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| Full moon in Barranco |
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| Kilimanjaro at dawn |
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| Clouds at dawn |
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| Mountain tops at sunrise |
I awake before
dawn the next morning and crawl out of the tent. I’m well-rested and wide awake. It’s still dark outside, although there’s a faint
light towards the east. I step out to a
sight that is even more spellbinding than the one I had seen in the middle of
the first night back at Big Tree camp.
Once again, it is completely clear. There’s not a trace of a cloud in
the sky, which is ablaze with stars that are even brighter than the moon. Even more amazing is the sight of Mt.
Kilimanjaro as it looms behind the Barranco cliff. Every inch of it that can possibly be seen
from here is clearly visible now. I can
see the rocks and the patches of snow as the mountain looks down almost
contemptuously on the Barranco wall. The
moon is rapidly diminishing in size even as I watch, but it is still throwing
its light on the mountain. This is a
sight that is even more gorgeous than the one I had seen on the first night on
the trail. Don is also up and joins me. He says he had gotten up in the middle of the
night to pee and it was even more beautiful than it is now when the moon and
stars were brighter. He too says that
he’s never seen anything like it before.
We quietly gaze at the awesome spectacle and then turn eastwards to watch
the sun rising as it illuminates just the tops of two mountain peaks to the
west, and as the moon still shines above them.
I can’t find words to describe how eerily awe inspiring it all is.
Bed tea
isn’t ready yet – we were supposed to awake much more leisurely! It doesn’t
matter though; we wouldn’t have missed this sight for anything. There’s mist along the Barranco wall again
and through the haze we spot a line of climbers snaking its way up the
cliff. Julio tells us these are people
whose itinerary calls for them to hike all the way to Barafu today; basically,
they will be doing in one day what we will be doing in the next two. He doesn’t approve of the plan at all. “Not good.
They won’t get enough rest before they start climbing to the summit, so
they have to be really fit,” he says.
He points in a northwesterly direction toward Kilimanjaro, which by now is starting to slowly disappear as the clouds set in. “There’s another route there – you can climb right up through the Western Breach instead of going east and north and then coming back up at a 45-degree angle like we will be doing. But it’s dangerous. Lots of loose rocks, and last year two people died trying it. You have to sign a release if you want to try this,” he says. I shiver slightly. Don asks if he has ever done the Breach and Julio grins: “Oh yes, just last year with some German climbers!”
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| Line of climbers setting off from Barranco through the morning mist |
As we
pack up and get ready before breakfast, I wash my face and change into long
tights under a fresh pair of hiking pants, as well as a fresh undershirt and
one of my other polypropylene tops, and of course, fresh socks. My top still feels damp, but Julio assures me
that it’s just cold and not wet. It’s
really not all that chilly outside
and I wonder what else I should wear on the trail. On the one hand I don’t want to freeze like
yesterday, but I also don’t want to lug any extra weight around. I finally decide against the fleece top.
Breakfast
is the usual porridge, followed by bread (that I forego), an omelet, sausages
(that Don and I both forego) and fruit.
The hot “ginger water” comes out and I stick two teabags into my mug –
I’m really starting to like this stuff!
It’s almost 9 AM when we set off.
We’re among the last climbers out from camp, which by now is almost
entirely comprised of porters and crew packing up. There’s a brief descent down a slope that
takes about five minutes and we cross a stream made up of water from the
melting glacier high above to the northwest.
Then it’s up again until we hit the Barranco wall. All of a sudden it’s serious climbing time! Our climbing poles are compressed and go into
our backpacks since we will need both hands to crawl/pull ourselves up in
several places. Porters start to overtake us and we have to give way to them as
climbing etiquette dictates.
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| Edging up the Barranco Wall |
A short
way up, we run into a group of about six or seven Norwegian climbers, ranging
from people in their twenties to older geezers like me and Don. They are very friendly, and as we step aside
and let the porters pass, Don and I chat with them. One young guy is from Bergen and is very
impressed that I was actually in Bergen once.
An older lady who’s about my age is even more impressed by the fact that
I had visited her home town of Voss on the same trip (also the home town of
Knute Rockne, the famous Notre Dame football coach). Another – rather grouchy – guy in their group
though, is not particularly impressed by anything! He’s not happy about having to wait for the
porters and wants to keep moving. I
guess this was one thing we hadn't really counted on. The crew members vastly outnumber the
climbers, but in general, it’s not a problem when they set off much later than
the climbers, because there’s always been enough room for them to whiz by. However, the path on the Barranco wall in
most places is only wide enough for one person – if you’re a climber it’s like
being the slow guy on a single-lane road in a traffic jam! Basically, when there’s room to pass you just
have to step aside and let the porters and crew members who are immediately
behind you go by.
On the
other hand, the situation is actually to our benefit in the bigger scheme of
things. The climb is so strenuous and so
steep in places that it’s probably just as well that we stop and let people go
by while we catch our breath. Polepole
– remember?! There are several places where Julio gives us very explicit
directions – left leg here, right hand there, grab Abdallah’s hand and pull
yourself up while holding on to that rock, etc., etc. It’s certainly not easy, but on the other
hand, it’s not impossibly difficulty either for someone who is in reasonably
decent shape. What makes it tough is
that we’re gaining altitude at an alarming rate, and while neither Don nor I
are having any major issues, it is still hard as hell on the lungs. I am amazed by the porters. On average, these guys are all carrying 15 to
20 kilos each and I can’t believe how they pull themselves up the rock face
with these loads. If the load is on their heads, as opposed to their backs,
they often help each other out as required.
Julio
makes sure that we take advantage of breaks in the crew-line to move on, but we
do have to make way for them when required.
I’m thinking about John, our “senior” porter who’s probably my age or
maybe even a bit older. Not sure what
he’s carrying, but at some point he’s overtaken us and sped on, and I haven’t
even noticed! We plod on, and when I look up after about an hour on the wall, I
still can’t see the top. Hmmm, not a
good sign. By now though, most of the porters have overtaken us and gone by,
and the pace picks up a bit. We stop
several times for water breaks, and I curse my Camelbak bladder for having given
up on me. It’s so much easier to drink out of a tube that is conveniently
hanging by your side than having to fish out a water bottle from the side pouch
of your backpack that’s under a rain-cover (although, most of the time it’s
Abdallah who does the “fishing out” for me!).
It starts raining again and of course, that means a halt to break out
the rain gear. I curse silently – can’t
we get a break from the rain just one damn
day? Around noon things suddenly start to even out and I realize that we’re on
the top of the wall. It’s 4,800 meters –
even higher than we were at Lava Tower.
I breathe in and out rapidly and pause to see how I’m feeling. Not bad,
not bad at all; I’m tired, but no altitude issues whatsoever!
We stop
for a few minutes to eat some snacks and re-hydrate. Abdallah tells me that it’s all downhill from
here – I like that, because Don and I are both really tired after that last stretch.
The Norwegian group is just making its way up to the top as we set off downwards.
It is indeed all downhill as we descend toward Karanga and we get into a pretty
fast pace. A little over an hour later,
Abdallah stops me and points to the distance.
I see a valley below me and then a steep hill rising in front of the
stream that winds its way at the bottom of the valley. At the top of the hill I see the familiar silhouettes
of tents. “Cam-pee,” he proclaims!
I try to
figure out how much longer it’ll take us.
I want to say fifteen minutes, but based on the last couple of days I
know it will probably be at least three times that much. We descend, and suddenly – for the first time
– my shoes are not feeling too comfortable.
I’m actually glad when we cross the stream in the valley and it’s time
to head uphill again. All of a sudden,
we notice that Abdallah is missing and I turn to Julio and ask him what
happened to the guy. Julio lets out a
wide grin: “Abdallah’s stomach is not feeling good.” Pointing to a rocky outcrop on the
mountainside we’d just come down he says “He’s behind that rock. In Swahili, we say that he is ‘killing a
lion’ there.” And thus is born one of
the greatest expressions of all time: ‘killing a lion’ as he said! We wait awhile and soon enough Abdallah joins
us. Julio is merciless as he ribs
Abdallah, who has a sheepish grin on his face.
Don gives him some of his Imodium tablets and explains the dosage, and
Abdallah gratefully accepts the pills. Julio on the other hand, is just plain tickled…
We start
up the last hill and suddenly I am tired as hell. It’s been a relatively short
hike time-wise, but that climb up the Barranco wall was a killer, and this last
hill seems most unreasonable to me! As
we trudge up slowly I notice that a couple of hundred yards away there’s another
stream of people going up the hill and I ask Julio if that’s an alternative
trail. “Oh, no” he says, “Those are just
the porters coming down to collect water from the stream.” Wow! Here we are, struggling up this one last
hill, and these guys are probably going up and down several times to get water
for the camp. A big deal here is that everyone will be going up to Barafu next,
but there’s no water at Barafu. So all
water for the next site will have to be collected and carried up from the
stream right below us, and then carried on to Barafu.
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| Camp Karanga, with Mt. Kilimanjaro in the background |
A little
before 2 PM we are finally at the Karanga camp.
Don is ahead of me and he has gone over to the official shack to sign in for both of us. I do the usual fist-bumping with
a couple of the porters who offer up congratulations for making it to Karanga. Abdallah sheepishly asks if I have any of the
“germ-fighting” stuff for his hands and I give him a small bottle of Purell
that I have with me. Don gives him
another dose of Imodium and asks him to take it later at night. The camp site is crowded, but not quite as much
as Barranco. A hot lunch is ready and
the rain has stopped as we head to the mess tent to eat. The monotony of the menu is getting to both of
us a bit, but we still manage to eat – I am actually hungry and scarf down a
fair bit of food. The tents are set up
and we decide to rest for a while. But before that I need to go “kill a lion”, and
I go check out some of the official lavatories that are scattered around. They are all uniformly disgusting, so I walk
several hundred feet until I’m well away from the camp site and find a nice,
large boulder that will provide me with the privacy I need to do my
business. When I’m done, I resolve that
I will do everything I can to hold off on killing any more lions until we
return to Moshi…
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| Sunset at Karanga: Dec 31, 2012 |
We both
rest for a couple of hours and when we finally rise to get ready for dinner
it’s around 5:30 PM, just as the sun is setting. Karanga is a spectacularly desolate camp
site, although the views are nowhere near as
impressive as those at Barranco. And even though it’s only about 75 meters
higher, there’s also far less in the form of vegetation. But Kilimanjaro – to the northwest – is much
closer. I won’t realize it until
tomorrow morning because right now it’s completely shrouded in the clouds.
Don and
I suddenly realize that it’s the last day of 2012: December 31st. One of the porters informs us that there will
be a celebration at midnight and we should come out to see it. Man, this is bizarre. I am suddenly a bit overwhelmed as I think of
all those New Year’s Eve celebrations with Hamsini and the boys and my friends
back in Pittsburgh. What the hell am I
doing on top of some desolate mountain in Africa? I’m cold and I’m damp and I’m smelly! All I really want at this time is a nice,
clean, warm set of jammies and a comfortable bed. I snap out of the sudden fit of depression as
we are interrupted by Emmanuel and his cheerful announcement of “soo-poo.” I debate whether I should ask him for some
hot water to wash up after loosening my filthy bootlaces, but it’s probably too
much effort. I pull out the wet wipes
and the disinfectant lotion and make do.
When we
enter the mess tent, there are clumps of balloons on both sides of the tent,
and when dinner comes in after soup it’s an even more impressive sight. The main meal is some sort of a potato and
mushroom casserole, and top of it are several green beans arranged to spell out
2013 – a creative effort from Hamza, the cook!
I am quite touched, and I’m sure Don is too. Emmanuel has his trade-mark wide grin as I
run back to our tent to grab my camera so I can take a couple of pictures. The casserole is quite tasty and I eat quite
a bit of it along with some of the (slightly rubbery) beef tips. As usual, we can’t finish the food and we are
duly admonished by Julio when he comes in.
When we are done, Don insists on thanking Hamza personally and we go to
the kitchen tent to find him – he grins self-consciously as we shake his
hand. The younger crew members have
taken to affectionately referring to Don as “babu” which translates into grandpa! I ask what I’d be and one of them says “kaka”
which means brother. Hmmm…
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| New Year's Eve Dinner |
Tomorrow
will again be a pretty short hike: not even three miles, but we will be
climbing up to over 15,000 feet to get to Barafu, our base camp for the final
climb to the summit. The idea is to get
there before lunch, then rest for a few hours, have an early dinner, and then
again rest for a few more hours before starting our final climb at midnight. I
ask him what the plan is for summit day, and once again Julio brushes off the question.
“We will discuss all that once we get to Barafu,” he says airily.
Oh-kay…
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