Expedition Kilimanjaro

by Jay Milbrandt

Expedition Kilimanjaro

An Adventure to Conquer Africa's Highest Mountain

About Expedition Kilimanjaro

The photo and story chronicles of Kim and Jay Milbrandt's adventure to Mountain Kilimanjaro, Tanzania, in July 2009.

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Expedition KilimanjaroAn Adventure to Conquer Africa's Highest Mountain

Expedition Kilimanjaro

Prologue

It all started with a phone call.“I’ll be in Uganda this summer and I’m thinking about going to Tanzania to climb Mount Kilimanjaro. It’s been on my ‘life to-do list.’ What do you think?”“Oh, I don’t know,” my father, Kim, replied. He seemed dissatisfied with my inquiry: End of conversation.I was disappointed. This “dream” failed to garner support at home.An hour later my phone rang. My father’s voice was on the other end, “Do you think I could come and climb Mount Kilimanjaro too?”It was on.

July 10, 2009, I picked him up at the airport in Uganda. The following day, we flew to Tanzania where our adventure began. The morning of July 12, we met our guide, Godlisten (“Godli”), and made the drive from Moshi, Tanzania, up to Machame Gate. We had chosen the Machame Trail—one of the most difficult trekking routes—because it allowed more time for acclimatization and, thus, a higher chance of success. And, besides, the guidebook said a general level of fitness was necessary, so how hard could it be?

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Flying into Kilimanjaro International Airport, the mountain loomed to our right.

Day 1

Our bus rolled through Machame Gate. Inside the gate, there was chaos as porters rushed to pick up your bags, gather their own supplies, and distribute rations for the trip. Outside the gate stood even more chaos with hundreds of would-be porters looking for a break and local peddlers trying to hawk safari hats and rain covers. Not the quiet trailhead we expected.

An hour later, we had our permits and Godli signaled that it was time to get a move on. The path started up a 4x4 trail through the cloud forest. Living up to its name, the cloud forest was foggy, cool, and damp. With mud splattered on our boots and gaiters, we made our way up the first day’s __ mile trail. We watched in awe as the forest evolved, with every change seeming like a new set from a Lord of the Rings movie. Dense forest with large deciduous trees turned into an even denser forest of small trees caked in moss. The trees shrank as the numbers on our altimeter simultaneously grew. Soon, tall grasses started overtaking the wiry trees while highly absorbent shrubbery became mainstream. Porters bounded up the trail, trying to get to the next camp as quickly as possible. Despite floppy sneakers, they marched briskly balancing heavy loads on their heads in addition to their own packs. We marveled at their surefootedness and tenacity in spite of such an arduous task.

Seven hours later, we arrived at a misty clearing known as Machame Camp. The camp was already bustling with porters who had gone ahead of their trekkers to establish that evening’s habitat. At camp, our tent was waiting for us with our bags magically in the right place amidst the confusion. A small, ancillary dinner tent was set up and waiting for us with afternoon tea—a daily post-trek routine. By candlelight, we sipped tea and ate dinner, followed by an early departure for bed.

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Above left: Porters lining up to start the trail.Above right: Meeting with Godli before the climb.

Left: Making our way up the trail.Right: The dense cloud forest.

Left: A long trek on Day 1.Right: Arriving at Machame Camp.

Day 2

In the morning of Day 2, we awoke to a frigid sunrise with ice frozen to our tent. The mist had rolled out in the pre-morning hours revealing our first glimpses of Kilimanjaro’s beauty as we gazed down over the newly visible cloud forest. Chants from teams of porters filled the air as the warm sun popped up over Kili’s left ridge. The camp was filled with excitement in these morning hours, as trekking teams were still fresh and prepared to tackle the mountain.

Despite the enthusiastic atmosphere, this would be no light day. “Steep” became our mantra. Every step took us higher up the mountain. Again, we bared witness to the changing flora as the elevation increased—the trees became thinner and shrubbery became fuller. Slowly, patches of volcanic rock began to rear their heads through the soil. As the day progressed, the rock overran the dirt trail, forcing us to tiptoe our way up as we linked steps between solid rock footings.

By lunchtime, the clouds moved in again to shroud the mountain in fog and hide the trail from us. The path became increasingly steep, with sections requiring us to remove our trekking poles and scramble up serious cliff faces. Kim started to question whether this hike was what he bargained for—and whether it would continue to even be a hike at all.

Finally, by early evening, we made it to camp at Shira Plateau, a massive flat open field at just over 12,000 feet. This was one of the largest campsites along the trail, with trekking teams spread all over the highland. Soon after we arrived, it began to rain, and we sought refugee in the tent. Peter, our porter/waiter, brought our first course of dinner—a daily cream soup that became an evening ritual. Tonight’s offering: “cream of cucumber”—and it hit the spot as we waited for the rain to clear.

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Above left: Trains of porters caring heavy loads up the steep trail.

Above: Navigating the increasingly steep terrain and rocky outcroppings.

Above: Kim arriving at the Shira Plateau amidst growing fog and rain.Opposite: Sunset at Shira once the clouds departed.

Day 3

We woke up to a clear morning on Day 3. The clouds receded overnight leaving panoramic views of the rugged mountains past the plateau. As we prepared to takeoff on today’s leg of the journey, a number of large groups adjusted course by making a hard left. Were we going to right way? We followed Godli nonetheless. Soon, the sound of a helicopter could be heard off in the distance. It sat down next to the park ranger huts at Shira. Not much later, we learned that at least two climbers were evacuated by helicopter. The groups we saw heading left abandoned their hike, already succumbing to altitude sickness. Thankfully, neither Kim nor I had yet felt a headache.

The hike was long, moving out of the scrub and into barren, desolate hills occupied by only small volcanic boulders. Every direction looked like a photo taken by the Mars Rover. We crossed over 13,000 feet, then, hours later, 14,000 feet. The winds picked up and the temperatures dropped, but the trailed continued upward toward the Lava Towers—large volcanic cliffs now looming above us. Somewhere around 14,500 feet, we started to feel very sluggish. Each (now incredibly small) step took incredible amounts of energy and mental will. A pounding in our heads started to make itself apparent with increasing force on every foot forward. As we pressed onward, we passed other trekkers, perched on boulders just off the trail holding their heads. As misery loves company, it was encouraging to know we were all in the same boat—and even better to know we weren’t sinking quite so fast.

Finally, we reached the top of the Lava Towers at 15,000 feet. The air felt thin and our heads were in pain. The headache was irritating and brought side effects, such as a loss of appetite. We sat down for lunch, but I just wanted to continue on and start heading back down in elevation. With temperature and altitude working against us, we ate quickly.

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Left: Closing in on the Lava Towers at nearly 15,000 feet.Right: Jay trying to eat a quick lunch at Lava Towers.

Admiring the Senicia Garden and its giant residents.

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The path down went through a deep ravine, followed by a long descent. We expected the headaches to fade as we went down, but that was wishful thinking. The pain only became stronger. Although long and winding, the trail was beautiful. We hiked through deep canyons with impenetrable rock faces, as well as the legendary “Senicia Garden”—hillsides covered with Kilimanjaro’s famous senicia trees. As Godli explained, the senicia trees were over 300 years old and, I presumed, survival experts to absorb sufficient water in this inhospitable environment.

Two hours later, we arrived at Barranco Camp. It was cold, cloudy, and our heads were exploding. Our thoughts eagerly turned to Peter, our waiter, delivering that evening’s soup. Thankfully, after dinner and nearly a liter of water, the headache faded. I stepped out of the dinner tent to see the most brilliant sunset lighting up Kilimanjaro. The clouds had swept out of Barranco and the monolith sat cast in a warm pink glow. We stood and watched, enjoying Kilimanjaro’s beauty until the sunlight faded behind the horizon.

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Day 4

The first task presented by Day 4 involved tackling Barranco Wall. From afar, Barranco Wall looked like a straight vertical cliff face with a winding trail somehow snaking up the perpendicular barricade. Even as we closed in on Barranco, the prospects failed to improve. Barranco Wall was still nearly vertical for 1000 feet.

We started the climb, which required the use of both hands in most places. Barranco wall was a traffic jam—the going was slow and trekking groups bottlenecked through the more difficult maneuvers. Porters, on the other hand, would miraculously bound up these climbs unaided and unnerved despite the heavy loads balanced on their heads. Godli told us stories of porters who had slipped and fallen to their death. This did not reassure Kim, who just concentrated on putting his feet exactly where Godli’s feet found firm rock. For me, this was the closest thing to rock climbing, so I felt at home in my element.

By this time, we had learned more about our guide, Godli. He sang in his church choir and regularly broke into Swahili worship songs on our trek. His 12-year-old daughter went to a private school and spoke fluent English. His 10-year-old son went to a public school and, to Godli’s dismay, was not yet taught English. He wanted both to attend the private school, but at this point could only afford for the daughter. Godli had been guiding on Kilimanjaro for 16 years, starting as a porter when he was just 18. He was rich in knowledge and shared from many years of experiences, especially regarding the climate change facing the mountain.

Between three and four hours later, we arrived at Karunga Camp—a steep hill with small scars dug out for tents. Once you stepped out of your tent, you would undoubtedly lose your balance from the quick change of angle. We also had new friends up here—the white neck ravens. These giant black birds seemed to be from prehistoric times. Their wings would flap with giant swooshing sounds like no bird I had heard before. After dark, the lights of Moshi were visible well below us. I felt like Zeus looking down on his people from the heavens.

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Left: Porters and trekkers sharing the trail up Barranco Wall.Rigtht: Reaching the top of Barranco and enjoying the view of Kili.

Left: Arriving at Karanga Camp.Right: Our campsite for the evening.

Day 5

Our fifth and shortest day started with a hike to above 14,000 feet for acclimatization. We were headed to Barafu camp, the final camp before the summit bid. Situated at 15,000 feet, Barafu was a daunting proposition given our previous headaches at 15k. I feared that it could be the start to two very painful days. The hike to Barafu lasted less than 3 hours—up and down another barren ravine. Kilimanjaro loomed over us as we climbed, continuing to present a formidable challenge, as the hallowed peak appeared to get no closer than before.

Arriving at Barafu before noon, we felt like we were at base camp on Mount Everest. Barafu seemed, by all measure, to be the very top of the world. Taking shape on a narrow ridge of Kilimanjaro, our camp seemed like an oasis in the sky. The clouds filled in around our sanctuary, leaving us just barely peering over the billowing masses. The Earth seemed to stand far below—almost a separate world altogether.

Thankfully, the notorious headache never arrived. However, acclimatization was still no easy matter. We moved in slow, strategic steps around the camp—anymore would leave us gasping for air. The day was peaceful, but left us restless as we waited for nightfall. Over the cliff to our right, we watched the ravens battle for food in continuous airborne dogfights. To left, we watch the clouds shift to occasionally reveal the canyon below. We sat anxiously at Barafu, feeling strong, and wishing we could just head for the summit immediately.

The trek for the summit would start at midnight. We went to bed early, but anxiety held sleep off longer than usual. The night was calm until a gust of wind violently shook our tent. The wind continued through the night, with fierce gusts increasing in frequency, doing nothing to calm the nerves.

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Left: Ravine crossed to get to Barafu Camp.Right: Arriving at Barafu Camp.

Pre-dawn exhaustion at Stella Point.

Day 6

At 12 a.m. we arose to finish what came to Tanzania to do. Rubbing the sleep from my eyes and blinking my contacts back into place, I stepped out from the tent. I was astounded to see the most dazzling night sky I have ever witnessed. At 15,000 feet, in Africa’s clear air, with no light pollution, the Milky Way emerged as a brilliant, robust cloud in the heavens. I could not image that many places on earth could compare to the night sky on Kilimanjaro.

After some hot water and crackers, we set off. We were in good company as a number of other trekking teams shared the hour with us. Donning headlamps, the teams of 4-10 members looked like glowworms snaking up the mountainside. The first hour went easy and we felt strong—the rock was lose, but not too steep. We moved at a good pace. After the first hour, the incline grew sharply, making us work much harder for every step. Soon, a brilliant orange fire on the planes the Tanzania pierced the darkness. The blaze continued to grow, rising off the plane and revealing itself as the sliver of a crescent moon—a surreal reminder of our strange surroundings.

Three hours in, and around 17,000 feet, the altitude caught up with us. We would take 3-6 steps, then pause for a few breaths. Kim would put his trekking poles out in front of him and lean in deep. I started feeling nauseas and feared that altitude sickness might have me in its grips. Then blackness began to overcome the area illuminated by my headlamp. I was going to pass out. Making a preemptive strike, I flopped to the ground. “Eat and drink to renew power,” Godli commanded. It worked and I was soon renewed and up on my feet again.

The six-to-seven hour hike to the summit seemed to go on forever. The glaciers came into view above us, reflecting the tiny bit of moonlight, but never appeared to come any closer. The wind continued ripping across the mountain ridges, chilling us to the core. My toes froze in my mountaineering boots and, at one point, I collapsed my trekking poles to ball my hands and try returning some heat to my fingers. It must have been well below zero, especially with the wind chill. Any toughness we might have exuberated at that moment would only be tempered by a close examination of our guides: The assistant

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guide in nothing more than a fleece jacket and Godli purposely forgoing gloves.

Finally, we were almost there! Only a few hundred feet to go! Then we crested the ridge of a false summit to learn we still had an hour left—the final and most challenging. A trailed that seemed could not get any steeper did just that, and turned into river of loose sand. With every step, we sank backward down the hill. The final push was completely a test of mental will and fortitude—everything in my body told me to quit. And I wanted to quit, and go back to bed. I couldn’t catch my breath, I was freezing, and there was nothing fun about this. Why did I choose to do this?

Then, we crested the final ridge, finding ourselves on flat ground once again. We were at the top! I dropped the ground in exhaustion, but Godli rushed over to pick me up in celebration. I was hardly in the mood. This was Stella point at ___ feet. I crawled over to a rocky alcove to lean back and try to catch my breath.

“We need to keep going for Uruhu Peak,” Godli said. The sun was just starting to rise over the horizon and spectacular blue and orange lines were becoming visible. “How far is Uruhu Peak,” I asked. “Forty-five minutes,” Godli replied, pointing to cliff halfway around the rim of the crater. I tried to stand and walk, but my heart hurt, lacking any opportunity to rest over the last few hours. “The sun is rising,” Godli pointed out. My attention was fully turned inward as I tried to recuperate. Kim made it to his feet and started down the path, but I was moving more slowly. Everything in my body, and especially the heart pounding away in my chest, told me not to go. I wanted to end at Stella Point. Kim said that he read of too many people who had made it to Stella Point, but didn’t go on to Uruhu Peak—we couldn’t give up now. I walked ever so slowly—I had to fight for every breath to get enough air—and I was now stopping with great frequency than before.

We made to Uhuru Peak, the highest point in Africa and one of the Seven Summits. After a photo op, we quickly turned around. Trekkers were beginning to stream in from other routes—some looked to be in quite a bit of pain, physically sick, and being held up by their guides. Thankfully, we were in better condition, even if just slightly. Going back down the trail felt instantly better. Just a slight decrease in

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Sunrise over Kili as we make our way to Uhuru Peak.

elevation and some downward momentum lifted the spirits. It allowed me to appreciate the magnificence of the crater, the surreal ambiance of looking out on a sea of clouds, and the beauty of the glaciers—which are sadly receding rapidly. Kilimanjaro is a standalone mountain, so nothing else blocks your view—from this vantage you can see the curvature of the Earth.

With the sunrise came warmth, and we systematically removed layers for the return trip. The sun also revealed the trail we hiked up. The steep gravel slope became practically a ski hill as we slid down the mountain in more or less a “controlled fall.” The walk back lasted nearly three hours and I continued to struggle with catching my breath. At times I wondered how I would make it back if my heart continued to hurt. After three painful hours, I finally stumbled back into camp. Peter came up to hug me upon our victory and I just flopped into the tent. Peter took off my shoes and gaiters as I lay there, exhausted, and navigating the divide between asleep and awake.

The next hour brought strange quasi-dreams as I tried to settle down. Around noon, we were summoned to the dinner tent, where we attempted to eat something. We had four more hours ahead of us, as Godli wanted to move further down the mountain for camp tonight. We hiked out of Barafu—now largely desolate from the retreating teams. We journeyed down long ridgeline, and small shrubs started to reappear. The wind was stronger than ever, causing us to struggle with exposure and dust. The various climate zones that we ventured up through began reappearing and, within hours, we found ourselves back in the cool cloud forest.

As we peregrinated down, I had some time to contemplate “Why?” I must admit that a good answer escaped me. The trek was breathtakingly beautiful, but so are many far easier places to get to. Reaching the summit wasn’t pleasurable—I was pushed to my limit and barely made it. I’m not sure there is a logical rationale for climbing Kilimanjaro, but I think we climb mountains because they are there. It’s the pursuit of pushing the human body to it upper limits. The climb was physically demanding in both strength and endurance—we trained for months in preparation. The climb was even more physically demanding on factors beyond our control—first and foremost, the altitude and its effects on the body, as well as the temperature and weather—humans simply are not built to live at

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Left: What remains of the glaciers.Right: Kim observing the volcano crater.

19,000 feet. Finally, it was a mental challenge. As one guide said before we started up, “It’s all a head game.” There’s truth in that; you have to convince yourself when you start that you will make in, then continue pushing forward when everything inside you wants to quit. In the end, it’s good, sometimes, to see what your body is capable of.

We stopped for the night at Mweka Camp around 10,000. After dinner, our guides and porters sang songs of celebration to us in Swahili. We slept like rocks and arose early for the three-hour hike out. As we cross the finish line of Mweka Gate, once again in the lush rainforest, the words of Julius Cesaer rang in my ears: “Veni, Vidi, Vici”—“I came, I saw, I conquered.” Victory on Kilimanjaro was ours.

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Left: Photo op at Uhuru Point with our guides.Right: Our wonderful team of guides, porters, and cooks.