Ups and Downs:
The trials of climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro

Summit day at Kibo Huts! After trekking for six days since leaving Loitokitok near the Kenyan border, Pat, Terry, Rick and I were now ready to make the final ascent up Mt. Kilimanjaro’s highest of three peaks, Kibo. We had started our journey at 6,560 feet. Now here, midnight at 15,500 feet, the four of us huddled together shivering because of the cold and perhaps also anticipating the monumental task ahead of us. I doubt any of us slept much since retiring at 7:00 p.m. the night before.

We continued to check our gear. Would we be warm enough but not overheat? Did we pack enough water? Was it protected against freezing during the ascent? This was show time; all of our preparations would now have to do.

There we stood in the complete darkness except for the light shining from our headlamps, ready to begin. A light snow had fallen during the night. Our guide, Joseph (“Photo”) and two assistant guides, Dazy and the other whose name escapes me now, would lead us. We shook hands, wished each other good luck, and the climb began.

With our trekking poles digging into the snow, we moved forward taking one small step at a time. It was more like shuffling our feet rather than a bold march to conquer Kilimanjaro. There was a good reason for this. We would have to take the climb “Pole, Pole” (Swahili for “Slowly, Slowly”) if we were to succeed to the top of the world’s highest free-standing mountain.

It became almost hypnotic staring down at the trudging feet of my companions in front of me. I would try to break out of my blank gaze and look off to the side. My headlamp luminated snow, rock and then faded into the dark void. Was it a sudden drop off, several hundred feet below us? I’d rather not have known. Other times, I glanced way above me and could see the faint flicker of other climbers’ headlamps. I quietly cursed to myself about how far we had yet to go.

The climb up the narrow trail lasted for hours. We trekked along at a slow but steady pace, and the guides helped us climb over the much larger rocks that blocked our way. Our team would stop occasionally to munch on an energy bar, drink water and catch our breath. The air pressure was continuing to drop the higher we ascended and became increasingly difficult to breathe. Twice the energy would be used to breathe the same amount of oxygen at sea level. Over and over again, I continually reminded myself to breath through my nose rather than my mouth.

During these long, long hours of ascending Mt. Kilimanjaro, I asked myself, “Why was I doing this?” At this point, I wasn’t enjoying the experience. I was tired, cold and not completely sure if all of this was really happening. I had spent months preparing for this moment by going to the gym more often. I could have done more, far more but nothing can truly prepare you for this mountain until you’re on it. The gym’s elliptical machine “Mt. Kilimanjaro” setting is a poor substitute for the real thing.

I had also spent a great amount of money to come to Tanzania. “Was all of this worth it to simply make it to the summit?” These questions lingered in my mind without any clear answer as we climbed higher and higher.

Except for the metallic clicking of trekking polls against stone and the strain of our own labored breathing, there was little sound. We talked sparingly among ourselves. Conserving energy maybe or each of us lost in our own thoughts about the climb. Terry would break the silence of our group with an occasional altitude reading from his altimeter watch. He informed us of our progress but also of the distance we still had to overcome. Take the good news with the bad, I accepted.

Darkness finally gave way to the morning light and we reached Gillman’s Point around 7:30 a.m., seven and a half hours since our climb began. Here we stood at about 18,800 feet with clouds looming below and mighty Mawenzi Peak staring back at us to the east. There were some overcast skies but still the view was magnificent.

In reaching Gillman Point, I had climbed higher than when I summitted Kala Pattar in Nepal’s Himalaya Mountains almost nine years earlier. That fact was lost on me at the moment as I tried to regroup both mentally and physically.

We had now climbed the equivalent of three Empire State Buildings. But our daunting challenge was not over just yet. We had still not reached Uhuru Peak, the highest point on Mt. Kilimanjaro. So after a brief stay, we carried on.

There were numerous other climbers we encountered along the way. Some of them were still heading slowly upwards like us while others were going downward with noticeably more bounce in their step. They were the lucky ones we passed who had already made it up to Uhuru Peak and were beginning their descent. A couple of them told us cruel lies that, “Oh, it’s all level hiking from here to the top now. No trouble at all. Enjoy!”

They may have taken some escalator that I wasn’t aware of but the next 45 minutes and 500 foot vertical incline would be Hell.

The path narrowed at one point where we had to squeeze by one of Kilimanjaro’s jagged hills to the left and the mountain’s colossal volcanic crater many, many feet below us to the right. Once on the other side, I was hoping…no praying… to finally see the sign indicating that we had reached Uhuru Peak. I would be disappointed. Instead, there was another intimidating hill to overcome as I envied the climbers way ahead and above us.

Though I was becoming increasingly tired and my breathing more shallow, there was no turning back at this point. I slugged forward, placing one foot slowly in front of the other and using my trekking poles to guide and support me. “Pole, Pole.”

It finally appeared out of the cold morning mist like a phantom just several yards away. The wooden congratulatory sign with prayer flags flapping in the wind. We had reached Uhuru Peak, 19,341 feet above Africa.

The four of us “high-fived” one another on our accomplishment, took some photos together at the summit and marveled at the surreal landscape that surrounded us. The most astonishing were the bluish white glaciers looming high on Kilimanjaro’s flank. As magnificent a site as these icy monoliths are, it was very sobering to know that global climate changes are taking its toll on them. These mighty glaciers could possibly disappear within as little as 20 years.

There would be little time for us to ponder our time atop Kilimanjaro. At such high altitude and thin air, beginning the descent ASAP is essential. It was at that moment, almost nine hours since we began our climb 4,000 feet below us that I began to weaken. The climb had caught up with me. I couldn’t suck in any air. It was the same sensation I often felt after running a race when I would cross the finish line, completely exhausted. But unlike a race where my body quickly recovers, it did not respond on Kilimanjaro. I felt light-headed and not nearly as focused as I was on the ascent. I began to stumble and our ever-watchful guide, Photo was quick to notice my condition. He along with our two assistant guides helped to lead me as we began our descent. I was hurting and gladly accepted their assistance.

The climb down Kilimanjaro took maybe a few hours. It was a blur to me. Photo continued to help me by directing my unstable footing with his trekking pole. A few times when I stumbled, he would prop me up by grabbing the back of my jacket. Adding another obstacle to the ordeal was the scree – loose gravel that would give way beneath my weight. The proper way is to slide down it upright, constantly moving and keeping your balance to prevent toppling over. Rick, Terry and Pat mastered this technique rather quickly while I took the descent far more gingerly.

My normal breathing finally returned about half way down the mountain. I felt stronger and no longer needed Photo’s assistance to go on. I turned back at one point and saw Rick hunched over and trying to catch his breath. We were all feeling the effects of the long, arduous day one way or another.

As we continued downward, the mountain slope’s steep incline become far gentler, sparse vegetation reappeared and Kibo Huts came happily into view. This is where the adventure had begun almost twelve hours earlier.

We had summitted Mt. Kilimanjaro. Many climbers who attempt it do not. The question of whether it was all worth the effort still remained unanswered. Such heady internal discussions would have to wait for another day. For now, all that was on mind was to collapse into my tent and succumb to a beautiful sleep.

March 8, 2009