We had been talking about it for a long time. After years of climbing and hiking in the Rockies, we were ready for a change of pace. Why not Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania, at 19,565 feet above sea level, Africa`s highest peak?
The mere name rings with adventure. The mountain is the centerpiece for Ernest Hemingway`s short story, ”The Snows of Kilimanjaro,” which opens with the haunting image of a lone leopard found lost and frozen on its snow-capped peak.
In the language of climbers, Kilimanjaro is a ”walk-up,” meaning that no technical equipment is needed to reach the summit. The challenge lies in withstanding breathlessly thin air and biting cold.
The easiest way to get to Tanzania, formerly the German colony of Tanganyka, is through Nairobi, Kenya, to which many major international airlines have flights. We chose Swissair, which allowed us a short stopover in Zurich, and, incidentally, a magnificent aerial view of the Alps.
In Nairobi we boarded an Air Tanzania jet for the 40-minute flight to Kilimanjaro Airport, a modern facility about 20 miles from Moshi, the only town of any size near Mt. Kilimanjaro. On this flight we got our first glimpse of the mountain out the airplane window.
Looming majestic above the clouds, the snow-capped peak was a mile higher than our jet. From the airport we went by van to the small farming village of Marangu on the lower slopes of the mountain.
There are two hotels in the village, the Kibo and the Marangu, both specializing in arranging climbs. We had chosen the Kibo, a small cozy establishment built during the German occupation and surrounded by beautiful flower gardens.
By late afternoon of the flight from Nairobi we were comfortably quartered in a clean, spacious room whose large beds were covered with jackal skin blankets. In the dining room we found good food at reasonable cost, and on the walls flags and emblems of climbing clubs from around the world, including several large Japanese flags decorated with the calligraphy of numerous Japanese climbers.
We brought most of our own clothes and gear, save sleeping bags, which we rented from the hotel. On the evening of our arrival we got a personal briefing from the manager of the hotel, Godfrey LaBrosse. He warned us especially of the dangers of altitude sickness and was glad to hear that we had done some climbing.
The next morning after breakfast we met our guide, Bariki, his assistant, Emmanuel, and the three porters who would carry our supplies and most of our gear for the next five days. All were Wa-Chagga tribesmen from the area who spoke their language and Ki-Swahili, but little English. Fortunately Bariki`s English was serviceable.
The trek to the summit and back is a 50-mile roundtrip. Most ride, but we decided to walk the three miles from the hotel to the park headquarters through the well-cultivated Wa-Chagga countryside. As we passed through the crisp morning air, choruses of Jambo!–Hello in Kiswahili–followed us and one old man who, when he learned where we were from, wanted to know all about Chicago.
”What`s it like so far north?” he asked. We could not resist a description of just how cold such an exotic place was in winter. ”Ah,” he smiled, ”just like the top of Kilimanjaro!”
At park headquarters we signed in for the climb and paid the fees for our party–about $280. Since some deaths on the summit in the last decade, it is strict policy that no one be allowed to climb without an official guide, who under no circumstances may return without his party.
The first leg of the climb, from headquarters to Marangu Hut (elevation 8,300 feet), is an easy enough walk through the soothing emerald green of mountain rain forest.
After about three hours we came upon the original hut, a large stone building erected by German climbers before World War I. The building is now closed, and the hut is actually a collection of A-frame chalets built by Norwegians as part of an aid program to Tanzania.
One larger chalet, with sleeping quarters on the second floor, is a common dining hall and for socializing. As a party of two, we received a smaller chalet for ourselves, with bunk beds built into the walls and mattresses for sleeping bags.
Bariki supervised hot lunch, and later a supper, and in the dining hall we got acquainted with some of the people making the climb with other groups. There are no electric lights at Marangu and darkness on the equator falls about 7 p.m. A few of our new acquaintances were late-nighters and continued to talk and play cards by candelight while we retired to our bunks.
After breakfast the next morning we were on the trail to Horrombo Hut
(elevation 11,630 feet), a five-hour walk through more rain forest that opens suddenly upon a wide expanse of ascending moorland thickly carpeted with tussock grass and punctuated by an occasional wild sisal, a vaguely tree-like plant that looks like a cross between cactus and an elongated pineapple.
Near the end of this leg, we broke through the clouds that usually blanket the lower reaches of the mountain. Suddenly the buildings of Horrombo Hut, very similar to those of Marangu, jump out of the mist on a sharp rise, reminding us of nothing so much as enchanted castles in a fairy tale.
Here the altitude began to tell. We felt tired after the long walk, and the evening was very chilly. In the cold clear air the stars of the Southern Hemisphere dazzled us with their strange patterns and hard-edged brilliance. The next morning we were off just after daylight from Horrombo to Kibo Hut
(elevation 14,500 feet), just over five miles away. The thin air was making itself felt, and the watchword from the guides and porters was Pole pole
–”Slowly, slowly.”
The first part of the trail is through rocky, arid brush. About halfway along, it crosses a large rise and you see the full majesty of the snow-covered summit of Kilimanjaro up close for the first time. Looming smaller and to the right is the volcanic peak of Mawenzi (elevation 15,500 feet), a craggy shard of gothic lacework. From the rise, the so-called Saddle Trail winds eerily off into the far distance, dotted here and there by strings of climbers, guides and porters, going up slowly, or coming down, much more quickly and often singing. The spell is overpowering.
Kibo Hut is behind another rise at the foot of the final steep slope that leads to Kibo proper, the summit of the crater rim that is Mt. Kilimanjaro. Up a tiring grade the small stone buildings of the hut cling to the forbidding scree–loose gravel–of the crater slope. The main hut, built in 1932, consists of several bunkrooms and a small common room. Another smaller stone building is a kitchen and dormitory for the guides and porters.
On this leg we began to see some of the serious effects of altitude sickness. One group of Japanese, who were one day ahead of us on the climb, came hurrying down past us from Kibo Hut. A young woman, unconscious and seemingly lifeless, was on a one-wheeled mountain rescue stretcher, while another, in marginally better condition, was being carried piggyback by a fast-moving porter.
Whatever gaiety and bravado we had shared with fellow climbers at lower altitudes disappeared and the camaraderie became more somber. High altitude dictates light eating and lots of liquid to guard against dehydration.
At Kibo Hut late in the afternoon after seven hours of walking, Bariki told us to climb into our sleeping bags and get as much sleep as possible, for the final ascent would begin in darkness shortly after midnight. At this hour, the loose and treacherous scree that covers the steep slope up to the rim of the crater is still frozen solid, making for better footing.
The final leg to the top from Kibo Hut is less than a mile, but gains more than 4,000 feet in elevation over that short distance, making for very steep going. After a short nap interrupted by a scanty supper, we tried to sleep, but with little success. Cathy was already suffering from moderate altitude sickness.
Bariki and Emmanuel had us up in the midnight darkness and filled us with pots of tea. It was below freezing at the hut, and we were told that it often falls well below zero on the top, even in the middle of equatorial summer. We donned our warmest climbing clothes and were off into the frosty dark.
Bariki set the pace, which was very slow but steady. The secret of success in such thin air is to balance what little oxygen there is against a slow but implacable pace. The slightest heavy exertion leaves one exhausted and gasping for breath, and if sustained will lead to collapse, or worse.
We climbed in the dark, but were fortunate to have a full moon and no need of flashlights or lanterns. About halfway up, we rested for a few minutes in a shallow rock shelter called Hans Meyer Cave. Looking up from there, we saw in the moonlight an even steeper slope than before.
After four hard hours of breathless labor, the sun at last began to dawn over the vast and distant horizon. In the dim early light we could just barely make out the tiny white squares that were the buildings of Kibo Hut far below. Above was the long metal pole marking the first summit, Gillman`s Point.
We gritted our teeth for the next 200 yards up a hard slope of boulders and in another 20 minutes were on the summit, greeting the now full-fledged sunrise. We could now look down into the bowl of the dormant volcano several hundred feet below, white with ice and snow. To the north the Eastern Ice Field Glacier sparkled in the sun. The air was biting cold, and when the wind blew, it was well below zero.
We had reached the first summit, where many an earlier climb had ended whether through bad weather, illness or mishap. Along the crater rim to our left was the slightly higher Uhuru Peak (elevation 19,340 feet), deceptively close to the eye, but more than two hours away on foot. Should we go on?
Cathy was still suffering altitude sickness, and, although Gene and Bariki were sound, Emmanuel, the assistant guide, also was ill. To continue we would have to separate and send down a sick climber in the company of a sick guide. We all agreed it was not worth the risks. We signed the registration book kept in a wooden box on the summit and paused silently for a few moments over several memorials to climbers who had perished on the mountain. Then, after the mandatory photographs, we went down, half walking, half sliding down the now sun-warmed and loose scree.
We rested a half hour at Kibo Hut, then continued to Horrombo. We were at park headquarters the next afternoon, where Bariki attested the certificates issued to all climbers reaching Gillman`s Point or Uhuru Peak. We were back in the comfort of the Kibo Hotel a few hours later. Several people about to go up asked us how it was on the top. ”Great,” we laughed, ”just like Chicago in winter.”
