Day Seven: The Final Descent

Okay, I'm two weeks away from taking off for a return visit to Asia and this blog is still stuck on top of Africa.   Time to get a move on.  In reality we could not get out of the Horombo Huts campsite fast enough.  There was no breakfast tea on our final morning, and I believe everyone had pretty much ditched personal hygiene by day three, so we rolled up the sleeping bags, packed the back packs one last time and convened in the dining tent for one last sentimental meal together.  Alright, it wasn't really all that sentimental.  We were ready to get off the mountain fast.  Our need for speed did not, however, prevent us from having one last ridiculous meal time conversation about poop schedules, diamox tingles and residual altitude-induced headaches.  But, the crown jewel of the morning belonged to Howard.  This man who began the week as our "proper" germophobe (refusing to touch the zipper of the shared toilet tent) threw caution to the wind and stripped down to his whitey tighties just outside the dining tent.  We all expressed appropriate shock and dismay at this risque behavior, and then we headed out for our final 20 km downhill sprint to the finish - Marangu Gate.

Howard's End

Chris, Howard and Kelly hit the trail.

Lisa and John strike a pose.

And a near sprint it was.  I enjoyed the company of Lisa and Jeff for most of the day and was rewarded with entertaining stories of marathon disasters, relationships gone awry, and travel fiascos.  At some point along the way, Jeff's pretty pink camera ran out of battery power, so he began videoing (and narrating) everything along the path...mongoose poo, safari ants, slugs, moss, vines.  Things that have never moved and will never move were recorded for posterity.  Jeff was desperate to find the blue monkeys which were supposed to live along the trail, but I refused to let him ask Guide John where to look.  I feared that our pace would suffer a serious setback if we had to patiently endure John's answer..."They may be high.  Or they may be low.  If they are not high or low, they may be in the middle." Painful.

A long week without a razor for Lisa

Thank goodness we did eventually find the monkeys on our own, and Jeff had something video-worthy to record.  After a brisk five hours, we crossed the finish line at the Marangu Gate and paused for a few photos before checking out the amenities (which included a very exciting bathroom with flush toilets).  Once everyone had emerged from the trail, Guide John collected out "finisher certificates" from the park office, and the rain began.  We sprinted to the bus in a downpour - the first rain we had hiked in all week (thank goodness we had packed our rain gears).

Jeff hunts for elusive monkeys.

Success!

Mission Accomplished

The stench of the nine of us and the more than twenty porters and guides that filled the bus was hideous.  The rain poured down and the windows stayed up as we wallowed in our own grime as the bus rolled down the mountain.

Kilimanjaro was gorgeous - covered in snow from the halfway point up.  It had snowed overnight.  John explained that the snow meant that it was warmer at the summit today.  Ah well.

We rolled into a town and stopped for our last meal together at Chris Burger - the "famous" burger joint that was, yep, out of burgers.  We enjoyed everything but burgers under the "condoms for sale" sign on the wall, and Guide John handed out our finisher certificates to the background drone of pomp and circumstance being hummed by slap-happy hikers.  It was actually kind of sad.

Next stop was the lodge near Kilimanjaro International Airport where we were to deposit Jeff and Howard and say our goodbyes to Gail who was waiting there.  Along the way we were hailed by a man with a suitcase at a dusty intersection in the road. The bus door was opened.  The suitcase got tossed in.  Jeff shook his head - not bothering to question how his luggage had ended up at this dusty corner in the desert and reflecting on that fact that this meant Gayle had spent two days at the hotel without clothes.  Sometimes it doesn't pay to ask questions - just go with the flow.  Hakuna Matata.

When we arrived at the hotel, we discovered that Gayle and all of her wet laundry had just endured a sandstorm.  A scantily clad Gayle surfaced for a final, emotional group photo, and we hugged our beloved Ohio contingent goodbye.

Good Bye Ohio Friends

Hot showers and slow food were on the menu at the Outpost Lodge when we finally arrived back in Arusha at 7:30 p.m.  We said late night good byes to Lisa, Eva and Sue as we were all headed off for different adventures in the morning.  It was a wistful end to a wonderful week of challenges and dreams come true.

Day Six: Summit Day

Frozen and "off-kilter" - the theme of Day Six

Does it really count as Day Six, when it begins on Day Five?  That was just one of the many questions I would have the opportunity to ponder over the next eight mind-numbing hours of hiking as we made our way to the summit of Kilimanjaro.

As I look back now (three months later) at my journal from the day, the details are a bit lacking.  To be more accurate, my first journal entry after that ridiculously hellish day of hiking reads, "Check that off the #$*& bucket list - never to be repeated."

Packing by lamp light

To be a bit more descriptive, however, this is what I remember.  Our goal was to set out for the summit at 11:00 p.m. (on Day Five).  We dressed, packed up and got out of our tents at 10:30 p.m.. I was sporting seven layers on my upper body and five on the lower half, but I was still chilled to the bone.  Our world was dark, cold and coated with a fresh layer of snow.  I was ready to just get this summit thing over with.  We filled our packs with water and "snack bags" that TK provided as well as our own energy bars (that would end up hopelessly frozen along with all of the drinking water).  We figured out how to properly adjust the gaiters which would save us from rocky scree in our boots later in the day.  We clipped on the brain-squeezing head lamps that would light the path for us for the next seven hours.  We clapped together frozen mittens and danced on frozen toes in anticipation of the adventure, and, finally, we headed out and up.  Up.  Up.  Up.

A quick snack before heading up to the summit

It was pitch black (someone neglected to plan this for the full moon).  It was freezing.  The trail was at a ridiculously steep pitch. The air was thin.  We trudged at a snail's pace in a single file line through the dark.  There was nothing to see except the gaiters on the legs in front of you.  Jeff's sported a reflective #11, which I recall staring at for hours on end.  Our pace took on an odd, step, rest, breathe, cadence.  Infrequently we pulled over for water (before it froze) or a frozen snack.  However, stopping the trudge also meant freezing.  Conversation was limited.  Everyone was pretty intent on breathing and focused on making it to the summit.  My pack felt ridiculously heavy for the limited amount of anything I was actually carrying.  I was bored out of my mind and focused on willing away any hint of a headache or nausea.  My mind wandered back to the books I had read prior to this trip - the stories of summit day - none of them pretty. 

A first glimpse of the sun as we hit Gilman's Point

Somehow, around 6:00 a.m., we managed to peek up over the crater on Kibo...Gilman's Point. This was really the first goal. Gilman's feels like the summit because you finally come up over the rim of the volcano, and you can see all the way around. This was our first celebration and break point.  I leaned over to get my camera for a few pictures, and the nausea hit like a truck.  I ran for the crater and christened Kilimanjaro with regurgitated chocolate Power Bars. Freshly cleansed, I joined the group for a hot cup of ginger tea and some photos with the Gilman's Point sign.  We were all anxious to get on with the "official" summit bid which was still a ninety minute trudge around the crater to Uhuru Peak - our final destination, the highest point in Africa.

Post-puke ginger tea at Gilman's Point

At this point, the hike became a ridiculous stumble in pursuit of a gargantuan green sign in the distance.  The wind was ferocious.  The cold was bitter.  To take off a mitten for more than a few seconds would turn fingers into Popsicles.  We were surrounded by the famed glaciers of Kilimanjaro, a gorgeous sun rise, and unbelievable views of the crater.  I took no pictures with my Popsicle fingers and focused all of my energy on getting to that sign. We were surrounded by similarly stunned and stumbling hikers - summiting from the various trails that converge at the top.

As the sun rose, we waddled closer to the summit...

             

         

       

The glaciers

When, at last, our group trudged up the final incline to Uhuru Peak, we waited patiently (at first) for a large group in front of us to snap their summit photos.  When they seemed to be taking far too long to get out of the way (at least to our oxygen deprived frozen bodies), we converged on them and shuffled in front of the sign for our own photo opportunities.  Once again, with hands too frozen to take a photo, I passed off my camera to a guide and hoped to end up with some small record of this experience.  At this point I just wanted to cry. I'm still not sure if it was from sheer happiness at having finally achieved this goal or from sheer misery at the reality of the situation - frozen and feeling like crap.  Either way, we took our turn in front of the magical sign and got a hodge-podge of shots of our group in various combinations.

Uhuru Peak. Apparently I missed the dress code memo.

Thanks for the group photo Howard!  This one is just for you.

I would like to say we then ran down the mountain and reveled in the joy of our achievement.  Unfortunately that wind was still blowing; the air was still thin; we were still walking on ice and snow; we were still frozen.  The hour or so it took to get back around the crater to Gilman's point was really not much different than the 90 minutes it had taken to get to Uhuru Peak.  The going was still pretty slow, but there was the small glimmer of joy knowing that the summit was behind us, and soon we would be truly heading down. We regrouped at Gilman's point and enjoyed a celebratory toast with frozen Red Bull (absolutely disgusting - like frozen carbonated cough syrup) and a can of Pringles before adjusting our hiking poles in preparation for the real descent that lay ahead. Just ten short hours after we had begun this nightmarish quest, we were finally headed down.

The initial descent was pretty dicey.  We picked our way over ice-covered boulders, and I shuddered to see the long drops that were waiting just over the edge of the trail.  Climbing all night in the dark had been a good thing.  My headlamp had never strayed from the path in front of me.  It had been best not to see what lay over the edge.  Now, however, with the sun shining brightly on our descent, it was crystal clear that a small stumble would have lead to a very long tumble over the edge.  I kept my poles firmly planted and my feet as far from the edge of the trail as possible. 

Eventually the large boulders, turned to small rocks and then to rocky scree.  The frozen scree, which we had hiked over for the first four hours the night before, had now been warmed by the sun and was a deep bed of loose rocks and pebbles.  This is where the real fun began and the gaiters  and hiking poles came in handy.  The brave (and mildly crazy) members of our group took off "screeing" down the mountain - sliding, jumping and running through the deep sand, dust and stones.  No one had moved that fast in at least five days. It was exhilarating, and you could hear whoops of joy as hikers slid and rolled their way back to thicker air.

At last Kibo Huts (our lunch destination) appeared in the distance, and it was just a matter of slip sliding our way down there.  It had been over twelve hours since we had started our ascent.  We had hiked through the night, watched the sunrise from the summit, and now were, at last, ready to take a true break.  The atmosphere at Kibo Huts was like a party.  Victorious groups of hikers converged on the spot for lunch breaks and celebrations.  For me, sunshine, warmth and exhaustion took over.  My porter, Emmanuel, pointed to my backpack (which he had graciously transported from the previous night's campsite), and I promptly laid down on it and took a quick nap.  Kelly brought me a Coke - probably the best one I have ever had, and we had a quick lunch in our dining tent (still not feeling all that hungry).

Heading for Horombo Huts on the desert highway

There would be no time for relaxing at lunch, however, for there was more hiking ahead.  Horombo Huts (at 3700 m) were still four hours away, and that was our destination for the night.  Fortunately the cruise from Kibo huts to Horombo Huts was like hiking on a dusty, desert highway.  The path was wide and gradually descending.  The sun shone brightly.  We were tired, and the path seemed endless, but at least the summit was behind us, and every step took us closer to the end.

 

Victorious Smurfette...Kili Conquerer

Hundreds of dirty but happy hikers spent the night at Horombo.  I crashed on my dusty sleeping pad before dinner and enjoyed a long nap.  The dirt blew in and out of my tent.  I had never needed a shower more in my life, and I had never cared less. Kilimanjaro was behind me.  Check.


 

Sun setting on Kilimanjaro from Horombo...hard to believe we went up and down that peak in one day and are now
camping among wildflowers.

Horombo View - still above the clouds, but oh so much lower!

An Ode to Medium Fat Spread

From the heat of Arusha

to Kilimanjaro ice,

Medium Fat Spread kept us company.

Wasn't that nice?

A tub full of joy

in the form of veggie fat,

you couldn't ask for better hiking food than that!

Oily when hot,

and solid when cold.

fat spread was a savior

when the bread tasted like mold.

A constant companion

at breakfast, lunch and dinner,

that blue and yellow tub

was surely a winner.

Artery clogging qualities aside,

Medium Fat Spread really had nothing to hide.

No fake names that hint at "butter,"

no false advertising, and no misleading clutter.

The tub tells it like it is...

It's a spread of fat.

Take it or leave it.

Simple as that.

Day Five: Buffalo Detour

Ready to hit the trail on Day Five

Nothing breaks up a grueling uphill climb like the good old-fashioned stench of a rotting buffalo carcass.  Yes, that was the highlight of the daytime hiking hours of day five.  Our goal for the day was School Hut at 4700 meters.  The climb was steep, and we covered the 800 meters in elevation gain in just over four hours.  Our group split into two for this snail paced hike through rocky scree.  Whenever I started feeling sorry for myself, I reminded myself that porters were passing me every five minutes carrying five gallon buckets of water on their heads because there was no water at our next camp.  I decided it was pathetic to whine too much about the weight of my camelback and camera (and, of course, my “rain gears” that were always packed to be safe).

One of the more immature members of our hiking party explored the nether regions of the dead buffalo.

The sun shone down on our merry little group as we shuffled our way uphill.  Our guides, Guido and Jakob, decided that we were worthy of a small diversion, so we branched off the main trail onto a side trail.  We hiked for a few minutes in search of the “buffalo” that the guides promised we would find along this trail.  They neglected to mention that the buffalo had been dead for two weeks, but the stench announced the truth before we arrived.  We found an enormous, decomposing buffalo wedged into the rocks beside the trail.  Someone decided this was a good spot for a snack stop, so we pulled over.  We held our noses, took sickening pictures of the beast, snacked and rehydrated while flies crawled in and out of its eye-sockets.  Disgusting.

Home on the range (or under a rock)

Post carcass, the path got very steep.  Guido tried to cheer us up by distracting us from the task at hand.  He began the game of “Name a City” (the first person in line names a city, the second then must name a city beginning with the last letter of the previous city, etc.)  There was some grumbling at the back of line from someone who was still bitter about a piece of soap, however everyone rallied for a few rounds of wind-sucking city naming.  Before we knew it, the worst was over.  Well, not really.  The worst was when the pipe of the outhouse at the next camp came into view, and it still took another hour to get there. 

Where or where to go pee?

School Hut was the most inhospitable camp we encountered along the way.  It was strewn with enormous boulders, and the tents were precariously perched on small ledges.  A visit to the toilet tent required serious boulder hopping which would prove extra challenging in the snow and darkness a few hours later.

My tent snuggled up to a rock - soooo cozy.

Sue and Gayle were feeling a little woozy at this point, but we were all still optimistic (and nervous) about the adventure ahead.  After lunch, John gave us a pre-summit pep talk with all of our instructions for the afternoon and evening.  We were to prepare our bags and clothes – wearing all of our layers of clothing, mittens, hats, balaclavas, headlamps, and carrying snacks and as much water as we could manage.  We would have an early dinner, and then we were to try to get some sleep before our 10:30 p.m. wakeup call.  I was nervous and trying to ignore a dull headache that had set in. 

Shortly after dinner, the snow began.  I would try to sleep, and then I would wake to a thuderous  raucous as the TK staff made the rounds beating the snow off our tents.  Around 8:00 p.m. we heard Jeff come into the dining tent area in search of Guide John.  Gayle needed to go down.  Her unrelenting headache was a danger sign, and they decided to get her down fast.  So, while we tried to rest between the intermittent snow beatings, Gayle packed up and headed down the mountain in the dark with Guide Guido.  It felt like a little piece of our collective heart headed down with Gayle.  We knew she’d be okay, but she was meant to be with us.  Who was going to keep our group sweet?  Jeff was going to have to pull the collective weight of the “Rose Garden Tent” (so christened for the sweet altitude-induced smells being discussed by the tent’s occupants one night who had apparently underestimated the ease of sound travel through nylon in a tenting cul-de-sac).  It would be tricky, but Gayle would stay with us in spirit throughout our summit climb.

Day Four: Flippin’ the Bird the Bird

This is getting ridiculous. It has been two months since we summited Kili, and I have Facebook friends logging on to wish me a good trip.  It is time to finish this blog. 

Smurfette looking chipper as we head out on Day Four

Day four on the mountain amounted to a well-earned downhill jog across a barren landscape to our next tent site, Third Cave.  On day three we slept at 4300 meters.  On day four we crawled in for the night at 3900 meters.  The sun shone on us for most of the day, and it felt blissfully warm.  I found myself slightly annoyed that we seemed to be hiking in the opposite direction of our destination and going downhill when there was so much climbing yet to be done.  Alas I rationalized that we had put our fate in the hands of Team Kilimanjaro. They had done this hike a few times before, and I decided it was best to just chill out and trust their method.  Seriously?  What else was I going to do?  Forge on up the mountain on my own?  Not a chance.  Who would I have for entertainment at every turn if it were not for this nutty bunch of hikers surrounding me?

Smurf assesses the surrounding peeing pebbles

Instead, I relished the long walk accompanied by Howard’s raven friend – the one that had him flippin’ the bird the bird all afternoon (as he was still a tad bitter about the soap eating incident).  I enjoyed the opportunity to relax in the sun before lunch as our porters set up tents and the cook whipped up some ground beef crepes.  The quote of the day on this spectacular afternoon came from Jeff who had concluded that, “even a camel will pee on Diamox.”  This particular situation was becoming more and more challenging as the trees had just disappeared from the landscape and the boulders seemed to be fewer and farther between.  Random pebbles were deemed worthy pee spots from this point on. 

A rocky campsite at Third Cave

You guessed it!  Third Cave

What lay ahead was a day of hiking, an afternoon of resting and, then, a midnight summit push which would end sixteen hours later. Much of the peeing to be done on the final push would take place in the cover of darkness.  We only had another day to endure the overly public Diamox-enhanced relief routine of our fellow hikers. 

Chris and Howard contemplate life with two
toilet options in the background.

Feeling giddy, nervous and ready to get this over with, I slept well on my gravelly tent site – banishing the pre-race jitters for another day.