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Mt. Kilimanjaro Travel Guide
A father/son trek to the roof of Africa
By Ed Abell
W. H. Murry, “Whatever you can do, or dream you can, begin it. Boldness has genius, power, and magic in it.”
My father amassed an enviable library of mountain exploration books. He was an enthusiastic student of Himalayan climbing history. Over time I’ve added contemporary volumes to the collection that now resides in an honored place on my shelves. One of them is invariably on my nightstand. Since I was a boy those books instilled a quiet passion in me that only fanned the fires of action as I approached my 50’s. Not exactly an age to begin climbing at high altitude but getting arguably close to now or never. In 2001 I climbed, non-technical, Mt. Fuji with my family. (Non-technical means no ropes or special climbing gear other than your own two feet, a walking stick and some pluck.) Fuji-san was 12,300 ft. A wonderful, dream come true experience. I had been bitten, however, by the bug and, in time, became restless for a more challenging adventure.
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| The Beautiful Mt. Kilimanjaro |
Mt. Kilimanjaro is 19,340 ft. It is the highest point in Africa and the tallest mountain in the world that has the potential to be reached without technical climbing skills. It is the one mountain where I have a chance to climb to a summit where Reinhold Messner and others have been. (The only higher elevation that can be hiked to is arguably advanced base camp on the north side of Mt. Everest, 21,400 ft.)
In addition, with our two sons now in their teens, my wife and I are taking advantage of one on one opportunity. With college imminent, I felt it was the perfect time to have a shared adventure of this magnitude with my 17-year-old son Nathan.
The story begins…
Crater Camp 1:05 am; temperature is 5 degrees F. Wind 15 mph with -13-wind chill, altitude 18,370 ft. It was one of those moments to have a conversation with myself, “You’re the one who wanted to camp on top of the crater, old boy, so welcome to high altitude”.
Cocooned by our double walled tent, surrounded by sleeping bags rated to -20, it is warm and comfortable. I’ve just attempted to fall asleep again and I continue to be jolted awake with a feeling of suffocation. Panic was a choice for both my son and I. I could feel the sensation starting to germinate inside me but panic is a choice and it would not have changed our situation. An extra day of acclimatization may have helped us but not now or perhaps oxygen to sleep with but I knew there were only one bottle and one mask. Plus, we didn’t want to use it at all. Thankfully, I’d read about this altitude condition in my many mountain climbing books. I understood the issue at hand, there is not a lot you can do with 50% less oxygen in the air your breathing. You doze to the point where one breath recovers your oxygen. Deeper sleep required 2 or 3 desperate breaths which we learned very quickly to avoid. Had we been exhausted and in need of sleep, it could have been very unnerving.
We rested as best we could and waited impatiently for morning and our coveted summit. When nature called, our sleep predicaments were subjugated by the stunning beauty of the moon lit cerulean blue glaciers capped by stars so bright and close you felt like you could wipe them off your forehead. Relentless wind chill always chased us back to the tent. This wasn’t the Wisconsin winter sea level type wind chill we experience every year; with less heat producing O2 in your blood, this really got our attention. Back in our warm bags, our night was filled with many conversations including the; what are you going to eat when you get home game? Our list included; brats, pizza, turtle sundaes, hotdogs, pork tenderloin, egg foo young and what anyone from Wisconsin would miss, cheese. While awake we could breathe without issue other that what is all in a days work at 18,000+ ft. All things considered, we persevered through a shared experience together we will never forget, a situation that could have never been manufactured and bonded Nathan & I beyond the spoken word. How often do a father and son get to fight a common foe like that? A night made unavoidably surreal by our location, I don’t know how many times we said, “Can you believe were on top of Kilimanjaro?”
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| Dad is the Short One |
We also knew our toughest pitch, The Western Breach, was behind us. It was a mixture of hiking and rock scrambling with four areas of exposure to “sporty” sections close to the trails edge. Nate and I called them “oh shits”.
It is because of the exposure and perceived difficulty, only 5% of the potential summiteers use the Western Breach. We didn’t find any of the scrambling overly difficult from a flatlander point of view and after all, the porters negotiated the assent carrying 35 lbs loads on their heads, but in one 15 foot section, we could have fallen/bounced to the bottom of the Breach. It was the only time I silently prayed for my son to pay attention. Now, I don’t particularly like heights but for me there is a substantial difference between standing on the edge of a drop with or without hand holds. Here, I could grab a handful of volcano and I used the porters as inspiration. My technique was to shadow my guide, Stephens’ actions in the “sportier” sections. Patient and deliberate, he would point or tap the foot and hand locations, then execute the move. I focused so hard, I didn’t look down…much. I never even considered releasing my grip to take photographs.
Nate copied me as the second guide, Yusto, stayed in his wake. As Nate put it, “ready to catch what ever fell past him”. In the end, we climbed it in just under 5 hours, which was an efficient assent time. We averaged 9.75 feet per minute, which says volumes about how altitude affects performance and the steepness of our assent. I used water and photographs as excuses to rest my legs as we gained half a mile in altitude going from 16,000 ft to 18,300 ft and spent the afternoon in absolute wonderment walking around on top of the crater with its white/blue glaciers, frozen snow fields and cinder-coned moonscape. A sight few people ever see and a just reward for a challenging and exhilarating days work.
There are six diverse routes up the mountain: Shira, Lemosho Glades (our path), Machame, Umbwe, Marangu and Rongai. Two routes down: Marangu and Mweka (our path). Four of them will deposit you at the foot of the Western Breach. You can choose to climb the Breach or carry-on around the mountain. Only the daytime Western Breach climb enables viewing of the whole crater top, exploring and camping overnight at 18,300 ft+. The other “easier” routes have you up at midnight, climbing from Barafu Camp or Kibo Huts, through the night, directly to the true summit, hopefully for sunrise.
George Mallory, “It is impossible to make any who have not experienced it realize what that thrill means. It proceeds partly from a legitimate joy and pride in life.
Our first steps onto the crater need to be lived through to be understood. Cloud had followed us up the final, ramp like, section of the Breach, but as soon as I stepped onto the top the ever-present wind produced the equatorial sun. There before me stood the famous “Snows of Kilimanjaro”, a gigantic Everest-like plumb coming off the summit ridge and the symmetry of volcanic creation. All blanketed by a cobalt blue sky only a journey to altitude can gift. I hugged my son and I burst into tears. Reaching the crater qualifies you for a bronze summit certificate if you choose not to go the extra 1,000 ft. to the highest point for gold.
We knew what we had gone through to get here; planning, preparation, and miles of work, dust, occasional doubt and the Breach itself. We didn’t feel triumphant or profound, just a tremendous sense of being alive. It was an incredible emotion. I realized why people do this, an unforgettable experience to share with my son.
We also knew the pitch the next day was a predicable one-hour climb to the true summit, Uhuru Peak and the rest of the day would be DOWN. That meant; more oxygen, sodas, the first shower in eleven days, beds with sheets, flush toilets, clean clothes, ice cream, hunger returning and well, less dust anyway.
Our reliable support crew totaled nineteen. Nine came to the crater and three went to the summit. The crew that didn’t go to the crater traversed to our final camp on the way down the mountain. These guys dutifully carried everything (35 lbs each) including; our personal gear, food, cooking stuff, tents, sleeping mats, dishes and our orange outhouse. We were the only clients I saw that had our own, just for my son and I. The views from the window of the ever-changing mountain scenery were outstanding. The “public” outhouses were, in a word, unpleasant. All we carried was water, camera and whatever clothing layers we would need that day. (15 lbs)
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| Arrow Glacier and the Western Breach |
Our lungs were checked for fluid build up with a stethoscope every morning (a symptom of Pulmonary Edema). All the guides are medically trained. They carried oxygen, first aid kit, a stretcher and a Gamow bag (portable artificial pressure chamber) on the trip and had their own evacuation protocol. (If you needed the Gamow bag, you were in real serious trouble with cerebral or pulmonary edema, but it was there if necessary). Indeed, the porter with the rescue equipment (Haji) was my “wingman” throughout the climb. No doubt my angioplasty in 1999 earned Tuskers’ quiet concern but I’d passed my pre-trip medical check and never expected or had any issues. As a father and a trekker, it was calmly reassuring to have Haji, the equipment and the plan in place.
Preparing a year in advance offered other opportunities. We took considerable care in our selection of boots. We had them fitted at REI in Milwaukee. I gave myself the whole afternoon to try four different styles on their up/down bridge device so you can experience assent and descent. Time well spent when you consider how important your boots are. (They were with us as carry-ons in case our checked luggage was lost) We trudged most of the Kettle-Moraine trails in south eastern Wisconsin like; Glacier, Zillmer, New Fane and Parnell to put break-in miles on the boots and the 53 year old who needed to accelerate his activity level. I prepared my own gear list from a variety of outfitters and kept my eyes open for any sales which helped keep my wife on our side. We had an impressive pile of stuff to shoe-horn into our travel bags when to day finally came to actually pack. The last item and perhaps the most important for me was having a picture of The Western Breach on my desk top. Every day I’d see it and visualize myself climbing to the top. Hokey maybe but all I can say is, I made it.
Then, all that was necessary was to hike 50 miles traversing six eco-systems: cultivation, forest, heather, moorland, alpine desert and arctic. The trail gained three miles in altitude into very thin air and took us down the opposite side of the mountain back to an oxygen rich environment. It remains the only place in the world you can travel climatically from the Sahara to the South Pole in a handful of days.
Nathan and I learned enough Swahili to be polite, but Haji and I couldn’t speak to each other. We did, however, create a bond through facial expression and hand gesture. On the last day coming off the mountain, my knees hobbled my progress down the mix of steps and grades to the point where I was lagging behind. Haji calmly matched my pace and eagerly shared my remaining trail snacks during breaks as we descended the nature filled rain forest valley listening to cascading streams, birds and Colobus Monkeys navigating in the canopy above us. Thanks for your friendship Haji.
We had landed at Kilimanjaro International around 10:00 pm punchy to say the least. On approach, I’d mentioned to Nate we’d probably not have a jet-way to exit through. As the big KLM 767 lumbered to a stop, here come 15 guys pushing the mother of all three story metal staircases up to the plane. As we stepped out of the jet, the terminal has a gigantic Kilimanjaro International Airport sign on it. I suddenly felt a long way from home but charged with an unmistakable sense of real, honest to God, adventure. Once inside, we each had to pay $50 to enter Tanzania and most of the passengers were non-citizen. The crowd ballooned outside the single windowed office and I feared more sleep deprivation. The window slides open and the official says “please to have the US passports first.” Outstanding! I handed him two passports and a crisp Ben Franklin. Two hits with a rubber stamp and we are collecting our two huge rolling bags, heading for the door. The customs agent had no issues with us and we were the first passengers to walk through to the lobby. Twenty five tour guides are standing with signs looking for clients; right in the middle is the Tusker guy. My name is misspelled but in a flash, we are tucked into the Land Rover driving straight through the crowd, over the grass, across the sidewalk and out of the airport. Welcome to the third world. In the 40 minutes it took to travel to the hotel, I knew right where to look. I sat transfixed on the moonlit magnificence of Kilimanjaro; she was beautiful and immense beyond expectation. The dreams and a year-plus of planning funneled to a single thought,” how the hell are we going to get to the top of that?”
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| Crater Top with Summit Ridge and Glacier Behind |
“You awake?”
“Yep.”
“We’re in Africa. ”
“Holy shit.”
“What’s that ball of stuff on the ceiling?”
“Mosquito netting.”
“Should we use it?”
“I don’t know.”
The Land Rover ride to the trailhead is called a Tanzanian Massage, three hours of dusty, rutted, rock strewn dirt roads, driven in excess of 70 kph with four inches of play in the steering wheel as we hung on for dear life. We knew enough to have bandanas to breathe through, but we were covered in a ghostly film that attacked us from every ill-fitting seam in the vehicle. Our next shower was eleven days away.
The march to our first camp meandered through Tarzan-like rain forest with just about every measured step up hill. We were finally climbing. The scenery was a fresh and beautiful world unfolding at every turn. Camp routine defined itself with intuitive simplicity; wash water, snacks, wander about meeting other trekkers, dinner with Stephen (the head guide) and we settled in for our first night in the tent. Every sound from the forest was new to us and we wondered aloud how many could eat us. We were told not to wander outside of camp at night. Copy that! At 2:00 am we were both awake because of adrenalin and jet-lag. I decided a picture was in order. I set the timer in the blackness of our abode. In the instant the flash illuminated we both roared with laughter seeing the image of the tent lighting up in the middle of the night. Everyone in camp must have heard us…tourists!
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| Curly Stooge Crew Cuts |
Prior to our departure we were inoculated for Yellow Fever, Polio, Hepatitis A &B, Typhoid and Meningitis by the Travel Nurse in our area. We felt fairly indestructible. The oral Lariam program we ingested for Malaria prevention, however, gave us nightmares, occasional anxiety attacks and paranoia. Even with knowledge of these side effects, we both had moments of uneasiness during our outbound journey. We endured some very spooky stuff. My hands started shaking uncontrollably as I repacked my carry-on when we exited airport security in Milwaukee. Nathan fought panic as we prepared to board the plane to Amsterdam in Detroit. The panic would come and go like someone was flicking a switch. On our third day I almost talked myself into walking off the mountain (way out of character for me). We patiently helped each other through it. The irony is it was the dry-season in Tanzania. We never saw any mosquitoes.
Byron, “This is not solitude, ’tis but to hold converse with nature’s charms, and see her stores unrolled.”
Our English speaking guides, Stephen and Yusto became very good friends. I’d never had a “guide” before but I understood the absolute necessity of having people we could trust, rely on to keep us safe and successful. We were not disappointed. Each evening we were told what to wear for the next day and what we were going to do. As simple as this may sound, it was exceedingly helpful. We didn’t have to guess which layers to wear nor did we over pack. They tested us on some scarier pitches (scarier for the flatlander), and there were a few, so they could measure us, make comments and prepare us for things to come. Every day Stephen would say, “If you go slowly (pole’-pole’ in Swahili) and drink lots of water (maji) the mountain is easy.” As I stood poised at the foot of the Western Breach the night before our climb, I believed him. Not that it would be easy, but because of our preparation, I felt confident and ready to handle the challenge. I gazed up at the ridge softly illuminated to a sanguine orange by the dwindling sunset and smiled with the confident joy of knowing I was in the correct place at the correct time to succeed.
I liked and trusted Stephen the moment I met him. By design, our first day in Africa was for rest and recovery from the flight. We met Stephen and Yusto in the afternoon to go over the route, understand the safety equipment and check our ge