TUES. MAR. 14 DAY 9 BARAFU-SUMMIT-MILLENIUM CAMP
Amazingly, we slept through the four hour evening quite well. Then, the wake-up call with hot coffee, dressing in all our cold weather gear, a quick breakfast, a last minute check from Elly and Stanford, words of encouragement, and .... we were off. We were joined by Aristide and Goodliving, two of our porters: little did we know how much we were going to need them.
It was pitch dark as we slowly made our way out of Barafu. As I looked ahead, I could see the fabled sight of the summit climb: a line of torches and headlamps picking their way on the zig-zag switchbacks, climbing their own personal stairway to heaven. Kibo Peak loomed like a ghost in the bright moonlight. It was bitterly cold, with a stark wind howling through our souls.
I fell into third in line behind Stanford and Jeff. Elly, Aristide and Goodliving followed. For the first couple of hours, the pace was reasonably good ( pole, pole ) and the cold was manageable. But the path varied between loose scree and large rocks that we had to scramble over Barranco Wall style. Fatigue began to creep in with the cold and our guides made us stop frequently, where they poured powdered glucose ( Kili cocaine ) into our mouths and down our gullets with ever more freezing water. It was a good hit of energy, but it didn't last long. Fatigue and breathlessness and cold grew more intense. I began to hallucinate. I was so intent on the world illuminated by the narrow circle of light from my headlamp that I became entranced. Weird creatures flew in and out of my peripheral vision. They had form but no features and were bat-like and demonic. When I turned my head to look, the beam of light chased them away, but I became disoriented, confused and lost my balance frequently. Elly and Goodliving pulled me back from what seemed like an abyss several times. Jeff later reported similar hallucinations.
We passes several climbing groups resting beside rocks and all we could do was grunt out a quick word of encouragement before moving on. Other groups passed us when we rested. All we could see of them were their headlamps. They were ghosts and zombies, treading with leaden feet and clouds of breath in front of them. They didn't seem to be living creatures.
I became aware of a change in Jeff. He was hunched over and his movements were heavier and more laboured. He was clearly in distress, but he soldiered on. I felt OK, no worsening situation, and my pace remained steady and good.
We were still a good distance from the summit when I became aware of a narrow sliver of orange light on the eastern horizon. Daylight was approaching. We would not make the summit at sunrise, but the increasing light encouraged us. With each passing minute, we trudged, and the light grew. I saw a horse-head cloud formation in the light and thought it a good omen.
Finally, there was enough light for us to shut off our headlamps. Stella Point was not far away, but Jeff was in a bad way. Elly brought the oxygen out and Jeff breathed deeply and felt better. We pushed on. I was amazed at how good I felt. I saw the first ice shelf in the pale light, a dull blue-white wall off to my left. I knew we were close. And then a shout from Stanford: Stella Point dead ahead I saw the sign and quickened my pace: tears flowed in my eyes. Jeff willed himself to get there and ... we made it ! I reached out and touched the sign and began to cry. Stella Point !!
It was here that I saw the strangest sight. I saw a woman, probably a Tanzanian, sitting quietly under an outcropping of rock, bundled up in blankets and coats. She looked completely expressionless and pondered all of us strangers who had come from near and far to this forlorn place. Her eyes moved from side to side, but she did not speak. Nobody seemed to give her a second thought and I wondered if she was in some kind of distress. But she continued to sit, impassive and observing, a kind of mountain mother watching over her brood. To this day, I don't know if I dreamed up the whole thing, or if it was real. I looked back at her as I began my ascent to Uhuru, and she looked at me, but said nothing.
It was at this point that we both began to break down physically and mentally. I was very weak and wobbly while Jeff needed more oxygen. We decided that I would push on to Uhuru Peak and Jeff would follow when the oxygen cleared his head. And that's exactly what happened. I'd like to say that when I reached Uhuru that I was filled with elation and would raise my arms in victory and shout something profound up to the mountain gods, but that's not what happened. Because Jeff wasn't beside me, I felt a little flat. All Uhuru is is a hand-made sign, a couple of photo-ops, a strange otherworldly barren landscape .... and that's it. We were not going to stay at 19,000 feet any longer than we had to, because of the thin air and low pressure. Still, it's a hell of a feat ... more than 19,000 soul-destroying feet.
Now it was time to descend and this is where I ran into trouble. I had nothing left. My breathing and heartrate were good, but my legs were rubber and I had no energy. It felt like my body was starting to devour itself. I had Stanford and Goodliving with me and the two of them supported me as I made my way drunkenly downwards. I could only go 100 yards before I needed to rest. The two guides encouraged me and assisted me down.
I will not continue with the details of the return journey. Suffice to say that, when we made it down to Millenium Camp at 12,000 feet, we had hiked twelve hours, went up 4,000 feet and descended 7,000 feet.
It was mad, crippling and exciting at the same time. But as we sat opposite each other in the mess tent that night, absolutely spent, the Swahili song of victory still ringing in our ears, we shook hands and sat comfortable in the knowledge that we had made it. But was it worth it ?
It was pitch dark as we slowly made our way out of Barafu. As I looked ahead, I could see the fabled sight of the summit climb: a line of torches and headlamps picking their way on the zig-zag switchbacks, climbing their own personal stairway to heaven. Kibo Peak loomed like a ghost in the bright moonlight. It was bitterly cold, with a stark wind howling through our souls.
I fell into third in line behind Stanford and Jeff. Elly, Aristide and Goodliving followed. For the first couple of hours, the pace was reasonably good ( pole, pole ) and the cold was manageable. But the path varied between loose scree and large rocks that we had to scramble over Barranco Wall style. Fatigue began to creep in with the cold and our guides made us stop frequently, where they poured powdered glucose ( Kili cocaine ) into our mouths and down our gullets with ever more freezing water. It was a good hit of energy, but it didn't last long. Fatigue and breathlessness and cold grew more intense. I began to hallucinate. I was so intent on the world illuminated by the narrow circle of light from my headlamp that I became entranced. Weird creatures flew in and out of my peripheral vision. They had form but no features and were bat-like and demonic. When I turned my head to look, the beam of light chased them away, but I became disoriented, confused and lost my balance frequently. Elly and Goodliving pulled me back from what seemed like an abyss several times. Jeff later reported similar hallucinations.
We passes several climbing groups resting beside rocks and all we could do was grunt out a quick word of encouragement before moving on. Other groups passed us when we rested. All we could see of them were their headlamps. They were ghosts and zombies, treading with leaden feet and clouds of breath in front of them. They didn't seem to be living creatures.
I became aware of a change in Jeff. He was hunched over and his movements were heavier and more laboured. He was clearly in distress, but he soldiered on. I felt OK, no worsening situation, and my pace remained steady and good.
We were still a good distance from the summit when I became aware of a narrow sliver of orange light on the eastern horizon. Daylight was approaching. We would not make the summit at sunrise, but the increasing light encouraged us. With each passing minute, we trudged, and the light grew. I saw a horse-head cloud formation in the light and thought it a good omen.
Finally, there was enough light for us to shut off our headlamps. Stella Point was not far away, but Jeff was in a bad way. Elly brought the oxygen out and Jeff breathed deeply and felt better. We pushed on. I was amazed at how good I felt. I saw the first ice shelf in the pale light, a dull blue-white wall off to my left. I knew we were close. And then a shout from Stanford: Stella Point dead ahead I saw the sign and quickened my pace: tears flowed in my eyes. Jeff willed himself to get there and ... we made it ! I reached out and touched the sign and began to cry. Stella Point !!
It was here that I saw the strangest sight. I saw a woman, probably a Tanzanian, sitting quietly under an outcropping of rock, bundled up in blankets and coats. She looked completely expressionless and pondered all of us strangers who had come from near and far to this forlorn place. Her eyes moved from side to side, but she did not speak. Nobody seemed to give her a second thought and I wondered if she was in some kind of distress. But she continued to sit, impassive and observing, a kind of mountain mother watching over her brood. To this day, I don't know if I dreamed up the whole thing, or if it was real. I looked back at her as I began my ascent to Uhuru, and she looked at me, but said nothing.
It was at this point that we both began to break down physically and mentally. I was very weak and wobbly while Jeff needed more oxygen. We decided that I would push on to Uhuru Peak and Jeff would follow when the oxygen cleared his head. And that's exactly what happened. I'd like to say that when I reached Uhuru that I was filled with elation and would raise my arms in victory and shout something profound up to the mountain gods, but that's not what happened. Because Jeff wasn't beside me, I felt a little flat. All Uhuru is is a hand-made sign, a couple of photo-ops, a strange otherworldly barren landscape .... and that's it. We were not going to stay at 19,000 feet any longer than we had to, because of the thin air and low pressure. Still, it's a hell of a feat ... more than 19,000 soul-destroying feet.
Now it was time to descend and this is where I ran into trouble. I had nothing left. My breathing and heartrate were good, but my legs were rubber and I had no energy. It felt like my body was starting to devour itself. I had Stanford and Goodliving with me and the two of them supported me as I made my way drunkenly downwards. I could only go 100 yards before I needed to rest. The two guides encouraged me and assisted me down.
I will not continue with the details of the return journey. Suffice to say that, when we made it down to Millenium Camp at 12,000 feet, we had hiked twelve hours, went up 4,000 feet and descended 7,000 feet.
It was mad, crippling and exciting at the same time. But as we sat opposite each other in the mess tent that night, absolutely spent, the Swahili song of victory still ringing in our ears, we shook hands and sat comfortable in the knowledge that we had made it. But was it worth it ?
Comments
Post a Comment