Kilimanjaro

When it is visible, Kilimanjaro makes as impressive sight rising 4800m from the African plains to a height of 5895m (or 5892m, depending on who's survey you believe). As such it is the fourth highest of the big seven (the highest mountain on each continent), and the largest free-standing mountain in the world. The mountain is actually three volcanos. The oldest, Shira, finished erupting half-a-million years ago (again sources vary) and collapsed to form a massive caldera. Shortly after (geologically speaking) two further volcanos, Mawenzi and Kibo formed in Shira's caldera. While Mawenzi, at 5149m, is a technical climb, the summit of taller Kibo can be reached by simply putting one foot in front of the other. So following in the footsteps of my hero Douglas Adams, who reached the summit in a large rhino suit, I set off to conquer the mountain.

Day 1: The Machame Gate. Nothing happens very fast in these parts – after arriving at the gate the small army of porters (9 for our group of three, plus 5 others) sort out equipment before their loads are weighed (there are strict limits to avoid abuse). The whole process takes hours, so the 30 or so western tourists mill around in their expensive, newly bought hiking gear. I'd brought along my large backpack, expecting one of the porters to use it as a backpack. Instead, it was loaded into another larger, and all together less comfortable looking bag (along with some chairs) for transportation up the mountain. We finally set off just before noon, up through the cloud forest covering the lower slopes. As my companions, Leon and Thushara, set a rather slow pace, I walked ahead with the cook, Robert. The first day is a gentle 8.2km as you ascend from 1840m to the Machame camp at 3022m, and we were finished by 3:30. After a few hours sitting around the campsite, the clouds parted to reveal our target, the peak of Kibo.

Day 2: This was a short (5km) but steep hike which actually lets you see that you are on a mountain. The trees fade out fast, leaving a rocky moorland not dissimilar to Scotland. I decided to push it, and reached Shira camp, at 3800m, in two-and-half hours, ready for a nice afternoon nap. The campsite is barren and windswept, but occasionally, when the clouds part, you get a good view up to the crater of Kibo. Apart from coming down with a cold, which is not great half way up a mountain, I wasn't feeling any effects from the altitude (acute mountain sickness (AMS), or altitude sickness, is the main reason people fail to reach the summit, and thus the reason why a longer trek is better).
















Day 3: Very quickly after leaving camp, you find yourself in a large boulder field (both the boulders and the field are large), where only the hardiest plants cling to life, and the crater looms massively before you. This was one of a few acclimatisation days, where we hiked to Lava Tower at 4530m before descending to Barranco camp at 3900m. My sprightliness of the previous days had deserted me, and when we reached Lava Tower my legs felt like jelly. The tower itself requires a bit of climbing to reach the top. My guide, Jonas, thought it best if he sat at the bottom as I clambered up. I made hard work of the easy climb due to neither my muscles or brain working at full capacity. Once on top the view is rather good, if only the clouds would play ball and give a full panoramic. Once down, I somehow persuaded my legs to carry me the rest of the way to the camp site. The Barrranco camp, lying in a valley, is the prettiest on the route – although the low clouds never seem to lift, at night you can see the lights of Mosi far below, and in the morning, without its veil, the glacier covered peak looks quite majestic.

Day 4: This starts with a short walk (5.1km) out of the valley by going up the steep Wall of Barroanco. The tight nature of the cliff path means you have to stay behind the porters, carefully balancing their loads on their heads. The top of the cliff gives you yet another great view of Kibo, the summit of which still seems a long way away. From here you drop into a valley, up another ridge, then down in the Karanga valley before climbing to the camp above the valley. The sloping ground of the camp site, can give a really sense of vertigo, as the ground disappears into the clouds below it.
















Day 5/6: The day starts with the very short hike to Barafu camp at 4600m. Once there, the hardest job for our tent man, Kennedy, was to find places to wedge the tents on the rocky side of the mountain. Where we ended up, gives quite stunning views across the Shira caldera to Mawenzi. The idea was to rest up before the night time assault on the summit. I agreed with the guide, Oforo, to leave at midnight, which in hindsight was far too early. Being Welsh, I had decided not to spend several hundred pounds on space-age thermals and Gore-Tex this and that. So, Arctic sleeping-bag aside, I thought I'd largely make do with what I had. Two hours in and Oforo announced that we were half way there, and thus would have to stop for a while. Even though my newly bought gloves boldly stated -15°C, I could no longer feel my fingers. Feeling had also gone from my toes and face, and the wind was cutting straight though all the (clearly inadequate) layers, making me by far the coldest I'd ever been in my life. In fact I came close to crying and had become slightly delirious - at 3am the new moon rose, and I tried to convince myself that the sun would not be far behind. By 4:30 we'd reached Stella Point (at 5795m, just 100m below the summit, this is considered a runner up point) a full 90 minutes early. The wind chill was incredible, but I had to spend the next half-hour running on the spot to stay warm and keep my mind of the cold – still no sign of the bloody sun. At quarter-to-six we reached the summit of Kilimanjaro, and unsurprising Oforo and myself were the first there. By 6:10 the eastern sky was lighting up, and fifteen minutes later the sun finally popped up. I would have liked to stay longer to take photos of the glaciers, but Oforo was keen to get down the mountain to help guide Leon and Thushara up. Having met up below Stella Point, I ran/slid/skidded down the scree slope with one of the porters all the way back to camp, arriving just after eight. Although I'd have liked to have slept, altitude sickness was finally kicking up, and my head was pounding. The final night's camp was down at 3100m, so I thought I'd stroll down to it to relieve the headache. What I got was a knee jarring three hours, dropping from the alpine desert, though moorland to the camp in the upper part of the cloud forest.
















Meanwhile, Thushara had twisted her knee shortly after we passed, and was first carried down to Barafu camp, before being placed in the stretcher cum wheelbarrow that are used for medical evacuation off the mountain – if one had a more serious injury, such as a broken leg, the experience could be excruciating.

Day 7: The final day begins with the traditional handing over of tips. With 14 staff between the three of us, each individual's tip was never going to look stellar. The strict hierarchy, which goes guide, assistant guide, cook, assistant guide/waiter, tent man, and finally the nine porters, means the individual amounts to the porters look stingy, and there was plenty of discussion among them, even though the amounts we gave were adequate if not generous. The final hike is another 3 hours through the cloud forest, this time with the path very slippery due to the humidity. Thushara was again in the medical wheelbarrow, guided by four porters who thought that as it was going to be uncomfortable anyway, you might as well get it over as quick as possible.
















I spent a relaxed night in Arusha, before boarding the bus for the dusty, bumpy, seven hour journey back to Nairobi along one of the worst roads in East Africa.