Throwing up at the top of the mountain didn't seem serious to me, and the hike to the 5985m Uhuru Peak was only an hour and a half across a ridge at the top of Kilimanjaro. The first signs of morning were beginning to show as a bright orange glow sat just above the horizon to our left. It was stunning. To our right was the crater of Mt. Kilimanjaro, it's snow lined banks pristine and untouched.
We continued to make our way and I began feeling a bit drunk. I would take a few steps and then stumble and waver just a bit. Matthew was in front of me and he was falling asleep on his feet. Stanley was behind me and if I drastically moved towards one side of the path as I staggered he would right me. By this point he was also carrying my day pack. The views along the path were becoming more beautiful with every step. An ice field and glacier were off to our left, and the sun was shining on the crater to our right. Aloyce briefly stopped to show us the point where the avalanche had killed the two Colorado hikers the previous year. He also told me that altitude sickness often made people feel like a "whiskey man," which was surely true of my drunk feelings.
The going at this point was extremely tough. We reached the halfway point between Gilman's Point and Uhuru. From there was when the additional 300m gain in altitude was to be covered. Hikers from the Machame routes were fed into the stream of climbers at this point and that posed another hazard as we all attempted to share the path. I could see Uhuru peak and that became my focus. I wasn't entirely sure what the plan was going to be once I reached it, but for the time being that was all that mattered. I still attempted to look around at the incredible views we were being afforded, but by and large I was too exhausted to truly care.
Finally we made a push up a very small hill and the sign proclaiming we'd reached the highest point in Africa stood before me. Completely drained, I threw myself at it's foot and collapsed. Everyone else snapped photos and I just lay there. The sun was shining brightly. It'd taken us seven hours of strenuous hiking to reach the top and it was well worth it. As another group of hikers stepped onto the rounded summit, I rolled out of the way of their pictures and realized that now I had to figure out how to get down.
Robert and Stanley helped me to my feet, and we began to retrace our steps across the ridge. Stanley deemed walking behind me as too dangerous. Instead he walked next to me, holding on to my waist. He was about a foot shorter than me and I rested my left arm around his shoulders. In my right arm I still carried one of my hiking poles, using it for balance on that side. We traversed the path slowly. Stanley helped me immensely. It was most difficult when the path would narrow to being just wide enough for a single hiker. We would still walk side by side, but I was granted access to the majority of the actual trail. I was out of it, but not so much that I didn't realize exactly what was going on. Therefore I would try to move as far over on the path as possible, hoping Stanley wouldn't have to tip-toe along the edge; most of the edges led down to the crater. My progress wasn't pretty and I stumbled frequently. Stanley did his best to right a man seemingly twice his size. We struggled across the ridge, but soon enough we'd reached Gilman's point once again.
I lay down at Gilman's point. I remember looking over the rocks back towards basecamp. The setting was very bright and lively. It was close to 9am. I envisioned myself throwing up over the small rocky outcropping, but my stomach wasn't quite ready for that. Again, all I really wanted to do was lay there. Robert was telling me I had to get up and move to a lower altitude. That was the only thing which would make me feel better. I didn't take well to being told what to do - I was still conscious and knew that lying on top of a mountain wasn't going to do me any good. However, I also knew that the mountain had just kicked my ass and a minute or two of rest was perfectly acceptable.
I rose to my feet and attempted to maneuver my way along the path heading down. The footsteps from the morning ascent had created a clear path to follow. Descending such a steep slope was going to prove impossible for Stanley to aide me as he'd done on the ridge. I was going it alone, with a close and watchful eye from my fellow climbers and guides.
I had a lot of trouble maintaining my balance. There was a hiker from another group in front of me and on the steeper parts he took to sitting down and sliding on his nylon pants. Realizing this took far less energy I mimicked his approach to descending. After a few bouts of sliding and then standing we'd passed the rockier portions of the slope and I was able to remain on my ass. However, the jostling of the first few minutes had rumbled my stomach enough for it to purge itself again. I am not sure where it was obtaining what it was expulsing, but five heaves later found me entirely drained once again.
As I've mentioned before, Matthew was a former ski instructor and snow patrol ranger. He spent many of the winters of his twenties in Tahoe. He immediately noticed the quickest was to evacuate me to base camp would be for him to aide my slides. He sat in front of me and I wrapped my legs around his waist. My feet came to rest on his thighs. He picked up his feet and leaned back. We were immediately on our way. He used one pole in the arrest position on his left as a brake and I did the same on my right. We quickly made progress down the hill.
There were times when the slope of the mountain mellowed and Matthew would hold my left hand and drag me on my bottom through the snow. As soon as he could resume sliding with me, he would. All of the other climbers in our group were sliding down the mountain, too. This was far easier than walking down, but my body was still drained. The clear view of basecamp seemed to take forever to come closer and closer. All I longed for was rest. Before too long I was on my feet walking out the final couple hundred meters to base camp.
One of the porters brough over a dining stool and I flopped down on that. Matthew helped me undress from my wet clothes. Just prior to hopping into my sleeping bag my body purged itself once again. I hadn't felt that miserable in a very long time!
Our tent was open at both ends allowing a cool mountain breeze to offset the trapped heat from the sun. I slept for a few hours. I awoke abot 1245pm and had to urinate quite badly. The act of raising myself, putting on a pair of pants and something on my feet was almost too much to handle. I eventually managed and walked the 30 feet to the pit toilets. Their smell was devastating in its own right. As I relieved myself I realized this was the first time I'd peed since we set off the night before.
I sloughed my feet back and forth to the tent. I passed a couple from Boulder I'd chatted with the day before. We exchanged stories of our respective ascents as they hung clothes out to dry. I bowed my head and re-entered my tent. I collapsed once again. Robert and Matthew had been discussing our afternoon plans with Aloyce and Florence. Typically, after a few hours of rest, the groups descend from the 4700m (15,000 feet) Kibo camp site we were at to the 12,000 foot site. Everyone knew that would improve my condition. I was asked if I would prefer to walk down or be carried on a stretcher. Though it was a struggle just to open my eyes I told them when it was time to move I'd be on my feet.
I slept for another hour and then awoke for lunch at 2pm. Over the course of 45 minutes I managed to stomach a piece of toast and a cup of tea. Matthew, who'd sworn of his inconspicuous insults of me a few days before excused himself and said "you look like shit.". I honestly believe I felt worse than I looked.
I returned to the tent one more time and collapsed. When I was fourteen and my family lived on a military base in Korea my skater friends and I snuck out and purchased a few boottles of Samba, a cheap local liquor. I proceeded to drink an entire bottle. I threw up, passed out and then threw up again. My friend Rich lived with his single father and we retreated to his house the following day; his dad was away at work. If I tried to put anything at all in my stomach, from water to crackers, etc, it would reject it. That experience caused me to swear off drinking for the next fourteen years of my life. After Robert graciously helped me pack and I was on my feet to go I wondered if I would swear off ascents of 5000 meters or more for until I am in my late fifties.
I felt utterly horrible, still. I'd lost all of my sustaining nutrients and hadn't been able to replenish my body's needs. I'd sworn off a stretcher for a few reasons: 1) I didn't want someone to have to hike down to where it was kept and retrieve it, 2) I didn't want anyone to have to carry me out - having carried a stretcher I know how heavy they are, even with only my 165 pounds worth if skin and bone on it, and 3) even if I didn't have to carry my own day bag down, I wanted to say I walked up AND down the mountain.
Aloyce and one of the porters walked on either side of me as we descended. We took off a bit before the rest of my group and moved quite quickly down the wide trail. It was a quiet hike and we walked through a high desert reminiscent of those in New Mexico. Half an hour in I stopped to vomit up the tea and toast I'd had at lunch. I could tell Aloyce felt a bit bad for me, recognizing that this was the fourth or fifth time I'd thrown up today.
I attempted to enjoy the scenery, but all I could really think about was making it to camp. I was told it was three hours away, but couldn't take a gander at my watch - I had both hands tucked into the pockets of my rain shell and Aloyce and the other porter each had an arm through the hole formed on either side of me. I was able to chuckle at myself as we passed a few other hikers heading down. There I was wearing my very touristy Mount Kilimanjaro hat being escorted by two guys down the mountain. I am sure I looked as poser as one possibly could.
We arrived at camp in just under two hours. We were descending via the Marangu or "Coca-cola" route. It is dubbed as such because climbers ascend and descend the same route using a hut system to camp every night. Amidst the huts is a store which sells Coca-cola, amongst other beverages. Our tents were already set up. They were far away from the lodges and at the end of a beautiful ridge. With very little energy in me I blew up my therma-rest sleeping pad, unpacked my sleeping bag and fell asleep immediately once again.
It was dark when I awoke to the sound of Florence telling me dinner was ready. I was already beginning to feel a bit better, but was still having trouble moving myself out of bed. I took a dose of aspirin for the dull headache I awoke with and struggled to put on my shoes. The guides kept telling me I needed to eat, and it became quite frustrating. I knew I needed food. I wanted food. But it was taking me much longer than normal to get up and get to the food. It would've been far more helpful of them to assist me than to keep telling me I needed to eat. Nevertheless, I dodged the multitude of tent stakes and guy lines and made it into the mess tent. I struggled to down half a meal and quickly retreated to my bed.
I awoke the next morning around 5am to use the bathroom. I'd been sleeping on and off since 10am when we descended the mountain the day before, so I was finally feeling awake. The first signs of light were showing in a remarkable star burst orange. I considered watching the sun rise, but wasn't dressed appropriately for the brisk morning at 12,000 feet. I crawled back in the tent and fell asleep unti breakfast at 7am.
By now I was feeling 75% and was able to stomach a full breakfast, pack my things and hike down unassisted. As the porter's loads got lighter Aloyce pawned his day pack off to them and insisted on carrying mine. I was able to bear the weight of my own pack, but I figured there was no reason to put up a fight.
There'd been a bit of confusion on what we wanted to do this day and evening. The hike down to the main gate was only six hours from where we were. Aloyce was pushing us to exit the park that day. However, we'd paid for a six day permit and everyone in our group was more inclined to spend another night on the mountain than an etra night in Moshi. Because I wasn't feeling well I'd cast a vote for heading all the way down. The thought of a hot shower and a comfortable bed was quite appealing. However, I also wanted the group to get evrything they desired out of the trip. So, despite a few more tries by our guide to get us to descend a day early, we opted to hike three hours down to the final campsite.
The hike itself was wonderful. We dropped out of the high desert pretty quickly and the flora changed. We crossed quite a few streams and bridges and eventually dropped into a rain forest. Thankfully, we were spared the rain. There was moss on many of the trees and it reminded me of the summer in Olympic National Forest in Washington state.
We made it to camp quite early and after lunch I spent time reading and napping. Matthew, Travis and Reagan explored a nearby crater. We would all visit the crater following dinner for the sunset. It was nice to relax and enjoy the outdoors. There were blue monkeys in the trees close to camp that were fun to watch. Again we were camped near the Marangu route huts, but we didn't interact with any of the hikers going up. I was feeling 90% recovered at this point. The altitude itself was no longer an issue as we were at 2800m (9000 feet). It was more that I'd spent the entire day before ascending a mountain and then purging myself of all the nutrients I needed to go on.
There were an almost infinite number of stars in the sky when we all turned in for the night. Finally my body was feeling rested and I had a bit of trouble falling asleep at 9pm. I stayed up typing in my journal, but my battery on my blackberry died without saving my work.
We hiked out the next day, leaving camp by 8am. With a real meal only half a day away a few people had trouble stomaching the idea of another morning of porridge/gruel. I ate just enough to continue the replenishment of my body. The three hour hike down only took us two and a half hours and we stopped for a quick dip in a pool formed by one of the mountain streams. The icy water was shockingly refreshing. We exited the main gate at Marangu at 1030am and were met by Julian, our tour operator.
We signed the exit registry, took the opportunity to send a few postcards and then proceeded to the vehicle which would wisk us back to Moshi. Before we left we thanked and tipped our guides and porters and they performed a celebratory song for the successful climbers of Kilimanjaro. We were even given certificates verifying we'd made the climb. I gave my buddly Stanley a small extra tip for his help in getting me off the mountain. We then drove the forty five minutes to Moshi.
Julian was surprised we hadn't been fed lunch, so after a quick shower we were taken out for a quick bite to eat. We spoke with Julian at lunch about the miscommunication regarding the six day safari with four days to ascend versus the six day safari with three days to ascend. He expressed that Aloyce had made the call because of the terrible weather on the way up. We explained that though the weather was quite bad, we should have still been privy to the decision making process. It was hard to make any arguments now, especially because we were afforded such beautiful weather the night we summitted. I had no way of knowing if an extra day would have benefit my body or not. In the end it didn't matter. We had a great climb but needed our outfitter to know that he and his guides should be more clear with their clients.
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