Summiting Kilimanjaro (Part 2 of 2)

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Day 4: The Invisible Enemy Begins His Assault

Day 4 Video Journal

I woke up on the fourth day with one thing on my mind, I wanted to get from Cave 3 Camp to Kibo Camp without any major altitude issues. This meant that I needed to remain disciplined about my movements, my breathing, and most of all my sleep. I had a 4 to 5 hour hike ahead of me that would get us into Kibo camp by approximately 1PM and then I would need to get some food inside of me and conserve as much energy as possible until the clock struck midnight, the hour of the final ascent.

The mood at camp on the fourth morning was notably more somber than it had been the previous mornings. Overnight the temperature had plummeted to well below freezing and the dry frigid morning air made the lips crack after few involuntary licks. The ground was frozen solid and my tent was covered in a nice shell of white frost. The porters, cooks, and guides were moving noticeably slower and although they kept warm over night by sleeping in groups of 7 in 4-person tents, some of them seemed to be cold as they went about their morning chores. The morning tunes were still in the air, but they were now dampened from singing to humming.

Our fellow Canadian climbers also didn't seem to be doing so well. During the first day I noticed that they made an interesting pair. He was six years older than she and while he seemed to have aspirations of settling down together in Australia, she clearly had just graduated from university and was ready for an adventuresome life that was just now beginning with some travel in Africa and then on to Southeast Asia before finally landing in Australia where she had secured a work permit. While her companion was a good friend, as you could tell from her flirtatious girlish laugh that passed through the walls of their tent on a nightly basis, she seemed to have a much more short term purpose for their relationship and was able to maintain a noticeable detachment from it, giving her the upper hand and driving him mad as he tried to seduce her deeper into the relationship while simultaneously supporting his head's failing attempts to win back control from his heart. As a man who could see his other male companion crashing and burning, I thought about offering him a word of advice, but instead I chose to watch the entire spectacle unfold in silence.

She had invited him to Africa to summit Kilimanjaro and the two had met a few days prior to the ascent in Tanzania before pairing up with Emily and I for the journey. I think I remember her mentioning spending a few days on safari in the nearby Serengeti, but she couldn't have been in country long because she was suffering from a food related stomach ailment as we headed out on Day 1. (Go news for folks living in Jordan. Looks like immunities that you build from eating local Jordanian food are also good for East Africa. While in Tanzania and Kenya, Emily and I ate just about anything we wanted, including suspicious looking meat and fruit and vegetables, and we didn't have a day of anything but regular health.) But what really concerned me about her was the "I know everything about the great outdoors" attitude. Of course, she was enthusiastic, we all were, but she was potentially dangerously ebullient, overexerting herself by refusing to take breaks and walking at an overly quick tact with days of strenuous hiking ahead. The guides continually reminded her to take it slow, "pole, pole" but she couldn't help herself. Her blond ponytail continued to giddily bob its way up the trail.

The wear and tear on their bodies began to show the morning of day 4. Having slept poorly during the night, she was having major stomach pains and slight headache. Her friend was also being to show signs of fatigue and altitude sickness. As he ate breakfast that morning, he mention to me that he wasn't feeling 100% and was thinking about taking it easy on the way up to Kibo Camp. Seeing our two companions in pain with roughly another 2000 vertical meters to go until the summit, I checked in with Emily to see how she was feeling. She seemed to be doing well, but at the same time I knew that either of us could begin to feel sick at any time, particularly since we lived at relatively low altitude in Amman.

While the environment of the hike on Day 4 was increasingly hostile, the scenery and the terrain were exceedingly beautiful. Shortly after we left Cave 3 Camp all signs of life disappeared. There was absolutely no vegetation on the ground and under our feet was grey, dusty gravel. The landscape was as barren as the moon with large knee high rocks scattered about and to our left the huge snow covered summit of Mount Mawensi kept coming in and out of view from behind the clouds. The ascent itself was very similar to the ascent we had made towards School Camp the afternoon before. The path headed upward at a steep grade and could be seen for 300 to 400m in front of you marked by a slightly worn, lighter grey line that worked its way endlessly higher and higher around the Eastern slope of the volcano. While you needed to make slow, rhythmic steps forward, there was very little need to boulder. Your worst enemies were exhaustion and the ever thinning air.

Along the way, we made a few stops to rest and enjoy the scenery, but the head guide was on a mission to get us to Kibo on time and to fill our stomachs with food so that we could begin to rest for the final ascent. I continued to employ my breathing technique and conserve my energy except for some trail cleaning at a place where a group had decided to discard some orange peels, aluminum foil, and old tissues. At this altitude orange peels don't disintegrate quickly, instead they dry up and then lay on top of the rock dust until someone comes along to takes them off the mountain. Our guide was thankful for my effort, but thought I was crazy to be doing it at this altitude. I, on the other hand, had seen too much trash on the roadsides of Syria and Jordan to allow Kili to be blemished in the same way.

We arrived to Kibo Camp (4,700m some 15,400ft) right on time. With our tents already set up by the porters, we unloaded our gear and prepared ourselves for the final ascent. After lunch I asked for some more "water for washing" and took a cold but needed washing. While Kibo Camp had a guard house and some infrastructure to house hikers not staying in tents, the facilities were sparse and both the outhouses we had used up until this point and my tent seemed much cleaner than the camp's roofed facilities.

Both Emily and myself were doing fine, however we had begun to experience dizzy spells during the last hour of the day's hike and any sudden movements usually brought on more of the same. Our Canadian friends were now in dire straights and in questionable shape to begin the summit in 11 hours. She was unable to control her stomach and he was occasionally vomiting and complain of a splitting headache. While the recipe for these ailments was rest, the Canadians began popping Acetazolamide (A drug which increases the acidity of the blood. It is most often used to treat glaucoma and epileptic seizures but is also effective at combating severe altitude sickness.) against the advice of our guides.

After lunch I laid down in my tent trying to figure out someway to fall asleep in the middle of the day. With my eyes feeling more sensitive to light and my thoughts somewhat distorted by the lack of oxygen, I was unusually irritated by the orange and yellow exterior of my tent that created a thermal glow inside as the sun shone through the fabric. Outside a group of Australian trekkers moving up the Merangu Route, which connects with the Rongai Route at Kibo Camp, arrived at camp with their entire entourage of guides, cooks, and porters increasing the noise level outside my tent. After a few hours of light sleeping, I was awoken by my guide asking through the tent's slip to explain how to use a GPS device. Needless to say, I was not impressed by his request, but I took a few minutes to look at the device and then gave my best shot at explaining the device to a group of people who looked at the thing as if it had just fallen of an alien space craft. Although I explained how the device worked about 4 times and encouraging them to follow my instructions and use it in front of me, I seriously doubt that the knowledge transfer was successful.

Dinner was served sharp at 6P and on my way to our small blue mess tent, I noticed that I was feeling better and could move without any dizzy spells. The meal was served hot and consisted of spaghetti noodles covered in a tomato tuna sauce and a bowl of cinnamon tasting porridge, which quickly developed a plastic film on its surface. The porridge, I was told, was suppose to "make strong." I gulped down the think, slimy liquid directly from the bowl to avoid any further filming and went back to my tent where I dressed myself for the midnight ascent. Fully dressed and curled up in my sleeping bag, I began to dose off the to light tapping sound of snow coming to rest on the outside of my tent.

Day 5 at 00.01A: The Final Ascent

Day 5 Video Journal

My eyes slam open. I am warm and there is one thing on my mind. An Australian voice from outside says something about it being 11:15P. Damit..I don't feel like waiting another 45 minutes to begin the ascent. I'm ready. The crunch of the snow under the boots of people wondering around outside tells me that there has been a heavy snow. I sit up in the tent wrestling with my sleeping bag and begin to check my gear. Everything is dry and my daypack is filled with only the bare essentials. Acetazolamide - check. Still time to waste. I lay down and practice my breathing technique. Soon enough I hear the outside slip of the tent unzip and the voice of the guide asks every so kindly for me to wake up and come get a quick cup of tea.

Outside the world has transformed from a moon like planet into a winter wonderland. The snow is ultra white in the light of my headlamp and even the trodden snow doesn't grime with dirt but peppers black with volcanic pebbles. The tea is good, but for some strange reason I begin to think about the staining effect that it will have on my teeth. The next chance I will have to brush my teeth is in 11 hours. The hell with the tea, it's time to climb.

I meet Emily outside the tents and we are joined by our guide. Emily rips her camera out from her jacket and hands it to a Tanzanian porter poorly dressed for such weather. After a few slow steps in the snow, he quickly turns around and snaps the picture.

The head guide looks deep into my eyes, most likely checking for any signs of altitude sickness. "Ready?" he asks. "Let's go," I say. And with that the lead guide steps in front of Emily, turns his focus to the ground, and begins out into the frozen blackness. Crunch. I step in line behind Emily and facing my backpack is the assistant guide. The Canadians are nowhere to be found. Frankly, I don't have time to care about them right now. It’s between me and the mountain.

The snow continues to fall as we begin up the path and the occasional breeze lays a disproportionate amount of snow on the right side of my body. For the first time I have decided to use poles, but incorporating them into my rhythmic breathing and movement requires mental energy. One step, one breath. One step, one breath. Although the air is cold, I am toasty warm and feeling pretty good. My nose is the only part of my body that is frozen solid and my headlamp is set at the perfect angle, giving me maximum lighting without having to bend my neck downward in an uncomfortable position. I know that I have a backpack on, but I can't feel its weight. We continue forward and all I can see is the back of Emily's pant legs and the patch of ultra white snow illuminated by my headlamp.

After about an hour of hiking, the trail narrows to enough room for 3/4 of a person and the incline becomes steep enough that I now have to use my arms to help propel me forward. After slipping backwards one too many times, Emily stops and asks for her poles. During the pause, I want to give myself a break from the forced breathing routine, but after about 30 seconds of normal breaths my head begins to spin. "The hell with it." I tell myself. "Just breath rhythmically." The assistant guide shimmies his way over to me along a ledge and stares deep into my eyes. "Mike...you OK?" "Yeah, I am good but I need to keep moving," I respond. "You are strong like lion...strong like lion," he says encouragingly and pats my shoulder with his glove.

We continue up the switchbacks for some time. Then, from somewhere in the darkness above us we begin to hear chatter in Swahili and our head guide motions for us to lean against the mountain. Two guides come ambling down the mountain with a group of two trekkers between them that are barely able to stand up on their own accord. I try to catch the face of one girl buried inside her hooded parka, but all I see are her big puffy bluish lips. As we continue up the mountain we walk past other groups of trekkers curled up on the ground with their heads between their legs and fresh pools of vomit slowly running in the direction of the mountain's slope. Their guides watch over them and say a few kind words to us in Swahili as we pass by. I don't really care about their vomit on my boots, but I don't want to fall of the side of the switchback. How do I feel? I wonder. I still feel good, but I also know that I can't keep going up like this all night. My chest is slightly tired from forcefully taking deep breaths and my calves are beginning to fill with lactic acid.

I look up to see if I can find a headlamp somewhere in the darkness above me to preview our coming trajectory. About 50 yards directly above me there is a group of 5 bobbing lights. I look higher up to get more perspective. There are lights high in the darkness, but I can't tell if they are stars or headlamps. Remember to breathe. One step, one breath. I look again at the lights high up in the darkness. I want to figure out what they are but my will invades my thoughts, Mike, focus on the next step. That is all that matters.

We continue to the crest of one switchback, the ground levels out for about 10 meters and there is an overhang in the rock. Emily sits down beneath the natural shelter, but I continue to stand and reach for my backpack to get a swig of water from the plastic bottle inside. I expect to taste refreshing cold water hit my mouth, but I am so preoccupied with staying 100%!c(MISSING)onscious that the water passed through my mouth void of any pleasure. I look out into the snowy blackness to search for a view, but there is nothing.

The guides seem to be discussing something that I can't make out. Their body language doesn't give me any clues, but the head guide seems to be complaining. Their conversation ends abruptly and the assistant guide comes over and looks at me one more time. "Brother, Tom is sick. He go down." Tom, the head guide, shuffles by in front of me. "Take care," I say.

The invisible enemy has claimed one of us. We're now three. The assistant guide takes the lead, I follow in behind him, and Emily comes to her feet a short distance from my back.

After another 15 minutes of climbing, we reach a corner in the switchbacks that has a small rock outcropping and a sign with yellow lettering that I can’t make out from underneath the snow. Emily asks the assistant guide how far we have come. He responses abruptly, "Half way." The answer deflates her and she turns to me in disbelieve. "Mike? Did you hear that? Only half way!" I don't have the energy to give her the emotionally satisfying response she's after. Instead, I glance at her and say, "Yeah, yeah...I know. One step at a time." The guide chimes in with what would soon become one of his two trademark phrases for the remainder of the climb, "Don't give up hope." The other being,"Have caution."

Over the next two and a half hours, the grade of the path continues to incline and victims of the invisible enemy pass us on their way to friendlier altitudes. While I continued to feel fine except for the occasional dizzy spell, the trekkers descending with altitude sickness reminded me of the threat. They too once felt good at my current altitude, but now they’ve succumb and are descending in defeat.

Every 15 minutes or so, I feel a wave of exhaustion pass over me, but I am consistently able to shake it by refocusing on my breath. Thirty minutes before arriving at Gilman’s Point, the crest of the volcano’s crater, the switchback path vanished and large rocky ledges lay in our way. There is no choice. To continue the ascent we have to scramble using our entire bodies to pull us from one ledge to the next. It is here that I begin to feel the effects of altitude sickness weave themselves into every nook and cranny of my brain. While before, no matter how steep the grade all I had to do was take one more step, now the steep rocky outcroppings force me to begin using my whole body to overcome them. This is requiring more oxygen than my lungs can possibly inhale. At first, I feel dizzy. I pause for a split second and the dizziness subsides. But with my next movement the dizziness comes rushing back with an even greater vengeance. I have no choice, I will continue upward and will fight my increasingly spinning world. No longer do I dare look up or down the mountain, even though the suns early morning rays are slowly cresting the earth’s belly. I focus on the next steady spot for my foot and poles.

With great relief, I began to hear happy voices just above me. As if they were the smell of nature invigorating my body after a long Scandinavian winter, these cheerful voices break the enveloping, and now mind numbing, monotony of crunching snow occasionally interspersed with the tired mumblings of my companions. There are probably between 8 to 10 people sitting around looking relatively relieved to have made it to Gilman’s Point. I am thrilled to be here as well, but am concerned about my brain. No matter how deep or fast I breathe, I cannot shake the dizziness. My stomach has also begun to feel ever so slightly nauseous.

The worst of the climbing is behind me. Emily seems ok, but is having a few problems herself. I'll just keep seated for a few more minutes and hopefully things will get better. "Mike, time to go," the assistant guide blurts out. What? You have to be kidding me. I just need a few more minutes. "OK," I respond, making a few small meaningless movements to buy some more time. "Brother, here is dangerous. We need to go to Uhuru." Begrudgingly, I slowly stand up like an old man rising from his favorite chair and plant my poles firmly into the ground trying to expend the least amount of energy possible. One step, one breath. One step, one breath.

The sun is now reflecting off of all the snow around us. There is no need for the headlamp. I pull my head up to look around. To my right is the crater. Its gigantic white bowl bottoms out some few thousand feet below me and is blanketed in fresh white snow. Dark pointed shards of black rock jut out from the snow in the crater, giving texture to the landscape. I am astonished by the crater's size. The walls look as if they are a curving mountain chain themselves - mountains on top of a mountain. I put my head down to maintain my balance, but I look up once again to take in the beauty around me. I am in another world. Everywhere I look there are beautiful rock formations covered in snow. I know that to my left is all of Africa below me, but all I can see are wisps of high level cirrus clouds in a light blue sky that's color looks oxygen depleted. There are now two colors, various shades of blue and white.

From Gilman's Point to Uhuru Summit takes about an hour and fifteen minutes. The terrain snakes along the rim of the crater slowly upwards. In normal conditions the walk would be a pleasant stroll, but with my dizziness growing and a headache now beginning to consume me, every small incline seems endless. All I can think is that I just want to reach the summit. Nothing else matters but getting there as quickly and as painlessly as possible, both of which are unrealistic expectations. I continue to breathe deep breaths, but even thinking about inhaling seems to hurt. We pass other trekkers who slowly stumble their way forward. All seem to be dazed and confused. As we break one crest, I finally see the summit. It's about 200m away and there are a few people taking pictures. So close but each step I take seems like an eternity. I keep my head down and try to remove all thoughts from my head. I clear my thoughts of all pain, deliriousness, and desire. Just move forward like a machine; matter of fact without a thought.

I look up with about 10 steps to go and pause. There are three people getting a picture at the summit sign. I won't take another step until they have left the sign. As they begin to leave, two other people pass me on my right side and take up position near the sign.

I begin to move motioning Emily to step with me. She hands her camera to the guide and makes a picture-taking gesture. He nods and we plod forward. I head to the left side of the sign while Emily takes up camp on the right side. The guide says, "Smile." Just take the picture. Just take the picture. I know that I need to start descending or else my condition is going to deteriorate further.

SUCCESS! but it's a bitter sweet spoonful to swallow since I am suffering from the effects of altitude sickness. I ask Emily how she is doing and she says that she is dizzy and can't think straight. Looks like we are both pretty bad off. No matter, I try to take a second to appreciate the moment and the scenery. Everything is snow covered. The sun is shining brightly and the air is crisp, pure blue with strands of high level clouds scattered about. There is a certain magic in the air - as if you are at a place that is secluded, unique, and largely untouched by man. To my left is now the huge mountain range which is the rim of the crater and to my right is an enormous glacier that is about 200m away. Its ice looks like a blue milky crystal with a flat top that rises up 5 or 6 stories from the mountain's face. I know that the snow cap and glaciers on Kilimanjaro are quickly disappearing due to global warming, but I am still impressed by its enormity. My mind fights my body to continue enjoying the moment and I decide to take my first step toward the decent. The path ahead of me will be long, but I march forward enjoying this mystical land hidden on top of Africa's highest peak.

The Decent

Make no doubt about it, the worst part of the entire climb was the descent. The guide motivated us forward by promising us that our headaches and nausea would soon subside if we just got down to a lower altitude, but I during the entire 3 hours I felt like putting a bullet through my head. To put it in simple terms, imagine having the worst hangover of your life and then having to talk down the side of a steep mountain for 3 hours. That' s exactly the feeling; the whole world spinning, your head pounding, and a guide continually pestering you to move quickly. However, the beauty of the descent is getting to see what you conquered the night before. During the ascent there is nothing to see, since you are enveloped by complete darkness. On the descent, the morning's rays are bright and allow you to see the views of Africa that alluded you earlier and the huge cliffs that you unknowingly what right up. Having now seen the size and vertical grade of the final route's ascent in daylight, I understand why they have you summit in the middle of the night. I wouldn't be surprised if many people would give up mid-climb due to the visual intimidation of the mountain side would the ascent be during the daytime.

Once we reached Kibo Camp again, which I never thought we would reach, I stripped off the outer layers of my clothes and flopped onto the top of my sleeping bag. 15 minutes later, I woke up and found the energy to pull my self inside the bag to keep warm. After an hour of sleep, I was called to lunch. Miraculously, I slowly pulled myself to my feet and felt about 75% normal. Sure, there was still a little dizziness and a small headache, but I was feeling pretty good. Shortly after lunch we started another hike further down to Horombo Camp about 4 hours away. By the time we reached the camping site, I was feeling just about normal. It was there that we met the Canadians again, who amazingly enough did summit, and found them dead tired and sick. The Canadian guy had dry vomited the entire way down Kilimanjaro and throughout the afternoon hike to camp. He was in bad shape but somehow continued to smile. His companion was now feeling guilty that she had invited him on the trip, since he had spent the majority of the time trying to control one end of his digestive track or the other.

The following day, we woke up early to beat the other trekkers out of camp to the entry/exit of Kilimanjaro National Park, where we waited for a few minutes to receive our official certificates for summiting the mountain. The hike passed through multiple types of vegetation and took about 7 hours to complete but was fairly easy on the knees. The sight of trees again and non-frozen moisture was thrilling. When we finally reached the rain forest again, we passed by giant flowers and waterfalls. We also had two large monkeys run across our path about 2m in front of us. The flowers and animal life in Tanzania is amazing!

When we finally reached the trailhead, I was relieved but felt like a million bucks. A van waited for us and our equipment, along with a marching band that was there to celebrate Tanzania's national day. The ride back to the hotel took about 1.5 hours and when we finally reach the hotel, all I could think about was a hot shower. Unfortunately, none of the shower heaters had been turned on and therefore it would take another hour or two before the hot water would begin to flow. I took a cold shower instead, but it was probably the best one I have ever taken. Shortly thereafter, I returned all the rented gear, grabbed a Kilimanjaro beer and sat down to reminisce on the experience with a group of trekkers that were to begin their adventure up Kili the following day. No matter how much I told them, I knew that each person's trek up Kili is unique and, like so many things is life, there is no way to truly understand the experience without living it yourself.

Complete Photo Guide - Notice that there were two cameras full of photos and so there are two sets of photos that go from beginning to end.

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Comments

[Ona]

simepre impresionante!!
querido Michael, que maravillosa vida!!! cuantos lugares increibles que seguis conociendo!!! ojala sigas ese camino de b+usqueda siempre, sobre todo en el conocimiento de vos mismo. Te recuerdo siempre con tanto cariño!!!! ojala podamos encontrarnos en algún lugar del mundo alguna vez!!!!!!!!!! beso enorme ona

[Fabiana]

Emocionante!!!
Olá Mike!!! Nossa estou maravilhada com essas fotos, realmente a experiência pela qual está passando deve ser única. Aproveito para te desejar um Feliz Ano Novo, que 2009 seja cheio de conquistas e realizações para você. Espero você no próximo carnaval!!! Beijos e saudade, Fabiana