Our childhood memories were dashed by Joseph our guide when we were reminiscing about a cartoon show we use to watch called Kimba the White Lion who lived in the deepest darkest Africa. Kimba use to have amazing adventures stopping poachers. Well it turns out that Kimba in Swahili means a huge lump of shit -so Kimba was the Shit White LIon; come to think of it, it really does sum up the show.
You can get it climbing a mountain, you can get it on a safari, you can get it chasing Giraffes, you can get it bouncing for hours on end in a truck, you can get it watching the sunset on the Serengetti a matter of fact we've got them now. A big cold thirst needs the big four beers.
She stands at 5895m; a monster of the African continent, blown from the bowels of the earth she watches our awaiting ascent. As we prepare ,a claustrophobic mist wraps it's fingers across the mountain, reducing visibility and increasing the tension within our dorm. We layered our clothing to combat the -25C on the summit, much resembling the michelin man. A lone star is visible as the mist clears and our 'star of wonder' became our guide.
Words alone can not do justice to the ascent to the summit. Only those who have experienced the ascent actually know of the torment, the self doubt, the pain, the delirium, the willpower, the belief, the euphoria, the celebration and the emotional rollercoaster that the mountain throws at you.
And so at midnight, with our star of wonder burning brightly in the night sky, we made our first tentative steps up the mountain. Zigzagging, pole, pole upwards. The cold bites deeply, dragon breath escapes from our lungs and the altitude collapses upon us. Each step sends shock waves rocketing through our body, our lungs try to suck in the frozen air and our heart responds by jumping into tachycardia. As nausea attempts to take control, we suck down hard on our water tubes to discover that they have frozen by the artic temperature and a realisation hits home that for the majority of the ascent no water is available to nourish us.
After about two hours a decision was made by our head guide, Joseph to separate us as he believed it is our best chance of reaching Gilman's Point and then the summit. The reason for the separation was that the altitude was hitting Lea hard. Shortness of breath, nausea and disorientation were taking their toll. So for three hours we were separated; a silhouette of a Giraffe like Lea could be seen traversing the mountain and an exchange of torch beams between the guides signalled how we were progressing. These torch beams disappeared and for a further 30 minutes Brad progressed with the assitant guide reaching Gilman's Peak, elated, tired but concerned for Lea's wellbeing. For 5 mintues Brad waited at Gilaman's hoping that he would see Lea reach the point of rendezvous;however, with the temperature hitting -25C the guide ordered Brad forward to the summit. As Brad began the reluctant march to the summit he heard a noise coming from the last corner to Gilman's Peak and on turning he saw Lea sobbing and hugging every one in the vincinty of GIlman's. He quickly made his way back to Gilman's, took his delusional wife in his arms and held her tightly and celebrated with her.
Somehow, with the support of Joseph her guide and with sheer guts and determination Lea made it to Gilman's. There was nothing that was going to stop Lea from reaching the summit and as the sun rose over the African landscape we joined hands and kissed on the roof top of Africa and we walked together to the summit and the completion of our journey.
The decent saw Brad thinking he was an acrobat in a circus as he somersaulted down the mountain no more than three times, arms and legs flying every where and hiking sticks becoming javelins as he fell. Bruised and battered from our 9 hour journey we slumped into our sleeping bags to be awoken 1 hour later for a 4 hour hike back to Hombaro Huts.
The final day saw a 20klm hike out and us collapsing on to the bus for our journey back to our home based ready to celebrate with a cold Kilimanjaro Premium Larger.
Day 2 started off with a lovely steady hike upwards. Beautiful scenery invaded the senses as we journeyed through sub tropic landscapes. Friendly banter with decending victors puntuated the air along with trumpeting Jambas courtesy of Brad (see previous post). The sun etched itself across the track and pole, pole we progressed. Our mood was buoyant but as the temperature plummeted to -5C things quickly changed. Within a matter of minutes the heavens opened up: First the rain lashed us like a cat of nine tales, then the hail morphed into instruments of pain and finally as to mock us a torrent of water swept down the track forming a swiftly flowing creek. For three hours we were battered and we didn't even know that we had fingers as our hands felt like defrosting lumps of meat and our faces shone like beacons.
Wet and tired we finally made our way to camp Horombo 3720m above sea level and tried to devised a plan to somehow dry our clothing. The only drawback to the plan is that at -5C nothing dries and the realisation hits that you will be walking for four hour the next day in the same wet clothes.
We awoke the next day to clear skies and a happier frame of mind and the weather looked promising for our 8.8klms walk up to Zebra rocks which stand at 4100m. The walk was invigorating and it renewed our faith that we could conquer Kili. One advantage of walking in altitude is that the body warms up pretty quickly and the damp clothes soon dried off with our body heat. The walk was spectacular and the Rock's resemblance to the hide of a Zebra is uncanny.
The porters seemed to know who is boss in the Greene household. They conferred with " Mumma" about every detail ;when would you like dinner, would you like a cup of tea now ect. They ignored Brad. One porter even kept asking for photos to be taken on his phone of Mumma and him.
Life on the mountain is really back to basics. The toilets are either squat or if you are in luck; smelly old western type. There is no paper provided, so tissues and serviette became gold. No running water meant everyone was on the nose. Every morn and night the waiter would bring a bowl of luke warm water for a top and tail wash. When we were sharing a hut or it was just too damn cold , only our hands and face had a splash. You can actually hire a porter to carry a private porta loo up the mountain for you. If you need your own private loo, you should not be climbing Kilimanjaro!
Be careful how you use your vowels in Tanzania as an A or an O can make all of the difference. We all know how great Brad is with names and pronunciations don't we! Well as we sojourned towards the mountain and greeted guides and porters coming from the mountain Lea would offer up the greetings of Jambo and would be greeted with huge smiles, Brad would reply with Jamba and would get in return Zulu warrior death stares. As we found out Jambo means hello and Jamba means smelly fart. Apt!
At 2720m we sit at Mandara Hut, popcorn in hand, a steaming brew giving our bones warmth and his and hers sponge baths ticked of the to do list. There is a great sense of comradeship of those who walk to the roof top of Africa. Virgin walkers, like ourselves are welcomed into an exclusive club where secret nods of acknowledgement, salutation and even yoga like mantras are exchanged by those that we pass.
Two evacuations were witnessed on our walk today, both succumbing to altitude sickness. One lay rigid, stuffed into a sleeping bag, surrounded by black garbage bags, duck tapped together. The other, thrown on a wooden flatbed strapped to a device looking like an extended tricycle. We looked at each other and a realisation hit home that we weren't out on a picnic stroll, but a walk where people succumb to altitude sickness and where some even give their life to the mountain.
The hike on day one, itself was not demanding;however, it was the altitude that drained you. The walk traversed through rainforest flora,which reminded us both of Cradle Mountain in Tasmania and the Blue Arrow of home. A short aclimatisation walk to Maundi Crater provided us an opportunity to wonder into a mystical forest, where Proteas bloomed, big bearded old men trees swayed in the wind and Panda monkeys swung from the canopy. The only thing missing was Bilbo and his crew.
