Kilimanjaro (more details)

I'll freely admit to having some apprehension about climbing Kilimanjaro.  For good or for ill, that apprehension manifested itself primarily through studious avoidance of any information about what it would be like.  Accordingly, other than knowing we were taking the Lemosho route (green in the image above) with the African Walking Company (which Rose had recommended) through Exodus UK, the only information I sought out was what to pack.  My apprehension luckily turned out to be entirely unwarranted: the experience was amazing, the scenery was gorgeous, our guides were phenomenal, I loved our group, and all of my (minimal) injuries were entirely self-inflicted (more on those later).

Days 1-3, or Ramping Up.  We spent our first couple days checking in at the gate and hiking up to acclimatization altitude (roundabout 3600 meters).  Days 1 and 2 were primarily in the "rainforest zone" -- we saw monkeys, flowers, etc.  By the end of Day 2 and into Day 3 we'd entered the "heather and moorland" which again was more beautiful than I expected.  (For those of you following along at home, there are five climate zones on Kilimanjaro, though basically everything after these first few days was alpine desert.)

The walking really wasn't overly strenuous, ranging from 3-7 hours per day.  Our guides made our group take things slowly ("pole pole" in Swahili), and we were the most pole pole of them all, taking our time at 

the back of the group.  Having never really experienced altitude before, Monju was surprised at how much better you feel when you walk. really. slowly, which required fighting every instinct honed through years in NYC.  Between the weather gradually getting colder, having to adjust to sleeping (and going to the bathroom) in tents, acclimatizing to the altitude, and (most of all) her phlegmy cough, Monju was not much of a happy camper (literally!) during this period.  Get this: my singing actually made her feel *better* -- she assures me *not* because it made her want to walk to get away -- which tells you something about her baseline.

Day 4, or Lava Tower, The Most Stupid (Yet Incredible) Decision I've Made So Far This Trip.  The general principle of acclimatization is to "walk high, sleep low."  This principle sounds good in theory, but its correlary is that when you're already sleeping high, you have to walk even higher.  Hence on Day 4, we walked up to the base of lava tower, around 4600 meters high.  We'd had pretty good luck with the weather up to this point: some clouds, but they'd mostly clear out during the night, and it was generally pretty warm by the time we got going in the morning.  But as we approached the top of the tower, it started to snow/sleet/hail -- one of those amorphous blobs of somewhat frozen water.  We therefore ate our boxed lunch huddled under an overhang.

But the 4600 meters was at the *base* of the Lava Tower and the whole point of this exercise is to get to the *top* of things, right?  So when a group of folks expressed interest in climbing to the top of the Lava Tower, I joined up, even through it involved rock scrambling in the sleet.  After about 10 minutes we came to a pretty sizable gap.  I probably should've joined the majority of the group, who decided that making it to the top of Kilimanjaro was significantly more important than making it to the top of the Lava Tower and opted to stay behind.  But by that time I'd already climbed up one side of the gap, given an incredulous look to the guide when he showed me where my other foot was supposed to go, and taken that leap of faith.  Once on the other side, it didn't get much better because you realized that you were then on top of *another* gap in the rocks, so I very quickly crabwalked past that one while I waited for Lukas (the only other person stupid/brave enough to keep going -- and he's really tall so he has the advantage of extremely long legs) to make the crossing.

After that, it was pretty easy getting up to the top, and it was incredible to be up there even though we couldn't see anything.  Coming down was not fun, though, especially because the clouds cleared enough to see just how far it was possible to fall.  In one instance, I lost my footing on a slippery portion and wound up getting pinned to the wall by the guide until I regained my balance.  Let's just say my adrenaline was pumping enough that I was extremely warm even in the sleet, a feeling that was seemingly shared by the guide, as he was the most shaken I'd seen him the entire trip during our descent... By a lot.  Oops.

In the end, everyone made it down the tower safe, sound, and (in my case) kicking myself.  We then booked it down through what was rapidly becoming rain to the campsite.

Days 5-6, or Getting Warmer, by Which I Mean Colder.  Over the next two days, we climbed gradually higher toward base camp.  After the Lava Tower, I barely even noticed kissing the Barafu Wall, though Monju didn't need to climb up in the sleet to also find it somewhat anticlimatic.

Day 7, or SUMMIT DAY: THIS IS NOT A DRILL.  Technically, summit day begins on Day 6, because we woke up at 11 pm to eat some porridge, pack our daypacks.  We hit the trail by a bit after midnight, using headlamps.  It was pretty incredible to see the system the guides had for monitoring us; the head guide was in the lead, setting the pace, and the assistant guides would stand right by the turning point of each switchback, seamlessly moving from one to the other, and check to see how we were doing.  When one member of the group started to fall behind a little, an assistant guide would fill in -- not only to monitor that person, but to keep the group together.  All in all, it was a pretty impressive display of logistics.

I was fine for most of the 6 hour climb to Stella Point.  It was tiring, and I definitely noticed the altitude (no singing from me on summit day), but I was fine.  Only once we were within sight of Stella Point and the sun was starting to come up did I really struggle -- probably about the last 20 minutes or so.  I just lost all of the energy in my body, somehow.  My hands were really cold, so I had to put on my big outer gloves, which made it hard to grip the poles, so I basically had my hands hanging in the pole loops, flinging them forward and then resting on them as we gradually wound our way up.  I would've laughed at myself if I'd had the energy.

Somehow I managed to have a resurgence of energy at Stella Point, however -- in no small part, I think, because I got to take my backpack off.  Hugs all around, and I've never been so glad to drink a hot cup of overly-sweet tea in my life.  After another hour, we were at Uhuru.  There's only a ~200 meter difference between Stella and Uhuru point, but I noticed the altitude much more at Uhuru.  I didn't feel particularly nauseous or lightheaded or anything, I just felt... weird.  And, of course, exhilerated and excited and all those other ex- words.

We probably only stayed up there for about 15-20 minutes, then headed back down.  One member of our group was experiencing some pretty strong altitude sickness, so I lent her my poles and slid down the scree.

Day 8, or It's All Downhill from Here (Literally).  Our last day was about 4-5 hours of walking down, down, down, mostly on a pretty clear, open path.  Obviously, this is where I would hurt myself.  Once I slipped and caught myself on a rock, so I had a 1 centimeter cut on my hand.  Another time I did a more classic fall: somehow my legs flew out from under me, I was airborne for one glorious second, and then I slammed down, butt first, on the wood beam that formed the step.  At the time, I was busy convincing everyone I was fine and not at all embarrassed, but later I noticed that sitting had become a decidedly less pleasant experience than before, and even now -- over a week later -- I occasionally have a wince-worthy moment when I'm adjusting my sitting position.

Once back at the lodge, we convinced a few of the guides to take us out for a night on the town, eating BBQ chicken, drinking beer, and dancing the night away.  It was sad saying goodbye to everyone the next morning; there's nothing like a shared goal (or shared misery) to help people bond.

A few additional items of note: 

(1) To borrow from a favorite Earl family story, Monju was "a real trooper," making it up to the summit despite suffering from the plague (well, at least some form of cough/cold/flu/bronchitis/pneumonia thing), never having experienced altitude before, and not having spent the night in a tent for several years.  Although I don't think she enjoyed it as much as I did (OK, fine, I know full well she didn't -- in fact, I know she was pretty miserable most of the trip because she so informed me), she kept her complaints to a minimum and never interfered with my enjoyment.  Thanks, friend!

(2) My inability to gracefully exit tents was not limited to the model used in Eileen's and my overland trip.  Although these tents were significantly larger and more weatherproof than on the last leg of the trip (I could hear but not feel the wind, for example), I still managed to get my hair stuck in the zipper despite emerging ass-first on several occasions.

(3) In addition to struggling with exiting our tent, after exiting, I had real difficulty finding it again.  This handicap was apparently quite well known among the porters because, after an evening visit to the toilet, they'd often point out to me which one was ours.  This was particularly the case after I accidentally unzipped the wind flap of the wrong tent, doubtless startling the poor girl sleeping in there (sorry, Brit!).

(4) I could get really used to being served coffee in my sleeping bag.

(5) I'd heard a lot of hooplah about appetite suppression being part of altitude sickness.  No such luck for my diet, however.  Actually, none of the 14 of us really experienced that symptom, which suggests either that our cook was particularly gifted or that this route really is amazing for acclimatization.