I reached Stella Point, the last stop before the summit of Kilimanjaro, at sunrise. I didn’t take a photo. I physically couldn’t. But I can tell you the colors were breathtaking. An ombre of blues, and pinks and purples. And the view was so vast, it can’t be explained. It was so cold, you could literally see icicles forming on the people in front of you. Moving was the only option. So I moved… with tears frozen to my face and snot frozen to my nose….. forward to the summit.
I will be the first to tell you, those years ago, when I wrote “climb a famous mountain” on my list…. I did not mean a mountain in Africa. I was thinking something like Elk Mountain. I was in disbelief when I purchased tickets to Africa and still in disbelief even as I sat on a the plane there. My friend decided when he was 40, we were going to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro…. and we did.
Though I really didn’t want to.
I did.
And I’m so glad I did.
If you want to get to know yourself a little bit better, if you want to know what you’re truly made of…climb a mountain. A real one. The only person to ultimately choose to get you to the top……is you. You may need a push. And someone to cheer you on and encourage you, but it’s your mind, mad as it may be, to make that choice, to take the next step and the one after. It’s all you.
Everyone you meet, who has done it, will tell you “oh, it’s just a long walk.”
Which is probably what I will say if anyone asks.
But it’s not a long walk.
At all.
It’s hiking. And climbing over millions of rocks and river beds. Climbing UP rocks and holding on for dear life. It’s keeping your balance and going through valleys and up hills, carrying a pack that seems to get heavier every day. (I only took one camera a one lens, and that was almost too much.) It’s poley poley (slow, slow) because fast is NOT an option. It’s one step after another for hours and hours and hours. And your mind wandering to things that will help make you take that next step. It’s about watching porters run past you in flip flops with 50lbs of tents and food and toilets on top their heads, grinning ear to ear, bidding you hello as you suck every ounce of oxygen out of the air. And then seeing the same porters come back to you, while you are still a 1/2 mile out of camp and relieve you of your bag for the last little bit of the day. (The porters were some of the most amazing people I have ever seen.) It’s about being filthy dirty. And not wanting to wash up because it’s too damn cold to stick your hands in a bucket of water first thing in the morning. It’s about not having a place to get warm. It’s about being so tired you can’t function but sleep still escapes you.
I experienced almost all emotions imaginable on this amazing trek up to the tallest peak of Africa.
And I’m not embarrassed of any of them. Real emotions are the only kind you can take there.
I was vomiting the first morning of the hike. Malaria medication didn’t agree with me.
I was singing 20 minutes later.
You start your hike in the rainforest. Surrounded by monkeys. Ferns. Rain. Humidity. Sweat dripping from crevasses you didn’t know you had. You are still getting used to maneuvering the walking poles. You’re optimistic about the 7 miles ahead, up the hill. 4 days later you have frost forming on your ass, even though your have 5 base layers on. The dirt up your nose is making it’s way back out and forming mud on your upper lip. Your poles have become an extension of your arms and you wonder how you will ever walk without them again. …and because it’s dark you have no idea how much longer you have to go, so you are still optimistic, in a different way, about the 7 miles ahead.
The days in-between had their ups and downs. The view behind me, what I had done in just 8 hours was rewarding. The sound of pots and pans clanking in the morning signal it’s about time to get up, and I was normally awake before the clanking started. But the thought of getting out of my sleeping bag and letting the cold air touch any part of my body, even though I slept in 4 layers of clothes, seemed unbearable. But the first cup of tea made it all better. Even if I didn’t drink it, and just held it instead. I became stronger every day. I became weaker every day. I lost my appetite very early on. Eating just didn’t happen for me the way it was supposed to, so I tried to make up for it during the day by drinking more water. Fatigue hit hard every day though.
Summit day… well, it might have physically been the hardest day I have ever had.
I was woken at 11 and climbing the mountain at 12am. After sleeping only 4 or 5 hours (well I was supposed to anyway, I’m not sure I did.) I started climbing straight up in the dark. Over rocks. Climbing over rocks at this point…pissed me off.
And then.. about two hours in. I had some issues.
I started suffering from delirium. Sleep delirium was what I was told I had. A different form of altitude sickness. Seems not eating, not drinking enough, no oxygen and lack of sleep can cause this. And the best way I can describe it was….. I could not connect my head to my body. I knew some steps, if I didn’t make them, I would fall and be incredibly injured, (rock steps) but for a good share of 3 hours, I was stumbling. Legs buckling. Wobbling up the mountain. Like a drunken sailor. I would need and ask to rest only to be pushed to a further spot. I cried a lot because I knew what was happening to me, but in no way could I control it. I wasn’t able to talk very much, only facial expressions that no one could see. I felt terrible for the people walking behind me as they had to make sure I wasn’t falling as well as making their own steps. Maybe I was a good distraction, I don’t know though. My guide told me not to cry and as soon as the sun came up, I would feel more like myself.
And I did. A bit.
I truly lost my mind for a while. It was scary and gave me a much better appreciation for those who have a hard time communicating because their brains and bodies don’t talk to one another.
We slowly made it to Stella Point, poley, poley, I had a calm nonsensical voice behind me to get me the rest of the way… to that point. Where I drank my frozen water. I asked my guide through tears what I should do… he stood and said we’re going to summit. Let’s go. It’s only a little bit further. 45 minutes.
And I did.
No photos there either.
And then I hiked back down what I didn’t see in the dark. Down rocks and through shale and it’s pretty much horrible. And hot. And the 5 base layers seem unbearable. Again… resting is still not a good idea or encouraged. And I fell… often.
I got to rest for about 1/2 hour when I returned to the tent. Then I needed to pack and eat and start heading down further for another 4 hour, toe breaking trek.
But it was warm there, at the last camp. And after 14.5 hours of being on my feet… I finally slept. Like a baby.
The last day was a short 3 hour hike to the bottom. And no one really talks about the trip down. But it is physically hard on you. Up is mental work. Down is physical. And my blackened toes prove that. The porters ran down in their flip flops, singing the whole way down! (I got teary when Jamu came back on the trail to take my pack from me and walk beside me as I crossed the finish line….truly grateful for our porters.)
So after you read this story…. you want to do it don’t you?
You do.
Because there was so much good that came out of doing this. SO MUCH GOOD. I learned what my body is actually capable of. And even the strongest of men couldn’t climb this mountain at times. Altitude sickness does not discriminate. A feat of this sort will always stay with me. I can always say I did this. And the people with can also say the same. We all did it together….though each of us had very different experiences. And I have no doubt all of us were changed a little. If not a lot. I could write for days about the experience. I kept a journal. But I think I will keep that for myself.
So for now…
I climbed a famous mountain.
I climbed Mt. Kilimanjaro
I never expected to actually type that sentence.
But I just did.
photo from Michael
photo from Brady
