Kili Diary - Summit Night

My diary actually stops with my last entry.  With the events that occurred next I was not in the frame of mind or was just too exhausted to find the words.

I think on reflection it's probably best these notes were delayed as the negativity would have shone through where it clearly had no place on what was an epic moment of my life.

Sat on Mawenzi Peak, ready to trek to Kibo Camp.

I was one of the lucky few that managed some sleep. Broken by a few toilet visits and each one finished with some more Imodium, I genuinely felt I was over the worst of my symptoms.  However a day without the right nutrition meant I was already starting on the back foot.

I also made the mistake of not preparing my kit in the day time.  I thought I was pretty much ready to go and others were showing signs of panic by packing and re packing earlier in the day.  However this meant I was now finding my kit in the dark.  I managed to pack everything I wanted but not as neatly or as organised as I would have liked.

I was not alone in the matter and our group set off around 20mins later than planned. For the first time I'm fully kitted up and luckily for me the kit advice was good. If anything I was warmer than I needed to be, but with options for ventilation and layer removal I was in good hands.  We line up and set off. All 12 of us take our first steps with five guides and one leader and we are in good hands.

Our journey is divided into several checkpoints, and with our start at Kibo camp at 4700m our next stop is nearly 2 hours away at William Rock, 5000m.  It's a gentle climb (especially in comparison to the next steps) with the only efforts coming from the cold and tiredness felt by most people when summiting at night.

Or so it would seem, it wasn't even an hour, and I find myself unable to keep the very slow pace. I'm having trouble breathing and I take an unplanned stop. I ask how long to the official break but I'm been kept in the dark with a vague "soon". The team are waiting and I'm determined not to wimp out at this early stage.  I rejoin the group and demand we walk and convince myself I'll be fine.

The route so far has been littered with people taken ill and given treatment. Fresh vomit is passed from those who've carried on.  We pass these groups and individuals, leaving them behind. They are in distress and there doesn't seem much anyone can do for them, just a check on the vitals and some reassurance.

In the next 10mins I'm in same situation. It's clear now that its not fatigue, it's altitude. My head is spinning and I lose my footing more than once. Eventually I'm off the path and I'm stopped. I'm trying to slow and control my breathing but I'm now nauseous too. I fall to my knees and the next few moments are a blur.

My colleagues describe me falling down like a broken transformer from a Michael Bay movie. With my walking poles flying out and my heavy body falling awkwardly. 
I'm being asked simple questions by the medic, like am I hot, do I want a drink? I can't answer. I respond with I don't know and some guides start removing my layers. I know I'm cold but it seems to waken me up.  The team having been stopped for a few minutes are now feeling the cold too and they must press on without me.

I'm left with a guide and a medic and my team disappear into the darkness, their head torches do not take long to leave my view.

I seem to have my head back, but the nausea is over whelming.  I'm back on my feet and I'm being asked questions by the medic. I know they are along the lines of are you OK? and can you carry on? But all I hear is am I man or a mouse.

At this point my body was screaming "squeak squeak! Pass the cheese!"  but my mind was all about the top. I was not prepared to fail and it's only the first round, I've got more fight in me yet.

I plod on, struggling.  I'm reassured that it's just the altitude and if I vomit I'll feel much better. Seems like strange medical advice, to be sick more before you get well, but the advice is spot on. I'm downing my water supply now mixed with glucose powder. I'm forcing it down in the hope to speed up the process. Eventually I manage a rest break sat on a rock and the inevitable happens. A precise food evacuation of immense quantity and not one drop on me or my boots.

Within minutes I'm feeling much better, still struggling but on the mend.  Within half an hour I'm feeling great and we are on a good marching pace, catching up with groups that had over taken me, while it was my turn to lay in the path. I start to wonder if I'll catch up with my team.

I take another break and pop some pain killers, I now feel the rest is all down to a good work rate and good pace. However the possibility of more altitude symptoms remains a constant concern.

As we approach William Rock I see a bunch of head lights sitting still. It's been just over two hours since I set off and I know this is my first objective done. The hardest part of the climb is yet to come.

I get a feeling that the headlights waiting are my team, but they are far away still. My guide calls out a few words in Swahili and the only response is a few headlight flashes. I know it's them!

I approach them with the same pace, and I'm excited to see them. As I get to within a few minutes of their location I hear the group leader Emmanuel call out "come on Steve!"

I fear they have to set off before I get there, you can't remain still for too long as you'll freeze... I let out a big scream "team 100% baby!"

I get some encouragement from the team and take a minute of rest to join them at William Rock. The doctor remains close by but the guide drops to the rear of the pack while I lead behind our group leader.  It's a great feeling being part of the group again.

My energy levels are higher than ever and I'm giving out encouragement as much as I can. I'm asked what magic potion did they feed me as I've completely changed, I remember a story told to me by friend who already completed the Kilimanjaro summit and my reply is a simple one...

"All I did was chunder everywhere and now I feel like Jesus!"  


It's at this point I notice the energy levels of my team are low and they are starting to show signs of difficultly. But our progress is good and we make it to Jamaica rocks.

This part of the journey is also tough as we are hopping up and over large boulders with no direct path to the top. It's slippery and finding footing is hard, especially when you're tired and making mistakes. But luck is on our side. The sun is starting to rise and it's not too long before we can ditch the head torches and rely on the new dawn to light our way.

Sun rise at Gilman's Point

As we approach the ridge we are promised a surprise before we reach Gilman's Point at 5150m. Gilman's is only ten more minutes from the ridge and I'm first of the group to get to the ridge and behold the surprise. I have the sun rising over the horizon on my back, and I've got a view of the crater in front of me.  In the distance I can see one of the glaciers and already I start celebrating with my team. The ultimate goal is still nearly two hours away, but it's in sight and the new day has begun.

Crater view

The power of the sunrise stirs new energy in us, and the fatigue takes a back seat for a few more hours. We are so well looked after by our guides that they've arranged for us to have a cup of tea at  Gilman's  Point and it's a great way to celebrate reaching the first of the three peaks.

I  now have a new problem. I'm out of water. On hot days I've consumed a litre an hour but since leaving Kibo I've managed to vomit out a good half litre and drank the rest (i only took 2litres with me) before the last few drops froze up.  However, I've got the next ridge in sight and Stella Point is only a 45minute trek away.

We make our way through a path cut into the snow by those who've walked before us. The pace is slow and the air is thin but auto pilot has kicked in and nothing is going to stop us now.

We reach Stella point, the second peak and the land mark which tells us, next stop the highest summit, Uhuru Peak, our ultimate goal.  Normally we would have a break, but it's still too cold and we march straight past with barely enough time to take a photo.  Now we are on the home straight, only a small ridge and another 45mins to go. We are tired and become a bit impatient.  We have been trekking for days to be here and like a kid on Christmas day, we want our presents now.

We are greeted by those on their way back.  Total strangers willing us on with a smile on their faces which seems frozen on.  Soon that will be us!

The last corner opens up the view to the finish line, my camera is out and I record a few moments.  As I get to within the last 20metres, I hide a tear behind my sunglasses. I never expected to be as emotionally overwhelmed as I was when I got there.  I don't cry (except at the film 'up' and seriously, what's was that about).

Team 100%

And we make it! Uhuru Peak, 5895m! The highest point in Africa, the tallest freestanding mountain on land and 4th most prominent peak in the world!

Success!

We congratulate each other and I can't stop smiling. Everything is still an effort as the air is so thin, with only 50% of usable oxygen compared to what we normally breathe.  Its now full day light and being above the clouds it feels warm in the sun, but its still -15c and evidence of frost on jackets and bags are found on us all.

I get my photos done before the cold kills my camera battery, I get to enjoy a crafty swig of whiskey, but I didn't get to smoke the victory dance cigar. It was worth another £50 for charity and I couldn't find it in my bag.  To be fair, it would've been frozen anyway.

It seems like I've only been at the summit for a few minutes, but I'm being called away. We can't stay and must start our decent.  Disappointed but understanding it's necessary, I make tracks back the way we came. As predicted I convince those I meet they are not far and you can see the excitement they have behind those tired eyes as their feet shuffle closer to victory.

I notice most of my group are now well ahead of me, but I can't move fast enough to keep up, especially with so many views that I just can't walk past without admiring the panoramic.  The snow paths are more treacherous now, as they have turned to ice paths and with a shear drop down into the crater (with a few jagged rocks to really ruin you're day on the way down) its a slow walk back to Gilman's.

After a short break at Gilman's, the heat from the sun sets in, and a remove some layers. I'm out of water now and really thirsty. I convince myself it's not long to camp and I'm still good to go.

I decent down Jamaica Rocks with ease, I may be tired, but I'm still sure footed. I find myself ahead of the group but don't mind the little rest bites while I wait. The dust and scree enter my mouth and nose and I start coughing it up. It's makes the thirst even worse.

Once we arrive at the scree slopes I'm excited again. I've never been skiing, but on our acclimatization hike I loved skiing down the scree.

I'm given the all clear to go and I start making my way, but I'm not enjoying it. After a few minutes my legs have stopped working. I can't move. My head is spinning and I'm nauseous again. The direct sunlight is giving me a huge headache. I'm now suffering from dehydration.

I'm now at the back of the group and I've got a guide holding me upright while we traverse the scree. He is looking after me big time and gives me some of his water. But it's not enough. My legs feel like they are on fire when we move and I have to stop regularly. The dust increases with the heat and the decent making it harder to breathe. I'm in a low point mentally and I just want to stop. But the water and a rest break are still over an hour away below me.

It seems to take forever but by midday I'm back in my tent, collapsed with my legs still outside the tent. I fell so hard I broke my nearly indestructible sunglasses. And I sleep for 45mins. I'm woken to a cooked lunch, but I'm unable to eat, every movement is an effort and my head feels like it wants to explode.

I drink some tea and try some fruit, but it's just a gesture, I can't eat anything. We are given our briefing and told we need to be on the move again. The next camp is 3 hours of good marching away. I don't have the strength to pack up my kit, let alone walk in the heat.

My ears suddenly perk up when the doctor suggests to the leader, that a stretcher should be arranged for me. This is an unacceptable option to me. I respond with eating the left over food, forcing it down. I get some help packing and carrying my kit and make arrangements to walk. I reassure the medic that if i cant do this then we'll call for the stretcher.  All but one of the group, and the doctor march ahead and we find ourselves very much behind the team and it's not long before they disappear from sight. I leave the girls to talk and I stay quiet in my own world, concentrating on making progress. I'm not well and I'm aware I'm not the best company.


It doesn't take long to pass the alpine desert and its nice to see some vegetation as we get back into the moorlands.

Thankfully for me, the sun is replaced by clouds and a cool wind helps me settle. Medication and fluids are taken, and it's not long before I feel very much on the mend. I just need sleep and a good meal to be back on track.

The walk is without major breaks and after a couple of hours I catch up to some of the group. I'm not the only one feeling tired but we are all well enough to keep going. We eventually make it to the Horombo huts campsite at 3700m, and just in time for dinner.

It's been a long 16 hour day, starting without a proper nights sleep. But we are now well and truly on our way back to the luxury of our hotel. Many don't make it to dinner that night, too tired and without appetite they are asleep by 6pm and you can't blame them.

I'm very hungry and I know I need to eat, but I can't manage a full meal. I get what I can down and head to my tent for an early night along with everyone else.

Its a well earned rest from an amazing and challenging day.