Kilimanjaro Trek - Barrafu Camp to Uhuru Peak to Maweka Hut (Day 5)
It was 11.30pm and we sat around drinking and eating as much breakfast as our bodies would allow. It was Saturday night and I could only think what my friends were doing back in the UK. “Probably drunk by now”, I thought. Instead I was sitting in the mess tent drinking a cup of tea with my fellow trekkers contemplating what would happen in the next 7 hours.
Fifteen out of sixteen had made it to the final camp, which is a feat in itself but it would only be thirteen that would begin the final ascent. Nick had managed to drag himself out of bed and although he was still unwell forced himself to go as far as he possibly could.
I still remained in my shorts and t-shirt but on top of these were a long sleeve thermal vest, 2 fleece jackets, a waterproof jacket, thermal long johns, 2 pairs of trousers, thermal gloves, mountain gloves, fleece head band, scarf and wooly hat. It was cold, really cold. The temperature was -10°C.
Nothing could prepare us for what we were about to face on that final summit climb. As we looked upwards and beyond we were greeted by a snow topped peak and a snake of head torches from climbers that had started before us. I felt surprisingly great - yes great. My headache had gone and didn’t feel any signs of altitude sickness. I was surprised at this and also extremely confident that the nights walk would actually be fun. Oh how that changed.
Concentration was focused on the heels and backpack of whoever was in front of me as it was too dark to see any other objects, there were no views for the next 6 hours.
No sooner had we started and Sally could no longer continue, the punishing incline and sickness contributed to her undoing. The arduous trek finally split up the group with Naweeda and Bamidele having to drop to the back of the pack and continue at their own pace. We later found out that around 3 hours into the climb and they could go no further, again due to illness and the onerous conditions that were faced.
By 1am we were allowed to rest which everybody appreciated. We all found a rock that we could comfortably or uncomfortably slump over but no sooner had we found that special rock did we have to rise again and continue our journey. We were unable to take breaks any longer than 5 minutes as we would have froze in the icy conditions.
The path zigzagged all the way up and was made up of scree which for those of you who have never climbed on this before is near on impossible. No sooner had you taken a step forward for the same foot to go back half a step. I have never, and hope I never will again, walked on such an unforgiving surface.
The second hour passed as slowly as the first and the lack of oxygen at these heights (50% of what we’re used to at sea level) was really pushing me to my limits. Not only was I struggling to breathe but my heart was beating at an extraordinary fast pace. I’m glad I didn’t bring my heart monitor on this trip because the readout would have scared me to death.
I looked up to find the same sight as what was visible 2 hours previous. The peak seemed to be no closer and the zigzag of flickering torches was still ongoing.
By the 3rd hour Rod was the next victim of Kilimanjaro as the punishing scree and steep slope got the better of him and he had to clamber back down to camp to join the others. We were dropping like flies as the 15 of us that started that final nights climb was soon reduced to 11. Nick was also feeling as though he could go no further. We had to get him up there. Seven of us had formed a great friendship in the short time that we had been in Africa and it would have been very upsetting if Nick had fallen at this point. Thankfully we set off again with Nick still intact.
The scenery and terrain remained the same and I was getting feelings of déjàvu with every rock that we approached. It was so close but felt so far away. We were used to the timings of our guides being hugely out and it was usually the case of however long the guide would say it would take to times that by 2 and that was more accurate. Hopefully this would not be the case with this climb. I had based the timing that we would reach the summit at around 7am and that was just 2 hours away.
With temperatures plummeting to below -15°C we had finally reached Stella Point, on the crater rim. Many of us started hugging one and another and I felt a huge sense of relief that the hardest part of the climb was finally over, or so I thought. As we stood there in amongst the clouds we thought we had earned a rest but once again our hopes of a breather were dashed by the guides who told us we must go on to reach Uhuru Peak.
45 minutes later and we had done it. We were standing, physically and emotionally drained from 7 hours of climbing that had just taken place, at the top of Africa. It was a strange moment as I stood there feeling nothing. I had pictured myself jumping up and down with joy if I were to get to this point but I couldn’t feel anything, including my near on frozen fingers. Look at ‘tired’ in a thesaurus and I was feeling all of those related words. I have never experienced anything like this in my life and probably wont for a long time unless I decide to punish myself by climbing another mountain (I had no such intentions at this point).
I looked around at the familiar faces that surrounded me and was wondering what was on everybody else’s mind at this point. I later found out there were similar thoughts amongst the majority of us. “Never again”, “I just want to go back down, now”, “What the hell are we doing up here?”, “Oh no, this isn’t even the end - we’ve still got to get back down”.
Maybe the Flying Doctors membership could be called into action at this point. Could they land on the peak and fly me back down? My mobile phone battery had frozen so I would never find out!
It was unfortunately cloudy at the top and so we would never see the stunning views of Africa that I’d heard so many people talk about. The skies cleared for a short time and the Glaciers became visible, this was a beautiful site and for that moment I was actually glad to be where I was.
So after 4 and a half days of going up 15 minutes is all we were on the top for before going back down.
The walk to the previous camp was also pushing my body and mind to their limits. The technique for getting down the deep scree, that would hinder our route back to camp, was to pretend you were skiing. I have been skiing once before in my life and I have never been as bad at any sport as I was at skiing. This wasn’t going to be fun and it wasn’t - it was 3 hours of ‘unfun’.
The camp beckoned us to come in and in we went. The mess tent was the first port of call after 10 grueling hours where we were finally allowed to sit down, rest and have a cup of tea. No sooner had we sat down for a cuppa did we have to complete a further walk down to the camp where we spend out final night on Kili. Not more walking!
Even though we were all still hurting from all of the walking we’d done that day we were all in high spirits and made the camp in super quick time, 3 hours. This was by far the most plush campsite we had visited and it was here that we had our first beer in 6 days. Nick, Katrina and myself didn’t even get as far as our tents before we saw a hut that must have been delivered by an angel above. It was a beer hut. A hut that sold beer, beer for us. “3 beers please”, not all for me, I hasten to add. The bottle of Kilimanjaro that was consumed on that afternoon was the warmest but also most enjoyable drink I had devoured in my life.
We sat at ‘the pub’ reflecting on what we’d achieved and it finally dawned upon us that we’d climbed Kilimanjaro. We had conquered the mountain that we’d viewed, with nervous apprehension, from above only 7 days previous. We were not quite at the bottom yet and so wouldn’t reflect too much until we arrived at the final Gate to sign out and collect our certificates - just in case!
We could finally rest easy as we only had one more leisurely walk to freedom the following morning and that morning came around quickly. It was the best nights sleep I had had since we started - perhaps it was the thought of a bar and a hotel bed the next night or maybe just sheer exhaustion had set in.