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| Christmas Day - 2016 |
My attempt at summiting started on an inauspicious note. While trying to fall asleep for my all-night climb, I suddenly am unable to breathe, the pulse in my neck accelerating faster and faster, like a train racing down a mountain without any brakes.
I experienced the same sensation on Everest and know what to do.
Calm down. Take nice slow breaths. It's just the altitude.
It's not helping. I feel like I'm drowning.
I've come too far to allow my body to stop me. I pop my first Diamox. The storm passes, but the doubts remain.
It's now 11 p.m. Time to begin.
My guide, Raphael, said it's better to hike at night because it gives climbers a chance to see the sunrise at the summit, but more importantly, he said it prevents them from looking up at the imposing challenge of the seemingly, never-ending trail that appears to get steeper by the minute.
"We don't want you to lose hope," he said.
And so – clad in four bottom layers and four top layers, all covered by a heavy, down jacket – I venture across and up the arctic tundra.
Kilimanjaro is a dormant volcano, meaning this section is littered with rocks and scree. At times, it's like trudging through gravel-strewn sand, at others I'm scrambling over boulders.
Virtually nothing lives here. There's little oxygen. There's no protection from the sun. There's minimal surface water.
I peek up and am immediately disheartened by what lies ahead.
"Keep looking at my feet," Raphael snaps. This is a change. Before, my guide has always been so supportive. I resent the tone. "I told you before. Kilimanjaro is steep, then steeper, and then steepest," he says.
O.K., no looking up, but I can't help but notice the numerous exposures seemingly dropping into nothingness in the midnight darkness. I can't ignore the head lamps of the climbers behind me or the tiny, tiny lights from the camp hundreds, if not thousands, of feet below.
For the first time, I'm scared. I know I don't belong here. I feel like an imposter, a fake who managed to finagle his way into the climb.
"I'm intimated by the exposures," I tell Raphael. I'm lying. I'm terrified, terrified that I'll be blown off Kilimanjaro by the gale-force winds.
And now the guilt sets in. Normally, I would be home for Christmas with my family in America. Instead, I insisted on hiking up Kilimanjaro. I think about the phone call that will have to be made to my parents.
"I'm sorry to tell you that your son fell to his death on Christmas."
I'm a lousy son. How could I have been so selfish. I made a terrible decision.
It's especially traumatic because everyone else seems to be climbing with no problems.
Of course, many others are struggling on the mountain. On another route a few miles away, my friends Brittany and Josh, a 20-something-year-old couple from Florida, are about half-way to the top. Brittany slumps to the ground, breaking down in tears. She can no longer feel her fingers or toes and wants to turn back. Her guide rubs her fingers vigorously, pleading with her to continue. Brittany pushes on, makes it to the summit, then must be assisted back down. At the summit, a thermometer on the outside of Josh's backpack registers 8-degrees Fahrenheit.
We arrive at Hans Meyer Cave, which is really more of an indentation. I'm now at 16,896 feet in elevation (5,150 meters). Normally, once an hour, I take a 5-10 minute break. Instead, Raphael tells me, "Two minutes, and don't sit down."
My anger is building at his insensitivity. Doesn't he realize I'm exhausted after sleeping less than an hour. Doesn't he know I'm freezing.
"I need more time," I say. "Let's go," he replies.
I consider reducing his tip.
We move forward.
After struggling over a series of boulders, we arrive at the next major milestone – Gillman's Point, situated at 18,638 feet (5,681 meters). This is the highest I've ever been on Earth. The elevation is 1,000 feet above Everest Base Camp, my previous best.
It's at this point that I run into a Swedish exchange student who I've been chatting with at our huts along the way.
Her guide lifts here over a boulder and places her in front of a sign marking Gillman's.
"Hooray, I made it to the top," she says giddily. She's way too happy under the circumstances, especially since we're still an hour and a half from the summit. She appears to be intoxicated. We all look at one another, knowing her trip is over. Her guide fears she's suffering from cerebral edema, swelling of the brain caused by altitude. It's deadly, and she must ascend immediately.
Later, I found out that the exchange student had just succumbed to serious altitude sickness and not cerebral edema. She was fine once she got to a lower altitude.
And then I feel it coming on. It's similar to the tickling I get in the back of my throat before a cold hits. There's no stopping it. It's going to happen, no matter what I do.
My nemesis has returned. It begins with a sharp pain at the base of my skull and quickly envelopes my brain, turning into a full-blown, altitude-induced headache.
Step 1.
As if on cue, the nausea builds, leaving me with the sensation of having to vomit with each step.
Step 2.
My legs feel like rubber, and I'm staggering up and all over the trail.
Step 3.
Altitude sickness occurs when a person can't get enough oxygen. At higher altitudes, there's less atmospheric pressure, so oxygen molecules are more spread out. That means there's less oxygen available to breathe, when a climber needs it most. At Kilimanjaro's summit, the body takes in 51% less oxygen.
The only bright side is that the boulders are behind me. All that lies ahead is a gradual incline to the summit.
Even though Raphael says it's normal, I worry that I have serious altitude sickness and, for the first time, consider turning back.
I expect a positive pep talk.
"Do you think I have serious altitude sickness?" I ask. "Only you know your body," he replies.
I'm furious.
Then, Raphael calls my bluff.
"Do you want to go back?" he asks.
Of course, I don't. I can't go back, but the option is officially out there.
"It's your choice," he says, but then quickly adds, "Maybe, you'll need to dig deeper."
Are you serious? Did he just say that?
Instead, I dig into my pack for another Diamox, which has no effect.
However, now I've got the motivation to continue, my hatred toward Raphael. He disappeared on me during my summit attempt, but I'll show him by succeeding without his help.
Onward I push. I look like a staggering drunk, and I'm fighting back the vomit, but I know I'll make it.
And then I finally arrive at Uhuru Peak – seven hours and 34 minutes after I began.
At 19,341 feet (5,895 meters), it's the highest point on the continent of Africa. I don't feel elation. I don't feel pride at my accomplishment. I just feel relief that I've made it here safely. Really, I'm just wiped out.
And I'm not alone.
There's not much energy to go around at nearly 20,000 feet.
Still, the view is breathtaking.
Unfortunately, scientists worry that these glaciers will one day disappear because of global warming.
Anything above 18,000 feet is considered to be extreme altitude. The longer one stays at the summit the more the body deteriorates. There's time for a few pictures, but then it's necessary to leave, both to get to a lower altitude and to get away from the icy temperatures.
Also, there's still work to be done. The majority of deaths on Mount Everest are while climbers are descending because they're exhausted and tend to make a lot more mistakes. I'm still not down, and Raphael isn't letting up.
"Let's go," he yells.
It took me a little over three hours to descend from the summit and another two hours to hike back to Horombo hut.
The next day, I faced another 12-mile hike (19.7 kilometres) to the main gate, but that was downhill, and I was energized, knowing I already reached my goal of summiting.
Just how dangerous is the climb and what did I learn from the experience? I'll discuss that next in my final entry of Christmas on Kilimanjaro.
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DAILY TRIP DETAILS
Start: Kibo Hut - 15,518 feet in elevation (4,730 meters)
Finish: Uhuru Peak - 19,341 feet in elevation (5,895meters)
Distance Covered = 3.4 miles (5.4 kilometres)
Elevation Gain = 3,823 feet (1,165 meters)
Time of Hike = 7 hours, 36 minutes
Start: Uhuru Peak - 19,341 feet in elevation (5,895 meters)
Finish: Horombo Hut - 12,155 feet in elevation (3,705 meters)
Distance Covered = 9.36 miles (15 kilometers)
Elevation Drop = 7,186 feet
Time of Hike = 5 hours, 27 minutes
Results of nightly health screening: Pulse = 85 Oxygen level in the blood = 92% out of 100 (Note: An oxygen saturation reading of 95% or better is considered to be normal. If my level drops below 50%, it's serious, and I'll be asked to discontinue my trip.)
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Note: These are the exact words I wrote while climbing Mt. Kilimanjaro. After returning from my six-day trip, I transferred my unedited thoughts directly to the blog. In some cases, I added extra information for clarity. You'll find those passages in italics.
