Kilimanjaro,
the world's tallest free standing mountain, towers over Africa at 5,895 metres
above sea level. The mountain is made up of multiple zones which change at
different heights. On the lower slopes are farm lands and villages, followed by
dense jungles, then heath, moorlands, an alpine desert then finally an arctic,
glaciated summit. This explains The Six Zones in
further detail. For more general information on Kilimanjaro, visit http://www.climbingkilimanjaro.com.au/
Kilimanjaro was a place of wonder and beauty, and I think it was partly my own amazement at the scenery and landscapes we witnessed, that motivated me to go on. Our
first encounter with Mt Kilimanjaro came as we were flying into Arusha Airport
in a rickety old plane we were certain would crash before arriving. Looking out
the window we saw a strange shape towering above the thick layer of clouds our
plane was skimming. It looked like some strange cloud formation, and was even
higher than the level the plane was flying at. On realising it was the top of
Mt Kilimanjaro, I was completely overwhelmed with nerves (not unreasonably). If
our plane required oxygen and pressurised air, what were the oxygen levels like
up there? Was there any?
Our First View of Kilimanjaro Out the Plane Window
Throughout my time in Tanzania, the mountain was a constant back drop - visible from the town, the hotel and the schools - and a constant reminder of the challenge that awaited us. Each time I noticed it my stomach would leap with nerves.
Outside the Hotel in Moshi
After years of cross country, swimming and water polo training, I am used to physical challenges but this was something entirely different. Though extremely useful, fitness was not the deciding factor in whether or not we made it to the top. The real factor that would decide our success, was altitude sickness. Of course we would all experience symptoms - headaches, nausea, and possibly vomiting, however if we were affected badly by the high altitude it would be fatal, and so of course we would not be allowed to continue. Of course I wanted to do it, but this was one of the few things
I had done in my life without having any gauge of whether I would succeed, stay healthy, or
even survive! It was a complete unknown, and despite the bountiful information we were given, it was still very much a mystery.
After all the last minute preparations, impending rain,
and signing our lives away, (signing a contract accepting the fact we may die),
we finally began the ascent. For most of the first day we ascended through
dense jungle in the pouring rain. Everyone’s feet were wet despite our walking
boots, gators, ponchos. There was a variety of wildlife in that jungle, and we
saw a few snow white monkeys, high in the trees which was quite exciting.
Since we were taking the Marangu route, our first stop was Mandara Hut. By the end of the first day, everyone was already exhausted, which was not comforting. The second day the scenery changed from jungles to heath and gradually to moorlands and what I would describe as foothills. This was when the walk began to become tiring, mainly because of the large distance we had to cover. Everyone was extremely relieved to reach the second camp, Horombo, that night. By now the temperature was very cold, and even several layers could not keep me warm. I was dreading how cold the summit would be if I was cold already. Thankfully, since we had now reached some serious heights, we had to have an acclimatization day, where we would walk up to a certain point then come back down, to try and get our bodies accustomed to lack of oxygen. During this walk we came to 'Zebra Rocks' rocks named so because of their zebra-like stripes.
We also came to a large rock with lots of piles of smaller rocks on top. We learnt that to make a pile of rocks was a symbol of luck for reaching the top, and to knock down an existent pile was unlucky, and you would most certainly not reach the top. Acclimatization day was supposed to greatly increase our chances of reaching the top.
The 'Lucky' Rock Piles
The second camp was where we first saw the Senecio Trees, which only grow above 4300 meters. The landscape was unusual too. We had well and truly reached clouds by now, but the sky would constantly change from overcast to blue, from bright sunlight to dim grey, and the clouds would literally engulf us in a matter of seconds. They would roll in without warning and before we knew it we were surrounded by mist.
The Cloud cover would rapidly change in a matter of seconds
While we were at the second camp, one night I went outside and saw that clouds had briefly cleared away from the moon and it's light
was so bright I could see everything- there was no need for a torch or any kind
of light source. I looked up to where the peak of the mountain was visible in
the distance, snow and glacier covered. The clouds had moved off it also and it
was illuminated by moonlight. It was amazing and seemed so close, (but I later
realised it was not).
The peak was just visible from the second camp, and at night with the moonlight, it looked closer than ever
The last point where water flows before the Saddle
The day after acclimatization, it was time to tackle the Saddle, the alpine desert. It was basically a vast, empty brown expanse of nothing. It was cold and dry - a desert - and it went on for kilometres. By this stage our hands and feet were permanently numb, but walking across it was alright because it provided a break from the constant hills we had been walking over for the past two days and was almost warm at times due to the sun. However there was absolutely nothing there except brown dirt and rock, as it gradually sloped upwards making it difficult for anyone needing to relieve themself. As we reached the end of the saddle and came towards our final resting spot, Kibo Hut, before attacking the summit that night, it began to sleet, not a promising sign for a clear night.
Just before the Saddle
Beginning of the Saddle
End of the Saddle
But I was pleasantly surprised as we stepped out of the hut on summit night to find it cloudless and bright. After we set off, my
head torch soon gave me a headache and on taking it off I realised that I could
actually see better without it as the full moon was so bright. I could see the ground well and all the surrounding landscape. It was actually a beautifully magical atmosphere. Calls of "pole pole" and Aussie
Aussie Aussie echoed up and down the mountain as the porters tried to get
enthusiastic replies. If I looked behind me I could see way down in the
distance little trails of lights - other walkers plodding and zig zagging their
way up the steep slope.
In this sense, the darkness was an advantage, for I am sure
if I could properly see just how steep our ascent was, and how far I had to go,
I would have lost hope completely. For hours we steadily climbed, as the moon
moved across the night sky. We had a rest at around two at a cave, but apart
from that we were walking slowly upwards the whole time. At around five, we reached
snow and rocks, which we had to climb over. Previous to this it had just been
a zigzagging path with patches of snow at either side. These large rocks made
it much more difficult and tiring to progress. Everyone was exhausted, and there was a
moment a little way before we reached Gilman's Point, where we stopped, and everyone
seemed to have given up hope. We all felt horrible, and drained and were just sitting
there, steadily growing number. Then Felix stood up and said “You are strong
like mountain lions!”. For some reason these few words gave me renewed energy and
determination and I stood up, ready to go on. Finally we reached Gilman's Point, the second-highest peak just as the sun rose. This was where we had to choose whether or not to go on, to reach the highest peak. I knew I wanted to. I had made it this far. After a short rest, we set off. Now we were walking along narrow, ice pathways, and surrounded entirely by snow and glaciers. It was beautiful
but freezing.
Finally after walking for another hour and a half, we reached Uhuru peak, the highest point in Africa. I felt so sick and exhausted it was difficult to
appreciate the achievement, but the immense glaciers and ice formations that surrounded us were literally breathtaking. Because it was still morning, the clouds
were beginning to engulf the lower areas of the mountain but far below I could
make out something which was apparently Moshi. We were so far up, you could see the curve of the earth, and the flat land that was the massive expanse of Africa. We could only stay on the peak
for around 15 minutes because it was so high, if we stayed any longer we would
become too sick to walk back down.
Looking happy at Uhuru Peak
Can see walkers coming from far into the distance
Beautiful glaciers visible in the distance over an ice cliff
So after taking a few photos in front of the
sign, we began the walk back down. Although relieved to have made it, descending was somewhat
worse than going up. I had used all my energy going up and now had to
concentrate on not slipping off the mountain. It was slow progress through the snow, and when I
finally saw the hut we were returning to way, way off in the distance, it did not
help. In broad daylight the slope we had climbed during the night looked
ridiculously steep and I finally understood the true advantage of climbing in the
dark. Because it was covered in loose sandy stones it was much harder to get
down than up. Some people literally skied down it, just using the rocks to
slide down. I tried this but found it very hard.
Finally myself and two other
girls linked arms and slid down together. This worked well, and finally, at
around midday we arrived back at the hut fully spent. But there was no time for
sleeping or even really resting. We had to have lunch then pack up and continue
walking back across the saddle, through more foothills and back to the second
camp. By now I was feeling horribly sick, but it would only get better
as I descended. We reached the camp after dark that night, and fell into bed having
basically walked nonstop for two days, with three hours sleep, not to mention
the other two days of walking before that. The next day was the final full day of walking, but it was
somewhat easier. Everyone felt better and better the further we went down and the more oxygen we could absorb. Suddenly my mind seemed to be clearing and I could think a lot more coherently.
It was strange. I hadn’t realised how much the lack of oxygen affected my brain.
Despite how much I had enjoyed it, walking through the
archway that marked both the beginning and end of the path was one of the most relieving moments of my life. Everyone had survived! Everyone was red faced from wind and sunburn, stiff and
sore and had blister ridden feet. I was terrified as to what I might find if I
took off my boots. In the bus on the way back, it was so strange to see other
cars, other people, and other lives outside the lonely one we had led on the slopes
of the mountain. It felt almost as though I had just woken up from a strange
dream and everything suddenly seemed so clear and real. But the soreness, stiffness and blisters were a constant reminder that it had been real. My feet remained numb for several days afterwards, and my toes for several months, but eventually everything was back to normal.
For me, Kilimanjaro was a big learning experience, not only about physical possibilities, but I can draw many parallels between my experience and life in general. People called our adventure various things, but for me it was a journey. I learnt that there are rewards in attempting things even if I am uncertain of the outcome. I learnt that throwing myself into a challenge, without thinking too hard about how difficult it will be, even if there is a good chance I will fail, is still worth the risk. I think we all also discovered some kind of strength we did not know we had.
I found it difficult to explain the experience to people when coming back to Brisbane. Despite how much I described it, it was difficult to make people truly understand what it was like on the mountain. I feel the only way to truly appreciate the Kilimanjaro's beauty and grandeur, is to climb it yourself.
