After
6 days of trekking through amazingly varied landscapes and practicing walking
'pole, pole ' which means 'slowly, slowly' we were about to embark on our final
ascent of Kilimanjaro to a height of 5,895 meters above sea level.
At
12.30 we set off. We were bathed in
bright moonlight from the huge full moon, the massive silhouette of the
mountain rose ahead of us and tiny specks of light twinkled from the path from
other trekkers already on their way up. By now we automatically walked 'pole
pole' but tonight it was because you could not go any faster. The pace was very slow but steady and when the
guides suggested we rested for a few minutes you immediately felt cold and your
limbs began to stiffen. Some of us did
not want to stop but rather go on slowly making progress. However the guides were strict and we all
moved together and all rested together.
As some of us found it hard and tried to rest longer they chivvied us on
and would not let us sit down. 'Don't
sleep Don't sleep You die!' I heard them say to someone squatting by a rock
with his head in his hands. It was steep
and hard and slow but when you stopped or had the energy to look back we were
making definite progress and the disjointed train of lights behind us got
longer. We trudged mainly in silence
each of us wrapped in our own determined worlds, shrouded in our own thoughts,
one step at a time, each step one step nearer the summit, one step nearer our
goal.
For
my water supply I had decided to use my camelback first as it had an insulated
cover and then the platypus which I wrapped inside my rucksack and as I had
managed, with a great deal of difficulty, to acquire an insulation cover for
the pipe, I thought that should last me
well into the ascent. I also remembered I had to blow back into the bag to
clear the pipe after every drink to prevent the liquid freezing. I had not appreciated quite how hard that
would be and how breathless I would become after each sip. However, despite the preparations, within
minutes the duckbill mouth piece froze making sipping difficult and within half
an hour both water reservoirs were frozen.
My insulated pipe had lasted no longer than anyone else’s with no
insulation ! That meant rather than
sipping as you went, at each stop you had to take off your rucksack, unscrew
the pipe which was freezing and drink the semi frozen water directly from the
bag. The icy water struck your warm
stomach like a knife but I knew I would need to go on drinking if I was to make
it to the top. We rested for a few
minutes quite frequently and sometimes I nibbled a hard cold cereal bar or
crunched on a semi frozen jelly baby.
The
air on my face was cold but I was toasty warm so long as I was moving. In fact after a couple of hours I was too hot
and removed my waterproof jacket and undid the side zips of my waterproof
trousers but then they flapped around my feet as they were slightly too long
for me and I kept standing on them. I
stopped to take them off. It only took a
few seconds and I quickly stuffed them in my rucksack but when I looked up the
person I was following had got a fair way ahead. It was probably only 20 yards or so but they
seemed miles away. I tried to quicken my
pace slightly to catch up and immediately was gasping. I was probably walking slower than I had ever
walked and yet I was gasping for air.
There was nothing I could do just plod on 'pole pole' and hope they did
not get further ahead. Eventually they
stopped to rest. I was tempted to speed up but knew I couldn't. It seemed like minutes before I reached them
and as I got there and was ready to rest, they were wanting to move on as they
were getting chilled. I felt better
though without the constriction of the extra layer of my waterproof jacket and
felt pleasantly warm rather than overheated.
We
trudged on and on, up and up, so, so slowly but always onward. I felt strangely happy, and at peace. The moon was so bright it was almost like the
watery sun on a winters day and you expected to feel it's warmth rather that
the steely cold. Walking became automatic,
almost trance like. I was so tired,
totally exhausted with limbs so heavy I could hardly lift them and yet I felt
like I was drifting along. It was a
strange experience as if I was drifting upward in another dimension watching my
bodily self struggling. It was if those
exhausted limbs were not part of me.
Random thoughts flitted through my mind. I must try to concentrate. Was this a sign of altitude sickness? Was I becoming confused? Was this dissociated
state real or imaginary? I looked around
me. Upward the shadowy mountain still
loomed, downward a long trail with small head torches glinting along it's route
and around me the rest of our team all totally absorbed in their own worlds,
all plodding on like old tired machines.
They looked how I felt. Were we all
feeling the same I wondered? I wanted to
ask but I felt I did not want to intrude.
I was completely happy in my little world and did not want to share
it. I assumed every one else was the
same.
As
we rested we talked a little, sometimes we shared snacks, sometimes we changed
our order but when we were moving we all retreated into our private worlds and
slowly, slowly the summit got closer. I
could not remember ever being this tired. Once I was desperate for a drink and
throwing off my rucksack said to Lee 'I'm giving up'. I meant just for a short time for a drink but
he immediately retorted 'No, you're bloody not! ' At one point Kay was struggling and started
dropping back, at first others encouraged her but within a few minutes she was
feeling really ill and vomiting. It was
a shock, jolting me back to reality. Kay
had always been one of the fore runners on every trek and of all of us seemed
to have been one of the best prepared. How
could it be she was now ill? Would she
have to turn back? How disappointing
would that be especially as it was soon going to be dawn. Surely it could not be that much
further. We were getting cold and needed
to move on. The rest of us set off again
passing Kay who was with a porter and Matt.
I felt a pang of guilt but deep inside we all knew we could only help
each other so much and at the end of the day each of us could only get to the
top on our own personal inner strength.
However after a few minutes Kay was on her feet again and at the back of
the group was still striving for the summit.
I
had lost all concept of time and suddenly a faint orange glow began to form in
the sky and it rapidly grew and stretched across the purple, grey sky. Dawn was breaking. My heart leapt at the thought of
sunrise. I suddenly realised it had been
a long, long night and now the sun was rising, it was a new day. A bright new
day, the day on which we would reach the summit. I looked up and realised the top of the ridge
was not far away. It really was
attainable. We were almost to Stella
Point.
We
almost fell to the top of the ridge at Stella Point. This was a significant landmark. We had reached the top of the steep
face. We had done the most difficult
bit, now we just had to walk around the crater rim and we would be there. We rested a while in the shelter of a large
rock, drank some strong warm tea from our flasks and prepared for what I
thought was a gentle walk around the rim of the crater. Sure it was still uphill but you could see
the ridge ahead of us. It did not occur
to me I could not see the rickety sign post of all the summit photos I had
seen. It was tempting to set off
quickly, after all the end was in sight but immediately we realised 'pole pole'
was the only way. So we began again, one
step after another and so, so slowly the ridge got closer. I was with Steve but we walked in silence and
finally reached the ridge. As we stepped
up onto it at the same time we realised it was a false horizon. Far far away in the distance the summit taunted
us. We had really believed we were
almost there. A string of expletives
filled the air, we threw ourselves on the ground, I was crying. I couldn't go on. I didn't even want to go on. I wanted to stay
here lying on the ground. For me this
was the top. I thought Steve felt the
same and later he admitted he just wanted to stay there and everyone leave him
alone. Scott had joined us now. He too had thought this was the top. All three of us stared in silence. Then Scott was speaking to us, encouraging
us. I don't know what he said. I don't know if I even heard him. I just heard his voice not his
words.............. then I was walking
again. Walking very slowly and
deliberately but walking. Walking to the summit. And Steve was too and Scott, we were going to
make it to the summit.
The
view was amazing. The glaciers were
stunning, standing serenely with the sun reflecting off them and a blanket of
cloud behind them. We walked between
ridges from frozen snow and looked down towards the snowy crater. It was fabulous. All around us were the most marvellous photo
opportunities but I was too tired to notice, too tired to get the camera
out. All I wanted now was to reach the
crooked old signpost.
I
reached the summit alone. Gordon was
already there sitting alone on the rock beyond the signpost. I took off my rucksack, laid down my walking
poles and sat on the rock. I was
here. I had made it. Suddenly I was crying. Sitting on a cold rock on the tallest free
standing mountain in the world almost 6 kilometres above sea level staring at
the amazing scenery through a veil of tears.
I don't know how long I sat there.
I don't know how many people will get their summit photos back and see a
pathetic women in a green down jacket huddled in the corner crying.
After
a while I realised I wasn't tired now and I wasn't crying. I was at the top of Kilimanjaro I needed to
take photographs. I needed to find the
rest of the team. We needed to be
together. I took a photo of the sign and
of my rucksack propped up against the rock even remembering to check the 1000
mile logo was visible. Then I walked
over to Gordon. We didn't speak at
first, we just hugged and then we were both crying. We went back to the signpost and started
meeting the others, Dave, Scott, Paul, Steve.
We were all hugging each other, most of us were crying. It was such an emotional experience. I do not know if it was happiness or sadness,
relief, elation or just total exhaustion.
The rest of the team were joining us now, we were jousting for chances
to get photos at the summit of each other and trying to get everyone together
for a group photo. Dan had removed his
shirt and was smoking his victory cigar.
This
was it, this was what we had come for.
For some people they had waited two years for this moment. We had reached the summit of
Kilimanjaro. I wanted that moment to go
on forever.
