Summiting Mt. Kilimanjaro – Trekking to the Top

This is the second of a four part series on Team Tanzania Development Support’s 2016 trek to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro and its delivery of charitable donations to the Village of Nyegina in Tanzania’s Mara region. For other parts of this series, please use the term “Kilimanjaro” in this site’s search function.

Lemosho Glades to Big Tree Camp, 2,785m/9,137ft, 4.8km/3mi

Tricia and I are tasked with converting USD to Tanzania Shillings so that we will have enough money for tips for the porters and guides at the end of the upcoming week. We find a change bureau around the corner. Our $2,000 converts to 4,400,000 TSH. Our pockets bulge with the notes. We succeed in walking inconspicuously back to the hotel and are not noticed.

The van is loaded with our gear and hiking mates. We squeeze in around and among the mounds of bags and gear. There is nervous excitement among us. We are only hours away from the beginning of our hike to the 19,341 foot summit of Tanzania's Mount Kilimanjaro. It will be a challenge like no other I've attempted.  Our trek will follow the Lemosho Route and take a grueling 5 1/2 days to get to the top, then a speedy 1 1/2 days to get to the bottom.

A short trip brings us to Trek2Kili's (our outfitters) main office and compound. Dozens of porters are there waiting for us. They quickly unload the van and place our bags into larger, waterproof sacks, the ones they will be carrying. These sacks are weighed and then loaded with other miscellaneous communal gear (chairs, stoves, cook tents, toilets, pots, pans, and, most importantly, food, lots of it). We were limited to 33 pounds of gear for each person. I don't know how much additional weight was added. All of this madness is then roped to the top of our vans. We feel like we're in Victorian times and are part of a major British exploration expedition.

We travel 3 hours to the Park's Londorossi gate. We register while the porters unload the vans. Everything has to be weighed again. There are regulations that limit the amount of weight each porter is allowed to carry. The Park service wants to make sure those regulations are adhered to. Of course, the whole catastrophe has to then be reloaded and tied down to the top of the vans once again.

Another hour on back, rural, dusty roads and we reach the trailhead. Leslie shows the Nyegina students who are journeying with us how to use bug spray and suntan lotion, something with which they have no familiarity.  Father Kazeri watches in humor. He tells Leslie there is no need for suntan lotion since they, like him, already have built-in sunscreen.

We load the packs on our backs before Father Kazeri gives our group a blessing for a safe journey. We wave him and Tricia goodbye as we take off up the trail. They are staying behind to serve as our ground crew while attending to TDS business in town.

The temperatures are decent at this 8,000 to 9,000 foot elevation. We only sweat a little after traversing the various ups and downs. Colubus monkeys watch us from the adjacent trees. We're grateful for this short first day for we are in camp in 2-1/2 hours, a good shakedown hike to start this expedition.

The porters have raced ahead. We find our tents, toilets, and food shelter already set up, waiting for our arrival. My tent mate is Ben, a 27 year old that I know from when he was an intern with the local economic development agency I was a board member of back home during my working days. With our gear, the tents are crowded and cramped.

Dinner will come later. For now, we gather in the dining tent for conversation, tea, coffee, hot chocolate, cookies, and popcorn. Team TDS consists of twelve climbers: Caroline, Kathy, and Madonna, all from Wyoming, Leslie from Albuquerque and her sister Natalie from Portland,  Dr. Kurt, Ben, and me from Illinois, Dr. Kurt's brother Matt from California, Boniface, the schoolmaster from Nyegina, and Nicodemus and Christina, students from Nyegina.

Big Tree Camp to Shira Camp 2, 3895m/12,779ft, 15km/9.3mi

I slept poorly. I'm having intestinal problems and visited the forest several times during the night.

The porters and guides sing and dance for us soon after we finish breakfast. They provide inspiration for the long day ahead. There are 39 porters, 6 guides, and 2 cooks, all of them for just the 12 of us (3 or so porters per hiker, one guide for every two hikers, etc).

We leave at 8:00a.m. and hike through the last remnants of the forest. We soon break out into the moorland and the views open up. Kili though is hidden in the clouds.

My intestinal issues continue. I fight through it as best I can. I find if I keep moving, things seem to settle. But when we stop for a break, it's all I can do to keep from having a problem. One ill-timed sneeze, and there will be a messy problem to deal with.

By noon, we are into the alpine tundra. Low hanging clouds that were in the distance before are starting to roll in. At first it spits a little rain, and then it pours. We're caught scrambling for our rain gear.

We arrive in camp tired, wet, and cold. Most, if not all, are cashed. We all plan on retiring early. But first, we must go through a medical check and a briefing on tomorrow's route. Our guides measure our pulse and blood oxygen levels. Our pulses are going up, blood oxygen levels going down. None of us are sure what levels are considered too high/low for them to hold one of us back from climbing further.

Shira Camp 2 to Barranco Camp, 3986m/13,077ft, 10.1km/6.3mi

It was a cold, clear night overnight, the full moon illuminated Kili and our desolate surroundings. It is an alien landscape. Save for our tents and gear, one could easily mistake being on another planet.

One of our guides, Amadeus, leads the porters in song and dance again. It is quite entertaining. We learn they do this ritual for us as much as for themselves, for it gives a level of esprit de corps amongst all of us, inspiration to push us up the mountain.

We climb above 13,555 feet, my previous personal record for a height achieved under my own power. Our goal is to climb up to the Lava Tower at 15,200 feet and then descend back down to 13,000 feet to our next camp. We're following the mountaineering maxim, climb high, sleep low, to best try to acclimatize ourselves.

We pass a marker affixed to a rock. It is here that an Irishmen was killed by lightening a couple of years ago. While there are clouds overhead, none look like they will threaten a repeat.

We continue our climb. I'm past my tummy problems and now feel remarkably ok. Others appear to feel the same. The fog rolls in and it starts to spit rain. On again, off again with the rain gear for it stops just as soon as it starts.

We slowly plod to the base of the Lava Tower, over 15,000 feet above sea level. The fog is real thick now and it starts sleeting, enough to accumulate in the ground's various shallow depressions and cracks in the rocks. We try to find an overhang to sit under while we eat lunch. Strange looking birds patiently line up on nearby rocks, barely visible in the murk, waiting for us to drop scraps of our food. It is nearly impossible to stay dry. We could just keep moving. But we need to eat for energy and warmth. I don't know if it ever comes, since we are all shivering.

Lunch is brief. We soon scramble to our feet and head down to our camp, 2-1/2 more hours away. Visibility is down to 50 feet or so. It's like hiking in a milk bottle. The steep descent is tough on the knees and toes. Good training, I suppose, for our final days when we descend for 8 or so hours down from the summit.

Joseph, one of the porters, waits for me near my tent. Like most of the porters in charge of the tents and gear bags, he knows what mine looks like and opens the zippered flap. “Your bag is in here, Papa,” he tells me, pointing the way in. On many days, the porters greet us when we approach to within 200 yards or so of camp.  They offer to take our packs, to relieve us of our burden and a full day of tough hiking (I know, it's not like they didn't have it doubly tough during their day). We're too tired to have any pride left, so we freely give up our packs.

Barranco Camp to Karanga Valley, 4034m/13,250ft, 5.1km/3.2mi

Its nickname is the Breakfast Wall. It's called such for you must climb it soon after leaving camp in the morning. Its official name is the Barranco Wall. We must ascend its almost 1,000 feet to get into the next valley and latest segment of our hike.

We're told to put away our trekking poles. They will be more of a hindrance than a help for we will be using our hands a lot to climb the rocks. It's a tough climb, tougher still since we're doing it between 13,000 and 14,000 feet in elevation and 40 degree temperatures. While visibility is decent for most of the climb, we do get the soupy fog roll in from time to time, just like what we've experienced on most days this trip. Our guides can tell when the fog will be cold and dry, or if it will bring rain. They tell us when to don our rain gear after examining what I don't know.

We continue to climb. The guides know the tricky spots. They wait near those and extend their hands to assist us up a rock face that would otherwise be impossible to ascend on our own. The porters, however, do not seem deterred by these obstacles. With heavy loads on their backs (more often on their heads) they scramble up and over the rock faces that require us to have assistance to ascend. These guys are amazing.

We're now into the next valley and it starts to rain. The rain gear keeps us dry briefly, for we're soon soaked underneath from the sweat of our exertions. Pole-pole (pohl-lee, pohl-lee) is a phrase oft repeated by our guides. Slowly-slowly they command, knowing that success is not measured in how fast we can hike, but in the acclimatization that can only come with a slow and steady pace.

Despite all of the ups and downs and a lot of hard work, we only gain a couple of hundred feet in elevation for the day.  Camp is shrouded in fog and rain. Since we arrived relatively early, we're shown the dining tent where there is hot stew waiting for us. Food never tasted so good.

Karanga Valley to Barafu Huts, 4662m/15,295ft, 3.4km/2mi

It dropped below freezing last night. The soil that was soaked from yesterday's rains is now frozen solid. The skies this morning are clear. Kili looms large, hovering above us while bathed in sunlight; its remaining glaciers are brilliant white. It beckons, challenging us to ascend its heights.

As the sun rises over the ridge, we too are bathed in light and, more importantly, the heat that it brings. The dining tent is removed and we bask in it while we eat breakfast. The food has been delicious, fresh, and nourishing. Breakfasts have included porridge, toast, and egg omelets. Coffee and tea always, along with hot chocolate or an Ovaltine-type drink. Lunch is bagged for us to carry on the trail, usually a sandwich, fried chicken, a piece of fruit, and some cookies. Dinner is soup, stew, pasta, boiled chicken, vegetables, melons or oranges, and like last night's dessert, a birthday cake for Dr. Kurt (along with singing and dancing by the crew).

We leave camp at our usual 8:45a.m. start. The skies are now a mix of clouds and sun. The porters pass us regularly and with ease. It is amazing what they carry and how quickly they carry it, all waiting for us up at the next camp when we arrive. These past two days in particular have shown their prowess. Karanga Camp is the last source of water. They have to haul water from the nearby creek not only into Karanga, but also up to to tonight's base camp at Barafu.

We continue our ascent up to base camp. When the path allows, our guides walk parallel to us. They keep encouraging us to drink our water. They watch for any signs of distress. Our safety and overall health is of paramount concern.

At noon, we approach base camp, 15,300 feet in elevation. I feel good. The acclimatization regimen we've been following has helped tremendously. I would like to think my pre-trip conditioning has helped as well.

The rest of our afternoon is designed for rest and sleep. We will leave around midnight tonight for our attempt to the summit.

Barafu Huts to Uhuru Peak- the Summit, 5895m/19,341ft, 4.86km/3mi, then Millennium Hut, 3827m/12,556ft, 8.5km/5.3m

I leave the dining tent after having my coffee and a few biscuits. "Hello Papa," I hear in the darkness. It's the porter Joseph. He's been selected along with two other porters to join our guides up to the summit. He's a fun sort and all of us have come to like him.

We begin our hike at 12:15a.m. Headlamps are on. We are dressed like we're going on an arctic expedition. I guess we kind of are. Temperatures on the mountain are expected to be in the teens before the sun comes up, and that won't be for another 6 to 7 hours.

In the lead is Aboo. He sets a deliberately slow and steady pace. “Pole-Pole,” he commands regularly. Amadeus, Kim, and Buruhani flank us, monitoring our health, making sure we don't stray or falter. Willy and Martin are in the sweep position, following us at the rear or mid-group, making sure we all stay together as a team, a cohesive unit. Joseph and other porters fill in where needed.

The moon is now past its half stage. Its weakened light attempts to illuminate our surroundings. It does a decent job, but the headlamps each of us are wearing are essential. The glaciers on Kili can be clearly seen. We will be next to them soon. Lesser nearby mountains are silhouetted against the starry sky. The Big Dipper hangs upside down, its winter orientation, just above Kili's eastern flank.

We expect to see more people on the trail. But there are only a few groupings of headlamps spiraling up the trail far above us. Our guides stand guard at dangerous curves and cliffs, ones we can't even see, to ensure we don't misstep and fall off into the void. They otherwise surround us, monitoring us as they walk straight up the mountainside while the rest of us zig zag up the switchbacks.

We are in good spirits. The guides sing and chant in Swahili. Many of the tunes are the ones they have sung to us in the mornings. They will continue to do this for the duration of our climb. It helps keep our minds off of the hardship we're enduring. We sing along with some of the ones we've become accustomed to over the past week. Amadeus turns on his phone and plays a mix of Afro-pop and other tunes popular in his country. A special treat is when he tuned to Bob Marley to inspire us.

"Don't worry....about a thing

Cause every little thing's......gonna be alright"

It's now 3:00a.m. We're at 17,000 feet. A biting wind from the east chills us. I find it difficult to regulate my temperature. I have on three layers for my bottoms and five for my top, with another sixth in reserve if necessary.

Every step I take is another advance of my personal record for heights achieved. While my breathing is heavily labored, I'm doing okay given the extreme exertion and elevations. Only briefly do I feel nauseous or dizzy. When that does occur, it quickly dissipates and I continue on. Others on the team seem to be fairing okay as well. Oxygen tanks have been brought along and are in the guides’ packs. None of us are in need. The guides occasionally shine their headlamps into our face to make sure all is well. They seem to be paying most attention to those of us in the over-50 category. "Watch the older ones," Dr. Kurt tells us later that he heard them say in Swahili.

The sun is starting to illuminate the eastern sky. Temperatures are at their coldest. My water bottle cap freezes shut. Buruhani is carrying my extra water. At one of our breaks, he rummages through his pack to retrieve one of my extra bottles. All of the guides and porters are doing the same thing for others on our team. The guides do not want us to carry any extra weight that would limit our chance of success of making it to the summit.

There are some individuals on other teams returning downhill while being assisted by their guides. You can tell that they have succumbed to altitude sickness as they pass our group. Their trip has ended. Others are being assisted up the mountain, their guides half carrying them, half pushing them. No one our team says anything. Our heads are down. We keep plodding ahead under our own, weakening power.

We are now at 18,000 feet and progress has slowed considerably. For the love of God and all things holy. The interminable switchbacks have gotten more frequent and steeper. A guidebook I bought before the trip says that this is the point where you should ignore the sounds of others retching and sobbing off the side of the trail. While I don't see anyone under that kind of duress, I make a mental note to make sure I'm not to be the first one.

It is now 7:00a.m. The sun has just risen over the horizon. We reach Stella Point at 18,800 feet, a junction where many other summit trails converge. The light and relative heat from the sun is most welcomed. We stay briefly to take pictures but move on to the summit, only 45 minutes away. Hello mom. Hi Dad. I'm closer to you now. Thanks for pulling me upwards for these remaining five hundred feet.

The surroundings are desolate and raw, forbidding actually. Except for us, there is no life whatsoever up here. Are we still on Earth? The sky's blue color is different in this rarefied air. A bank of brilliant white glaciers is off to my left. Kili's sunken crater is off to my right. We walk the crater rim to our destination, congratulating others who pass us, heading down after their successful summit.

Off in the distance, on a rise on the crater rim, is the sign announcing you've reached Uhuru Peak, Kilimanjaro's summit and Africa's highest point. We approach and congratulate each other.  All twelve in our group have made it after seven and a half long hours of hard, cold work.  We are standing on the Roof of Africa at 19,341 feet.

There are hugs and high fives all around. A man from another team is sitting on a nearby rock sobbing. My own eyes are filled with tears at what I just achieved. We soak up the experience, one that most of us will never repeat.

We linger for only fifteen more minutes and finish taking pictures. Aboo says we need to descend soon if we are to get into camp before the clouds roll in and the rain or snow begins to fall. We don't want to be too high up on this mountain in the cold, chilling rain or freezing snow, so we begin the descent.

Walking downhill for long distances is sometimes just as hard, if not harder, than walking uphill. We take a trail designed for descent and soon find our knees and toes in pain.

We arrive 2-1/2 hours later at base camp. We collapse into our waiting tents for a brief nap. We need to be packed and ready to go to Millennium Camp, a spot yet further downhill and our stay for the night. It is now mid-afternoon and we are stiff and sore. We shoulder our packs once more to make further downhill progress.

Millennium Hut to Mweka Gate, 1633m/5358ft, 12.6km/7.5mi, then Moshi

A hard rain fell overnight. Kili is blanketed in snow. Aboo says that if that kind of snow fell when we were attempting our summit, only half of us would have made it.

The porters and guides sing one last time for us. We earlier collaborated on a song ourselves, and sing one back to them. The ceremony continues with the distribution of tips as we then say goodbye to our porters.

We begin our descent. We are above the clouds and eventually walk into and then below them as we descend 6,000 feet down to Mweka Gate and our finish point.

At the gate, our porters are waiting for us. They could have gone home after dropping our bags one last time, but have chosen not to. They sing for us as we finish our trek, shaking our hands and congratulating us. It is another tearful moment.

We load up into the trucks and head towards Moshi, looking forward to a hot shower and a comfortable bed. While we ride, I reflect on all that we have accomplished. We are proud of our achievement. All twelve of us, ages 17 to 65, have succeeded in their summit goal. The going was tough and grueling. The teamwork aspect of our group's summit attempt, the focus of our guides and porters, has been a key ingredient in our success. They kept us motivated, well fed, and safe.

I think fondly of our guides and porters. They have become family to us and we have become family to them. I think of the midnight start to the top of the mountain.  I think of the cold and exhaustion. I think of the mental game of telling oneself to keep placing one foot in front of the other. It seems now like it was an impossibility, but one that we overcame.  I'm beginning to think it might all have been a dream.

Maybe it was just a dream. Did this really happen?



A video of the trek can be seen at the following link:

The video of Team TDS's thanks to its donors is at:

The video of Team TDS's thank you song back to the guides and porters is at: