LYING in our canvas tents, wrapped up against the intense cold in several layers of protective clothing, and with the icy wind blowing all around, there is a great sense of anticipation among the 13 members of Wild Women on Top. The summit of Africa’s highest peak, Mount Kilimanjaro, set at an altitude of 5895 metres, lies waiting for us out there in the darkness. Months of training and preparation have gone before us to enable us to get to this point, and after eight hours of trekking already today, it is difficult to believe we are now within striking distance of our goal. We will have just three hours rest before we renew our ascent to the summit of this majestic mountain, the highest in Africa, and the world’s biggest volcano.
For five days now we have been steadily trekking the approaches of this massive East African mountain straddling the boundary between Kenya and Tanzania and only three degrees from the Equator, climbing high and sleeping low each day to become acclimatised to the rarified atmosphere in readiness for the final push tonight. All of us in the team have already experienced varying degrees of the dreaded altitude sickness en route and this evening, with five days trekking behind us and at an altitude of 4600m, two of us have retired early to their sleeping bags with blocked sinuses and feeling nauseous.
At 10.30pm our guide Samuel summons us to the mess tent for a late night meal of porridge, sweet biscuits and tea which none of us feel like eating although we know we may not see another meal for the next 12 hours. It is not easy to walk with so many layers of clothing, at least five, but we have been warned by the guides that the temperature will drop as low as ten degrees below freezing point as the night progresses and we climb ever higher.
It is bitterly cold as we step out of the relative shelter of the tent to begin the assault from Barafu with the loose scree underfoot and there is a nervous tension among us with the realisation that all we have worked so hard to achieve is now within striking distance.But within a few minutes Linny collapses. Her sinuses are blocked, she has a splitting headache, her lungs are aching and she is gurgling as she breathes.Alan, a tall and gentle Masai and our assistant guide, takes over and the decision is made to have Linny taken back down the mountain as quickly as possible to where she can recover.Those of us remaining in the group are silent, trying hard to remain focused and positive despite Linny’s plight.But there is a real sense of concern for her and we struggle to come to terms with the decision we have had to take to continue towards the top without her.
The team has remained a close knit unit, especially over the past week together, and even though we had spoken about the real possibility of being splintered on summit night, we had not envisaged it happening so early on.There is a second low point within another few minutes when another team member, Elly, is on the verge of collapse with low blood pressure.She is not well at all and it takes some time to revive her and get through to her to establish what is wrong with her.She goes from being really hot to shivering with cold and so I wrap her in my emergency blanket.Again the guides take over, talking to each other in Swahili now, and they tell us that Elly must also be taken back down the mountain to a safer altitude.My heart sinks and my stomach turns as I realise we have now lost two of our group within the first hour with the rest of the team now visibly shaken and miserably cold.
Despite these setbacks we finally get into a rhythm of “pole, pole” (slowly, slowly) – steadily placing one foot in front of the other - at what can only be described as an excruciatingly slow pace as we plod ever upwards and our breathing becomes increasingly laboured.The cold, icy wind beats against us making progress difficult and for the next couple of hours we are struggling in the darkness, with only the beams of light from our head torches showing us the way and it is difficult to judge just how far we have gone.The lunar landscape is akin to a dry and barren desert, all loose volcanic slate-like rock that hinders our footsteps.
The empty slopes have tell tale signs of other humans who have made their way up the mountain before us with scattered ribbons of loo roll strewn behind many of the bigger rocks along the route.At just over 5000m, several of us are starting to feel extremely nauseous and extreme headaches, diarrhoea and vomiting are now affecting many of us which is debilitating.We take turns leaning against the rocks and praying the nausea will pass.The water in our camelbacks has long ago frozen so the guides offer us hot water from thermos flasks.Some of the girls, at least, are able to nibble on small snacks to keep their energy levels up. Our heart rates are well above 140bpm even though the pace remains slow and our toes encased in our climbing boots feel as though they are frozen.
As the hours drag past it seems to get even colder. A strange silence pervades us and we are encouraged by the guides who sing songs in Swahili as the climb continues.They don’t sound breathless at all!It seems we are all alone on the mountain and yet we know others are also making this journey tonight from the other approaches.A gold sliver of moon shines out low on the horizon and seems to hang in the sky teasing us.We cannot wait for the sun to rise as when it does it will mean we will be able to see where we are.It seems to us that we are days away from the top!We have reached the snow line but the top is still a few hours away and on we go, one foot at a time, slowly, slowly does it, the summit still just a dream.
It is difficult to appreciate the amazing copper sun rising above the ice fields and I wish I could muster the energy to extract my camera which is buried under all the layers of clothing I am wearing to prevent it from freezing up. By this time we have split into two smaller groups to give those more able a better chance of summiting, those feeling good forging ahead and the others taking a slower pace and making frequent stops either to rest or be sick. The waves of nausea sweeping through me are almost unbearable and I have been unable to eat or drink for the last six hours and am feeling very weak. But I must keep going.
The eerie silence in this hostile environment allows each of us to focus internally, to meditate and to reason with those inner voices begging us to throw in the towel, to turn around and retrace our steps to where we might feel human again.I am humbled by this great mountain. I am so glad we trained so thoroughly as we did for it, and for the mental toughness too, which more than anything is what is helping to get us through this amazing challenge.
And then we are on the crater rim at Stella Point, 5752m above Africa.The air is thin to breathe and we collapse against and sit on whatever rocks we can find to take in the view around us.There smiles all round and the guides are excited and good humoured, just as they have been every step of our journey.What amazing men they are. For them this climb is a monthly occurrence, but for us, it is something we have worked towards for months and months. It is surreal to be sitting atop the roof of Africa. The landscape on the crater rim is unlike anything any of us has seen before. The ice on the slopes has been whipped by the wind into sharp points that glint in the sunlight. Without sunglasses it is blinding to look at. I so want to continue on up to Uhuru Peak, the true summit of Kilimanjaro at 5895m, but my body is weak and Samuel advises us that we still have at least a six hour descent ahead of us, three hours back to Barafu camp and then another three or four hours down to our camp in the forest where we will spend the last night. Candace and Sue bravely continue the climb to Uhuru Peak, but the rest of us decide to commence the arduous journey down the ice and scree slopes back to where we left from eight-and-a-half hours earlier.
The climb down is closer to skiing than walking. I manage to sit down on the scree and film myself and the team ahead of me slowly picking their way down the slope using their walking poles like ski poles or simply sliding down on their bottoms. Our summit porter, Philemon, is nothing short of amazing and helps out in any way he can by carrying our backpacks and pointing out safer routes through the slippery black ice. It is a long, slow three hour decent and I pray that as we get closer to camp the nausea will subside. I glance at Helen and see that she has tears streaming down her face.Her lungs are burning and she is clearly in pain.We have to get her down as soon as we can.
The group are now in dribs and drabs as the descent continues, covered in dust, our mouths dry and parched and our heads pounding. Finally we reach Barafu camp and barely hear the applause from the other groups of hikers who have just arrived and will attempt their summit tonight. After a brief stop at the camp we begin the long walk down to Mweka Forest where our sleeping bags await us. A few hours later we are all laughing and reminiscing about the climb. Women have an amazing way of talking through their experiences, pulling out the best from one another and becoming closer to each other through the act of sharing their innermost feelings and thoughts.What a strange sensation after having felt so weak and exhausted just a few hours before!I watch the team and it seems that with every step down we regain energy and the symptoms of altitude sickness are almost gone by the time we reach camp at 3090m.
At dinner beneath the canopy of the forest the attempt on the summit of Kilimanjaro is once again the subject of our conversation. As a team we seem closer than ever despite the fact that we did not all make it to Uhuru as planned. We had watched each other battle through varying degrees of cold, illness, exhaustion and discomfort before arriving at Stella Point and we are in awe of each other for having got there. Every piece of clothing we own is soiled, every part of us covered in dust, but even the most fussy among us does not care.We have overcome many doubts, fears and disappointments to emerge a stronger, closer and more united team than ever before and I am honoured to be a part of such an amazing group of women who have inspired, motivated and cared for each other every step of the way.
We have kept our promise to each other which we had made just seven days earlier – that we would appreciate and live every moment of our journey to Africa and that the summit of Kili would be just one of the many things we would aim for on our trip to that faraway continent. By the sound of the laughter and smiles all around it is obvious that we have achieved that.S ome of our most treasured memories will be of the days leading up to the summit climb. The team of 50 men who took us up the mountain are our heroes. The porters, guides, chef and camp assistants were there every step of the way and we feel totally spoiled and so very privileged to have been cared for and encouraged by these brave men.
The journey that brought us here will long be remembered by us all for the unique African images, the wild animals, the beautiful people, even the poverty we witnessed. Above all, the beauty of Kilimanjaro will remain in our memories along with the thousands of digital images we recorded. It was a humbling experience to climb at altitude, at the mercy of the elements and to have survived to face the other great challenges that lie ahead of us.
By Lisa Marshall
