Its 3am. The only reprieve from the -15°c wind ripping at my hands and face is when the north east zig turns into a north west zag. It’s difficult to tell just how cold it is as parts of me are sweating and parts are freezing.
I still feel remarkably strong after 3 and a half hours of hiking. I want to conserve my energy, but at the same time I want to make the most of it. Manuel, one of the porters, appointed assistant guide on this night, is 1 step ahead of me and I force him not to stop. To stop at this altitude means immediate loss of energy and of course you freeze very quickly when not moving. Pietro is close behind me and Mark, although obviously struggling is not far behind him. Misa has dropped back and in the darkness and I have no way of knowing if she’s turned back or still pushing up the mountain. I know our head guide, Musa, will be at the back of the line and helping anyone in trouble.
So far all is fine. I am writing a story in my mind. Making mathematical calculations on how many altitude meters we need to cover every 30min in order to make the summit by sunrise. Body and mind are strong and I am positive.
Its 3:30am. I tell Manuel that we need a short break and some water. Mark has fallen back and I can’t see him anymore. We need to find shelter in the freezing night to wait for the others to catch up. Manuel and I sit down and Pietro walks a short distance past us and rests too. After a number of minutes I decide that we must press on although the rest of our group has still not shown up. I walk over to Pietro and shout at him across the howling wind. He doesn’t look at me, but I can hear him saying the name of our guide, “Musa, Musa is that you?” “No Pietro, it's me, Jeff! Stand up! We have to go!” He tells me; “Jeff left and I am here all by myself” I walk over to him and pull on his jacket. He looks at me and I shine my lamp on my face – “Its Jeff! Now stand up you’re going to freeze if you sit here!” He looks at me and I can see in his face that his mind isn’t there. He tells me that his brains are pouring out of his nose. It may sound funny now, but in those circumstances it’s terrifying to see someone losing it. In that instance I decided that our summit attempt was over. We had to go down. I know full well that his brains are not coming out of his nose, but he thinks they are and that’s dangerous. I try to explain to Manuel that we must return, but he understands no English and I speak no Swahili. I just pull him in front of me and point downwards.
I can hear Pietro saying that this is not what he expected, not what he came here for. I am very disappointed, but Pietro is my team mate, if there is such a thing during a summit attempt, and he is also technically my client, although on the mountain I fill no formal responsibility. Never-the-less he came here because I am his travel agent and now I have a responsibilty to look after him. I am am certain any other of my team would to do this for me had I been the one in trouble.
Ten minutes later I have already quit my dreams of summiting. I am thinking of what I will tell my wife and dreaming of sleep and a warm sleeping bag. Just then we meet Musa and Misa. I tell Musa what happened and ask where Mark is. Mark turned back, he has no more power Musa tells me. I am very surprised by this as Mark is much stronger and fitter than I am, but the mountain has no preference for people. If you are affected by altitude sickness even the strongest fail. I know he must be very disappointed and my heart goes out to him. I know he will be ok under the guidance of Emmanuel, our assistant guide who turned back with him. I know in that moment that he will return again to fullfil his dream.
Musa decides that Pietro will be fine. He tells him to turn around and go back up. I am not sure how wise this decision is, but I know better than to question Musa. He has been up this mountain many many times and I must trust his judgement. Now I have my own battle once again. My strength of body and mind must be regained. 10 minutes down means an extra 30 minutes up, at least. We’ve been standing for a further 10 freezing minutes which saps energy like a syringe. Getting motivated to turn around is hard. We do it anyway.
Now we’re back together as a group. Musa takes up the lead with Misa and Pietro in tow; I am 4th and Manuel behind me. For a half an hour or so the going is slow, but good. I can feel my power is less now though. I think of anything except the mountain. I think of my wife and kids snug in their beds back home. I think of my freezing fingers and the hunger pain in my belly. Anything is better than thinking of how much further or how much higher we still have to go. I try those calculations again, but dividing 1300m into 7 hours is the hardest mathematical problem I have ever been faced with. Trying to figure out how high we are is impossible and due to lack of breath I can’t speak so I can’t ask Musa.
It’s a little after 4am when we stop for another break. I fall back onto the frozen scree and immediately realise my mistake. I turn around to see water from my water packet leaking out of my back pack onto the ground. It’s already freezing on my jacket and pants. No more water! My only source of nourishment for the next hours is gone.
My spirits are down, but I dare not say anything to my fellow climbers and even more so I better get such thoughts out of my mind. The moment you start doubting your success you can forget about continuing.
By 5am I am struggling. I tell Musa that the mountain has beaten me. I can’t move anymore. He tells me stand up and walk! “You’re nearly at Stella Point, you can’t give up now!” I feel so weak and my reasons for being here seem so ridiculous. All that thought of adventure and conquering ones own weakness gives way to thoughts of how bored and spoilt we are in western society, that we have to push ourselves to do things like this to make sense of our lives.
I stand up and move onwards and upwards. I can see by the light provided by my headlamp and the quarter moon that the glacier is within view. I know this mountain well enough to know that we are roughly at 5500m. 200m below Stella point and 400m below the summit. If I can just make it to Stella I will decide from there whether to push for the summit or be satisfied enough to turn back.
One, two, three deep breaths and 11 steps – rest the left leg. One, two, three deep breaths and 11 steps – rest the right leg. That’s the way to go. My thoughts go back to my family. It’s nearly 6am, so by this time Alexander has taken his teddy bear and snuggled into bed with Heike. Sebastian is sleeping in his cot.
I am losing my mind. It’s predawn, the coldest and darkest hour. I realise every now and then that I have been walking with my eyes closed for a few steps. No idea how many. Logical thought by now is impossible. My heart is pounding in my chest and a raging headache is pounding in my head. Only the simplest bodily functions are possible – 1 step and breathe, another step… My hands and feet are frozen as my body starts to pull blood away from the extremities to keep my organs working. Fatigue doesn’t even start to explain what I am feeling. Had this been a technically difficult mountain I would have been in very serious trouble.
By now it’s short before 6:30. The sky has started to light up. I can see the sun rise and my spirits with it. I am far behind Misa and Pietro and I am glad they have made it up to Stella Point which still looms 50m above me as the sun’s first rays burst above the cloud base. A few minutes later I make Stella. I hardly acknowledge the others because I cannot stop. I have made up my mind that I will summit, that all of this has not been for nothing. So I press on. Its very slow going, the final 200m in altitude and 500m in distance. Those 500m on any given day would not even cross your mind. But after 6 and a half exhausting, freezing hours it takes an hour to cover the distance. I reach the highest point in Africa (5895m) at 07:34, 2 minutes after Misa and 3 minutes before Pietro. It’s all a blur of jubilation and I am not afraid to say, emotion. We take the photographs, hug each and congratulate each other and thank our trusty guides, who I am sure are just as beat as we are. I enjoy the thrill for only a few minutes as I must get down. I am dead on my feet and I know that its three hours back to Barafu Camp, a short rest and then another 4 hours down to Mweka Camp – no time to waste…
Yes, Yes, I know it’s not Everest. It’s even marketed as everyone’s mountain to climb and those who have done it pride themselves on telling everyone else that it’s a walk in the park. Statistics tell you another story though. Only 40% of those who start off actually summit. As far as death rate is concerned it’s hard to find reliable figures (2 people perished on the mountain during our 6 day expedition).
The 4 and half days before you reach 4600m is relatively effortless unless of course the altitude sickness catches you early on, as happened to Steffen, undoubtedly the most experienced technical mountaineer in our group. From 3100m he started experiencing terrible headaches but bravely persevered until Barafu (4600m) in visible pain and discomfort. He very wisely decided to remain in camp while we made our summit attempt.
The Machame Trail is widely regarded as the most scenic route on Kilimanjaro. We had excellent weather during our expedition and we enjoyed the most spectacular views. Views which make you thank god you’re alive. But the danger on this mountain lies in the extremes. On day one you start off in a humid, 30°C, equatorial rainforest at 1700m AMSL and 4 and a half days later you're battling sub zero temperatures in arctic conditions at close to 6000m AMSL. You cover more altititude metres from base to summit than from base camp to summit on Everest. (Being the highest free standing mountain on earth you see more land mass than from anywhere else on earth. Its also the worlds highest volcano).
I’ve been home for a few days now battling a cold and battling my conciouns. I was so sure of my reasons before I left on this trip. I was mentally prepared. I was recently inspired by the writing’s of Jon Krakauer and the film “Into the Wild”. Like a teenager, I even took Jack London’s “Call of The Wild” with me in my day packer. I had mentally prepared for months in advance, recounting my previous experience on this mountain and others. I committed to memory every trail and the altitude of every key point on this trail and others.
Now that I am back I am not so sure why I or others do things like this. I only know one thing for sure - as time goes by and I recount my experiences, show my photographs and read accounts of incredible feats by real adventurers I’ll start planning again to conquer this and other mountains. I am stupid enough to forget the pain and go for the glory. As Pietro said to me on the flight back to Germany, "This was the adventure of my life and nobody will ever be able to take this away from me".
- Congratulations to all of my team mates, whether you summited or not you did yourselves proud and we all had a great time. Thanks must go to our guide Musa, assistant guides Gift and Emmanuel and the rest of the crew. Without you guys we’d have had no chance on the mountain. The Porters are the real heroes of Kilimanjaro carrying heavy loads in the thin air and often over dangerous traverses and always faster than us.
I still feel remarkably strong after 3 and a half hours of hiking. I want to conserve my energy, but at the same time I want to make the most of it. Manuel, one of the porters, appointed assistant guide on this night, is 1 step ahead of me and I force him not to stop. To stop at this altitude means immediate loss of energy and of course you freeze very quickly when not moving. Pietro is close behind me and Mark, although obviously struggling is not far behind him. Misa has dropped back and in the darkness and I have no way of knowing if she’s turned back or still pushing up the mountain. I know our head guide, Musa, will be at the back of the line and helping anyone in trouble.
So far all is fine. I am writing a story in my mind. Making mathematical calculations on how many altitude meters we need to cover every 30min in order to make the summit by sunrise. Body and mind are strong and I am positive.
Its 3:30am. I tell Manuel that we need a short break and some water. Mark has fallen back and I can’t see him anymore. We need to find shelter in the freezing night to wait for the others to catch up. Manuel and I sit down and Pietro walks a short distance past us and rests too. After a number of minutes I decide that we must press on although the rest of our group has still not shown up. I walk over to Pietro and shout at him across the howling wind. He doesn’t look at me, but I can hear him saying the name of our guide, “Musa, Musa is that you?” “No Pietro, it's me, Jeff! Stand up! We have to go!” He tells me; “Jeff left and I am here all by myself” I walk over to him and pull on his jacket. He looks at me and I shine my lamp on my face – “Its Jeff! Now stand up you’re going to freeze if you sit here!” He looks at me and I can see in his face that his mind isn’t there. He tells me that his brains are pouring out of his nose. It may sound funny now, but in those circumstances it’s terrifying to see someone losing it. In that instance I decided that our summit attempt was over. We had to go down. I know full well that his brains are not coming out of his nose, but he thinks they are and that’s dangerous. I try to explain to Manuel that we must return, but he understands no English and I speak no Swahili. I just pull him in front of me and point downwards.
I can hear Pietro saying that this is not what he expected, not what he came here for. I am very disappointed, but Pietro is my team mate, if there is such a thing during a summit attempt, and he is also technically my client, although on the mountain I fill no formal responsibility. Never-the-less he came here because I am his travel agent and now I have a responsibilty to look after him. I am am certain any other of my team would to do this for me had I been the one in trouble.
Ten minutes later I have already quit my dreams of summiting. I am thinking of what I will tell my wife and dreaming of sleep and a warm sleeping bag. Just then we meet Musa and Misa. I tell Musa what happened and ask where Mark is. Mark turned back, he has no more power Musa tells me. I am very surprised by this as Mark is much stronger and fitter than I am, but the mountain has no preference for people. If you are affected by altitude sickness even the strongest fail. I know he must be very disappointed and my heart goes out to him. I know he will be ok under the guidance of Emmanuel, our assistant guide who turned back with him. I know in that moment that he will return again to fullfil his dream.
Musa decides that Pietro will be fine. He tells him to turn around and go back up. I am not sure how wise this decision is, but I know better than to question Musa. He has been up this mountain many many times and I must trust his judgement. Now I have my own battle once again. My strength of body and mind must be regained. 10 minutes down means an extra 30 minutes up, at least. We’ve been standing for a further 10 freezing minutes which saps energy like a syringe. Getting motivated to turn around is hard. We do it anyway.
Now we’re back together as a group. Musa takes up the lead with Misa and Pietro in tow; I am 4th and Manuel behind me. For a half an hour or so the going is slow, but good. I can feel my power is less now though. I think of anything except the mountain. I think of my wife and kids snug in their beds back home. I think of my freezing fingers and the hunger pain in my belly. Anything is better than thinking of how much further or how much higher we still have to go. I try those calculations again, but dividing 1300m into 7 hours is the hardest mathematical problem I have ever been faced with. Trying to figure out how high we are is impossible and due to lack of breath I can’t speak so I can’t ask Musa.
It’s a little after 4am when we stop for another break. I fall back onto the frozen scree and immediately realise my mistake. I turn around to see water from my water packet leaking out of my back pack onto the ground. It’s already freezing on my jacket and pants. No more water! My only source of nourishment for the next hours is gone.
My spirits are down, but I dare not say anything to my fellow climbers and even more so I better get such thoughts out of my mind. The moment you start doubting your success you can forget about continuing.
By 5am I am struggling. I tell Musa that the mountain has beaten me. I can’t move anymore. He tells me stand up and walk! “You’re nearly at Stella Point, you can’t give up now!” I feel so weak and my reasons for being here seem so ridiculous. All that thought of adventure and conquering ones own weakness gives way to thoughts of how bored and spoilt we are in western society, that we have to push ourselves to do things like this to make sense of our lives.
I stand up and move onwards and upwards. I can see by the light provided by my headlamp and the quarter moon that the glacier is within view. I know this mountain well enough to know that we are roughly at 5500m. 200m below Stella point and 400m below the summit. If I can just make it to Stella I will decide from there whether to push for the summit or be satisfied enough to turn back.
One, two, three deep breaths and 11 steps – rest the left leg. One, two, three deep breaths and 11 steps – rest the right leg. That’s the way to go. My thoughts go back to my family. It’s nearly 6am, so by this time Alexander has taken his teddy bear and snuggled into bed with Heike. Sebastian is sleeping in his cot.
I am losing my mind. It’s predawn, the coldest and darkest hour. I realise every now and then that I have been walking with my eyes closed for a few steps. No idea how many. Logical thought by now is impossible. My heart is pounding in my chest and a raging headache is pounding in my head. Only the simplest bodily functions are possible – 1 step and breathe, another step… My hands and feet are frozen as my body starts to pull blood away from the extremities to keep my organs working. Fatigue doesn’t even start to explain what I am feeling. Had this been a technically difficult mountain I would have been in very serious trouble.
By now it’s short before 6:30. The sky has started to light up. I can see the sun rise and my spirits with it. I am far behind Misa and Pietro and I am glad they have made it up to Stella Point which still looms 50m above me as the sun’s first rays burst above the cloud base. A few minutes later I make Stella. I hardly acknowledge the others because I cannot stop. I have made up my mind that I will summit, that all of this has not been for nothing. So I press on. Its very slow going, the final 200m in altitude and 500m in distance. Those 500m on any given day would not even cross your mind. But after 6 and a half exhausting, freezing hours it takes an hour to cover the distance. I reach the highest point in Africa (5895m) at 07:34, 2 minutes after Misa and 3 minutes before Pietro. It’s all a blur of jubilation and I am not afraid to say, emotion. We take the photographs, hug each and congratulate each other and thank our trusty guides, who I am sure are just as beat as we are. I enjoy the thrill for only a few minutes as I must get down. I am dead on my feet and I know that its three hours back to Barafu Camp, a short rest and then another 4 hours down to Mweka Camp – no time to waste…
Yes, Yes, I know it’s not Everest. It’s even marketed as everyone’s mountain to climb and those who have done it pride themselves on telling everyone else that it’s a walk in the park. Statistics tell you another story though. Only 40% of those who start off actually summit. As far as death rate is concerned it’s hard to find reliable figures (2 people perished on the mountain during our 6 day expedition).
The 4 and half days before you reach 4600m is relatively effortless unless of course the altitude sickness catches you early on, as happened to Steffen, undoubtedly the most experienced technical mountaineer in our group. From 3100m he started experiencing terrible headaches but bravely persevered until Barafu (4600m) in visible pain and discomfort. He very wisely decided to remain in camp while we made our summit attempt.
The Machame Trail is widely regarded as the most scenic route on Kilimanjaro. We had excellent weather during our expedition and we enjoyed the most spectacular views. Views which make you thank god you’re alive. But the danger on this mountain lies in the extremes. On day one you start off in a humid, 30°C, equatorial rainforest at 1700m AMSL and 4 and a half days later you're battling sub zero temperatures in arctic conditions at close to 6000m AMSL. You cover more altititude metres from base to summit than from base camp to summit on Everest. (Being the highest free standing mountain on earth you see more land mass than from anywhere else on earth. Its also the worlds highest volcano).
I’ve been home for a few days now battling a cold and battling my conciouns. I was so sure of my reasons before I left on this trip. I was mentally prepared. I was recently inspired by the writing’s of Jon Krakauer and the film “Into the Wild”. Like a teenager, I even took Jack London’s “Call of The Wild” with me in my day packer. I had mentally prepared for months in advance, recounting my previous experience on this mountain and others. I committed to memory every trail and the altitude of every key point on this trail and others.
Now that I am back I am not so sure why I or others do things like this. I only know one thing for sure - as time goes by and I recount my experiences, show my photographs and read accounts of incredible feats by real adventurers I’ll start planning again to conquer this and other mountains. I am stupid enough to forget the pain and go for the glory. As Pietro said to me on the flight back to Germany, "This was the adventure of my life and nobody will ever be able to take this away from me".
- Congratulations to all of my team mates, whether you summited or not you did yourselves proud and we all had a great time. Thanks must go to our guide Musa, assistant guides Gift and Emmanuel and the rest of the crew. Without you guys we’d have had no chance on the mountain. The Porters are the real heroes of Kilimanjaro carrying heavy loads in the thin air and often over dangerous traverses and always faster than us.
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