August 26, 2009 (Day 6 on the Mountain,
Continued...
After about 10 minutes, we start to descend. Our path to the bottom will be the Mweka route, on the other side of the mountain that we came up. New things to look at. We move out and Papa sets a good pace. No more pole pole, now haraka haraka (quickly quickly). This path down, which is one of the major ascent routes as well, is not nearly as pretty as the Western Breach. The path wide and made up of deep, loose volcanic ash and we virtually ski down the top quarter of the mountain in great clouds of dust.
On our way down we pass a man that has altitude sickness in a serious way. It’s maybe 17,000 feet and he’s sitting on the trail with his guides looking nearly comatose. Really bad. Not responding much, just a vacant stare and drool (I’m not make this up, drool). His guides ask Papa for some food for him and Anita willingly surrenders her last protein bar to the cause. There is nothing else for us to do, so we move on. A rescue team is on the way up to help him down. More skiing in dust. Then finally rock and dirt.
We reach the major Barrancu Campsite and stop to put our names in the log book. This is my best chance to find Christian and I know it. I put my name in, with a star next to it and a note that says ‘Christian: my e-mail’, just in case he’ll be looking at the book after us. Then I flip back through the book looking for any entries by a Christian with the guide Robinson. I find two Christians, neither seem a perfect fit, but I write down the information just in case, and we head out.
Macho asks me who I was looking for in the book. ‘Oh, those guys from
‘AMY!!!’ in chorus. ‘Christian!’
The mountain gods have given us a second chance. I’m not about to insult them.
This time we immediately exchange information before Macho and Papa can drag us away. We learn they’ll be starting for the summit in the morning and Anita discovers that they’re here on the mountain because of a sixth friend. These six guys had always talked of this trip and when the sixth was killed in the Air France plane crash outside of
Papa is really moving now. We are flying down the trail. Back into the small shrubs of high desert. The shrubs get bigger. The clouds get lower. It starts to sprinkle, our first rain on the mountain, but Papa has managed to time our descent well. We hit camp just as it starts to rain a bit. We dive in the tent and proceed to clean up, brush teeth, etc. and emerge feeling much refreshed for a late lunch.
It seems they’re determined to make up for the missed meals and lost calories as they place soup, mountains of pasta, veggies, and sauce, and our favorite African pancakes in front of us. They know if they give us the pancakes we’ll eat them all. Now, the cooking tent broke, but they have managed to repair the dining tent. It has now been converted to a cooking/dining tent. Fine by us as it’s warmer and we get company. But we now also feel obliged to try to finish everything they feed us, since the chefs are watching us eat. We put away a mountain of food and waddle back to the tent to work on tips and notes for the crew, since tomorrow morning will be our last morning on the mountain.
We manage to sort through everything we’re going to keep or leave behind (most hikers leave any extra gear they feel they can afford to; the wagum either use the gear themselves, give it to family, or sell it) and are just getting down to brass tacks when the ever-polite Irasto stops outside the tent to tell us dinner is ready.
We all look at each other. We just ate a huge meal not two hours ago. We kinda thought that would be it. But now that they’ve cooked it, we can’t very well not show up and eat some of it. So we troop back out to join Wencelaus, Isaya and Irasto in the cooking/dining tent. The fact that we ate a huge meal two hours ago has not deterred our chefs.
Another round of soup appears, with more of the magical pancakes. Then dinner; a mountain of rice and peas, veggie bean sauce, and fresh vegetables. I’m served first and after seeing the mountain of rice I’m given, Lisa politely asks for half the amount that I was given, as there is no way we’ll finish this, ever. Irasto nods, but it’s clear the request is misunderstood since he now gives her a double portion size. There’s nothing to do but laugh, thank him, and try to eat as much as we can.
We roll back to the tent now to finish up. We finish the airplane wine (Thank you, Marishka), toast to the summit, and try to remember all the names of our wagum and an approximate spelling. This is easier said than done. With the exception of Papa, Macho and Irasto, we’ve actually spent little one-on-one time with any of these guys. They pass us on the trail, sing with us, and enthusiastically join in ‘Aya’ competitions, but getting all their names out will be a challenge.
In the end we feel like we’ve gotten most of them, write them all a thank you note in an amalgam of English, Swahili and Chagga, and get their tips prepared for the morning. We had planned on re-writing the Jambo, Jambo song and working out choreography for a show for the guys, but our sleepless night is catching up with us. We finish the wine, I steal some of Lisa’s taffy, and we curl up to spend our last night on the mountain falling asleep to dripping rain, wagum laughter, and the manly rhymes of Walt Whitman. Not a bad last night…
Altitude covered today:
Crater Camp 18,796 ft
Millennium Camp 12,533 ft
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