DAY 14-20: Kilimanjaro (Machame Route)

 

The climb

Day 14: Machame Gate (1828m) to Machame Camp (3020m)

It seemed slightly puzzling waking in a bedroom as opposed to the now accustomed roof-top tent, however, excitement and nerves replaced the confusion as reality rolled in.  Fully geared in First Ascent kit and hiking boots, we entered the hotel restaurant for breakfast with what we hoped was a composed and confident appearance, before climbing onto the Zara bus with our toothless driver, Slim.  We arrived at Machame gate eager and ready to begin the climb; however our embarking was delayed by the five luggage-less friends who drove to Kilimanjaro airport to receive their duffel bags and climbing kit.  Standing in the tropical rain with day packs on our backs, we waited for our team to arrive, enthusiastically waving at Mr Smit’s video camera every time we shouted “Kilimanjaro, baby!”  Eventually we began our slow ascent with the guides’ constant “Pole-pole” reminder through the lush vegetation of the rain forest.  Trudging single-file through the thick mud, we entertained ourselves by singing every song that came to mind, quoting Shrek and telling jokes, though, after the steep climb had evaporated our very last drops of energy, we discovered we were only halfway.  With less enthusiasm we continued, trying with all might to ignore Mr Putter’s attempts to encourage us with his “Its-a not so bad” song from the back of the line.  Elmien soon became the pace setter at the front, winning the favouritism of one of the guides, Kabila 2, who for the duration of the week referred to her as Mama Simba.  Slowly placing one foot before the other behind her, we eventually arrived at our campsite, met by the image of eleven bright blue Zara tents, 3020m above sea level.

Day 15: Machame Camp to Shira Camp (3847m)

Woken by the porters with coffee, I removed the four layers of summit clothing I had slept in to shield myself from the icy conditions that froze our water in the night.  After breakfast and morning prayer, we departed the blue campsite, beginning the days hike on a high with the view of the snow-capped peak evident close to three kilometres above us.  Time passed slowly as we snailed the trail towards the next camp, our mud-clad hiking boots eventually taking on a dusty-white shade from the change in terrain, and gradually, the jokes and loud singing were replaced with heavy huffing and puffing as energy was reserved for the monotonous ‘pole-pole’ motion, broken occasionally to glance below at the clouds that blanketed the world beneath us.  After one of our frequent loo/drinks/snacks/breathing breaks, I joined the back of the group tailed by Mr Putter, who, undeterred by his exhausted fellow climbers, broke into loud song and laughter at his own jokes every third second: whether this was more motivating or annoying is debatable.  Amongst our group he was referred to as P-Dog or simply Sir, although due to our noisy nature and Mr Putter’s shouts of “I see you!” at unsuspecting Germans urinating off the path, we became known notoriously as the ‘South Africans’ by other groups.  Perhaps as a result of the noise emanated from the back of the line or symptoms of altitude sickness, Nico and a few other climbers suffered from headaches, adding strain to the difficult upward climb to the campsite, however our pain lifted as we reached the highest point of the day to view the familiar blue tents on Shira plateau below, our camp for the night.

Day 16: Shira Camp to Barranco Camp (3984m)

The angels disguised as porters tapped our tent at sunrise with the early morning coffee call, uprooting our sleepingbag-snuggled bodies.  According to the typed Zara description of the day’s route in Elmien’s diary, we were to expect to climb nearly a kilometre in elevation to Lava Tower, and then descend to 3984m in Barranco Valley, less than 40m above the previous camp.  The 7km hike to the lunch spot was slightly less enjoyable than we’d hoped, with slight headaches and nausea intensifying fatigue.  To keep up appearance, the ‘South Africans’ sang along to Mr Putter’s “It’s-a not so bad, shut up in your face” song, however even he, the ever-positive and motivated spirit, couldn’t find will to yell inspiration.  The clouds rolling in behind us, creating the illusion we were pacing faster than we believed, were conversely countered by each glance up at the Indian chief-shaped mountain that seemed further every step we took closer.  Eventually we fell into the practised monotonous motion, the Kili-jive, mindlessly following the feet in front of us to the base of Lava Tower where we clumsily entered the dining room tent for much appreciated chicken and chips, at the time, better than KFC.  After lunch and exaggerated breathing break, some braved the technical climb to Lava Tower, 4688m above sea level, whilst others proceeded with the equally daring steep descent to the camp.  I wish someone had told me that heights would play a factor in the rocky climb of which I was not a fan.  Nevertheless, after successfully managing to summit the tower with eyes closed, I posed in front of amazing views of the peak above and valley beneath, then began the descent to the camp nestled amongst aloes in the Barranco Valley. 

The guides really have no accurate concept of distance and time.  According to Haji, if it weren’t for the mist clouding our vision we would’ve been able to see the camp a km away.  2km further down the path, he informed us it would take an hour to walk an additional kilometre - we arrived at the camp 2 hours later.  Tired, yet grateful to enter dry tents, we slept a well deserved sleep.   

Day 17: Barranco Camp to Karanga Camp (4040m)

It appeared when we woke on the fourth morning that the mist from the previous day had failed to lift and had in fact frozen every surface, including our tent zips that refused to open.  Slightly weary of the Africafe coffee, I declined the offer the angels brought us in the morning, forced to rely on Game as fuel for the cliff face awaiting us: Barranco wall.  Laden in summit layers and gloves to keep us warm, we made the mistake of beginning the vertical ascent before the porters who all passed us to the intense disapproval of Mr Putter and Andrea who wished to overtake all the other groups and reach the top of the wall in record time.  After finally getting to the top, we collapsed exhausted, eager to summit the following day and begin the descent.  From here, with the begin of the unavoidable distance to Karanga camp, 4040m above sea level, we began the countdown to the first sip of coke, the bright orange hotel, that desperately needed shower and facebook, all only 3 days away. 

Day 18: Karanga Camp to Barafu Camp (4680m)

We merely grunted a sleepy “no” as the angels tapped on our tents the day of the summit.  Eager to reach the camp in the close distance ahead of us, we finally mastered the desired speed as we paced with desperate haste to cross the final space between us and Barafu camp at the base of the summit route.  Moving through dust and small stones, Elmien’s hiking boots gave up, their soles flapping more than Mr Putter’s mouth at that stage, a difficult task considering the excited spirit emanated by the ‘South Africans’.  Even the steep final climb couldn’t evaporate the energy in no short supply as we neared the final ascent camp, songs lead by the onboard choir, Desire and Grace, and laughter shared by everyone.  We arrived at our campsite before most our bags, tents and supplies had been brought by the porters, therefore allowing us to stare in amazement at the massive mountain alongside, so much nearer than we’d believed possible.  Encouraged to sleep, we spent the afternoon in slumber, then forced spaghetti down our throats whilst introduced to our extra guides that were to accompany us up the iced mass shadowing us.  Anticipating the climb, we were sent to sleep at 18:00, to be woken a few short hours later to begin the summit.

Summit: Barafu Camp to Uhuru Peak (5895m)

It took ages to fall asleep after supper, made further impossible by the fact that we idiotically chose the tent next to Francis and Luke who decided to inform all the other tents of their life stories and fantasies through the night.  They eventually listened to the “Shut up and go to sleep please!” yells and the rest of us eventually drifted into excited/nervous slumber, only to be woken what felt like moments later by the angels, tapping once again on the bright blue tents close to 23:00, following Nico and Elmien who began their summit at 21:00.  We began the ascent with enthusiasm emitted through happy song and excited exclamations despite the middle-of-the-night detail. Gradually, the fervour faded as we climbed the vertical ascent, placing one foot before the other with great effort, however helped by the songs of motivation from the guides.  I hadn’t quite grasped the concept of 13 guides, yet as I fought for breath and energy, their slight efforts of support encouraged me up the steep slope by simply taking my back pack and lightly placing a hand on my back to either push me when I struggled or keep me on the path in fierce winds.  The further we climbed, the stronger and colder the wind became, ultimately blowing the sanity of some of the climbers along with it.  Illusions became a common concept for a few friends, convinced of dinosaur sightings and pants that changed colour.  It’s a wonder Izel reached the top due to her unnecessary attempts to step over invisible boulders that apparently blocked our path, confused that the person in front of her seemed to pass through them without notice.  After 4 days and 8 hours of hell, we were met with closest view of heaven at Stella Point, 5752m above sea level, where we were congratulated by a fabulous pink sunrise and the bright full moon still high above us.  Some collapsed exhausted against rocks, though were constantly violently shaken by guides to keep awake, whilst others found new energy with the end of the summit so near.  We continued along the ice alongside blue-white glacial cliffs, trudging with the familiar slow pace to Uhuru peak where Mr Putter read an extract from the bible and Raymond practised his golf swing, the little white ball disappearing into the mass of ice, snow and clouds – yes he did carry his driver in his back pack the entire way.  It seems silly to have climbed all that way, struggled through hours of mental and physical strain only to reach the top for 15 minutes to pose for a photo wherein you can’t even be identified due to layers of clothing and balaclavas.  Nevertheless, the majority of our group summated the mighty beast with the exception of Michael who got hyperthermia halfway up, his dad who turned around with him, Nico who battled with altitude, and Mr Hewitt who three quarters up collapsed without the foggiest idea of his own name nor a clue of the direction of the top of the mountain from the bottom.  We were on top of the world, or Africa at least, relieved to have finally reached the summit 5895m high, making the climb worth all the effort and pain and fatigue.

 

The descent

Day 19: Uhuru Peak to Mweka Camp (3090m)

We believed we summated in the dead of night so to see the sunrise from Africa’s highest peak, however after viewing the treacherous path we had climbed a few short hours before, we realised that if we had been able to see the route in daylight we wouldn’t have had the courage to do it.  The 4.5km distance from Barafu camp to Stella Point that took us over 8 hours to climb took me less than an hour to descend.  Hitching a ride with Mr Putter by holding onto the top of his back pack, we skied down the sandy slopes sending dust and small stones flying, occasionally losing balance and landing on our bums in tired laughter.   The angels met us at the base with ice cold fruit juice – the sickly sweet concentrate both heavenly and dreadful.  The icy winds from the night were replaced with the heat of the day, defrosting our finger tips and toes.  We removed all 10 layers of insulation and slept the thickest solid sleep I had ever experienced, dreamless and deep, for close to three hours whilst waiting for the others who weren’t as fortunate to hail a taxi, to descend. We woke with the wind howling wildly attempting with intense might to unhook our tent pegs, signalling the impulse to depart the camp and beginning the long-awaited descent, bringing us a day closer to the hotel and a shower.  The further down we hiked, the easier breathing became and headaches finally lifted.  Reality began settling that we had actually summated the mass behind us, and the nightmare of the ascent was over.  The real world that had hid beneath the clouds for a week was now so close, along with a hot shower and ice cold Coca-cola, our motivation to keep descending and not sitting on a rock waiting for a helicopter to collect us.  We finally arrived at Mweka Camp, 2895m below Uhuru, approximately 3 hours after the guides said we would.  We nearly cried when we discovered Beer and Coke were sold at the camp, and desperate for anything other than naartjie game, we paid the $3 for the bottled gold.  Our last night on the mountain was celebrated by a third of the climbers who thought supper was more necessary than sleep, even Mr Putter who radiated energy and a positive attitude throughout the climb decided to cuddle his pillow rather than share his summit experience.  I fell asleep uitgeput and welgedaan, keen to finally step off our fair friend Kilimanjaro. 

Day 20: Mweka Camp to Mweka Gate (1641m) and Springlands Hotel

The familiar angel tap signalled our wake up for a breakfast of pancakes and fresh fruit before an emotional farewell from the guides and porters.  Kabila 2 sported his brand new fancy red waterproof jacket and sunglasses sponsored by Mama Simba as they danced and sang the songs of motivation that inspired us on the night of the summit.  With excited spring in our step we continued downhill, skidding on slippery mud, thoroughly entertained by occasional slips down the brown sludge.  We gave up on asking Haji how far we had yet to descend after he responded every time with 300m, half an hour – the concept of distance and time still absent.  On the downhill path to our bus the little local children nagged us for “chokalatie” and “sticky”.  Not entirely sure of what “sticky” was meant to be, we merely shook our heads, convinced we didn’t have any in possession.  Eventually we were met by the toothless smile of Slim in the Zara bus that transported us though the streets of Moshi to the bright orange facade of Springlands Hotel after making a curio stop for Kili memorabilia.  The shower we had all discussed at arm’s length was halted by rumbling tummies and desire to eat anything besides cucumber soup and green pepper sauce as we lunched in the hotel restaurant.  Thereafter we disappeared for hours, abusing hot water and shampoo until certain we had removed all traces of mountain from our bodies, to emerge as sunshine-vibrant teenagers once more.  Supper was a merry affair, laughter and relief of finally being at reasonable altitude filling all souls with joy.  We proceeded to receive certificates for summiting and concluded on a happy note with awards for each climber handed out by Izel and me.  When the music had died and the final few climbers had faded to bed, we went to sleep on real mattresses in real bedrooms as opposed to blow-up thin air beds in tents.

 

Food

Two chefs prepared all meals that were fabulous for the first three days.  We were seriously contemplating replacing KKS with Zara until we grew tired of green peppers and cucumber soup that we eventually forced down our throats because Raymond said we had to.  We began wondering how they kept the bread and fruit fresh, though after the second morning when the bread was stale and the fruit was sour, we realised it was beyond porter technology.  We were informed that loss of appetite is common, however they lead us to believe this was due to altitude, not dislike of the food that was ultimately only enjoyed by Corinne who didn’t seem perturbed that breakfast, lunch and supper all had the same green pepper sauce taste.       

 

Porters

Each person gets two porters to transport our bags, water, tables, chairs, food and tents on their backs and necks.  Every day we would watch in awe as the small drugged men skipped high as kites past us in quick haste to prepare our campsites, seemingly untroubled by the heavy loads hoisted above them.

 

Guides

All our guides were not only leaders but also entertainment and beams of support when our minds were tired of forcing our feet to move.  They had brown teeth and smelled like mine workers yet that didn’t stop us befriending them along the way and hugging them with tears in our eyes as we said goodbye, particularly Nico and Elmien who each scored private guides along the way.  I believe if it weren’t for the support and encouragement offered by the guides on the summit night, I might not have had the will to reach the peak.

Nicolaus, also known as Kabila, the main guide and leader of the troop somewhat became Nico’s private guide as he paced behind the ‘South Africans’ acting as his care-giver.

Haji was the cute little one with a dark chocolate smile who received an Afrikaans education from Elmien in the front of the line.  He replaced ‘pole-pole’ with ‘stadig-stadig’ and asked us if we were moeg at every stop.

Godfrey killed a man.  I don’t know why Ryan even asked if he’d been in jail, nevertheless, Godfrey answered with “yes” and when Ryan innocently enquired, he told him the story of how he had ignored the breathing problems of a man on Kilimanjaro who ultimately died as a result.    

Kabila 2, who sounded like he spoke through a walkie talkie, immediately favoured Elmien, his own Mama Simba.  He can undoubtedly spot the soft ones from far as at the end of the week he was wearing her summit jacket and snow-proof, wind-proof, sun-proof sunglasses.

 

What you should know before climbing Kili

The day before we climbed we laughed at the sunburnt Americans as they returned from their Kili adventure, the back of their necks bright red, blistered and peeling.  We swore we would cover ourselves with sun cream from head to toe every morning to prevent the same outcome, although we didn’t quite know how cold it would get when we took our long johns off, so the promise didn’t last longer than day 2.  By day 4 we all had bright red noses, arms and calves. 

Drink diamox everyday.  Don’t listen to your doctor who says take a quarter of a tablet in the morning and before you sleep because not even a full tablet 4 times a day completely prevents headaches and a tablet after supper keeps you awake before sending you into a vibrant dream slumber.

Don’t make the mistake of drinking the water given by the porters under the impression it’s been boiled – use the little white chlorine tablets.

Day 1-3 is the worst of the entire week.

Pay the amount for porter potties, whatever the amount.  They were a saving grace when the unboiled water took its toll. Just be sure to wear a headlamp when you wake up in the night as they’re impossible to find in the dark.

If you can reach Stella Point there’s no way you won’t make Uhuru peak, regardless of how tired and weak you feel.

Take a warm sleeping bag, preferably 100% down and a comfortable pillow – Miss du Plessis had enough good nights’ sleeps to convince us it was the only way to go.

 

Weather

We were very lucky with our weather, experiencing warm temperatures, well warm-ish considering we were on an ice-capped mountain and the week before people struggled through a blizzard.  There were times when we fought strong winds, particularly on summit night, heavy mist in the valley and light drizzle in the rain forest, although these weren’t as bad as we’d expected.

 

Mr Putter

This man provided so many laughs and such motivation that he had to have his own division.  Together with his jokes and guffaw of a laugh that made his eyes reduce to small slits, we realised the climb ‘was-a not so bad’.