Kilimanjaro Part 6b

August 25, 2009 (Day 5 on the Mountain and the Big Kahuna)

Continued...

So, 9 am, we’ve eaten a quick breakfast, shoulder our packs, and head out. It takes us about 45 minutes to reach Arrow Glacier Camp, a windy, desolate, boulder strewn, and very dirty camp. We’re glad we’re only passing through and not sleeping here. With good spirits we hit the bottom of the Breach and head up. By a third of the way up, I think we are all beginning to truly understand why this is the hardest ascent to the summit and what that really entails.

This is hard. We are walking, pole pole, up a 25 to 30% grade. It is scree, loose rock, and occasionally close-to-technical bouldering. It is a never-ending series of tiny switch- backs on a trail that is barely visible and constantly changing. And by now, the altitude is making itself known, strongly.

Lisa and Anita both have headaches, and all three of us are sucking wind like we’ve just finished an uphill marathon in Phoenix in August. We’re pausing every few minutes to try to catch our breath, and every twenty minutes or so we have to stop for water. Of course, we don’t have enough breath to drink the water, so we have to sit long enough to get our breath back to do that. Within the first step of starting up again, I’m sucking wind. And we’re only about a third of the way up! On the bright side, it’s pretty. Very pretty.

So we just go moja con moja (one by one). It becomes a battle of mind and body that is one of the hardest I’ve ever fought. One foot in front of the other. We struggle to keep our concentration in place, as a misplaced foot could start a rock-slide of dire consequences (our wagum are somewhere below us on the trail). This is definitely a race for the tortoise, slow and steady becomes the theme of the day.

So we push on. By two-thirds of the way up, we’re all feeling pretty bad, but Papa has us under a watchful eye. Lisa and Anita still have headaches, and Papa says no Tylenol, so as not to mask the symptoms so we, and he, can tell how bad it really is. I’m definitely nauseous, and am beginning to feel like my brain is packed in wool. Thighs burn, and lungs grasp for oxygen. This, my friends, is altitude sickness.

Twendi dada, twedni ju (‘Let’s go sisters, let’s go up). Moja con moja. At some point, Papa takes Anita’s daypack. Then Macho takes Lisa’s. At about three-quarters of the way up, we stop for a maji break (water). As I’m lying on a rock, gasping like a landed-fish, Papa walks over and demands my daypack. I refuse. ‘I’m fine’ I wheeze ‘Just need a break.’ He demands it again in a tone that brooks no argument. I surrender.

Twendi dada, twendi ju. Moja con moja. Papa has read me well (damn he’s good at his job). Within minutes of resuming the trail, I’m vomiting violently. He’s there immediately, holding me up and rubbing my back (I guess that reaction is universal and crosses all cultural boundaries). He smiles at me. ‘This is good. Now you will feel better and guide us to the peak.’ I think he might be crazy. We move on. And damn if he’s not right. Within 10 minutes I begin to feel much better. Better than I have in hours. I’m still breathing harder than a fat man chasing a donut truck, but I’m no longer considering suicide as a viable alternative to summiting.

Twendi dada, twendi ju. The cliff walls are now surrounding us, we’ve gone through the clouds, and are above them again. Moja con moja. It looks like there’s an edge up there. We’ve stopped taking pictures. Stopped talking. Singing, forget about it. But somehow our feet are still moving, and the edge is getting closer. Then we break over it. First Macho. Then Lisa. Then me. Papa and Anita right behind. Macho is hugging us. Then Papa grabs us. There seems to be a celebration. Are we there? Is this the top? I look around and see rock still jutting above us to the right. Stupid rock. Why are you above me?

To be continued...

Photos: Frozen waterfalls on the Breach. Looking back down the Breach from the top. The angle and scree on the Western Breach.