DAY 4 scramble

7/14/07
the path winds forever. down is so unfair.

the fourth day of the machame route began quite early on the "breakfast trail" which is up the Barranco Wall. the trail is considered a "scramble" in rock climbing terms, that is, you have to use your hands and feet to scale the rocky wall, though we didn't need ropes. 


 it is very steep and perhaps would have made me nervous if i had bothered to look down. i don't know why you are meant to do it early in the morning, other than it is a very long day of climbing to get to the final ascent campsite. trying to be clever, i had worn 3 socks on my twisted foot to stabilize it without a wrapping. STUPID. SHANGALABANGALA.

we climbed we the first light but without the risen sun, the route was so incredibly cold i felt like i was crawling up the wall with bloody stumps for feet. 


 to make matters worse, thinking i was stepping on solid ground, with my good foot, i stepped through ice into foot deep mud that oozed into my shoe. finally, i could go no further on my excruciatingly cold stubby feet. 


we wedged against a rock while john and julia removed my shoes. they stripped my sodden boots and socks and held my bare feet in their hands - thawing them as best they could. i put away the extra socks, replacing the mud-drenched ones. i had known extra socks only make you colder, but i pathetically had forgotten. i can't imagine what our guides must have thought of us, huddled and shoeless at that point.

luckily, soon after that sad sight, the sun crested the ridge and began to warm things up.

  with a 6 day hike, you have to walk through the Karanga campsite on to Barafu. our porters had paused at Karanga and set up our foldable table for a "proper" lunch of wonderful rehydrated soup. a nice change and something we could force down even with queasy stomachs. 


after many hours, we finally made it to Barafu - "snow" - camp. perhaps because we had gotten their so late, our Camp Master, Amani, had little options where our tents would go. even though the amount of climbers that can be on the mountain is limited to a select number every day, the smaller camp sites get crowded.  


the sooner your porters arrive at a sight, the sooner they can set up your group's camp.  again, it takes an experienced crew to pick the best spot for your tents. there are many things to consider; the size of your group, the closeness of other campers, the distance to the latrines, the views. on your last night before ascent location is even more important as you will be climbing in the pitch black. would your group rather be as close to the start of the climb as you can, there by reducing the amount you climb in the dark, or would you trade for easier breathing and thus sleeping slightly lower? most probably pick something in between, not sacrificing too much oxygen, but keeping you from crawling through too much of the campsite at night. 


after some kiswahili argument, our tents were placed precariously on a ledge. literally about 2 feet seperated us from the abyss. john looks out from his tent:

this night we would be able to sleep from 8pm till the wake up at 11:30pm. 11:30pm for chai and then the ascent to the top, or at least a try. Ernest came to give Julia and I a pep talk. o, how i wish i had a recording of the speech, which was all the more fabulous for our understanding only about every 4th word of his english.


peeing is a dangerous venture, especially in the dark

one last picture before the sun sets and we try to sleep:

DAY 6 fini

7/18/07
11 africans to drag 3 wazungu up the mountain:

 

permanent brain damage.
hmm. well, hard to tell. Julia says John asked her if i was "acting weird" up at the top and she thought- 'she was just acting like Chrissy.'

after they managed to drag me to the Barafu camp, i was allowed to rest for a moment while we packed up the campsite. julia and i burst into tears. why? don't really know. we were exhausted and -in truth- once my brain began to work, it was quite frightening to recall how easily i could've stayed up top in a frozen slumber. we shoved our things in our bags and continued on a terribly long descent all the way to Mweka camp, at only 10204 ft/3102 m. 5 days of climbing up to descend almost the whole way in one day. that was a freaking long day. 11:30pm to 12am to 7pm with barely a half hour rest. my brain "recovered" rather quickly, though my nausea stayed with me for quite a while. wrenching off my boots, i found both my big toenails were already filled with blood and the toenails are surely kufa (dead)- the result of being dragged instead of running appropriately down the scree. but as juls said, better toenails than half a brain. exhausted, i found it hard to sleep and for the first time had to creep my way to the latrine in the pitch dark.

our last day on the mountain was a relatively brief walk through incredibly muddy rain forest down to the Mweka gate. a record is kept by Tanzania of everyone that has climbed, their highest point, and their guide. you are issued a certificate if you reach any of the 3 highest points of kili. this certificate is extremely important and the first thing asked after by the locals- the certified proof of your climb: did you get your certificate? let me see it. you must bring it.

the proof of uhuru:

i was surprised as we descended to come across so many that did not make it. those that quit days ahead, those that made Barafu but did not even attempt the ascent, those forced back part way to Stella, or those who only gazed at Uhuru from a distance and returned.

why did i make it-twisted ankles, frozen extremities, sick, with bleeding feet? as Stanely said to John "Your Son [meaning me] is very strong." I guess so.

The question for me was never to turn back. I was never obviously sick, like juls and john. my nausea, my weakness, and eventually my brain, were all internal. i remembered something i believe Robin told me once or had me read- the effort to complain, or even grimace is better put to the struggle. and though it was slow, much slower than many, and though it nearly killed me, i made it.

Can i hold on to the metaphor of the mountain? it is impossible not to see the implications of it in my own life. simply jogging, i am reminded- how can i quit now, this is not as hard as Kili, not as cold or hot, i can breathe, i am not empty. but of course even further the comparison is unavoidable. i am an actress- unemployed for quite a while, frustrated and more often depressed by my comparative successes to my friends and colleagues and family.

i see around me what i have sacrificed, the relationships, the security. but am i yet empty? and even when i have given everything, does that mean my feet stop? do i turn back, beaten, or do i go on? reaching my highest peak, battered physically, mentally, and perhaps only half brained, but reaching it some day all the same...
better words than mine: Matthew Parris covered his trip up kilimanjaro for The Spectator.