. While you need energy, you cannot force yourself to eat as your stomach churns with nausea and anticipation of what lies ahead. The day would start at 11pm that night and we’d need special kit – thermal clothing, balaclavas, walking poles and head-torches. We’d need to hold our water inside our jackets to prevent it from freezing, the drinking tubes running down our sleeves. However, unlike the 5 litres a day we’d been consuming up to that point, we’d likely only sip our way through a litre – over-consumption would worsen the nausea and if we vomited more than 3 times, we’d need to be taken down the mountain.
In a funereal atmosphere we prepared our rucksacks and equipment before going to bed at 7pm. No one slept though, our hearts keeping us awake as they tried to jump out of our chests. By 11pm everyone was up and we set off at 12am of Thursday 24th on the dot.
The climb to Gliman’s Point was a 1000m ascent at a 45 degree angle up a zig zag path of scree. Above and below us all you could see were the head torch lights of other groups snaking their way up the mountain. We now understood what Pole pole really meant as our pace slowed to a crawl. After 2 hours to our horror we were only at the 5000m mark. From here things got rapidly worse. A single step took 2-3 seconds to make and only went as far as the toes of your lead foot. It felt like you had 50lb weights attached to each leg and you could manage at most maybe a minutes walking before stopping to gasp for breath. But there was none. The nausea became overwhelming and the headaches throbbed in time with our supercharged hearts.
People started to vomit and we passed climbers being taken down off the hill – unable to take any more. At 4pm, at around 5300m I became delirious – drunk on the lack of lung juice – and lapsed in and out of motor co-ordination and lucidity as acute mountain sickness took hold of me. I genuinely wanted to give up – nothing was worth this feeling. I stopped and thought about what this would mean. Of the people who had sponsored me I knew no one would judge me so why not turn back? It was then I thought about all the Red Door kids who were backing me, and in particular my son Robbie who would be so proud of me for making it to the top. I shed a few tears as the emotion overwhelmed me, and as these froze quickly on my cheeks, I resolved that I had to do this.
I drove on and on, staggering my way up inch by inch through the trauma. Then quite suddenly I could see the rocky buttresses of Gilman’s Point above me, within grasping distance. Like a shot of pure adrenalin this energised me and I powered up the last 15 minutes until I reached it. Gilman’s sits at 5681m and is on the crater rim. The exhilaration was immense and I celebrated with Abel as we watched the sun rise over Mawenzi and waited for the rest of our group to arrive – only 10 of the 14 did.
But this was not the end. A walk around the crater rim appeared before us in the dawn light of around 1km taking us up another 200m to Uhuru Peak – the summit of Kibo and Kilimanjaro. Again this walk took an hour, mostly over glacial ice cap off which the emerging glare became blinding. With wind chill the temperature was around -20 degrees centigrade so stopping for a rest was not an option. The sickness returned as we edged onwards and upwards. I knew I would make it but I now hated this mountain and what it was doing to me. Sheer will took me and the rest of the group the final steps to the summit. Bizarrely, on reaching the rickety wooden sign marking the roof of the African continent at 5895m there was little elation or euphoria. We just wanted to get our pictures and get down. Proof captured on film within 5 minutes and we were away. Another hour back to Gilman’s and some of the party began to wilt badly – the mental drive now gone and just the exhaustion and delirium left. Our super human guides pushed us on though and as we descended back to Kibo huts oxygen gradually invigorated our bodies like nectar for the lungs.
It took only an hour and a half to get down, although my knees became like worn shock absorbers. A quick half hour recovery and we left Kibo Huts for Horombo – a 3 hour warm down after the most demanding morning of my life. Surprisingly the journey became easier as strength returned with each meter of altitude given up. As the pain faded and we had time to reflect, the satisfaction with our achievement grew and the euphoria swelled. On arrival at Horombo we walked 10 ft tall and felt invincible until exhaustion took us to an early bed.
The next morning we were up early again and while stiff and sore, the 25km walk down to the gate did not seem daunting. Six hours later we arrived tired but triumphant. A cold Sprite never tasted so good and we collected our certificates and t-shirts before bidding farewell to our guides and porters and taking a less than fragrant bus journey back to Karama Lodge for a well earned celebration dinner and beers.
A few days on, what are my reflections on Kilimanjaro? The toughest thing I’ve ever done? Absolutely. Would I consider doing it again? Never. Would I recommend it to someone? Only if they really want to achieve something special and are prepared to endure extreme hardship. What do you need to make it? I think it comes down to a combination of 3 aspects:
- Physical – you need to be fit enough to make it. Not an Olympic athlete, but fit definitely
- Physiological – your body needs to be able to cope with the intense effect of altitude and work off 30% of the normal level of oxygen. Short of an oxygen tent, you can’t prepare for this
- Mental – you need to have the will and drive to overcome the two hardships above to prevail. This I think is the most important thing. If you believe you can do something, you can achieve more than you body will normally allow you.
Kilimanjaro – I came, I saw, I conquered. I think over time the scar of the effort will fade and the achievement will remain. Someone likened it to having a baby and for us guys this may be the closest we can get to that experience. For me though Kilimanjaro is best summed up by 2 people I met along the way. A lady from Middlesboro who was one of the 3% of people diagnosed with pancreatic cancer to survive the illness back in 2007 and now campaigns for better early detection in the UK. Then there was the Norwegian man celebrating the 20th anniversary of his heart transplant by bringing his Cardiologist with him to climb Kilimanjaro. These people have already conquered their mountain, and so Kilimanjaro represented the opportunity they never thought they’d have – to challenge the extremes of what life has to offer.
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