Climbing to the Top

Location:
Tanzania

Kilimanjaro Tanzania Climbing

By holly

It was a long time coming – this trip half way around the world to Tanzania. It was also a vague notion that suddenly was taking on life. We had landed in a foreign, very exotic airport and the tropical air hit my face like a blanket. It felt comforting to be warm after such a cold winter in New York, and it felt a million miles away from the feelings of national insecurity -- George W. was getting ready to declare war in Iraq.

I love my kids, but it was a real treat to sleep, read and eat when I wanted. The plane ride from New York to Amsterdam was blissful and I slept most of the way. The 9 hour trip from Amsterdam to the foot of Kilimanjaro felt endless, in the best sense, a kind of suspended time that enveloped me and lulled me into a different rhythm. I had enough time to read a good portion of a book -- something I haven’t been able to do since Anya was born -- and all of the magazines that piled up on my nightstand before I left.

Here we were. All the research, all the preparation, all the advice and here we were standing on African soil. There was nothing too jarring. We just floated off the plane onto the night-shrouded tarmac. There were smiles and a short line and then we were birthed into the bustle of our adventure. The bumpy road that led to our hotel was as exotic and mystical because all the smells and sounds were different from home. The burning peat brought back memories of all the third world countries I have explored and my heart raced with the anticipation of taking our first step up the mountain.

For two days we busied ourselves with getting rest, enjoying food, sucking in oxygen and getting to know our new country. We were introduced to some different tribes and many different customs. Lema, our wonderful guide, had given us the skinny on this climb, “it’s a piece of cake he reminded us, don’t ever forget that.” Bob arrived the following night. Still we had not seen the mountain that consumes us.

We had one last long, blissful, comfortable sleep with crisp sheets and then awake for our seven days of climbing.

As if awakening from a dream, the mountain is there to greet us. No fog, no clouds, just an exuberant good morning.

The snow on a peak behind a long ridge looked so far away and so unreal given the heat of the day. It seemed to be implausible that we would stand at the top looking back down over all this humanity, all these banana trees, all this red earth.

Off we set. It took two hours at the park gate to navigate the chaos. This is the launching spot for most of the western tour companies and they seemed all to be there that morning. We met all our porters and they finish packing out bags into the waterproof duffels. I took particular note of their clothes. Each one has one or two cast-offs from previous climbers. I wondered how many of them had made it to the top before shedding their layers to the locals. The most shocking thing, having spent $4,000 on equipment, is what these porters wear on their feet. Nothing fits and the shoes ranged from flip-flops to high-top converse sneakers. No one black was wearing hiking boots.

Off we all went, the four of us and 18 porters and guides. Lema talked for the entire seven days and we all came to adore him. He shared everything he could about his beloved mountain, his country and his beliefs. He told us about being circumcised in a community ritual with his grandfather, an uncle and a few other men from his village. He said that if he cried his life would be over – he would be so shamed. He was 14 years old. He also talked about the female circumcision. He thinks it’s wrong to rob a women’s pleasure, but he also says that societal pressure makes it almost impossible to stop this barbaric practice.

We climbed up through the lush green tropical forest, up through the house-high heather, up through the giant groundsels that look like Seuss characters standing guard, and up through the clouds. We slid in lots of mud that first day, and enjoyed lots of sun the other four days. We learned a number of Tanzanian songs and we talked non-stop.

For all these days the white of the snow had drawn closer, but always elusive. It seemed like an impossible chasm lay between us and those glaciers. It was like another planet and we hadn’t arranged for a spaceship.

Finally, the moment had come to summit. We awoke at midnight for a breakfast of oatmeal and lots of tea. Unlike all the reports of altitude sickness, I felt great and had slept soundly since 7:00 the night before. I was ready. Bob wasn’t looking green anymore and seemed full of life and energy. Sean and Melissa were not so hungry and hadn’t slept so well, but were excited about our morning. The wind had howled all night and now was still very strong.

We had all of our layers on and spent a bit of time debating what to leave behind and what to add depending on the temperature, which was below zero.

At 1:00 we put our packs on, said goodbye to all but two of the porters and headed up, steeper and darker than ever before. It was blowing at least 50 miles an hour and as we made slow steps back and forth on the tight hairpins, there were moments that I couldn’t take a step the wind’s force was so severe. Three times, Bob gave me a little shove to keep me going forward.

It was the quiet zone up here. You were totally alone with your breath. Every two steps I would take a huge breathe that I pushed down to my toes. It was rhythmic and hypnotic and the hours passed in the dark.

Sean was having a really hard time breathing and for the first time I was worried. He had to stop at each switchback. It was so cold that all we wanted to do was keep moving. We’d take some water and do a quick check of everyone. Lema would ask us all how we were doing.

Sean was going as slowly as humanly possible without going backwards and still his breath was hard. About four hours into this, with the glacier at our left shoulder and close enough to touch, he sat down and said that he would wait for us here. Lema assured us all that this was normal to be feeling so bad and that Sean should just keep going slowly.

A few steps later, Sean stopped and started throwing up. I felt horrible for him and quite scared. I didn’t want anything to happen to him. After four or five convulsive episodes, he reported that he felt much better and that he was ready to summit. Miraculous.

The sky was getting a faint hint of red and morning was just around the corner. It was now just before 6 and the wind had not died down one bit. We all forged on in silence and in awe. The glacier began to take on the color of cut rubies and we were now in the mountain.

Our feet slowly carried us up the dusty trail. There was now enough light to turn off our headlamps, although I had relied on the gorgeous light of the full moon to guide me without batteries. Bob’s light was strong enough for any shadowy parts.

Suddenly, with very little warning, I looked up and saw a new glacier. I was seeing up and over the crater. Moments later we were standing on the crater rim looking out over the peak of Kilimanjaro and all of Africa below us. The faint lights of Moshi town twinkled below us.

Tears poured out and were absorbed in the black facemask that protected me against the wind. Just as we reached this point, the sun came up over the horizon and I was filled with utter joy.

Half an hour later, in the bright sun and surrounded by blue ice glaciers, we stood at the top this sacred mountain. We were at 19,340 feet, 5,000 feet higher than I have ever been, and at the top of the world. Nothing, short of childbirth, has ever felt this good or this satisfying. Now I can turn 40.