PROLOGUE
I come from a family that's both large and small. I had many aunties and uncles, cousins and grandparents .... all in England. The Canadian branch of the family, however, consisted of two pairs of aunties and uncles, two pairs of cousins ... and us. "Us" consisted of Mom, Dad, me and my brother. As a consequence, we grew up as a close-knit group and did many things together.
My brother and I were typical brothers. We had five years between us, so that meant that we fought, we argued, we disagreed, and we generally got on each other's nerves. But, if someone outside the family tried to take liberties with one of us, the other would rush to the defence of the beleaguered sibling. As we grew older, the rivalries stopped and we became best friends.
One of the things Jeff and I shared was a great and active imagination. We would dream up some of the most bizarre and fun things to occupy our minds and define our play. One of our favourite things was to imagine that we were astronauts, which is a natural thing for kids growing up in the sixties, the age of early space exploration. The real astronauts were our heroes, and we also grew up on a steady diet of "Star Trek", "Fireball XL-5", "Thunderbirds" and countless other space shows on TV. Whenever, we went out as a family, Jeff and I would pile in the back of our parents' Chevy II and pretend that it was our spaceship and that we were preparing to take off on another unbelievable adventure to another world.
We all grow up, of course. Star Trek was replaced by sports, music, school, girls, jobs, university, and careers. We got married and Jeff started a family. Years flew by. Our family shrank significantly and we made many new friendships. But one thing remained constant: the yearning for adventure in a strange place, an adventure that would stimulate our minds, tantalize our imaginations, and test our strength and resolve. We never lost this. We both travelled extensively with family and friends, but never with each other after we left home.
One challenge always swam lazily in our consciousness: a climb of Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa. Why Kilimanjaro? Who knows ? Probably because of the exotic sounding name, or perhaps because of its use in literature or music. Maybe it was because it was so far away and difficult to attain: such goals are more tantalizing. Whatever the reason, Kilimanjaro became the touchstone for our dreams and goals of the "trip of a lifetime." We began planning seriously for it in the 80's, when we both started to earn some money and both felt that we were young and strong enough to tackle the challenge. But life gets in the way of dreams. And the climb was put on hold, probably permanently.
And then, a re-awakening. Hard to say exactly when the desire to do the climb came back, but it did. With the support of our wives, our Mom and the rest of the family, we actively pursued the dream. And it took on a life of its own.
What comes out of all this is contained in the pages that follow. To say that the climb was the hardest thing we've ever done is an understatement. It was incredibly difficult, despite the fact that we prepared ourselves quite well for the task. Our training was good and we were in the right place mentally and emotionally for the climb. But, no matter how much research you do, no matter how much you train, no matter who you talk to who actually did the climb in the past, nothing can prepare you for the climb itself. It is an entity unto itself, a living thing, a reality that only a few thousand people in the world experience each year. It is a monster and a beacon. It is life itself, with all the good and bad that comes with it.
It was a hell of a thing, this climb up Kili. And thank goodness I did it with my brother. There's nobody else in the whole world who felt the same way, who suffered the same things, who had the same doubts, and who experienced the same sense of accomplishment as I did. I came away glad that the two kids who thought they were astronauts finally went to the other side of the universe. And came back to tell the tale.
My brother and I were typical brothers. We had five years between us, so that meant that we fought, we argued, we disagreed, and we generally got on each other's nerves. But, if someone outside the family tried to take liberties with one of us, the other would rush to the defence of the beleaguered sibling. As we grew older, the rivalries stopped and we became best friends.
One of the things Jeff and I shared was a great and active imagination. We would dream up some of the most bizarre and fun things to occupy our minds and define our play. One of our favourite things was to imagine that we were astronauts, which is a natural thing for kids growing up in the sixties, the age of early space exploration. The real astronauts were our heroes, and we also grew up on a steady diet of "Star Trek", "Fireball XL-5", "Thunderbirds" and countless other space shows on TV. Whenever, we went out as a family, Jeff and I would pile in the back of our parents' Chevy II and pretend that it was our spaceship and that we were preparing to take off on another unbelievable adventure to another world.
We all grow up, of course. Star Trek was replaced by sports, music, school, girls, jobs, university, and careers. We got married and Jeff started a family. Years flew by. Our family shrank significantly and we made many new friendships. But one thing remained constant: the yearning for adventure in a strange place, an adventure that would stimulate our minds, tantalize our imaginations, and test our strength and resolve. We never lost this. We both travelled extensively with family and friends, but never with each other after we left home.
One challenge always swam lazily in our consciousness: a climb of Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa. Why Kilimanjaro? Who knows ? Probably because of the exotic sounding name, or perhaps because of its use in literature or music. Maybe it was because it was so far away and difficult to attain: such goals are more tantalizing. Whatever the reason, Kilimanjaro became the touchstone for our dreams and goals of the "trip of a lifetime." We began planning seriously for it in the 80's, when we both started to earn some money and both felt that we were young and strong enough to tackle the challenge. But life gets in the way of dreams. And the climb was put on hold, probably permanently.
And then, a re-awakening. Hard to say exactly when the desire to do the climb came back, but it did. With the support of our wives, our Mom and the rest of the family, we actively pursued the dream. And it took on a life of its own.
What comes out of all this is contained in the pages that follow. To say that the climb was the hardest thing we've ever done is an understatement. It was incredibly difficult, despite the fact that we prepared ourselves quite well for the task. Our training was good and we were in the right place mentally and emotionally for the climb. But, no matter how much research you do, no matter how much you train, no matter who you talk to who actually did the climb in the past, nothing can prepare you for the climb itself. It is an entity unto itself, a living thing, a reality that only a few thousand people in the world experience each year. It is a monster and a beacon. It is life itself, with all the good and bad that comes with it.
It was a hell of a thing, this climb up Kili. And thank goodness I did it with my brother. There's nobody else in the whole world who felt the same way, who suffered the same things, who had the same doubts, and who experienced the same sense of accomplishment as I did. I came away glad that the two kids who thought they were astronauts finally went to the other side of the universe. And came back to tell the tale.
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