Kilimanjaro by the Machame Route
WRITTEN ABOUT PRE JOE THE COCKER DAYS
Twenty years have passed by since I challenged myself to climb Kilimanjaro and some of my recollections have become foggy with time. I was 45 years old at the time and felt like I needed a challenge. A few years previous I had trekked in Nepal and completed the Everest Base Camp Trek via Gokyo Ri and Kala Pattar. Mountains have always been my happy place and the words from the Faithless song, ‘This is my church, this is where I heal my hurts’ has long since been my mantra. I chose Kilimanjaro as my challenge because, it appeared to be doable and also, tough enough to push my boundaries to test me.
Kilimanjaro is the tallest mountain on the African continent at 5,895 metres or 19,341 feet above sea level. It is a dormant volcano and the tallest free-standing mountain in the world. It is also one of the seven summits, that is, one of the tallest mountains on each of the world’s seven continents. Uhuru peak is the highest point of the three summits that also include Mawenzi and Kibo.
The route that I chose to attempt was the Machame route which is classified as Difficult. It is not a technically difficult route, but it is strenuous with plenty of ups and downs. The route starts at the Machame Gate at 1,640 metres or 5,380 feet and ascends to the summit over five days. The route takes advantage of sensible acclimatisation techniques. The theory is that you ‘climb high and sleep low’. In essence this means that each day you climb to a high point and then drop lower to spend the night. This method allows your body to acclimate more efficiently than a straight continuous height gain. The route has a high success rate and is allegedly the most scenic. However, there are two noticeably tough sections. One of these is the climb up the Baranco Wall, which involves some basic scrambling. The other being the summit push up the Kibo face in the cold and dark.
After some research and shopping around, I chose to book onto a trek organised by Exodus, the adventure travel company. We would fly from Manchester to Nairobi in Kenya and then be shuttled to Moshi in Tanzania. We would arrive at our hotel on the outskirts of Moshi in the late afternoon followed by a leisurely day spent around the hotel or exploring the area. The next day would be the day that the trek would start. After a week on the mountain, we were to return to Moshi where we would relax and recover or sample a one-day safari in Lake Manyara National Park and a visit to the Ngorongoro Crater.
The events of the trip will be recounted, to the best of my memory, over the next few pages. I apologise right now to the people who made this trip one of the best experiences of my life, if I get your names wrong or have simply forgotten them. I blame it on my age and the passing of twenty years since the adventure took place. We had the best of times. I can remember that much!
The flight from Manchester to Nairobi took about eleven hours. It was a relatively uneventful journey consisting of numerous naps, a couple of average hot meals and plenty of staring out of the window. Unfortunately, most of the scenery was obliterated by clouds. With being six foot three inches tall, it was as uncomfortable as any long-haul flight I have endured. We flew through the night and landed in bright sunlight as the working day was beginning in the capital of Kenya.
We disembarked from the plane in a taxiing area a few hundred yards from the terminal. This would have been a pleasant leg-stretch after being seated for eleven hours except for the fact that we landed in, what appeared to be, a plague of locusts. The tarmac was coated in the buzzing and clicking beasties! I had travelled in flip flops, shorts and a t-shirt which made walking through the swarm cringeworthy. It was impossible to walk without crunching them underfoot. The passengers dealt with the experience in a variety of ways, most of which were hilarious. Some sprinted, waving their arms and screaming. Others laughed and crunched their way towards the terminal. While others tip-toed as if they would be able to avoid the overgrown ‘grasshoppers’. I was one of the latter until I realised the futility of it and simply walked as fast as possible with locusts flying into my face, legs and arms. What a welcome to Kenya!
Soon we were in the relative safety of the terminal where we seemed to be in even closer proximity to the human race after escaping the insect swarm. It was sweaty, smelly and lacked any sort of air flow. After collecting our luggage from the screeching and juddering carousel, we headed to the visa area for non-nationals. The procedure involved filling in very similar details on a variety of forms and cards. I noticed that a few travellers had made mistakes on their forms and had to witness them being torn in two and tossed aside by a rather irate official. I double checked my forms to avoid rejection as the tired passengers returned to the form-filling area and then to the rear of the queue again. Success! My forms were all accepted by the sour faced official, and I moved on to find our travel company representative.
My fellow travellers, some of whom were waiting for the rest of us, gathered in a nervous and confused group surrounding the rep. There were thirteen of us in the group and we all joked about this being a potentially unlucky number. We were soon loaded onto an old minibus, with our bags loaded on the roof and in any available space inside the bus. It wasn’t exactly luxurious but, if it survived until we reached our hotel in Moshi, then all would be good.
Everyone in the group was travelling solo except for one couple so, the next few hours would be about getting to know each other. We set off and immediately met the insane traffic in the outskirts of Nairobi. The rules of the road seemed to be almost non-existent except for lane adherence, thankfully! It was hot, very humid and dusty as we drove so, we had a choice of baking alive with the windows closed or, hardly being able to breathe due to the dust. We all agreed on the latter.
It seemed like forever until the traffic died down and we settled into our journey. One of the group complained of needing a toilet break. The driver, who appeared to speak very little English, agreed to stop as soon as he could. We pulled into a petrol station on the outskirts of the city. As we parked up, we realised that this probably wasn’t the friendliest of places. There were around six or eight burly looking bruisers carrying baseball bats over their shoulders. The driver indicated that it was OK but, it suddenly seemed that nobody needed to visit the loo. So, off we went with the driver laughing to himself and the woman who wanted the loo, tightly crossing her legs.
We drove on along the fast unmarked and very straight road towards Tanzania. The driver soon found a rural café for us to stop at for refreshments and a much-needed loo break. It was strange how everyone of our group suddenly needed to pee and not just the one of us who needed to go only thirty minutes prior! We enjoyed a short break where we all grabbed a bottle of ice-cold Coca Cola. We were soon back in the dusty minibus to continue our adventure.
The road was so long and straight as it passed through the plains. It was a treat to see huge termite mounds at the side of the road and humming birds hovering outside of their nests. Masai people were always within sight, whether they were herding scrawny cattle along the roadside or marching off into the distance with a stick held behind their necks. Their brilliant red robes stood out from the brown dusty ground. They marched quickly and appeared to be on a mission to nowhere. As we hurtled though small roadside villages the prominent colour was also red but, that of an incredible amount of Coca Cola signs. Every other building was adorned with their advertisements. The road surface was generally good except for the odd pot-hole, some of which could swallow a car! Our driver, who obviously knew the road, wouldn’t slow down, simply driving off the road until the obstacle was passed. Our lives were in his hands!
The border crossing into Tanzania turned into another example bureaucracy that slowed us down. As we pulled into the border zone, which was more like a shanty town, we were ushered into a parking area. We were told to prepare our documents for inspection which included passport, transit visa, yellow fever certificate and accommodation details. We formed an orderly queue outside of the small crossing control building. There was one official checking everyone’s documents which made the process incredibly slow. Meanwhile, the queue was being pestered by scary looking sellers of tacky souvenirs such as bracelets and necklaces. We were warned to not ‘eyeball’ the official because they have a reputation of being awkward with random travellers, just because they can! My turn came and I passed all my documents to the official who spent an inordinate amount of time scouring through them. He asked if I was to be returning through this border crossing. I answered that I would be so, he said ‘$30 return’. It was $20 each crossing at the time so, $30 seemed like a good offer. I was through and relieved and back on the bus.
Our next stop was in Arusha, a city of around 300,000 people. We pulled into a rather upmarket looking hotel where there appeared to be an international conference taking place. There were so many ‘suits’ walking around the grounds. It was obviously lunchtime. Armed soldiers and policemen were everywhere to be seen. Security was at a high state of alert. We all felt out of place as we were wearing trekking gear and the whole world appeared to be wearing black suits. We were fed and watered in a room of our own. It was a pleasant experience as the food was good and the air-con was very welcoming. We all took advantage of the restrooms to have a freshen up before we set off on the last stage of our road trip.
After approximately thirty minutes of heading east from Arusha we saw it as the clouds cleared. Kilimanjaro, it was HUGE! The area that we had driven through was relatively flat and then, suddenly, this massive dormant volcano was in front of us. It really was a WOW moment. We all spoke later about our first sighting of the mountain and agreed that we shared similar emotions. We all agreed that we felt nervous and excited at the same time. We all experienced doubts, but we all couldn’t wait to start our attempt on the climb.
Nervous chatter took over the group as we continued our journey to the hotel. The route took us into the centre of Moshi and after circling the town centre roundabout, we headed to the outskirts of the town and soon entered the hotel grounds. Our luggage was gathered together, and we were paired up with our partner who we would share a room with and then later, share a tent with. My partner was Dave who was of a similar age to me and who I gelled with from the start. We had similar senses of humour and similar backgrounds both workwise and in the hills.
It was late afternoon and after showering and dumping our bags in our rooms, we gathered on the balcony for our evening meal. The food was good and there was plenty of it. Three courses and as much fruit as you could wish for. Everything was so fresh including the freshly squeezed orange juice. The fried plantains with cream were delicious and I had two portions. Feeling stuffed and tired, it was time for a power nap on the bed with the overhead fan on full blast. I only slept for thirty minutes and still had an hour before we had all agreed to meet on the veranda for a beer. I decided to go for a short walk outside of the hotel. It was situated on a main road so, I walked along the grass at the side of it. I passed a few large houses and a small shop before I realised that, although there wasn’t a lot of people around but, everyone was staring at me. It wasn’t scary, but it did make me feel a bit uncomfortable. Anyway, there wasn’t much to see, and I headed back to the hotel after fifteen minutes. The hotel was fairly basic but, it did have a nice garden and swimming pool area. After a short walk around the garden, it was time to head to the bar. I wasn’t the first of our group to turn up, so I grabbed myself a Kilimanjaro lager from the bar and sat with the motley crew that we were to become over the next ten days.
Spirits were high as we all chatted and drank beers. We were all discussing our mountain experiences and trekking trips until we were interrupted by a group of muddy and smelly trekkers who were fresh off the hill. They were all on a high as they recounted their experiences. They told us of plenty of high points and some lows too. All of their party had summitted by the same route that we were to take. We listened to every word they said, hoping for some miracle advice that would enable us to get us to the top and back with the least amount of effort. Instead, we heard about steep sections, bad weather, sickness, pain, injuries and emotions. Wow! It looked like it was going to be no walk in the park!
I don’t think that any of the group drank much or stayed up late. It had been a long day travelling for all of us. And so, thoroughly exhausted, that was the travelling day over. The next day would be our first day on the mountain which made it difficult to sleep. Nervousness, anticipation, excitement, fear of failure combined with a hot room made for a restless night. We were to be up by six o’clock the following morning so, after counting thousands of sheep, I slept like a log!
Moshi to Machame Gate to Machame Camp
Dring, dring, dring! My alarm sounded at six and frightened the life out of me. I had two bags packed already, from the previous day. One was my day rucksack, which I would carry up the mountain and the other was my trek holdall with my sleep kit and extra clothes, which a porter would carry. I checked that everything was correctly packed at least three times! Satisfied, it was time for a shower. Well, that was the plan. The water was icy cold and after ten minutes of running it, it was still freezing. I thought, ah well, here goes and jumped in. I wasn’t in there long and it certainly woke me up.
Breakfast was good, with cereal, fresh meats, cheeses and fruit. I stuffed my face with as much as I could and was then asked if I wanted a cooked breakfast. It would have been churlish to refuse, don’t you think? So, after copious amounts of coffee the feast was over. I went back to the room and checked the bags again before taking them to the gathering point outside of reception. We all congregated and indulged in nervous conversation.
As we were about to leave, the hotel waiters presented us with our packed lunch for the day and we all filled our water bottles or water bladders, for the day’s hike. Drinking plenty of water is one of the key must-do’s on the mountain to ward off altitude sickness. Dehydration is one of the most common causes of illness on mountains of this height. I used a two-litre bladder on this trip, which was a godsend for most days but, because of my stupidity, caused me a problem on summit day.
Minibus loaded and we were on the road to Machame Gate where we would begin the climb. The drive took around 45 minutes as we took in the atmosphere of the area. Machame village is a lively colourful place with even more Coke signs. Just after the village we turned off the tarmac road onto a dirt track surrounded by banana plantations and sugar cane plantations. The track was rough and rutted by 4 x 4 wheels that had passed through in the mud after heavy rain. We drove up the hill to the gate where we all gathered our bags and met our guides, cooks and porters. Bags were weighed to ensure that the porters weren’t laden down with an overweight load. I wasn’t convinced that most porters were not overloaded, however.
We were asked to sign in at the gate to register our presence in the Kilimanjaro National Park. As usual, the bureaucracy took time. We were waiting patiently for over an hour, but the time was spent talking to the Mountain Guide, Meckson and the porters. My porter was called Godfrey and he hailed from Dar-es-Salaam, on the coast. His English was as good as my Swahili, but we hit it off by talking about football, the international language. The signal for our departure was the gathering of our Tanzanain support team. It was time for a song, which they needed no excuse over the coming days, to burst into. Jambo Bwana is the favourite as it welcomes the climbers and tells how to walk slowly and drink plenty of water to help you to climb Kilimanjaro. We all joined in with the dancing and clapping while we attempted to sing along. Plenty of dad dancing and Hakuna Matata’s and I think that we escaped lightly.
Finally, we were off, as we passed through the Machame Gate onto a well compacted wide track. We were told that there were only two groups setting off on the climb on that day so, it would be fairly quiet on the hill. The porters all set off at a breakneck pace as we were encouraged to walk slowly to conserve energy. Pole Pole was the instruction we would hear over and over if we ever picked up the pace. Slowly slowly, pole pole! Machame Gate sits at 1640 metres above sea level (5380 feet), while Machame Camp is at 2835 metres (9350 feet). The hike is a gentle uphill walk through the rainforest zone of the mountain. The day’s hike covers approximately seven miles and should take around six hours to complete. Mileage recording is rather pointless with the best measure of hike length is by time.
The wide track soon narrowed and became muddy and slippery on the rocks embedded in the surface. Large trailing tree roots were an obstacle at times as they too were slippery. Thankfully, I had brought trekking poles which saved me from more than one nasty fall. I was wearing a pair of winter boots that were quite heavy, but they gave great protection and traction. As we hiked through the rainforest the trees closed in on us and became more densely huddled together. The group spread out with some pairing up and chatting as they walked while others chose a solo hike. We could hear Colobus Monkeys high in the canopy, laughing at us as if to say, ‘you’ll be sorry’. Camphorwood trees, Yellowood, Figs, Olives and Olea dominate the forest with their infinite shades of green leaves. Old Man’s Beard hung from the tree branches, brushing our faces as we walked. The birdlife produced a cacophony of shrill screeches in the dense forest, and I was lucky enough to spot a brightly coloured hornbill eyeing us from its perch above the trail. Beautiful red and yellow Impatiens appeared at regular intervals to break up the green backcloth of the rainforest.
It was humid as we hiked and the bright sun hit us through gaps in the canopy, dazzling us as we climbed slowly. After a couple of hours, we were met by our guide at the head of the group, who suggested that we have a short food and water break. It was welcome indeed as we were all ready for it. The trail wasn’t difficult, but the heat, around 30 degrees Celsius, did sap our energy when combined with the high humidity. After a few cheese and spiced meat sandwiches, a bag of crisps and some fruit, washed down with lukewarm water, the task ahead seemed to be calling.
We continued, feeling refreshed, through the beautiful rainforest as the clouds came down and the air became increasingly damper. It wasn’t raining, but our clothes were soaking up the moisture in the air. As we gained altitude, the forest became less dense, and bamboo became more prominent. Lichens covered the rocks on the trail as we headed towards the next temperate zone. The sounds from the trees changed with the sound of the mocking monkeys dissipating while the birdsong became less intense. A clearing appeared ahead of us with a wooden hut and a number of brightly coloured tents. We had arrived at Machame Camp. Our porters had pitched our tents and the spicy odour of curry was in the air. The porters greeted us with a song and dance which put a smile on all our faces. We did our best to join in and I think that we were all a bit less awkward than on our first attempt.
Our tents were not the bright coloured ones, rather they were green Vango Vipers. A good enough tent for conditions that were less than severe. We gathered our bags and threw them into our tents before we went to our mess tent for a hot brew. Black tea was my choice with a spoon of sugar, which I don’t usually take, but it’s an energy source. Group members appeared at different times and everyone seemed to be well and had coped with the day’s hike. We had plenty of biscuits to dunk in our drinks as we noisily chatted about the day’s events. I was so glad to take my boots off as they were strangling my feet. My feet had swelled. I am unsure whether it was from the long flight or from the walk. I had a few hotspots but, fortunately, no blisters or broken skin. So, after a good gab and a few mugs of tea, I went to my tent to organise it for the night ahead.
The first job was to inflate my sleeping mat. I decided to use the thin part of my sleeping bag as the temperature was forecast to be around fifteen degrees overnight. My Ajungilak sleeping bag comprises of a one-season bag and a three-season bag which can be zipped together to form a four-season bag. I also took with me a fleece liner for the higher altitudes. With my night clothes, head torch and pee bottle ready, it was time for a short lie down, before our evening meal. I pondered about what the mountain had in store for us. How difficult could it be? Would I be able to summit? Was I fit enough? Had I trained and prepared properly? I think that I dozed for a few minutes as I almost jumped out of my skin as mealtime was signalled by the banging of a saucepan base with a wooden spoon. The call of Chakula or Food was a welcome sound.
I was ready for food. My appetite was still good as we were still at a relatively low altitude. I found that the last time that I was at a high altitude, it difficult to face food. The thought of it made me nauseous. So, I had a large bowl of tomato soup with flatbread. It was really tasty, well-seasoned with a hint of herbs. Spirits were high as everyone excitedly chatted about their lives and experiences. The main meal was boiled potatoes in their skins, a beef curry and vegetables followed by cake and custard. It was delicious and everyone cleared their plates. It is difficult to leave any food that is cooked for you under those conditions. The cooks on these high-altitude treks do an incredible job, so to leave food I feel is insulting.
After the meal was over and the dishes collected by our hosts, we spent the remainder of the evening in the mess tent gabbing noisily and enthusiastically. It wasn’t a late night for any of us as we were all tired from the exploits of the last two days and we all wanted to be at our best for the second day of the climb. I went back to the tent and crawled into my sleeping bag. Dave was already in his and reading his Kilimanjaro guide book. We organised our gear as best we could, and both got comfortable for the night ahead. We chatted for a while about previous treks and mountain days in the UK. It wasn’t long before we both decided to call it a day. Dave went to sleep in seconds and soon started to snore. His snoring was a bit of a relief as I allegedly snore also. So, he couldn’t complain about me and likewise, I couldn’t complain about him. I was asleep in no time and slept comfortably all night.
Machame Camp to Shira Camp
After a good sleep we were woken at six o’clock as a cook opened our tent to provide us with a cup of ‘bed tea’. We felt spoilt, but the regulations about how this mountain is allowed to be accessed is determined by the Tanzanian government. Dependant on the size of the group a certain number of guides, cooks and porters must be used. As this is the support staff’s income and sole job, it is expected that they carry out their roles. It is good to help, but doing too much is frowned upon as they believe that their post-trek tips will be reduced. So, bed tea is provided and much appreciated.
It took some time and effort to raise myself from the comfort of my sleeping bag, but after a wash in cold water, dressing in my hiking clothes and finishing my tea, I made my way to the mess tent. It didn’t take long to fill up with the bright eyed group. More tea and coffee were served before a huge pot of steaming hot porridge arrived with honey, syrup and sugar. As we chatted away and ate our porridge the cooks brought us toast, pancakes and mango juice. There was plenty of energy food for even the biggest appetite. I was referring to myself in that context! More hot drinks arrived before we all started to return to our tents to gather up our gear for the day and to pack our trekking holdalls for our porter. Geoffrey grabbed my bag before I could even pick it up. He was away in a flash. He was a man with a mission. I just had time to say Asante or thank you, to him and he disappeared up the mountain. Not so Pole Pole!
The morning was overcast, but Uhuru Peak was visible high above when the clouds parted. Below us, the rainforest was shrouded in another layer, producing an eerie effect, as we were sandwiched by white fluffy clouds. The activity in camp was hectic as the porters packed away the tents and the rest of our kit. They set off at a pace again, unlike our group, who slowly loaded their gear into rucksacks. We dressed for a cooler day than the previous day as the temperature had dropped significantly. So, it was still shorts wearing weather for me, but with a fleece over my t-shirt. My waterproofs were in my rucksack, just in case.
We moved off in pairs or solo as we had the previous day, with Meckson, the leader in front and setting the Pole Pole pace. We had another guide, Joseph, who stayed at the rear of the group to keep a close eye on people’s condition and to see if anyone was struggling. The terrain and the vegetation had changed from our trek in the rainforest. We were in the heath and moorland zone where we could expect much less greenery as we were above the tree line. Underfoot was more rocky and a lot dryer. The day’s route would take us from just above the rainforest and through the low Alpine zone. We were expecting to be moving for around five hours and it is a relatively short distance but, steeper in places than the previous day.
Initially, the terrain was fairly steep over rocks with an undefined path. We were forced to use our hands on occasion but, it was far from a technical ascent. When we stopped for a breather, we looked back to see the clouds below us, carpeting the land as far as we could see. It was time for concentration rather than enjoying the view.
Shortly, we came to a much flatter zone of the heathland where we could walk and chat and enjoy the scenery. We were gifted views of Kibo, one of Kilimanjaro’s peaks and poking through the cloud carpet, we could see the triangular summit of Mt. Meru. The vegetation was sparse but, we gained our first sight of the giant senecios and lobelia. It was noticeably colder at this level and the breeze had a sharp bite to it.
We had a short lunch break at around eleven o’clock in the shelter of a large boulder. It consisted of hot tea and Indian type snacks such as Pakora, Bhaji and Samosa. We also had a choice of fruit with mine being a banana which was more ‘bananery’ than I have ever tasted before. We were at 4,000 metres, which would be our high point for the day. From this point it was a gentle walk down to Shira Plateau at 3,750 metres, where we would camp for the night.
We arrived at Shira Hut at one o’clock to be met by the camp already set up and a welcoming hot drink. The group of porters sang a song and danced for us again while we tried to join in without spilling our drinks. The camp was erected on a flat stone strewn area with the odd wind-blown tree dotted around. The temperature had dropped again to around three degrees which meant that warmer clothes and a hat were needed for walking around camp. The group congregated in the mess tent again while we drank hot tea and complained about the cold temperature.
We repeated the previous days routine by returning to our tents to prepare them for the evening. There was time to relax during the afternoon or to take a stroll around the area before the evening meal. Actually, there was enough time to do both as we had around four hours to kill. I decided to have a lie down for an hour before going for a mooch around Shira Plateau. The plateau is the remains of an ancient volcanic crater. Basalt boulders and rocks are strewn across the plateau floor with lava flows visible on the side of the mountain. Red-hot pokers were dotted around with clumps of grasses and lichen covered rocks. Rainfall is much lower in this climate zone than in the dense vegetation of the rainforest which makes it a harsher environment for both flora and fauna to flourish.
Wildlife is scarce in this zone, but lions have been seen roaming the plateau. Well, I saw no sign of them unfortunately, or should I say, fortunately. I did see plenty of White-necked Ravens, mainly gliding over the camping area and scavenging for scraps of food as they scuttled around the tents. Meckson called them flying rats. They didn’t exactly take the Fish and Chips out of your hand as the gulls do on Llandundo promenade, but they are annoying scavengers.
I spent a couple of very peaceful hours wandering on the plateau waiting for gaps in the cloud teasing views of the big hill ahead of us. I was imagining how it would feel in three days if the summit was bagged. The effects of the altitude were starting to kick in even at this relatively low level. Breathing was becoming laboured, not badly, but noticeable. I had a slight headache, but that could have been down to a touch of dehydration. I decided that I needed to start drinking more. Water from the drink bladder tasted tainted by the plastic so, it was time to add the orange flavoured isotonic tablets. I use these mainly for the flavour than for their isotonic functions. The disadvantage of the need to drink more at altitude is that you need to urinate more. Night-time is the worst. The last thing that you want to do during a freezing cold night is to get out of your cosy nest to walk to a toilet tent for a pee. My answer is to use a Nalgene wide-necked bottle, remembering which is for drinking and which is for peeing! It can also substitute for a hot water bottle assuming that you are very careful.
I finished my lazy afternoon by returning to the tent and grabbing forty winks while Dave was doing the same. The pan banging roused me from my slumber, and I quickly jumped up to hike the ten steps to the mess tent. I was first to arrive, and our cook boy gave me a black tea as I sat down on the folding camp chair. He knew all our preferences by this point. After everyone was congregated around the table and we all had a hot drink to slurp on, the food arrived. A large container of vegetable soup was portioned out before a humungous bowl of steaming spaghetti with a large pan of a Bolognese type meat sauce. Hot flatbreads added to our mountain of food. It was delicious and almost completely devoured by the hungry group. Cartons of mango juice arrived as the steamed sponge pudding and custard soon followed. After all that food a large platter of freshly cut fruit was served. What a feast and in the middle of nowhere. The cooks had excelled themselves and we showered them with praise.
With the table cleared we were given another hot drink of our choice, tea, coffee or hot chocolate. Meckson, our main guide, appeared to see how we were all coping and to discuss the plans for the following day. Everybody seemed to be in good spirits. The odd headache was reported, but other than that, everyone was fit and healthy. We stayed in the mess tent for a couple of hours, nattering away in the light of our headtorches. It was colder than the previous night as the wind had picked up and was finding its way through any gap in the tent that it could. We were all wrapped up well with numerous layers of clothing so, it was quite cosy, huddled together and swapping stories about how different our lives were but how we all shared this one desire, to summit Kilimanjaro.
I zipped both sections of my sleeping bag together making a very cosy four- season bag. With it pulled up and covering my head, I was snug as a bug! I was surprisingly comfortable and slept well except for the few times that I had to top my pee bottle up. It was a cold night, with the temperature around freezing point, but I was warm in my mummy bag and, allegedly, snored all night!
Shira Camp to Barranco Camp
We awoke to a fresh feel to the day. It was early, around five thirty when bed tea was delivered and a blast of cold air greeted us as John, one of the young cooks, unzipped the tent door. Both Dave and myself remained in our respective sleeping bags while we discussed the day ahead and drank our hot drinks. The day ahead was to involve a lot of hiking. We were to leave Shira Camp by seven o’clock, climb to around 4,600 metres, where we would lunch and then drop to Barranco Camp at 3,900 metres. We would stop for lunch near to the Lava Tower where we would stay for a couple of hours to aid acclimatisation.
We were all ready to rock and roll by seven o’clock after porridge, toast, pancakes and more fruit. The food was excellent on this trip, all freshly cooked and plenty of it. The porters did not leave camp until after we were on the trail as with it being a long hike, they would have plenty of time, at their speed, to overtake us at some point. Meckson set the pace for the day which appeared to be very Pole Pole! The chances of altitude sickness affecting the group would be increased if we were to rush at this altitude so, Pole Pole it was.
Initially, the trail was rocky and steep in places. The clouds above us rapidly parted to give us clear views of Kibo. It was a beautiful day for hiking, crisp air and clear skies. The views were awe inspiring yet, daunting as we could see where our target lay. The mountain still looked huge as we traversed its slopes. We were entering another climate zone in the Alpine Desert. There was very little vegetation as we hiked and even less wildlife. The area was very dusty and with the wind gusting, we were blinded by it at times. After the early steep section, the trail climbed gradually until we neared the lava fields and the famous Lava Tower.
We had been walking for around four hours before Meckson chose a resting point for us to have lunch. Nowadays (2020), there is a more formal camp at the foot of the Lava Tower where groups stop for an extended lunch break. Mess tents are erected to give the hikers some shelter and are provided with a hot meal. When we did the climb, we simply sat in the shelter of a large rock and ate our packed lunches. This is not a complaint, by the way, as we were incredibly well looked after by our support team. We spent an hour or so exploring the area and resting, but after an hour or so the temperature dropped, and it started to drizzle. We all donned our waterproofs before we took a soaking. The cook team had prepared sandwiches for us along with flapjacks and fruit which we were all thankful for. They gave us hot drinks from preprepared thermos flasks. We were refreshed but eager to make a move as it was cold and damp as the clouds had dropped from the higher slopes.
The next three hours was spent walking downhill on a rocky path. It was a wee bit soul destroying descending after we had gained so much elevation. To give ourselves time to acclimatise and avoid AMS (Acute Mountain Sickness) this method of climbing at altitude is tried and tested. It would also provide us with the best chance of summiting, which, after all was our reason for being there.
Trekking poles were my lifeline on this stretch. They saved me from falling on numerous occasions and took some of the pressure off my knees. It was during this section of the hike that we came across the enormous Giant Groundsels. We all stopped at some stage to pose for a photograph in front of these monstrous plants. It appears to be as important as a summit photograph! The plants survive in this zone due to water being enclosed by the closing leaves at low temperature combined with their own natural anti-freeze. Dead leaves remain on the stem to form insulation to the core. Some of the plants rose to twenty feet in the air and have lived for over 250 years. They have evolved over a million years to adapt and thrive in this area.
Ahead of us we could see the camp as we neared the foot of the Barranco Wall. We could also see the next days’ challenge looming over the camp. Some of the group found the Barranco Wall, a steep climb set to be attempted first thing on the next morning, a daunting prospect. A few of us were quite excited as we were used to scrambling in the Lake District, Scotland and Snowdonia.
We were all tired as we entered Barranco Camp. It had been a relatively long day. It hadn’t been particularly difficult but, the altitude was playing its part in our performance. It was time for another greeting song performed by the porters. No matter how exhausted you feel at the end of the days hike, the porters always put a smile on your face and encourage you to join in. As usual, all the tents were erected, and a hot drink was ready for each of us. The whole support team were doing an amazing job.
The cloud that we had experienced at the Lava Tower had cleared, allowing us an amazing view of the Barranco Wall with the snow-covered peak of Kibo, towering above. The prospect of climbing the wall on the following morning was exciting and certainly got the adrenalin flowing. Before we had time to dream about that, the routine of the evening had to be carried out. By no way was this a chore, but things had to be done. Myself and Dave took turns to arrange our gear in the tent. We learnt early that it was futile trying to set our gear up together. I set my sleeping system up and arranged my rucksack for the next day while Dave had a wander around the area. When it was my turn, I went to have a chat with the porters. Although we didn’t share a common language, we managed to communicate, and we had a good laugh about whatever we could find to laugh about. Football was the biggest topic of conversation. With being a Manchester United fan and they had won the Treble the previous year, the porters recognised the players’ names. After the naming of each or the team there was a raucous cheer. They mentioned their favourite teams such as Real Madrid, Juventus and Bayern Munich. Some cheered while others booed. We enjoyed the moment, and I will never forget it.
The camp was a haven for the white-necked ravens as they scavenged for scraps. I saw a couple of four-striped mice scurrying in and out of the tents, also looking for scraps of food. I rushed over to check my tent, which appeared to be vermin free, and zipped it up to prevent an unwanted invasion. The thought of sharing a tent with a mouse made my toes curl up! I believe that the fear of mice is called Musophobia or simply being a wimp!
The evening was quite a relaxed affair starting with our usual overindulgent feast. Soup was served first. I can’t recall the variety, but I think that it was a minestrone. I do recall that it was hot and delicious. I also recall that the fried chicken, rice, veg and flatbreads were also delicious. Sweet consisted of a rice pudding which I dolloped strawberry jam into. More fruit followed as usual. We were spoilt. The food on this trek was beautifully cooked, plentiful and varied.
As the skies darkened, the clouds ascended to the campsite from the valley below, in huge billowing waves. It felt cold but the temperature was still slightly above freezing. We sat in the relative comfort of the mess tent, drinking tea and coffee for a couple of hours, talking about blisters, breathing difficulty and headaches. I was fortunate as I had none of these problems. I hadn’t lost my appetite and I was staying well hydrated. My only minor problem was peeing. As soon as I had a pee, I needed another. It was a nuisance, but that’s all. We were really bonding as a group by this stage. As we hiked, we talked with each member of the group at some stage. We had a great group and along with the guides, cooks and porters, we had a great team. Everyone was keeping an eye on everyone else and giving encouragement when someone was struggling. This team ethic was to prove invaluable later in the climb.
So, the day was over, and I was snuggled into my sleeping bag. The air was damp but, there was no movement in it. All was peaceful and quiet as I drifted off to sleep in the warmth of the bag. My usual awakenings for a pee were the only disturbances during the dark hours. On one occasion I decided to peek outside. Wow! The stars were incredible. Millions of tiny dots of light in the now, cloud-free sky. I wasn’t looking for long enough to try to identify any constellations but, with being slightly south of the equator I expected the sky to look different. The snow-covered peak above us looked spectacular in the moonlight. This was truly a spectacular setting.
Barranco Camp to Barafu Camp
Bed tea! It was six o’clock and a small tray with a black tea and a white coffee with two digestive biscuits appeared through the opened zip of the Vango Viper. The day ahead was to start with the infamous Barranco Wall. I could not wait to get going. It was a chilly, but clear morning without a breath of a breeze. The aim was to start the ascent of the ‘Breakfast’ Wall by seven, so nicknamed because it is usual to climb it straight after breakfast. Unusually, there were only two groups in camp, and we were to be the first on the hill on that morning. So, after another great breakfast of porridge, toast, omelette, sausages and fruit, we gathered our kit together and dressed for a cold start to the day.
The plan for the day was to start the day at 3,690 metres from Barranco Camp, climb the Barranco Wall then hike down into the Karanga Valley. After a short break we would continue to Barafu Camp at 4,600 metres. We would eat and sleep at Barafu Camp and then set off on our summit bid at midnight. It would be one hell of a day! The hike would undulate considerably and the time to complete it should be around seven hours including a snack break. I was really keen to get going and I left immediately behind Meckson.
The wall starts within a few minutes of the start of the hike. After crossing a stream and small waterfall we were on the wall. The next hour or so was really enjoyable. The wall is only 257 metres tall but, it is very steep in sections necessitating the use of all four limbs. The rocky incline has no discernible route from the amateur’s perspective but, our excellent guide showed us the best route to follow. It is far from being a technical route but, it does need care and attention. We were in shade throughout the climb which meant that we weren’t dazzled by the sun or too warm. It was amazing to stop regularly to turn and look at the view behind. The group were spread across some distance on the slope and the guides asked us to climb slowly to allow the slower members to catch up. This made sense as the guides were able to keep a close look after all of us. The alpine flowers were peeping out from the gaps in the rocks with their red, blue and white petals adding the only colour to the otherwise grey rockface.
It was almost a sad feeling as we crested the side of the cliff face until it was there in front of us. Kibo, in all its glory with the Heim, Kersten and Decken Glaciers clearly visible on its upper slopes. The walk for a while was easy and was along a clear path on relatively flat ground. The scenery was breathtaking as we hiked. Above us we were gifted clear views of our target and behind us we could see Mt. Meru poking through the cloud layer below. The group walked closer together as we dawdled along the path. We talked about our experiences on the Barranco Wall. Some loved it while others found it terrifying. We had all completed it in one piece so, job’s a guddun!
It wasn’t long before the terrain changed and became more undulating. With some small sections of scrambling to tackle we started to descend into the Karanga Valley. It was a rock-strewn descent and by the time that we reached the stream in the bottom of the valley, we were glad to have a snack break. We all found a rock to perch on while we rested. Sandwiches and fruit helped to refresh us along with plenty of water to wash it down. The stream in the valley was the last place for the porters to collect water until the following day on the descent from the mountain. This meant that they had more weight to carry up to Barafu Hut. As if their job wasn’t difficult and strenuous enough.
The climb out of the valley was quite steep on a rocky path that weaved its way through the last of the vegetation that we would encounter for a while. Once we reached the top of the slope the terrain levelled for some distance as we returned to the Alpine Zone. The walk took us across a moon-like landscape. Fine dust was kicked into the air with every step, coating our clothes and skin and inside our mouths. Boulders and rocks littered the area which we weaved our way through, heading towards the steeper section that was visible ahead. On our left was the enormous mass of Kibo. Ahead we managed to glimpse Mawenzi protruding from the cloud.
Breathing was becoming noticeably more difficult as we climbed toward Barafu Camp which is also known as Base Camp, due to it being the last camp before the summit bid. We were encouraged to really slow things down to conserve as much energy as possible. We were all still fit and well except for the odd headache. The climb to camp was tough, mainly due to the altitude, but also because of the gradient of the hillside. The weather had been good up to that point with plenty of sunshine and white wispy clouds. This was all about to change.
We arrived in camp late afternoon, slightly earlier than planned. We were all ready for a rest. The mountain had a surprise for us. The temperature dropped considerably while thick clouds engulfed us. This happened in a matter of a few minutes. A blizzard hit us as we arrived. The usual greeting by the porters was curtailed as everyone secured the tents. The wind came from nowhere and we all took cover in the mess tent. The cooks had prepared hot drinks for us as usual. Meckson joined us with a concerned look on his face. We asked if this weather would postpone or even cancel our summit bid. Thankfully, he said that as long as the blizzard abated soon, we would go ahead as planned. So, it was fingers crossed for a gap in the weather.
We all left the meeting to go to our respective tents. We were informed that the temperature had dropped to minus fifteen. It was a bit nippy combined with the wind chill. I spent the next fifteen minutes organising my sleep system and my rucksack. I decided to use my four-season set up with my fleece liner. We would only be able to have a few hours sleep, but I didn’t want to risk the cold preventing me from a comfortable snooze.
It was around five o’clock when we heard the call for food. The weather was awful as we dashed to the mess tent. It was freezing and windy. It didn’t look promising for the night’s exploits. The hot food was really welcome and appreciated. Chicken soup, pasta and a sauce, hot bread followed by rice pudding. We had a couple of hot drinks before we all left in the blizzard to the relative comfort of our tents. Me and Dave decided to try to sleep straight away. So, wrapped cosily in the warmth of my bag, that is exactly what I did. I watched the walls of the tent flap around in the wind for a couple of minutes before I went into my slumber.
Summit bid
We were awoken at eleven o’clock with the call to the mess tent. The snow and wind had stopped as suddenly as it started. The summit attempt looked like it would be going ahead as planned. We were served with a large mug of hot chocolate and popcorn. The first food of the trip that I didn’t like, but I forced some down. When we were all gathered together Meckson delivered a team talk. He explained that we would set off at midnight with all our warm clothes on. He advised that we should wear waterproofs in case the bad weather returned while we were on the hill. We were told to walk very Pole Pole and that we wouldn’t be stopping until we reached Stella Point, the rim of the crater, unless somebody was really suffering. He thought that we were all capable of summitting but, he and the other guides, would regular monitor each of us. He asked us to all check our headtorches as we would need them for seven hours until daybreak. We were provided with snacks for the climb such as flapjacks, nuts and biscuits. He told us to fill our water containers as we left the tent. We were ready.
I filled my water bladder and wrapped two t-shirts around it to prevent it from freezing in my rucksack. If I was really suffering from the cold, I could always use the t-shirts as a back-up. I wrapped socks around the tube to insulate that part of the kit. The one thing that I did forget to do was to blow the water back into the bladder to empty the tube to prevent freezing. This was to prove to be a big mistake. Keeping well hydrated at altitude is so important. I was carrying very little in my rucksack to try to make my climb easier. I wore a base layer, a microfleece, a large fleece and my waterproof jacket on the top of me. I wore a warm pair of leggings with my waterproof trousers on the bottom. A fleecy hat with ear flaps and two pairs of gloves finished off my protection against the elements. I double checked all my clothing before we set off into the night.
The cloud had all but disappeared, leaving a view of Kibo ahead of us and the most stars in the sky that I have ever seen. I decided to take a photograph before we started the climb. Disaster! My batteries had frozen along with my back-up batteries. I needed those batteries for the summit shots so, I decided to put them under my armpit to try to thaw them out. It was unpleasant, but I needed them. I thought that I would leave them until we reached Stella Point and hopefully all would be well.
It was midnight and we were the first group to set off on the climb. We hadn’t seen the route close up that we would be taking because the blizzard saw to that. We knew that it was a long series of zig-zags, up a steep scree slope. It would take roughly six and a half to seven hours to reach Stella Point where we should see the sunrise over Mawenzi, if the weather permitted. It was time to put 100% effort into this. I believed that I was fit enough and well enough. I had no signs of altitude sickness. I was ready!
As we set off it was obvious that the high altitude at 4,680 metres, was really starting to have an effect. Even walking incredibly slowly, it was difficult to take enough oxygen in and every footstep became an effort. The scree was difficult to walk on as we slipped backwards as we attempted to climb. It was a pitch-black night with only a sliver of moon casting some light on the hill. The line of climbers and guides formed a slow-moving string of headlamps on the mountain side. I glanced back to see another line forming down at the camp, preparing for their attempt. The porters stayed in the camp overnight as there is no need for anything to be carried to the summit. They were to trek to Mweka Camp the next morning where we would meet them on the descent.
After an hour of plodding up the zig-zags, I was hit by an urge to stop and rest. I bent over, grabbing my knees and dropping one of my poles. Simon, one of the guides came to me immediately and enquired if I was ill. I told him that I was simply very weary and in need of a rest. He encouraged me to continue moving slowly in preference to stopping. He said that I would soon feel the cold and would struggle to restart. So, that is what I did. He told me to drink from my water bladder. I put the bite-valve in my mouth and sucked. Nothing! It was frozen. I had left water in the tube. It was a bit of a disaster. I plodded on. All that was visible was the backside of the person in front of me illuminated by my headtorch. It was such a slow deliberate trudge.
A couple of hours into the climb I started to really become exhausted. I was doubting my ability to summit. I was wondering if anyone else in the group felt the same. I am sure that somebody must have but, nobody was letting it show. I was thinking that I must be feeling worse than anyone else but, nobody was having a conversation. We were all in silence, concentrating on our footing and listening to our bodies. Mine was telling me that I had taken on more than I could chew. I had felt so good up to this final climb. Now, I was really struggling.
Another hour of pushing myself and I decided that I needed to stop to see if my water bladder had frozen. I told the guides that I was fine and just needed to stop for a minute to grab a drink. They watched me like hawks. I opened my rucksack, took the bladder out and thankfully, it wasn’t frozen. I managed a much-needed drink. It lifted my spirits and gave me a boost. I grabbed a power bar and a bag of nuts and put them in my pocket. I felt more confident but, it only took a few steps before I was feeling exhausted again. There was no option by that point as we were about half-way to Stella Point. I thought that if I could make it to there then I would drag myself through the snow on the crater rim to the summit. I munched away on my power bar as I walked. It was difficult to walk, breathe and eat at the same time, but I needed the energy boost.
Pole Pole! This was turning into the toughest thing that I had ever done. Two steps forward and I had to stop for air. It was becoming so mentally and physically demanding. With about two hours to go Meckson gathered us all together and asked if we needed a five-minute break. Before he had completed his sentence, we all replied that ‘too right we do!’ The guides came around to each of us to check our conditions. I thought that I must feel the worst of the group, but I was surprised to find out that four of the team were on the verge of giving up on the climb. Two said that they were simply exhausted and had nothing left to give. The other two claimed that they had altitude issues, severe headaches and nausea. One had actually vomited. The decision was made and agreed that we would carry on and reassess people at Stella Point unless they deteriorated meanwhile.
Two incredibly long hours later Meckson shouted ‘Stella Point’ as he pointed into the gloom above. We were half an hour at the snails-pace that we were walking at to the rim of the crater. Simon, one of the other climbers was in front of me. He stopped and told me that once he reached Stella Point that he would not go any further. He said that he would wait for our return on the descent from the mountain. I asked him how much he wanted to summit. He told me that he knew that once he returned home that he would regret not going further but, he felt that he just couldn’t go any further. I told him that we would have another discussion at Stella Point.
Thirty minutes later as the sun was starting to rise, we reached Stella Point at 5,739 metres. From that point it was a gradual walk along the crater rim to Uhuru Point, the summit of Kilimanjaro. As I reached Stella Point my emotions took over me. I cried like a baby. I don’t know why. Maybe it was relief after the hardest seven hours of my life, I don’t know, but I have read about so many others who have felt the same emotion when they reached the crater rim. I rooted around for the batteries that I had stored in my armpit earlier. I had forgotten about them but fortunately they were in my sleeve. I fitted two of them into my camera and, success, they worked. I missed photographing the sunrise over Mawenzi but, I did witness it. By the time that my camera was ready, clouds had rolled in but, it was still a magical sight. There was another piece of good news. The guides had brought flasks of tea and coffee. This really was a welcome surprise and warmed us all up, giving us a morale boost for the summit push.
I looked around the group and people were congratulating each other while a few were sat, slumped on rocks, totally wiped out. I searched out Simon who told me that enough was enough. I told him that he was coming with me to the summit, and it wasn’t up for discussion. He did try to discuss it, but I told him to grab my arm and we could do it. He finally succumbed to my nagging. He got to his feet while I grabbed one of his trekking poles so that he could hold on to my arm with a free hand. We dawdled along through the snow, and I kept him talking to take his mind off his exhaustion. I was exhausted myself, but the adrenaline rush was amazing and carrying me along.
We had a gentle hour-long hike to the summit which, thankfully for me, I found quite easy. The available oxygen in the air at the crater rim is only half that of at sea level which necessitated a Pole Pole stroll. We passed close to the glaciers on the summit which were once part of a massive ice cap. Allegedly, due to global warming, these glaciers could have completely disappeared by 2030. The views into the crater were stunning. The caldera was formed due to the collapse of the summit creating a 1.6 mile diameter bowl. The caldera was snow filled on our visit. We passed by the glacial walls, but stopped for photographs. Simon by now had gained some sort of second wind and was hiking unaided. He even volunteered to take my photograph. I walked in front of him from then onwards, keeping a close eye on him.
I witnessed something that I had heard of but, never seen before. It actually freaked me out for a second when it came into view. It was the phenomenon known as the Brocken Spectre. This is actually formed when the sun is low in the sky and behind you, casting a shadow on the clouds in front of you at the same elevation. The ghostly image startled me initially until I realised what it was. I hastily took a photograph but, with only having a basic camera and little camera skills, it wasn’t the best shot ever.
A few minutes later the summit board came into view. Wow! Maybe ten minutes more and I would be at the highest point in Africa. We were at an elevation of 5,895 metres or 19,341 feet above sea level. The temperature was minus 21 degrees but, I was warm in my winter gear. We had gained 4,255 metres or 13,960 feet since we left Machame Gate but, we had climbed more due to our undulating route. The height gain from Everest Base Camp to the summit is 3,489 or 11,447 feet. The sun against the white of the expanse of snow was dazzling and I was happy that I had brought my sunglasses.
Meckson was at the summit to greet us along with a few members of our group. That was it! Job’s a guddun! What a feeling. The pain of the previous eight hours had been so worth it. Even the clouds parted as I summited to give the most glorious of views. The Roof of Africa! There were plenty of hugs and handshakes as the rest of our summiteers gathered at the sign board. Simon hugged and thanked me for being a bullying asshole! I took it as a complement. It was a glorious moment and surprisingly, without the shows of emotion from everyone at Stella Point. We took the obligatory photograph with each taking multiple shots of the other members of the group in case of any camera failures. I decided there and then that if there wasn’t a successful shot of me at the summit, that I would not be returning to retake one!
We stayed for around fifteen minutes at the summit as the clouds rolled back in and then it was time to make a move steadily back to Stella Point to meet the members of the group that we left with a guide. It felt sad to leave the summit but, we still had a long way to hike to Mweka Camp where we would be stopping overnight.
The descent
We met up with the full team at Stella Point. It was a shame that some had missed the opportunity to summit, but they knew their limitations. They had rested for over two hours and were ready for the descent. We were euphoric and pumped full of adrenaline. The descent started by dropping down a very dusty volcanic ash slope peppered with small boulders. Myself, Dave and another group member, Steve looked at the slope and asked, ‘should we?’ This was the signal for three ‘schoolboys’ to run down the slope. So, we went for it. It wasn’t a full-on sprint more a long striding jog. Where the energy came from, I am unsure but, it was great fun as our heels dug into the loose surface. It was easier than walking as walking actually meant slipping. Great clouds of dust billowed around us as we bounced through the scree. We gathered together on a flattish section, laughing at our exploits. A few of my toes were hurting, unsurprisingly, as my feet had slipped inside my boots, but other than that, I was still buzzing from the euphoria of the summit success.
I think that the increase in available oxygen was also a major factor in my wellbeing as we lost altitude. We sat on large rocks while we awaited the rest of the group who were quite a way behind. It was a good excuse for a rest and to rehydrate. Eventually, the group turned up looking a bit bedraggled and very dusty. Spirits were high, and unlike on the summit ascent, everyone was chatting away merrily. We joined them for the gentle descent to our mid-morning rest break. We were just about to re-enter the moorland zone as we stopped. There were small wind-blown trees ahead of us. It had been a few days since we last saw vegetation on the mountain.
Lunch, or brunch, consisted of snacks that the guides had carried in their rucksacks for us. Flapjacks, cake and a few pieces of chocolate, that had the consistency of granite, were the welcome treats. We were due to arrive in Mweka Camp by mid-afternoon at the latest, where we would eat a hot meal. As we sat in the sunshine, we were all baking in the heat so, we all shed some of our outer clothing into our rucksacks before we moved off. As we were about to commence our descent one of the group spotted a ring of vultures circling above the trees ahead of us. We imagined them to be waiting for their lunch break of Kilimanjaro trekkers! Meckson said that he was surprised that they weren’t circling above our motley crew. Forever the comedian!
The final push would mean another few hours of gentle-ish descent through the upper forest. It was an easy walk but, we were all exhausted and were ready to eat and rest. We were all still on a high from our sense of achievement. Conversation was continuous between the group members with hardly a pause for air! Eventually, there it was, within the trees. Mweka Camp was so welcoming. As were the porters, who sang and danced a greeting to us with so much enthusiasm and genuine warmth. We were treated like long-lost kin. Hot drinks were thrust into our hands, and we were all congratulated. It was quite moving as these guys must have welcomed groups into camp on many previous occasions. They made us feel special, like kings and queens. I will remember and be grateful for that greeting for as long as I live.
All that I wanted to do was to crawl in my tent and sleep but, I felt that I should spend time with the porters, guides and cooks who had made this possible and run so seamlessly. Along with a couple of other group members we all sat around and had a chat and a laugh with the support team. Some of the guides had summitted more than fifty times while the cooks and porters told of how they had never summitted and what’s more, had no desire to. They said that it was for crazy Westerners!
I soon succumbed to the temptation of crawling into my tent. I simply pulled the sleeping bag out of its stuff sack, lay on it and instantly drifted off to the land of nod. I was aware of activity in the camp but, I do remember sleeping for a couple of hours. It seemed like only minutes had passed when the pot banging started signalling it was meal-time. I really didn’t feel like moving but, there was no way that I was about to miss a meal.
The group were gathered in the mess tent and every last one of us looked destroyed but, with a big beaming smile on our faces. I think that it was late afternoon but, I had lost track of time. Hot drinks were ready again for us. We were all talking across each other. We had bonded. We felt that we all shared something very special. We joked and laughed and took the mickey out of each other as if we had been friends for life. It felt good. Soup arrived with plenty of hot flatbreads. It was delicious as usual. Then it was the turn of the main meal. Chips and lots of them, spicy fried chicken, fried rice, veg. It was a feast indeed. It was what we all wanted and needed. I think that between us we managed to demolish all of it. We were all stuffed and had forgotten that the sweet course was yet to appear. It was a large cake, like a birthday cake, decorated with an image of Kilimanjaro. How do these guys do it? We all ate a slab with our teas and coffees. I don’t know which was the biggest achievement, summitting Kilimanjaro or finishing that meal.
We sat around for a while after the food, excitedly talking about the last couple of days, until, one by one, we started to make our way to our tents. We had no energy left. I felt really good apart from some sore toes and the bodily exhaustion. I was one of the last to give in to the temptation of a good sleep. Once I was zipped up inside my sleeping bag, I can remember absolutely nothing until I awoke the next morning. I had obviously woken a couple of time in the night unless someone else was using my pee bottle!
Mweka camp to Mweka gate
The last day on the mountain arrived with that thing that I could easily get used to. Bed tea. ‘Jambo, Good Morning’ was the greeting as the tent zipped open. It didn’t feel so cold as we had experienced on the last few awakenings. We were at 3,100 metres so the air was thicker, the sun was up, and we only had a four hour walk to Mweka Gate where we would end our time on the mountain. I felt good but, some toes were really sore. There had been some damage done. There was plenty of blood in my socks the previous day but, I had paid little attention to them except for cleaning them up a wee bit. I decided that I should be more responsible and wash them thoroughly and dress them. With fresh socks on they felt good.
Breakfast was as good as ever with sausages, omelette and porridge. Toast and eggy bread bulked up our bellies before our last hike. We were somewhat slower leaving the mess tent and getting all our gear together on this morning. There was no rush and we hoped to have a gentle stroll through the rainforest. Little did we know what was ahead of us.
We set off around eight o’clock in with the warmth of the sun on our backs. I had reverted to wearing shorts again after feeling restricted over the last couple of days in long pants. After a few minutes we entered the lower cloud layer that we had been above since day 1. The air felt very damp and clammy. The humidity was back. The path had been compacted until this point, but things were changing. Unbeknown to us it had rained heavily at the foot of the mountain for a few days. We had been above the rain and unaware of the conditions at lower altitude.
This was where we first encountered mud. When I say mud, I mean mud like I had never seen before. In places it was literally knee deep. The rainforest was so close to the path that there was no avoiding it. It was a nightmare trying to pull your foot out on occasions and the danger of losing a boot was almost inevitable. The going was incredibly slow, and the group split up with some struggling more than others. At one point I realised that I was totally alone. I couldn’t see or hear anyone. It flashed through my mind that I may have taken a wrong turn. I stood still and listened to the Colobus monkeys screeching and laughing at me. What would I do if I saw a snake? I couldn’t exactly run in the mud. What if I saw any lions or cougars? They are incredibly rare in this area, but are still sighted more frequently than on Snowdon or Ben Nevis. OK, I joke, but I was a bit concerned. I plodded on through the quagmire and soon came across some human creatures, thankfully.
The next hour or so was exhausting as we negotiated our way through the mud. Eventually, with about half an hour to the gate, the path levelled off and became more compacted. It was good to stroll along the very last section. A group of young lads with buckets of water and sponges seemed to appear from nowhere asking for a dollar for a leg wash. We all figured that this was the accepted procedure at the Mweka Gate. We were wrong, there is an official leg wash just by the gate. The young lads were chased away but not before most of us had had the worst washed off us.
We had arrived. We were at Mweka Gate, the end of the climb. The greeting from the porters was even better than on the afternoon of the previous day. It was like a party was about to begin. Everyone bought a bottle of ice-cold Kilimanjaro lager. Wow, it tasted good. There were plenty of photographs being taken as we hung around the area chatting to the support crew. Meckson collected the tips that we had all donated for the team. I think that everyone had brought a gift for their porter. The tip system is hierarchical with the head guide receiving the most, followed by other guides, then by the cook staff and lastly, the porters. Meckson would apportion it later. Whether you agree with it or not, that is how it is. I brought a gift for my porter and a few for Meckson to dispatch to whoever he thought was most deserving. I had agreed this with him during a conversation on the mountain. He suggested that I give to my porter at the same time as others in the group gave to theirs. It was acceptable to give no more than a token gift, but I fortunately chose well.
Being a lifelong Manchester United fan and the fact that they had won the Treble the season before, I had bought six Treble winning t-shirts. Godfrey, my porter had earlier on the trip, confessed to being a Man U fan and when I gave him the t-shirt he was over the moon. Others gave baseball caps, t-shirts and even printed mugs. I would have loved to have given more, but I was asked not to.
It was time to say our farewells as the minibus was loaded up with our trek bags and rucksacks. The treatment that we had experienced from the support team was exceptional. I had absolutely no complaints. They were efficient, polite and friendly at all times. The food was amazing and plentiful. The singing and dancing never failed. I could not speak highly enough of them. So, all loaded onto the minibus we waved goodbye!
Initially, the drive back to the hotel was down a dirt track which was muddy causing the van to skid once or twice. The banana plantations bordered the track and we realised that we were back to civilisation as we passed village huts and people carrying large amounts of bananas. We reached the main road where we stopped at a street seller for drinks of sugarcane juice. It was refreshing but oh so sickly sweet. We were soon back at the hotel. All filthy, smelly and exhausted but, first things first. The bar was calling much more loudly than the showers were.
We all sat on the veranda with the guides while we guzzled Kilimanjaro lager from the bottle. As we were in full swing of being noisy and excitable, a group of newbies arrived. Our minds flashed back to when we were the newbies, and we were in awe of the group that had just come back from the mountain. This time we were the experts, the experienced climbers. We had the chance to pass on all our hard-earned advice to the Kilimanjaro virgins. They were hanging onto our every word. We felt like we were the sixth formers when the first years arrived on their first day at big school. When the new group left the veranda, we all laughed. We laughed at ourselves not them. After all, what did we know? They were nervous and excited while we were relieved and on a high. Also, we were on the beer!
It was time to go to our rooms and to clean up. I selfishly stood in that shower for ages, it was heavenly. I don’t think that I used all the hot water in the town of Moshi but, I definitely used most of it. Then it was back to the room to change into clean clothes. Yes, clean clothes! The plan for the evening was to have a meal in the hotel and then to have a few beers on the veranda. There was an hour to kill before the meal, so I decided to explore the area. The hotel was on a main road and there wasn’t much to see. I knew that we had passed a small shop a hundred yards from the hotel. With that as a target I walked through the grounds and said Jambo to the uniformed gate security guard. I was immediately sought out by a few of the local kids. They had ‘I climbed Kili’ t-shirts of a few different designs. I spotted one that I particularly liked. It was a bit more subtle than some of the gaudy varieties. I asked how much, and we agreed on a price. I can’t recall how much we actually agreed on but, he said that he didn’t have an XL but, he could get one in five minutes. Ok, I thought, I won’t see him again. I continued towards the shop. It felt a bit uncomfortable. Maybe it wasn’t the thing to do, wander alone in this area. On the surface it seemed to be a nice area but, I could feel eyes burning into me. A few lorries zoomed past and sounded their horns. I thought that I should return to the hotel and ask about safety in the area. Perhaps I was being a bit naïve or maybe just paranoid. Anyway, I safely returned to the hotel and heard a call of ‘Jambo’ from across the road. It was my pint-sized t-shirt salesman clasping onto another t-shirt. He said that it was my size, but it would be one dollar more because there was more material than a medium. I thought ‘the cheeky sod’ but, I gave him the extra dollar for being so hard faced. We were both happy with the purchase.
I returned to the bar for a swift Kilimanjaro before we made our way to the first-floor balcony for our meal. The food was good, but I wouldn’t say that it was better than on the mountain. It was quite similar with soup, a pasta dish followed by fresh fruit salad. The portions were smaller, but I suppose that we didn’t need as much fuel as we did on Kilimanjaro. We all turned the chance of wine down at the table, opting for more beer. It was a combination of the need to drink and the ice-cold temperature of the lager in the humid high twenty degrees. Beer wasn’t the ideal solution to dehydration, but we were celebrating after all.
The venue for the drinking soon moved back to the ground floor veranda where we all made a lot of noise as we reminisced over the days on the hill. Our climbing certificates were presented to each of us in turn accompanied by cheers and whistles from the group. We had to chose what we were each going to do the next day if we were to go on a safari, an excursion or simply take it easy. I wasn’t going to miss out on an African Wildlife safari while I was there so, that is what I booked. Others booked a waterfall visit and a couple chose the hot springs. Only two people chose to relax and to explore Moshi. That left four of us to go on the safari. Now the morrow was organised we could concentrate on some serious drinking! I think that I was a bit of a lightweight as I made my excuses to go to bed around eleven thirty. I was a bit worse for wear and incredibly tired. Most people soon followed as I found out the next morning. So, at least I wasn’t the first or indeed the last to succumb to being worn out.
I slept soundly again with the overhead fan on full blast and the mosquito net over my bed. The bed was so comfortable and unrestricting after being in my sleeping bag. Not that I am criticising my sleeping bag. I won’t allow criticism of my precious! However, being covered by a light white sheet and being able to stretch out in all directions was luxury indeed. Morning came too soon. It was to be another early start.
Safari day
The day was to be a long one and the last one in Tanzania. We would set off early for a safari in Lake Manyare National Park, followed by a short visit to the rim of the Ngorongoro Crater, then in the evening a trip to an Indian restaurant. We chose to forgo the hotel breakfast in exchange for packed lunch and a packed continental style breakfast.
The minibus picked us up from the hotel reception at six o’clock for a three-hour drive to the gate of the National Park. We transferred into our open backed 4 x 4 vehicle as soon as we arrived. It was just after nine o’clock when we met our driver and guide for the day. After a few minutes safety advice we were off. It was all very efficient, which was surprising since form-filling and bureaucracy usually delays everything in Tanzania. Our guide, George, proudly pointed out his rifle that was, apparently loaded and ready to go, above his head above the windscreen. He also seemed to be carrying a very large knife in a sheath attached to his belt. It was comforting and a bit concerning at the same time. He told us that he was a very fast runner. That was even more disconcerting!
As we pulled away, George pointed to a large pile of dung. ‘Elephant’ was his only word. All I could think was that particular elephant must have one hell of an appetite! We muttered to each other that we wouldn’t be seeing any elephant as that was ‘dumped’ there for effect! Initially, the track took us through a large area of savannah with trees encircling it but, quite distant. We chatted with George about what we should expect to see. He said that we would see giraffe, zebra, baboons, hippo and maybe lions and elephants plus plenty of other native creatures. He told us what to do if we were approached by lions. He described how we should keep very still, bend forward very slowly, place our head between our knees and kiss our ass goodbye! He was a bit of a joker was our George.
He pointed towards the trees in the distance and said ‘giraffe’. We couldn’t see any giraffe, only trees. Then, suddenly I could just make out the angular necks of four or five giraffes. I asked, ‘how did you spot them at such a distance?’ Without using too many words, he indicated with his arm pointing straight upwards ‘trees’ and tilted his arm to 45 degrees and said ‘giraffe’. I suppose that it was obvious really.
Within a few minutes we were close to a large herd of zebra, grazing on the lush grass. The area is verdant and well irrigated all year round due to water fed from the Rift Valley walls and seeping into the forest area. It was a thrill to see so many zebra, in their natural habitat rather than in the confines of a zoo. I was half expecting to see a lion jumping onto the back of an unsuspecting zebra, but as George told us, the lions of Manyara have evolved into tree climbers, where they spend most of the day watching the world go by from their viewpoints.
There was a dazzling array of birdlife to be seen all day as we journeyed through the area. As we drove into the forest, we could see dik-diks, tiny antelopes, on the edges of the track in the short grass. A short drive through the trees and we came to a small clearing with a group of baboons sat around in the sunshine. We were so close to them and could clearly see their babies feeding. It was a sight to behold and a privilege to witness. Others were grooming each other while some were feeding. We stopped for a few minutes to observe and take photographs.
As we drove along the track, we came across more zebra and giraffes in large numbers. We were halted more than once by giraffes walking in front of us on the track but, unfortunately, we didn’t see any zebra crossing. Sorry! We spotted a large herd of water buffalo close to one of the many pools that we passed. At one pool, George stopped the landrover and told us to look at the water. He loved to make us work hard to see the wildlife. We couldn’t see anything until he muttered ‘eyes’. Wow! Hippo’s! There were quite a few only feet away from us, submerged in the water except for two beady eyes each, looking straight at us. We watched as a head would poke above the water and yawn with those big yellow teeth. We could almost smell their breath. It was an amazing experience.
We stopped at the crest of a hill, overlooking Lake Manyara, while we ate our packed lunches. There was a herd of giraffe grazing on the long grasses by the shoreline below us. George called it ‘Giraffic Park’. Such a comedian. It was a fantastic viewpoint as we watched water buffalo, giraffe, zebra and many species of bird including a great number of egrets, as we munched away on our sandwiches.
We moved on and George said that he had something special to show us. He drove for half an hour or so until we crested a small ridge, then dropped down to the lakeside. Lake Manyara is a large lake of 470 square kilometres, with a pH of around 9.5. The water is fed entirely by underground springs and streams from the Ngorongoro Highlands. The water is very salty and combined with its almost caustic characteristics, is uninhabitable to most creature. Eyes and skin would be burnt on contact. But, one creature has evolved and adapted to thrive in its shallow water. Flamingos! As we arrived there was a sea of flamingos ahead of us. George said that there was a million. At times, over two million have been estimated to be on the lake! We saw a large number of pelicans and storks too, along with other water birds that I could not identify. I could not believe my eyes. I would estimate that roughly half of them took to the air simultaneously. It is an image that I will never forget.
We drove back through the park and came across more of the same wildlife. Unfortunately, no lions or elephants. I would have loved to spend more time there, maybe a three-day safari but, we only had one day, and I was far from disappointed in what I had seen. The flamingos had been worth the trip on their own!
We said our goodbyes and tipped George as we were dropped off at the gate. He had made the day so interesting, and his sense of humour was entertaining. We would head back to Moshi after a detour to a viewpoint at the rim of the Ngorongoro Crater.
The expansive view down from the crater rim and across the rift valley floor was well worth the effort. The crater is the world’s largest unfilled volcanic caldera and part of Africa’s Rift Valley. The Oldovai Gorge is known as the cradle of mankind with homonids or early humans, known to have lived there over three million years ago. We parked and walked to the craters edge where we were all in awe of the beauty of the place. Far below us we could see, what we thought, were elephants but, with the use of binoculars we discovered they were warthogs. If only we hadn’t used the binoculars, I would have been saying that I saw a herd of elephants! We did spot wildebeest and zebra from our vantage point so, we weren’t disappointed. Unfortunately, we couldn’t linger long as we had a long drive back to Moshi ahead of us. All in all, it had been a wonderful experience and one I am so fortunate to have had.
The drive back to Moshi seemed to not take as long as the outward journey. We were back by six thirty giving us thirty minutes to shower and change before we were to be picked up to take us for our Indian meal. In fact, there was time for a shower, to get changed and to grab an ice-cold Kilimanjaro lager. The gang gathered on the veranda while we waited for the coach to pick us up swigging our bottles of booze. The bus arrived on time. The drive to the restaurant took about thirty minutes. It was dark and we were in the middle of nowhere. The restaurant was well off the beaten track, but when we arrived, we were all shocked. It was like a country club. As we drove through the gate, we passed a crazy golf course. We parked and were ushered to our table, on a veranda, and we had it to ourselves. The rest of the restaurant was almost full and obviously popular with the locals. We chose our seats and immediately we were asked for our drinks order.
The meal was excellent and yet again, plenty of it. The service was excellent too. The beer and wine kept flowing as we all rabbited on about the last few days. Dave spotted a table football machine inside the building so, obviously four of us children had to have a knock-out competition. Manchester United, me, played Liverpool, Phil, and won easily. Dave as Arsenal beat Pete, who was Chelsea to set up a final between Manchester United and Arsenal. It was to be played in front of a sell-out crowd at the Bernabeau. United were favourites after their stunning display in the semi-final. Disaster! Arsenal won by three goals. I was devastated. We were noisy and excitable like a bunch of teenagers but, we had a ball! After the food was devoured, we stayed for a couple more beers before heading back to the hotel, rather inebriated! It had been a fantastic night but, we were all still exhausted. But, not exhausted enough for a handful of us to grab some more Kilimanjaro’s to drink on the veranda.
Bed was a welcome relief. The room seemed to be spinning almost as fast as the ceiling fan. Surprisingly, I slept like a log.
Moshi to Nairobi
With a fuzzy head, I was up and ready for breakfast by eight o’clock. It was a bit of a subdued affair with not all of the group present. As I finished it, Meckson appeared at the door. He said that he had a surprise for me. I was surprised already as it was Sunday morning and the day off for the support crew before they started a climb with a new group. He told me to ‘come and see’. He took me to the front of the hotel, and I was greeted by five of the support crew including Godfrey, my porter, who had looked after me so well. They were all wearing the Manchester United t-shirts that I had given them. I was treated to another song and dance before they all dispersed to spend their day off with their families. I was really touched. They were such friendly genuine people.
It was around mid-morning when we boarded the mini-bus, for our return to Nairobi Jomo Kenyatta Airport. We were on the outskirts of Moshi so our crazy driver could put the pedal to the metal straight away. The drive should take around five and a half to six hours. He said that he could do it in four. Why? He was insane as he drove at speeds 150km per hour whenever he could. This lunatic rarely slowed down even when passing through some of the villages en-route.
With it being Sunday, a lot of people dressed for the occasion in elaborate and brightly coloured kangas and gomesis. The Masai could still be seen, mainly outside of the villages, walking across the savannah. The amount of Coke Cola advertising displays caught our eyes as on the inward journey. Stalls selling fresh fruit were everywhere but, we continued at our break-neck speed toward the border.
The border crossing was a similar experience to that of the previous trip. When I went to show my receipt for the return transit that I had purchased on the way in, the official shook his head and demanded twenty dollars. I had no option but to pay up. I had been ripped off but, fortunately it wasn’t by a huge amount. There was no point in complaining as they would just make life difficult for you.
When we were all back in the bus, we had all been stitched up for ten dollars. I suppose that it is a nice little earner for the transit officials. The mad man behind the wheel continued driving in his maniacal manner. He was asked to slow down on a few occasions but, simply laughed. As we neared Nairobi, we passed a gigantic cement works. The traffic was horrendous, but our man knew how to avoid it. He simply drove off the side of the road on the verges, rarely slowing down for innocent pedestrians who were forced to jump out of the way. Huge clouds of dust were created as we hurtled along. He was right, he had made the journey in around four hours. We still had six hours until our flight so what his idea was, I will never know.
We were dropped off at the International Departures gate dusty, hot and very relieved. We passed through the system there quite efficiently and settled into a long wait for our plane back to Blighty!
Thoughts
What an epic trip! I had accomplished what I had set out to do. I had summitted Kilimanjaro, to the Roof of Africa. I had seen some amazing sights such as the flamingos on Lake Manyara and the hippo’s in the pool. I had met some amazing people with Godfrey and Meckson standing out as so generous and thoughtful. I had eaten amazing freshly cooked food in some remote and beautiful surroundings. I had experienced a totally different culture to what I am used to. I had been in a snowstorm on the equator. I had experienced the toughest seven hours of my life on the summit attempt. It had been a totally enjoyable, exhausting and enthralling experience.
I am so pleased that I chose to write this little report down as a lot of my experience of the trip had been lost in a foggy memory. Now, I feel that I have recaptured those memories and hopefully, they won’t fade this time. Hakuna Matata!
Joe the Cocker's Hikes 
I really enjoyed the recounting of your adventures on Kilimanjaro.
Please don’t stop adventuring, and committing them to paper/keyboard.
Thank you.
Kind Regards
Kev
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Cheers Kev. Thanks for the kind words. More to come soon 👍🐾🐾
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Hello Simon, not heard from yourself for ages. Have you still got Joe? I always wanted to go up Kilimanjaro but it would be the climbing that would see me off. I can walk the length but the hills kill me. I haven’t read all the blog but I will have a read of it tomorrow. Keep going. Jean
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Hi Jean, still got Joe. My best mate. Hopefully we’ll be blogging again soon
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