June 4, 2012
It was nearing
midnight and the fourteen of us stood huddled in a circle. Our breath was
visible in the cold evening air and our hearts were thumping with anticipation
for the trek ahead. An hour ago I was snuggled in my sleeping bag, clutching
the hot water bottle for every degree of warmth it could offer and willing my
anxiety to fade so I could find sleep. After five days of hiking along the
Machame route, the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro was in our sights. The words of our
inspiring leader, Consea, broke the tension surrounding our huddle, “Ok Team –
let’s do it!”
Over the past few
years I have developed, mostly thanks to my father, an interest in reading
adventure stories about expeditions to the summits of Everest, K2, and
Annapurna among others. These mountains all reach insane altitudes – surpassing
the Death Zone. Personally, I have always enjoyed hiking, but I never dreamed
of doing a multiple day mountain climb – certainly not one to the heights of
these mountains. Reading these books allowed me a glimpse into the very
farthest reaches of my adventurous spirit without the risk of death. Through the pages of these books, I learned
about terms such as acclimatization, High
Altitude Pulmonary Adema, altitude sickness, and climb high sleep low. Although not a “Death Zone” mountain, Mt.
Kilimanjaro required the use of these same terms due to its status as The
Highest point in Africa – just over 19,000 feet above sea level.
Early into the year
at AISJ, my new group of friends and I were presented with the opportunity to
form a team that would attempt the summit of Kilimanjaro. With little
hesitation, eight of us agreed and committed to the adventure. As we were
ascending the mountain early in June, several of us remarked on why this
decision had ever been made. Others had spoken of it as just a “long walk,”
which it mostly was, but on summit night – this expedition to the summit became
the hardest physical challenge I’ve faced in my 30 years.
Dee, Chelsea, Faze,
Beth, Marcus, Aitor, Dharma and I departed Johannesburg on the night of June 2nd
for Tanzania. After a less than efficient experience with Precision Airways,
two lost (and then found) pieces of luggage, and several hours of flying
northeast across the continent, we met up with our friend Consea and headed for
our hotel. Consea is an amazing, kind man who is married to one of our
coworkers, Helen. He was born in Tanzania and has climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro over
sixty times – including a record breaking 11 and a half hour RUN up and down
the mountain. Because of his efforts, organization, and guidance, we were
provided this incredible opportunity.
On the morning of
June 4th, joined by Consea’s friend Walt (from Alaska), Aitor’s
cousin Ander from Spain, and three of Dharma’s friends from home, the fourteen
of us bundled up in our raingear and began Day #1 of our seven day trek.
Although we could not see Kili, she was hidden behind thick clouds; the energy
and promise of adventure encouraged us as we ascended through the rainforest
towards our first camp (over 3,000 meters). After four hours of hiking, with
twilight painting the sky, we finally were awarded a view of the mountain. She
loomed far away in the distance, snow capped and breathtakingly beautiful.
Instantly, I was filled with doubt that we’d ever cover that distance, but
equally as powerful was the exhilaration of knowing I was stubborn enough to
make it to the top and sure of the pride that would follow such an
accomplishment.
After a muddy, and
slightly cramped first night in the tent, which I shared with Chelsea, we awoke
to the voice of a kind porter wishing us a good morning and offering us tea or
coffee in our tent. Afraid we’d spill, we politely declined the offer but were
tickled nonetheless by the uniqueness of such an awakening. Similar to dinner the night before, our
breakfast was served in a large, grey tent complete with a long table draped
with a red tablecloth and surrounded by 14 camping stools. Atop the table were
plastic plates, silverware, plastic mugs, and several thermoses of hot water. A
selection of Kilimanjaro teas, Africafe instant coffee, Milo (a chocolate
powder), and bottles of chili sauce and tomato sauce (Ketchup) adorned the
folding tabletops. Despite being over 6,000 feet up a mountain, the eating tent
felt very homey. By Day #7, this tent would not seem as charming, but would
remain the topic of jokes and a favorite memory nonetheless.
Day #2 was filled
with sunshine, gorgeous vistas and views of the mountain’s peak, and some
fairly steep ascents. The phrase used by all climbers on the mountain but
heeded by only sum – present company included – was “Pole, Pole” (pronounced polay, polay). As we increased in
altitude and our oxygen decreased, moving slowly was quite essential in order
to help avoid altitude sickness. Despite the long hikes each day, most of us
were not opposed to shuffling up the mountain, even if it meant reaching the
maximum predicted climbing time. After almost five hours, our second day of
hiking ended at a rocky camp with an absolutely stunning view of the enticing
and foreboding summit. Although still unbelievably far away, Kili’s top was
bigger and therefore closer to achieving.
Day #3, aside from
what loomed ahead of us on summit night, was the longest of our days hiking.
Trudging for nearly two hours through what felt like a minefield of volcanic
boulders and feeling the lack of oxygen slightly more left me somewhat
disheartened. This was the first day I broke out my iPod, which I knew would be
vital in helping me get past the lack of conversation that accompanies thinner
air. In one of my more exhausted moments, the song The Climb by Miley Cyrus played in my ears. The smile that spread
across my face instantly shattered exhuastion’s progress and fueled me with
energy. Back home, while training for our marathons, Lori and I would blast
this song from the car window as we trailed whoever was running the distance
that day. Lori’s encouragement sang to me through the words as they put a
slight spring in my step on that mountain. This moment served as another
reminder to me that people at home were excited for this opportunity just as I
was and proud of me for the feat I was seeking to accomplish. Although I grew
exhausted a few more times over the next five and a half hours, I was reassured
that this experience was one I would never forget!
Day #4 we were
assured would be “Fun!” Consea referred to the Boronco Wall as an exciting
experience and not too difficult. Standing outside the dining tent, eyes
staring up to the completely vertical wall that ascended over 200 meters, we
weren’t convinced. However, climb it we must, so after a breakfast of porridge,
eggs, and cold toast (the daily routine) we began our ascent. The trekking
poles were put away for this climb due to the necessity of one’s hands to
clamber up the wall. On several occasions, my fear of heights was tested as I
had less than a body’s width between the rock and the edge. Despite the
increase in technicality and the steepness, the climb was not impossible, and
like Consea had said, it was kind of fun! Standing at the top, after about an
hour and a half, we were awarded with a shockingly close view of the peak.
Shrouded in clouds, she exposed her self frequently and tempted us with thrill.
It was hard to look away.
**It should be
noted that along this journey, we all carried our own daypacks filled with
about 3 liters of water (I carried about 4.5 most days – I like water), layers
of clothing, cameras and a few snacks. Our bags filled with everything we
needed on the mountain, the tents, tables, chairs, water, food, sleeping mats,
etc. were carried (mostly atop their heads and necks) by several porters. These
men were nothing less than incredible. The strength and resolve it took to hike
these trails loaded down by at least 40 pounds of gear is something I am sure I
will never know in my life. Simply amazing! **
This day’s hike was
one of the shorter hikes, only lasting just over 3 hours – a welcomed change.
As we reached our camp we were met with yet again a very rocky and sandy
campsite. Chelsea and I picked our tent for the night (hoping this one might
has a zipper that functioned properly or walls that were somewhat water
resistant) and completed our typical “baby wipe shower.” This trip certainly
brought Chelsea and I closer, in more ways than one, as modesty was thrown out
the window in the close confines of our lime green, two-person tent!
After an extended
game of Shithead (a game introduced
to us by our Aussie friend, Dee), a warm dinner complete with soup (another
constant and eventually unwelcomed companion
at meal times), and the typical routine of filling our water bottles with
boiling water (and purification tablets) to help keep our sleeping bags warm,
we curled up and attempted sleep – it was probably about 8pm. At this point,
the wind had picked up and was gusting incredibly hard leaving many of us with
the feeling that we might blow away. Despite the roar against the side of the
tent, I was able to fall asleep.
Somewhere around
2am, Chelsea and I both awoke needing to use the bathroom – something that we
desperately wanted to avoid doing each night. Thankfully the wind had almost
stopped completely, but not before leaving the inside of our tent completely
covered in a layer of sand. For a moment I felt like crying, but quickly
realizing it was all part of the experience, I wiped off what I could from my
face and pillow. Dressed as warm as possible and complete with headlamps, we
headed to the toilet – basically a disgusting hole in the ground surrounded by
narrow wooden walls and ceiling. The moon was full, and as I turned to face the
mountain, I was met with the most stunning view I have ever seen in my life. I
will never forget the way the mountain peak appeared that morning, as if it
popped from the black sky behind it. Chelsea accurately described it as looking
like the earth does in images from space. It stood so majestically over our
campsite and filled me with a sense of peace. I am not quite sure why peace,
but I can remember feeling in awe of its enormity and happy in its presence.
The purpose of
Day#5 was not to gain much in altitude, but rather to keep our legs moving,
acclimatize slightly more, and then rest in preparation for our summit attempt.
We reached the camp slightly before lunchtime, which gave us time to set up our
tents, freshen up and relax a little before we ate. Following our meal, we were
encouraged to take a few hours to nap before dinner. Thankfully, Chelsea and I
both were able to sleep for about 3 hours before the announcement for supper.
Having eaten lunch not long before, many of us were not entirely hungry;
however, we knew we’d need the energy for what lay ahead of us, so we ate what
we could. Before retiring to our tents for a short 4 hours, we were briefed on
what to expect for our summit attempt. Filled with anticipation and nerves, we
all took in the information and then headed to our tents to hopefully find
sleep.
At 11:00pm, after a
restless sleep, we were awoken and reminded to get ready and be at the dining
tent by 11:30pm. With identical sighs, Chelsea and I sat up in our sleeping
bags and prepared for the night’s hike, which would begin at midnight. On my
feet I wore a pair of liners and a thick pair of wool socks, as well as toe
warmers. Next came my legs, which I dressed in winter running tights, yoga
pants, my fuzzy sweatpants, and a pair of Gortex rain pants. On top, I wore an
Under Armor thermal top, a winter thermal wicking top, a fleece hoodie, my down
puff, and lastly my Gortex rain jacket. Topping it all off with two layers of
gloves and a wool hat, hardly able to bend at the joints, I climbed out of the
tent, laced up my boots, grabbed my backpack and poles, flipped on my headlamp,
and headed to join the charged group gathering at the dining tent. It was now
or never.
I knew the summit
attempt would be miserable. I knew it would take all my resolve to continue to
put one foot in front of the other. I knew that it would not be easy and it
wasn’t a sure thing. However, I also knew that I didn’t come that far to not
give it everything I had. I knew that the misery would only be temporary and
that the pride would truly last forever. I knew that people at home believed in
me so I had to believe in me just as much. So, fueled by all of this, pole pole, I put one foot in front of
the other and joined the single file line of headlamps as it began the 1,200
meter ascent to the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro.
It took five and a
half hours to reach Stella Point, the first of the two summits. The official
peak was still about an hour away. Our group of 14 broke into three different
groups shortly after we began our ascent, due to the effects altitude had on us
all. One group of six took the lead, followed by Dee, Aitor, Consea, and me.
Chelsea, Faze, Beth, and Marcus finished off the group. The guides all split up
accompanying each of the three groups. My group was graced with the
encouragement and strength of Consea, who despite his own experiences with
altitude sickness remained astonishingly positive. Our other guide was a man
named Jackson. A little more than halfway up, surely fueled by exhaustion, I
stopped and removed my backpack. It’s weight was pinching something in my left
shoulder and causing my left arm to go numb. The tears poured out my eyes as I
gave in to the offer for Jackson to carry my bag the rest of the way. I hated
needing the help, but I assured myself it was worth it. The five of us
continued trudging along at what can only be described as a true snail’s pace.
Aitor and Consea were slightly nauseous, Dee was quickly growing completely
exhausted, and I was light headed and drained. I continued to tell myself,
“you’re only exhausted – you’re not sick, you’re not incapable – you’re only
exhausted. Keep going.” That mantra, paired with the random “Lori song” that
played on my iPod (God Gave Me You, We’ve
Got Tonight, Wind Beneath My Wings, A Friend to Me, Be Still, and You’re Never
Alone) got me to Stella Point. Later, The
Climb would push me the final steps – just when I needed it the most.
Reaching Stella Point,
I felt positive we’d make it to the summit and this realization refueled me.
Despite the biting wind and falling snow that met us as we crested the ridge, we
took a short break and received some words of motivation from Consea. With
utter exhaustion taunting us, we gathered our things and powered through. After
about 20 minutes, and no sign of the summit sign, doubt began creeping back in.
I leaned on my trekking poles and sighed heavily. I knew it wasn’t far at this
point, but each step seemed impossible. Knowing I had no choice, I began moving
again. Aitor, Dee and Consea followed not far behind. Jackson came out of
nowhere, grabbed my hand, and we began trudging through the snow faster than I
had at any other point over the past six hours. Suddenly, there it was, the
tall green sign – the actual summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro. I was there – I was
summiting. The anxiety, the exhaustion, the doubt all blew away with the snow
as I took the final steps. One minute later, Aitor, Dee, and Consea accompanied
me and embracing in hugs, high fives, and congratulations, we joined the
Kilimanjaro Club. I did more than smile in that moment – I beamed with pride.
The weather was
less than desirable and cut our time (and photo opportunities) at the summit.
Consea recalled the weather being as bad only one other time in all of his
summits. Although slightly disappointing that there would be no stunning
photographs captured at the top, even the weather couldn’t take away the thrill
of this moment. Exulting in our achievement but feeling the urge to descend as
quickly as possible, we left the summit and began the two hour journey back to
base camp. Right away, we were met with the third team as they came trudging
through the snow. I was overcome with joy knowing that they had all made it to
the top! This meant that 100% of our team summited Mt. Kilimanjaro on the
morning of June 9th.
What took us five
an a half days to ascend took us only one and a half to get down, a reality
that was wonderful being that it left us with only one more night in tents and
put us much closer to the first shower in seven days! Our loads were lighter on
the way down due to the deposit of all our worries and fears of failure at
19,314 feet. On that seventh day, as we reached the Machame gate and cracked
open a celebratory beer, our smiles were all you could see. At a post climb
lunch at the company’s main office, we were given certificates for our
accomplishments and a memory I will not soon forget: all the guides and porters
who supported us during the week joined us in the yard. We bought them all a
beer and they shared with us a traditional Kilimanjaro song and dance. I don’t
have words to describe how prefect an ending it was to the whole experience. My
cup runneth over.
Upon returning to
the lodge, several of us – coated in grime and grease – ran and jumped in the
pool. It was a nice treat to feel the slightest bit cleaner, and as we sat in
the water and enjoyed another celebratory beer, I couldn’t help but wonder how
I ever got so lucky. Despite the shower being cold, the remainder of the night
was perfect. We had an incredible dinner – with NO SOUP and relaxed by the
fire. Not unlike life on the mountain, as soon as 9:00pm rolled around, it was
time for bed, and OH MAN did that bed feel amazing!
WAIT – THERE’S
MORE!
Just when I thought
life could not get any more amazing, I woke up the next morning to begin the
second chapter of our two-week vacation in Tanzania. After reaching the highest
point on the continent of Africa and exerting every ounce of energy we had,
Aitor, Ander, Dee, Faze, Chelsea, Dharma, a friend of ours Greg, and me took
off for a four day safari adventure. Thanks to the organization of Consea, we
had our own private driver who took us, in a pale yellow Land Cruiser complete
with pop up top, to Lake Manyara, the Serengeti , and finally to the Ngorongoro
Crater. Along the way we travelled through what I can only describe as “true”
Africa. The cities of Moshi and Arusha were far from the suburbia of Fourways
(where I call home in JoBurg), and the people were from all classes and
backgrounds. We were able to see and talk to some Maasai people – their
beautiful red and purple wraps were among the many gorgeous colors that
splashed along the roads as we drove through Tanzania.
Although I will not
go into extended detail about this part of our Tanzanian Adventure, I will say
that at many points during the safari adventure, I felt the urge to pinch
myself. Again I asked myself, “how did I ever get so lucky?” We stayed in three
different lodges over the three nights we were away, and each one was unique.
The first we stayed at felt like a palace. Compared to our damp and cold tents,
this lodge made us feel like millionaires. The second place we stayed, inside
the Serengeti, was not what we expected; however it turned out to be quite the
incredible experience. It was a tented camp located directly in the bush of the
National Park. All that separated us from the wildlife (lions included) was
four canvas walls. Although not thrilled with the idea of tenting again, this
was nowhere close to our two-person tent on Kili. The bucket shower, the sounds
of wildlife, and the omelet station at breakfast made this stop one of my
favorites in the end. Our third lodge was located in the Ngorongoro
Conservation area. The accommodations were not wonderful, but the experience
was unique. As we gathered our keys and headed to our rooms, a large bull
elephant stood in the yard eating grass. From our bedrooms, we could step out
onto the back porch and see all types of wildlife, including water buck, Cape
buffalo, and elephants. Pinch
 |
| Maasai village |
 |
| The Great Migration in the Serengeti |
After two weeks, I
was ready to get back to Johannesburg and pack up for my return to New Hampshire.
Tanzania was a beautiful country, with a real African feel (unlike
Johannesburg, which can feel very Western to me), and it gave me some memories
I will never forget. It is hard to comprehend how incredibly blessed I am to
have been given all the opportunities I was in such a short period of time. The
icing on the cake was that as soon as I returned to Johannesburg, only 24 hours
separated me and HOME, where I will be given another six weeks to relax and
remind myself that Life truly is Good.
