I Didn't Conquer Kilimanjaro
THE SUMMIT
I didn't conquer Kilimanjaro. I paid attention, cooperated with the mountain in optimal conditions. Made the summit on Mar 10 2024; and more importantly, made it back down safely on my own steam.
This was a pilgrimage for my late wife Leslie Sowle, who'd done it in Dec 2003. When I reunited with her in Jan 2022, I repeated my admiration for her accomplishment. She looked at me and said "its just a long walk. You could do it"
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| Leslie in red parka. Kilimanjaro, 2003. Photographer unknown. |
At the time I demurred, because Kili was irrelevant in the face of her oncoming death. I began thinking about it in September 2023.
If not now, then when?
I started training with her very good 2003 Arcteryx RT25 pack at home in Ventura County, CA. I made no mention of it on the socials. Bad juju.
I'd booked the longest trip possible [11 days Northern Lemosho Route] with Simon Mtuy's Summit Expeditions to get as much altitude conditioning possible. A shorter trip [5-6 days] would've been a brutal pounding; like a tent-peg in the dirt, with a likely non-summit finish.
We started March 3, taking a good week to get up to Kibo Camp at 15,000'. It was worth every minute.
Summit day started at Mar 10, 0500 with our small group [Megan Woods and Doug Marsh]; the guide Felix Mtuy, the assistant guide Adam P Matem, Said B Mande, and the man carrying the Gamow bag (portable hyperbaric chamber) if shit went wrong. The other 16+ porters would knock down camp, and reassemble it at Barrafo Camp and await our return.
Note: Once in the tent its a one way ticket down the mountain.
I had a panic attack 50 meters from Kibo Camp, but quelled it with the stern memory that Leslie had done it.
Switchbacking up into the dawn. The higher we got to Gilman's Point, the further away it got. Zeno's Altitude Paradox. We started seeing the midnight-departure summiters, plus the in extremis clients being fast-walked down the scree between two guides. Glad it wasn't me.
Made Gilman's point. Sat down, had a drink, and promptly puked. This was of a piece with my ultra-experience, so I didn't panic. All I wanted was a cozy dirt nap in the sun. Fuck the summit.
But no. Said, one of the porters, gently took my pack, so I could make it to the top. I shuffled along the rim at 19,000'. When Uhuru Point was now in sight. I burst into tears. A complete catharsis. Now I saw what she'd seen. And I finally realized that she had a deeper strength I'd never realized.
The others came, we took our hero shots in brilliant sunshine, had the sign to ourselves. In twenty minutes we were done, and began our descent out of the Death Zone down to richer elevations.
Which is a whole other story.
Slowly, Slowly
"Pole pole" [Po-lay, po-lay, is Swahili for 'slowly-slowly]' You'll hear that a lot, and see it in every souvenir shop.
I thought I’d seen technical trails in my ultra days. Nope. Kili shit is real.
The Kilimanjaro porters are living gods. Them going uphill was one thing. Watching them going downhill blew me away. That’s where serious danger lives. The mud is grease, and the rocks will break you into shattered bloody pieces, painfully. They’re carrying 20# of their gear and up to 30# of yours, while passing you.
“Babu [Grandfather in Swahili] to airport in one piece” was no joke. I wasn't going to endanger them having to carry my broken ass to an evacuation lift-off point, or a wheelie gurney. So I moved accordingly.
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| Its a rough hand-carry until the porters can get you in one of these for a helo evac |
PREVIEW OF COMING ATTRACTIONS
The Old Bull of Kilimanjaro was later the Downer Calf of Istanbul. On March 19, Kilimanjaro caught up to me and I was flattened completely for 36 hrs. I had the classic massive re-set head cold, drifting in and out of a low-grade hallucinatory fever. And I walked funny for the next ten days.
But I'd done what I set out to do.
Further reading:
Kilimanjaro Card Oracle and Smokes
2024 Kilimanjaro Trek: SENE Guides & Porters [photo project]
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