Climbing Kilimanjaro - A Survivor's Tale
It all started when I was drunk - in two ways.
Me and Tee and her friends were in the pub and it might have been someone's birthday. Talk turned to personal challenges and how much we'd all enjoyed doing the Inca Trail, and how it had been tough but far from gruelling. For some time, one of the girls in particular, Lydia, an unstoppable hiking buff, had been going on about how we should all climb Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, and how it would be difficult but not undoable. Intoxicated with the memories and something from a Belgian Trappist monastery I agreed to get in on this proposed trip.
My old mate Peter had already climbed it several years ago and he reported it being rough as all hell but hugely rewarding and enjoyable. I read his travel blog in detail, searching for red flags, but it seemed only about as bad as some of the more ill-thought-out trips I'd taken in the past, like climbing the Sugarloaf on the hottest day of the year with no suncream, summitting Carrauntoohil in Kerry in the middle of the night or camping in Oxegen.
Our prep for the trip was to spend several months climbing Lugnaquilla in Wicklow over and over. I kept thinking it would get more enjoyable, but I'm really not sure that ever kicked in. I got kitted out in an Outdoors shop in Kildare Village, which is a shopping mall, not a town, and before I knew it it was time to go.
We flew to Tanzania via Nairobi in Kenya, bussing it the rest of the way. We front-loaded the trip with a truly incredible safari in the Serengeti which was worth the price of the flights alone. The animals were so giving! Like an open zoo, they showed no fear of the vehicles but never threatened us. They were completely aloof the whole time, feeding, sleeping, bathing and hunting with abandon all around, just metres from the car. I was filled with an Attenborough-like thrill.
We took it easy for a few days leading up to the climb, though we went on a guided walking tour of a local Maasai village which left our skin sunburnt and our feet blistered, and made us wonder what was in store for us up on the mountain.
On the first day of the climb, we registered at the reception centre, which was thronged with backpackers of all sorts. The initial few hours were a heady, adrenaline-fuelled tramp through tropical jungle. Locals carried impossibly large loads on their heads, backpackers chatted merrily, and the path was paved with steps. We even passed a toilet outhouse at one point, though it smelled worse than the latrines in Electric Picnic.
Evenings every day consisted of a large meal of veg soup, veg mains, and often something with egg. Only once did we have meat, barbecued chicken - it was too hard to get meat up to such as altitude without it spoiling. There was never any alcohol. We'd be so tired after each day's exertions that we'd head straight to bed, with early starts.
One particular day we had to climb up to a high point called the Lava Tower, reflecting its geological origins. The idea was to repeatedly bring us up to high ground and back down to lower areas. Your lungs benefit from the repeated but brief exposures to low oxygen levels. They react to the lack of air by producing more red blood cells. Then, when you're right at the summit, the adjustment won't be so bad.
The altitude at the Tower, 4600 m, was so much higher than we'd gone before that I developed headaches and a strange feeling of unease. It wasn't nausea, or tiredness - just depression, like a pall over my mind. Worse than cranky, but less bad than a full-on fear episode. It was decidedly odd.
I only felt severe nausea on one occasion. Our camp that night was on a steep slope, with a cliff precipice at the bottom, and an astonishing vista of the summit at the top, far in the distance. Our lead guide, Babalu, showed us on the distant slopes the precise route we'd be taking on our summit night. Miles below, the African plains were visible, with the large town of Moshi looming as an urbanised blob in the brown-orange milieu.
The next morning, though, things weren't so good. I got up feeling refreshed and with no ill effects, but after I'd had a breakfast of porridge, I felt a strong feeling of impending sickness. It wasn't like the messy nausea you get from excessive drinking, this was more a psychological urge emanating from deep within my viscera. I went outside, went to the toilet, and walked up and down, unable to look at either the scary precipice, or the terrifying summit that loomed over us like a distant vision of doom. Babalu came out and insisted I have hot chocolate as I hadn't had enough carbs in my meal for the day. It was a tough challenge to down that hot brown liquid while simultaneously my digestive system had an urge to purge. In the end, it took half an hour for the feeling to pass and I could continue.
Easily the most pleasurable stint of the whole trek was climbing a cliff called the Barranco Wall, which could be climbed without ropes and offered breathtaking views of the valley below. Guides with oversized head-mounted loads walked past us on the way up, not even holding onto rocks for balance, while we clung to boulder outcrops and grabbed each other's hands for support. At the top, there was a high elevated plain that gave us a magnificent view of the summit, completely unencumbered with clouds. The sun shone brightly and there was a wonderfully cool breeze to dry our sweat. I made an excited selfie video in which I rambled on about vistas and adrenalin highs.
The big kahuna, though, was the summit night. That day, we spent several hours hiking to a base camp, and thankfully we wouldn't be spending the night there but at a point a hundred metres higher - because it was raining, windy, and squalid, with a smell of latrines everywhere and a rabble of backpackers preparing for the summit.
Our actual camp we'd be starting from, Kosovo, was temporary and just for us, and after dinner it was time for a few hours sleep until we got up at 10.30pm to begin the climb. I was wired, too full of beans to sleep, so I walked around in the encroaching darkness, waiting for a slump to come.
I awoke suddenly at the appointed time, surrounded by a thick frost that encrusted all the outer surfaces of the tent. Opening the zip and poking my head out was hazardous, as the temperature had fallen to -8 in a few hours. Quickly and methodically, me and Tee put on layer after layer of clothes. We'd prepared for this moment for a long time. There was now no doubt about our destiny. We'd reach the top of the mountain come hell or high water.
Things started to fall apart, however, when we had a breakfast of porridge to fill us with much-needed carbs. Tee briefly complained of nausea, before suddenly vomiting over the dining table. The chief guide brought her outside, and while I was in the toilet, agreed that someone would set off immediately with her to give her a headstart over the rest of us. Me and the other two would depart in a separate group.
For a long time, we hiked in our big michelin man suits of thermal clothing layers through the dark. My headtorch encircled a small pool of illumination ahead, and I thought about this and that, without needing to concentrate too much. I stopped for a pee break at one point, but found it hard to go, perhaps due to cold. We were overtaken by other groups of hikers at various times, and finally caught up with Tee.
The hours passed, and I played alt-rock albums from the 90s in my head that I hadn't heard in years, like Siamese Dream. Eventually my thought process started to fade. I found myself having to breath deeply and evenly just to keep up with my oxygen needs. I gave my personal guide, Sandy, my backpack that had my water and I opened up my jacket and top as I was starting to sweat even in the freezing temperatures. I began requesting to have more and more breaks. Each time I would sit on a rock, breathing heavily, never getting my wind back. It was frustrating and I became more and more sleepy. Eventually I asked if I could have a nap on the ground, and became tired and emotional. Of course that wasn't allowed, as I would have developed hypothermia.
I think a toll had caught up with me, based on the inadequate number of hours sleep I'd had prior to the beginning of the ascent, the exhaustion of the last few days, and the fact that the oxygen level is only 70% of its normal value at the top of Kilimanjaro. Largely because of all this, I forgot to hydrate and eat, and hit an energy wall with several hours to go. Due to an overestimate, which might have been deliberate on Sandy's part, there was actually less than one hour to go until Stella Point, the rim of the volcano's caldera, but time seemed to pass so, so slowly. My fingers, despite two pairs of gloves, were going numb, so Sandy massaged some warmth back into them.
I got my bag back off Sandy and tried to eat and drink, but it was very difficult. The Kitkats were too sweet and made me nauseous, and the water was slushy with ice. It was a huge effort to eat and drink without throwing up. Therese wandered past while I was having my comestibles. She was chipper and asked me to accompany her to the top, but I reacted with scorn - "I'm turning back!" "Don't be silly!", she scolded. "It's fine, we're nearly there!" Then I dropped my bomb, "Therese, the situation is clearly hopeless!" She gave me a blank look. "Fine, you do what you want. I'm heading for the top. Gimme the camera. I'll meet you up there!" Sandy wordlessly come up behind me and gave me a neck rub. It seemed fitting at the time, and I reacted with nothing but gratitude.
I'd been told that the final 45 minutes of climbing is over loose shale and gravel, which would be very difficult going. It was so cold on this occasion, however, that the loose stones had frozen like concrete, and you could just walk right over it with no slippage. I spent so much time expecting the loose ground to start, that I was very surprised when I noticed that the torchlights of the other hikers seemed to be quite close, only a short stint above me. Spurred by this and an incredible sunrise in the infinite distance that seemed to be coming straight from outer space into my eyes, I put one foot in front of the other for the last stretch.
Tee shouted that the crater rim was just coming up ahead, and in the dim light, I could see a strange green rectangle up on a bluff. The low O2 levels meant that the cogs of my mind turned slowly, and it took me many seconds to realise that that was the large sign welcoming all-comers to the rim of the crater and the first summit. From there, you only had to walk around the edge to reach the highest point. Spurred by this information, my pace quickened.
When there were only a couple of dozen steps to go, I was filled with a rush of joy - better known by its chemical name of adrenalin. As I mounted the edge of the rim and walked onto the flat ground of Stella Point, I perked up, started whooping with joy, and ran around high-fiving everyone and hugging randoms.
Tee caught up with me within a minute, and she joined me at the top, tired but still smiling. Casanova, another guide, walked over and casually asked, "That's great. You are feeling good?" "Sure! I'm on top of the world!" "Great! Now you're gonna walk to the highest part of the crater, Uhuru Point!" "Oh no, I could never. I want to go home." "No my friend, you will go to Uhuru!" Feeling re-energised, I began walking, but the adrenalin hit wore off very quickly, and I was back to despondency. I wailed and moaned about how shitty I felt, and probably made everyone around me feel the same.
Finally, halfway to Uhuru point, I could take it no longer. I sat on a rock and ate raw sugar, and announced to Sandy that I was turning back. "But that's crazy my friend. It is so close!" "It's not close! Why? Why would you lie? It's so far!" "Ok my friend. Let's go," and he helped me to my feet. Suddenly, though, he spun me round in a volte-face and physically marched me to the top.
As I neared the end, there were the most incredible ice caps and cloudbanks visible around the edge of the rim. The inside of the caldera was mostly ice-free and stony. There was absolutely no vegetation anywhere. The ice was bathed in a gorgeous orange glow from the distant sunrise. The sky sparkled above with diamond-like stars, arrayed in all directions like someone had cast a huge handful of them upwards.
I felt the same sense of mental dullness from the Lava Tower, but there was no nausea this time. The beauty of the surroundings was lifting my spirits. When Tee caught up, I took photos of us in a daze, wanting to get it over with now. After sitting on a stone for a couple of minutes, Sandy came over and gave me another neck rub. "It's time for you to leave, my friend."
On the way back to Stella Point, I ran into Lydia, who urged me to come back to Uhuru, but I'd had enough so I hit it and quit it. Finally I met Deirdre and Babalu. Deirdre had had the worst time of it. She was dazed, confused and practically delusional at this stage. I discovered some time later that she finally made it to the end and met the other two, which was great news.
Once I made it to Stella, I practically ran down the mountain. Each step was so easy and light. Spurred on by the promise of extra delicious oxygen, I jogged at a merry pace around the boulders and down the gravelly paths. The return journey was very long and after a couple of hours, it was so hot that I started seriously sweating. I was dressed for -10 degrees but it was going up to the high 20s. I tried to give some of my clothes to Sandy but there wasn't enough room in my bag which he was carrying. I felt like I was getting sunstroke and hid behind a rock for shelter for a while. Impossibly far below, I could see our campsite, a tiny collection of green dots in a vast stony plain.
I was the first back. I undressed, put in earplugs, donned an eyemask, and collapsed into a delicious sleep.