DAY 1: December 27, 2012

We get up early and head to the restaurant for breakfast, where we run into a couple of young American climbers who look to be in their early to mid-twenties.  They had just returned the previous evening after their climb using the Machame route.  They both look pretty wiped out. One of them – an MBA student at the Harvard Business School – tells us that the altitude got to him pretty early and he’d been sick throughout.  However, they’d both still made it to the top. They are effusive in their praise for the two guides (from Ahsante, as well…) who had accompanied them; they swear that they would never have made it without the help and encouragement they received from the guides.  Don asks them which part was the toughest and there’s no hesitation – it’s the day that you summit, they both say. As we finish breakfast and head back to the room they shake our hands and wish us luck.

As promised, there is a knock on the door exactly at 8:30 AM. It's Julio.  Don and I are pretty much set with our duffel bags and our daypacks, as well as the stuff we will be leaving behind at Moshi: a small Jet Airways bag with my stuff in it, and Don's suitcase.  Julio and a couple of the WeruWeru staff haul everything down and after checking out at the front desk and leaving our two bags in storage we head outdoors into the bright sunlight. It is warm and a bit sticky, and all I have on are a t-shirt and a pair of lightweight convertible hiking pants.

Our duffel bags are already being loaded into a beat-up Toyota Land Cruiser. Julio introduces us to Abdallah, who will be our assistant guide on the climb, and the driver (Tony) who will be taking us to the beginning of the trail.  Abdallah is also a small, wiry man just like Julio but a bit younger; he looks like he’s probably in his mid-twenties.  He speaks passable English, but clearly not at the same level as Julio. We head out toward the Lemosho gate, which is a bit further away than the entrances to the other popular routes; it will take us about an hour and a half to get there.  Tony brags about his vehicle. "This one is made in Japan, not like the newer models. It's the best – can go anywhere."  I notice that the odometer reads 384,000 KM and change.  Pretty impressive! 

We rattle along the highway and after a bit we turn right, onto a smaller road that winds its way through little villages and farm country.  Julio points out fields of vegetables: beans, peas, tomatoes.  He says the maize has already been harvested and these are the next set of crops.  I can tell the soil is really fertile.  We pass a large potato plantation and we can see the farm laborers gathering up and bagging the stuff.  Gradually the surroundings start to get more wooded. We pass a man-made pine forest; half the trees have already been cut down for the wood. At around 10:30 we arrive at the park gates.

Crew

As the Land Cruiser pulls up outside the small office building I notice a minibus with the Ahsante logo on it.  Several people jump out as they see us – it’s the rest of the crew.  Things start moving with smooth efficiency.  A couple of the porters come and say hi to me and Don and introduce themselves: Ricky and Lucas. Our two bags and the equipment and supplies that have already been brought there are all neatly organized and the crew lines up in front of a weighing station. Well, if you can call it that; basically it's a park official with an old fashioned scale that hangs from a wooden support.  The system has been put into place to make sure that (a) porters are not exploited like they were in earlier times, and (b) to make sure that all the trash generated on the mountain is brought back for disposal.  The total weight determines the size of the crew; porters are not allowed to carry more than 20 kg each.  Subsequent weigh-ins are done at intermediate camp sites as well.  

We wait for Julio, who comes back and announces that we will have a crew of 13! Don and I glance at each other and are somewhat taken aback.  "I thought we usually average two to three porters per person," I say.  Julio says "Yes, but that is for a six-day trip. Based on our weight we will have nine porters, a cook, a waiter, Abdallah and me." 

OK...

Don and I talk - I guess it makes sense given we are on an eight day trek, and with only the two of us in the party we also lose some economies of scale. Plus, Ahsante has a reputation for treating its porters fairly.  It's not going to cost us any more other than the fact that we will have to tip more people at the end of the trip, and that doesn't necessarily seem like a bad thing (as long as they do a decent job, of course).  Don is more embarrassed by the fact that we have this massive army at our service! He's used to being self-sufficient and pulling his own weight, and is a bit uncomfortable with the setup.  But we figure this is the livelihood that so many of these guys depend upon, and this is the same sort of setup that every other climber also encounters.  And in any case, it would be wildly impractical (and probably illegal) to do it any other way.

Dire Warnings

Julio goes into the office to fill out the paperwork and obtain all the requisite park permits/licenses.  A couple of other groups have also pulled in by now and are going through the same procedures.  We wander around the area and read the large signs with instructions to follow while on the trail, and another one with lots of dire warnings.  One in particular, catches my eye: "If you have a sore throat, cold or breathing problems do not go beyond 3,000 metres A.S.L."  Damn.  Just as I was trying to forget about my stuffed head and my cough!  Oh well, too late to do anything now; at least I don’t have a fever.  I unzip the front compartment of my daypack and fish out another Sudafed...

The formalities complete, we board the Land Cruiser along with Abdallah and Julio to drive to the trailhead. The weather is much cooler here.  All of our luggage and supplies for the week have been crammed into the trunk, the third row of seats and the roof.  Abdallah is squeezed into a tiny amount of seat space in the third row behind Don and me, surrounded by a mountain of stuff all wrapped up in white plastic bags.  As we turn off onto a small dirt road, a light drizzle sets in.  Clearly, it's been raining because the dirt road is muddy as hell as it winds precariously up a hill.  Soon after, we turn onto an even smaller dirt road, that's even more slushy, and cuts through a thick forest. About two minutes along this we come to a point where the road turns sharply to the left.  Tony and Julio talk to each other in Swahili and then Tony cuts off the engine on the Land Cruiser.  "Time to start walking," says Julio with a grin.  The actual trailhead is about a mile or so down, but the road is just too muddy.  "If I go further I can't turn around; I will have to come back in reverse gear," announces Tony.  I guess the old Land Cruiser has its limits too.  We jump out and the other three guys quickly unload everything and pile up the stuff under a tree.  Abdallah will wait for the porters while Julio, Don and I proceed.  Apparently, there's no way the bus with the crew would make it up the hill given the mud, so the rest of the gang will get down and walk up – walking is no big deal at all for them, as we would soon find out.

It's also the end of the road for Tony. He shakes our hands and tells us he is SURE that we will summit successfully! The Land Cruiser struggles to turn around and after several iterations manages to do so; it soon disappears down the road and it's just Don, me and the two guides in the middle of a forest. The rain is starting to get heavier and Julio orders us to break out our rain gear.  We both quickly pull on rain pants over our hiking pants and rain jackets as well.  Abdallah helps me put on my gaiters (a protective sleeve that runs from the knee down and covers the top of one’s hiking boot so that water, mud or other foreign materials don't get inside).  First time in my life I have ever used these, but I will soon discover how invaluable they are.

I check my watch and it's a little after 11:30 when Julio, Don and I finally set off.  By now, the steady drizzle has become a torrential downpour and we slog through the mud for a little over a mile to get to the actual trailhead.  Abdallah has caught up with us and a couple of the porters have already whizzed by us; the others will overtake us not much later into the trek.  This will turn out to be the norm the rest of the way – we start first, and the crew then closes shop and sets off about 20-30 minutes after us, overtakes us about an hour or so into the day's hike and by the time we get to the next site, they've already set up shop there; they are absolutely amazing!

We slog through the thick rain forest. It's absolutely gorgeous - not unlike the woods in Western Pennsylvania but much, much more dense.  Unfortunately, the trail is so muddy and hard to navigate that it's hard to enjoy the scenery.  The non-stop rain doesn't help either.  I discover that while my rain pants are pretty good, the rain jacket is not - it's not very waterproof and it also doesn't breathe too well.  My t-shirt is soaked with sweat and water and I'm chilly and uncomfortable any time we stop walking.  The path is a fairly gentle climb and it would have made for a perfect hike if not for the rain.  I lose my footing more than once in the slime and land on my butt. A quick glance at Don reveals that his boots and pants are just as muddy as mine.

Rain Forest

Around 1:45 or so, we pause for lunch. We each have a boxed lunch - a piece of chicken, a sandwich, a small muffin, crackers, a small box of pineapple juice, and a small Snickers candy bar.  It has not stopped raining, although the torrential stuff and the thunder and lightning have given way to a steady hard drizzle in which we chew on our food.  Lunch takes up about fifteen minutes, and then we set off again. The path gets a bit steeper and the rain finally relents.  At around 4:30 PM we break through the forest and arrive at a clearing where our first camp site is located: Big Tree camp in Lemosho Glades.  We have walked about 6 miles and ascended from about 2000 meters to 2800 meters (roughly 9200 feet). The pace has been deliberately slow and the weather and ambient conditions have made it even slower.

At the camp site our tent has already been set up, along with a mess tent where Don and I will eat all our meals for the next week.  There's also a kitchen tent the same size as ours where all the cooking takes place, and several smaller tents that will serve as sleeping quarters for the crew.  Although it has stopped raining, Julio wants us to change into dry clothing and warm up.  We crawl into our tent and that's when we get a major, nasty surprise – both of our duffel bags are wet and much of what's inside is wet, or at least damp.  It's a disaster.  We call Julio in and he says that the guy who put the kit together at Ahsante is someone new and apparently forgot to include the waterproof kit bags into which our duffel bags are supposed to have been stashed before being carried!  We try and figure out what to do.  I'm a little luckier than Don because I had actually organized some of my clothing into separate ziplock bags - not with any waterproofing objective, but just to make it easier to get at stuff: socks in one bag, tops in another, undies in one, fleece in one, etc.  So, at least those items are dry.  I change out of my t-shirt into a dry vest and a polypropylene crew neck on top of it; Don decides to stay in the clothes he is wearing because he has an excellent rain jacket that has kept him relatively dry (or at least drier than he would be if he were to change into something from his duffel bag).

Big Tree Camp

We head to the mess tent to have tea with fresh popcorn and ginger snaps (or biscuits as they call it there).  There's a small table covered with a table cloth with a red, checked pattern, and two canvas folding stools that we can carry back to our sleeping tent when we're done eating.  Suddenly, I am overcome with a headache, nausea, and absolutely no appetite – all the signs of altitude sickness. This is completely absurd; we're not even at 10,000 feet yet! I am sure that my cold and congestion have a major part to do with this, and I decide to pop a couple of aspirins.  Don is fine except for his damp clothes. We wander outside and see that a couple of other groups have also arrived and are setting up camp.  The rain has finally stopped and things have begun to clear up. 

Emmanuel

Around 6:30 or so, dinner is announced by Emmanuel, our waiter.  His job is to set up stuff in the mess tent and take care of all of our eating arrangements.  He transports the food between the kitchen and mess tents, and the table in the mess tent is always set up with tea bags, two bottles of tomato ketchup (regular and spicy – not Heinz, unfortunately...), milk powder (Nilo), honey, and sugar.  But no salt or pepper!  Emmanuel is a Maasai – he speaks very little English but he is a cheery fellow with a ready smile and both Don and I take a quick liking to him. “Karibu,” he says as we step into the mess tent.  I know that means “Welcome.”  

Dinner begins with hot zucchini soup, and I manage to get a bowl into me.  My headache is gone, but I still feel rather sick and I can't touch any of the actual meal that follows. Don actually has an appetite and does much better than me.  As he will do every evening, Julio steps into the mess tent to check on how we are doing and to outline the following day's trek.  He listens to my complaints about feeling nauseous and suggests that I start on my Diamox right away.  So I swallow half a tablet. 

It's around 8 PM and we're both exhausted.  We crawl into the tent and struggle to remove our muddy boots, getting dirt all over our hands from the filthy laces. I change into a pair of (luckily dry) fleece pants and add a fleece jacket on top.  Don has a few dry clothes but he wants to save these for later since he is fairly warm in his rain jacket and the fleece jacket underneath.  We zip the inner tent of our double walled unit shut and crawl into our sleeping bags.  For a moment, there is silence and then Don voices my own thoughts: "Boy, this certainly is not what I expected."  Coming from a relentlessly positive person like Don, that is hard to hear. To me, this is absolutely not a great start. Hopefully, we will settle in and things will get better.  If it doesn't rain tomorrow, perhaps we can dry out all of our clothes; that will definitely make things better.

The sleeping bag is warm and I am actually very comfortable in it (if a little cramped in the tent). Sometime around 2 AM I awake because I need to pee.  Stumbling into my unlaced boots, I unzip the main tent flap and step outside with my flashlight, but I don't need it.  The sky has cleared completely, with not a trace of a cloud.  Dec. 28th is a full moon night and it's almost as bright as day.  I look up and I can see what looks like every single star in the universe.  The trees in the forest are bathed in moonlight.  It has to be one of the most spectacular scenes I have ever witnessed.  All the other tents are dark and other than the occasional sound of rustling leaves it is silent.  It all feels surreal.  I find a shrub at the edge of the camp, finish my business behind it, and crawl back into my sleeping bag after struggling briefly to remove my shoes.  I'm asleep almost instantaneously.