"Africa: Summit "
Alan woke us at about 11:30 PM. It was time to summit.
Actually, Alan didn't wake me. I never got to sleep. It was cold, it was windy, and I was at 16,000 feet about to scramble up an icy scree slope in the middle of the night.
Not the best conditions for a nap.
We bundled up and prepared to leave. I wore my Black Diamond climbing tights under a pair of nylon wind pants with heavy wool socks and my Asolo boots. Up top I wore my purple mid-weight Polartech Powerstretch shirt under my Windstopper fleece jacket and North Face Mountain Light shell and a big, beefy pair of mountaineering mittens. I had a balaclava pulled over my face, a wool cap over that, and my hood over everything.
Other than my already numb toes (I should have listened to Ernie and brought some liners) I was warm. I was ready.
We walked very slowly. The altitude was really taking a toll, and the climb was steep.
The guidebook mentions that this is the most difficult of the "non-technical" routes up Kili. The book isn't lying. The Arrow Glacier was one of the most dangerous undertakings of my life. Make no mistake, it's serious. The risk is real.
The route leaves Arrow Camp and follows 800 meters of scree and ice slope toward the Great Western Notch. The route is best sent at night as the colder temperatures keep the loose scree and ice frozen and improves the footing.
Let me paint the picture as accurately as I can:
Two days from civilization in East Africa, Lord knows how many miles from home, 16,000 feet up a mountain, scrambling on loose rock and ice, on slopes of more than 30 degrees, in the middle of a moonless night, in windy, sub freezing temperatures, with an inexperienced partner, a guide who spoke little English and wearing old basketball shoes, only one fully functional headlamp, no crampons, no ice axe for self arrest, no rope for rescue, and no chance for descent.
I actually did fairly well on the ascent. I wasn't cold other than my face and toes (I had to keep the balaclava off my mouth and nose as it restricted the flow of oxygen too much), and I wasn't experiencing any symptoms of altitude sickness - yet.
But I was on edge. The danger of the situation made me really, REALLY self-aware. Meckmillan took the lead, and I walked behind Meredith. Meckmillan wore Meredith's broken headlamp, held together with tape from the first aid kit, and I wore mine. Meckmillan's cheap-ass, third world torch had broken on the hike up, and as a result we were seriously short on light sources.
My footing was reasonably good on the loose stuff, but not so good on the ice. I really had to kick hard to create good footholds.
Meredith occasionally kicked some loose rock free sending down toward me, and occasionally would lose a foot here and there. I kept my trekking pole planted beneath her feet when I could. Lots of times on the ascent I was on all fours for as much purchase as I could muster. Several traverses on the ice slopes left me breathless - and not from the altitude. I was feeling the very same level of awareness I experience during a free solo rock climb.
And the risks were just as real. Several times near the top we had to pull off the gloves for fourth class scrambles up and over boulders. On the glacier, a slip would be difficult if not impossible to arrest, and the tumble down the ice and scree would take you all the way to the bottom, hundreds of feet below.
I only lost my footing once. Meckmillan caught me as I slipped on a traverse across a finger of snow and ice. I would have traded a testicle for an ice ax at that point in the climb. We were about halfway up at the time. A fall would have been bad. Very, very bad.
After four hours of picking my way up the slope, I started to experience my first symptoms of AMS. Worst of all, the symptoms arrived as a loss of coordination and balance rather than my more typical headache and nausea. Twice I became so dizzy I had to stop, once collapsing onto a boulder and smacking the back of my head soundly against a rock.
Meredith started to worry. And I started to wonder if I would reach the summit. I knew I would reach the Great Western Notch. I didn't have much choice as I couldn't retreat the way I came. So I started to focus on my feet. One step at a time. If I took things one step at a time I would eventually find myself at the top. I took a long drink of tea and began the climb, just thinking over and over, one step at a time.
I don't know what was in that tea, but the combination of it, a Diamox tablet, three Advil, and a few swigs of Cytomax resulted in enough coordination to finish the route without additional trouble.
Daybreak arrived as we were nearing the Great Western Notch. We had been hiking for more than six hours. I had never been so happy to finish a hike. I was exhausted. But I was newly energized. Energized by the sight of level ground, the massive white glaciers, the warming sun, and the realization that the worst was over.
Reaching the Notch, I knew I could make the summit.
Near the top, Meredith began to experience the same fatigue and lack of coordination that had handicapped my climb earlier. As I had before, she began to doubt her ability to finish.
I was not about to let her give in - not after what we just went through. We sat down for a rest, and I filled her head with a pep talk and her stomach with the same concoction of mystery tea, Advil, Diamox and Cytomax that revived me. 10 minutes later we were trekking up the trail to Uhuru and the summit of Kilimanjaro.
The summit rim was beautiful. The glaciers at the top were massive, the ice was so white that I could hardly look directly at them.
As we neared the summit, I was overcome by a feeling of accomplishment and pride unlike I had ever felt before. Tears rolled down my face, and if not for the altitude, I would have broke into a run for the summit. Breaking into anything other than a smile at more than 19,000 feet is bound to leave you on your knees and wheezing.
So I admit it, upon reaching the summit, I cried like a baby. And I laughed like a kid on Christmas morning. I'd climbed one of the seven summits and was standing on top of Africa. It was the fulfillment of a dream, a triumph over personal adversity, private victory, the proudest single moment of my life.
And I felt absolutely @#%$-ing invincible. (Note to E-dog and Chesty: I understand you both a little better now).
Closing thoughts on Kili:
As tough as it was to reach the top, it was the descent that hurt. After hiking all through the night with no sleep and sore legs, we got to walk another 14 kilometers downhill via the dusty Mweka trail before collapsing into the Mweka hut. I could hardly eat dinner and was asleep by eight. Despite my irritable shoulders, I didn't wake that night. And my legs hurt for three days after finishing the hike. Standing? Optional. Walking? Barely. Morning runs through Arusha? Not even if I was being chased.
The last hike to the gate after our night at the Mweka hut required one more quad-burning, blister-producing descent. Only this time the route dropped through the rain forest, and the trail was slick with deep, brown mud and steep enough to ensure that all hikers will land on their ass. And face. Multiple times. Meredith met the mud about five times. She looked like a victim of some tragic explosion at a Palm Springs health spa by the time we reached the gate.
I made it nearly the entire way before finally landing in the mud. Sure I had slipped a few times before, but managed to keep my footing.
It was right about the time I made some comment about my "cat like reflexes" that I landed on my ass. Figures.
