Mt. Kilimanjaro, 19,341 feet, August 2008

At 0300 on August 13th we arrived at the Camp Lemonier, Djibouti air terminal to check in for the regular C-130 flight to Nairobi. We loaded up next to three pallets of food and equipment around 0600 and one at a time listened to the engines start up. So far so good for our schedule, we were all sweating the flight because sometimes it breaks down. We took off on time, and headed south. At altitude the plane got cold, but I had an icy aluminum I-beam seat support to snuggle up to, so I was comfortable. A few hours later we arrived in Nairobi and met up with the brother of an embassy driver who was providing our ground transportation, a bus, to Arusha, Tanzania. After a quick bathroom break while the bags were strapped to the roof, ala Africa, we headed south out of Nairobi along one of the better paved roads I've seen in Africa.

One ostrich, some gazelles and a herd of zebras later we arrived in Arusha, checked into our hotel, then walked through the streets of Arusha to a restaurant where we ate some dinner and met our guide Freddy, who said he would pick us up in the morning at "seven-thirty Dot!"  At seven thirty "dot" the next morning we loaded into the tour company's bus with our six guides and headed past the coffee and banana plantations for the trailhead at Machame. At the trailhead the guides sorted out our bags and the other equipment among 40 or so porters while we milled about and took pictures. Before we stepped off the tour company prepared a meal of mushroom soup, pasta and bread, served on real plates with silverware, which is more than we get at the chowhall. After all the porters got their bags weighed and cleared by the park department (they are limited in the amount of weight they can carry) we set off up the muddy trail into the cloud forest.

Four or five hours later we emerged from the cloud forest into the heather zone and our first campsite at about 9,900 feet. The porters had passed us and the tents were already set up. We washed up and then had "tea" in the mess tent which was popcorn and hot water with tea, cocoa and coffee. After tea we went on a "conditioning" hike 25 minutes further up the trail, which would become a regular hazing ritual from our guides. After the conditioning hike came dinner, soup and vegetables and a main course which I don't recall. We had been in the clouds all day but when we left the tent after dinner the clouds had cleared and for the first time the peak was clear and shining in the moonlight. The first day was long and tiring and I was not too sure that I was going to be ready for day two.

The second morning we were greeted in our tents by the assistant guides with coffee and tea "Sleeping well?" and then after breakfast (some kind of oatmeal and some other stuff) we set off through the heather and moorlands up some ridges to the new Shira camp at about 12,000 feet. We arrived there shortly after noon. This was a much better hike, and after lunch we took another "hazing", I mean "conditioning" hike. We now had a good view of the peak in the distance and the Shira plateau behind us.

The head guide's name was Freddy, and this would be his 271st trip up Kili. He told us he used to work for Scott Fischer (the owner of Mountain Madness guides who died on Everest in the Into Thin Air story), and was proud of the association (in fact, Freddy's email address still has Mountain Madness in it). Freddy was a big guy, and he seemed friendly, especially since his answer to everything was "hakuna matata", but I wouldn't want to end up on the wrong side of him in a dark alley. The first assistant guide was Gabriel. He was a quiet, serious guy, and the best English speaker in the bunch. Often Freddy would bring him into the mess tent (where most business was conducted) to translate more complex ideas. Most of the time Gabriel led the group ("pole, pole" or slowly slowly) on the day's hike while Freddy supervised the porters pack out, usually catching us halfway to the next camp. The next guide was Donut, supposedly because his mother ate 30 donuts a day while she was pregnant with him. He was lively and active, wore an American flag bandanna on his head, and bounced up the trails singing and rapping. He tried to teach us the most Swahili, including "Mambo" "poa" which means "How are things?" "Cool" and then something else which rhymed in Swahili and translated to "cool like a banana" but I can't recall what it was.

The second night the two commanders were reading a Kilimanjaro guide book and decided that the Western Breach route, which was shorter but steeper, would be easier than our planned route which involved starting and ending the fourth day at approximately the same altitude, which could help people with altitude sickness. Since no one was showing signs of altitude sickness at this point they asked the guides what they thought about doing the Western Breach instead of the standard route. The guides said we were at 95% and that we could do the Breach if we wanted to "hakuna matata". There was still some disagreement in the group (still unresolved) as to whether we would acclimatize better by climbing high and sleeping low, or climbing high and sleeping high. If we were to climb the Western Breach then the third day's hike would be shorter because we would camp at the Lava Tower instead of going back down to the next camp. I had wanted to do the Western Breach since the very initial planning of the trip because it is a "superior mountaineering route" with 3rd class scrambling instead of a walk-up trail, so I was game. In typical group-think fashion we decided that we could wait until the next day when we arrived at Lava Tower to make the decision. If we were feeling good we could stay there and try for the Breach, if we weren't we could continue on the planned route.

On the third day we woke to a cool, clear but windy morning at new Shira camp (with the usual coffee in the tent from Donut and "sleeping well?" from Gabriel) and set on up the trail, this time toward the peak. The trail was not as steep as the previous days but climbed steadily away from the last trees and bushes into a moonscape of volcanic rock:

I wore pants instead of shorts for the first time (with the long sleeve shirts I'd been wearing all along) but still wore my running shoes instead of my boots. It was a pleasant hike, with our goal, the peak, clear in front of us. When we arrived just after noon at the Lava Tower camp at just over 15,000 feet the porters had already set up our tents in a good spot out of the wind. After eating lunch Gabriel asked if we would rather climb the Lava Tower or hike the next day's trail up to Arrow Glacier camp, the starting off point for the Western Breach (it was a short but steep hike, less than two hours). I voted for the Lava Tower climb, because hiking the next day's hike twice seemed like more hazing to me (and at 15,000 feet I was already higher than I had ever been), but Gabriel looked disappointed and went off to get Freddy to tell us we had to do the Arrow Glacier hike. So, we set off up the trail once more to the Arrow Glacier camp at the foot of the Western Breach. It wasn't an unpleasant hike up, but on the way down everyone's footsteps kicked up whirling clouds of dust and we all ended up coughing. Here is a picture of the group on the trail with the Lava Tower in the background (with our tents at the base):

That night after dinner, the founding member of our group mentioned that we needed to talk about whether we wanted to do the Western Breach, and that based on the day's hike (which included scrambling up an 8 foot or so cliff) he was not going to do the Western Breach. Now the situation was somewhat tense, as the decision about whether to go on had never been made, but by default we had encamped at Lava Tower and were pretty much now locked into going up the Western Breach. We called in Freddy and Gabriel and he said that he was willing to take off with one guide and a porter or two to do the original route or that he would simply not summit, but he would not do the Western Breach. I was concerned at this point that if we tried to go back to the original route I might not make it, because now we were behind a camp and would have to combine two day's hikes into the next day, right before the midnight summit push. Luckily Freddy decided that he could send one guide, two porters and a cook on the original route the next morning and let the rest of the group carry on, with a plan to meet at the summit. Tragedy narrowly averted.

There were 12 of us, which is about the maximum size for a group on the mountain, and we got along surprisingly well for such a large group (last month's group of 11 apparently had some personality conflicts). There was a hint of temper when we got stuck for two hours at the Tanzanian border, where the immigration officer attempted to make us each pay for a $100 visa despite our official passports (finally I got the military Country Coordination Element at the American Embassy in Tanzania on the cell phone and they were able to work it out for us while we waited), but for the most part we got along well. There was the original group: the ultramarathoner, me and the two other sailors from contracting. We were all taking Diamox. The runner felt sick the first day or two, but got stronger as the rest of us got weaker. He eventually branched off and took the long route. One of the other guys from contracting ended up sick, throwing up out of the mess tent doors during meals and trudging along not talking to anyone. Then there were the two Air force guys, who were indispensable in coordinating the air movements (and later air evacuation) and one of who turned out to be the second-strongest hiker on our trip. The five medical guys, three doctors and two nurses, were a diverse group. Two of the doctors didn't take Diamox because they had experience at altitude. The strongest climber, always out in front despite carrying a daypack more than twice as heavy as anyone else's, was the orthopedic surgeon, who had climbed Denali in Alaska. Finally there was the guy who signed on last. Easy going, good natured, and middle of the pack.

The fourth morning all of us who were staying to do the Western Breach slept in until eight after a very windy and cold night. The other guy got an early start for his long walk. We only had two hours of hiking planned for the day, back up the way we had practiced yesterday, to Arrow Glacier Camp, so five of us went with Gabriel and Donut to climb the Lava Tower before we set off. It was a simple class 3 climb, no ropes or protection required, but you did have to find handholds and footholds in the rock. Luckily I had ditched the running shoes for my climbing boots and the volcanic rock made for some very good holds.

We walked around on top and took pictures of the rest of the folks chilling out (literally) down below, while the porters packed up camp and started off. The climb turned out to be good practice for the Western Breach for one of the guys who had little experience climbing in the rocks. It was more technical than anything we saw during the summit attempt.

After coming back down from the Lava Tower we grabbed our day packs and headed back up to for the short hike to Arrow Glacier at about 16,000 feet. Arrow Glacier was a small sloping campground, where there may have been a glacier in the past, but now it was just rocks. There were several small glaciers around, however, but I was too tired to explore them at this point. The campground sits at the foot of the 3000 foot tall Western Breach itself, and provides expansive views of the mountain from the Lava Tower to the New Shira camps we had stayed at the previous nights and on across the Shira plateau. A few hardy souls ventured out on a non-mandatory conditioning hike up the start of the next day's route. I stayed in my tent and relaxed until dinner. The Western Breach at sunrise (route goes from lower right to upper left):

The campsites on Kilimanjaro are all covered with trash and toilet paper because of the large number of people who stay there. There are wooden outhouses (eastern style, just a hole in the floor) some with doors and some without, but they are so foul smelling that people often just use the space behind every available rock or bush. Down low this isn't too bad, but up high nothing really decomposes and there are some really hideous "flower gardens". So, I held my nose and stuck to the outhouses. At Arrow Glacier camp the ones that were still standing were unusable, but one had been destroyed by the wind and stood in pieces. The commanders drug the floor out and set it over another hole so we had a fresh, useable, wall-less outhouse at 16,000 feet in the just sub-freezing wind. Nice. If this discourages you from taking your own climb, know that you can rent a little bathroom tent and bucket which porters will schlep up and down the mountain for you.

So at midnight the morning of the summit attempt we were woken up (not to hot coffee much to my dismay) by the guides and we assembled in the mess tent for tea and biscuits (cookies). Our sickly climber sat be the door so he could lean over and vomit without having to leave his chair. Luckily the wind had died and it was as warm as can be expected (just above freezing). Although the night was clear there were several hours before it would get its coldest just before dawn. Even though it is easy to stay warm by moving, it is not necessarily easy to stay moving at altitude so we were all bundled up. I wore heavy-weight poly-pro long underwear, a fleece sweater and a down vest under my shell, long underwear and fleece under my nylon pants, my free Duluth Trading Company gloves from Carl (I carried shells but never put them on), an old acrylic watch-cap (gotta get some wool) and nice heavy wool socks under my climbing boots.

After tea we assembled outside as the porters started breaking down our tents for their trip back down the mountain to meet us at our final camp. We were supposed to leave at 0100, but by the time everyone finished doing whatever they were doing and we got together it was nearly 0200. Freddy spaced Gabriel, Donut and three other assistant guides (who must have been either lurking with or pulled from the porters, we had never met them before) along our line and we set off up the Breach in brilliant moonlight. We had headlamps but never used them because of the full moon (people pay extra for full-moon climbs, we were just lucky), although it was behind us so sometimes your own moon-shadow would block your steps. The initial climb was loose rocks and sand. After some time it became clear the sick climber was falling back, so Freddy stopped us all to wait for him. When he caught up we started again, trudged on for another half-hour or so and then waited for him again. Since he was weak, he got the least rest at each break, repeating the cycle and making him weaker, while delaying the entire group. After two of these stops we arrived at a landmark, The Saddle, where Freddy assigned two guides to him (they had already taken his pack for him) and the rest of us moved on at about the same pace, but without the long stops (minus a 15 minute bathroom break while someone went and crouched behind a rock). He kept going on his own and no one will ever doubt his toughness. After some amount of time (no idea how long any of this took) we hit the first climb up into the rocks. I was near the middle of the 10 people now in the group, and after coming up I waited a few minutes for the person behind me to catch up, so I could show him the way up. When he came up (one of the commanders) the next guy was nowhere in sight, and now I couldn't see the route or the group ahead, so I hurried off to try to keep the lead group in sight. When I caught them I was wiped out and could barely keep up with them, and I made up my mind not to fall back again. I was starting to see a pattern here of why complex interdependent systems fail (e.g. 1/10 chance of any individual having problems at a given time; 10 people in the group; everyone waits for an individual having problems; group never moves). Waiting for the commander was the last semi-altruistic thing I would have the energy to do on this climb, from then on I climbed for myself only (hey, sometimes maybe I'm goal-focused to a fault, what can I say). Now we were down to seven climbers with Freddy and one other guide. We continued to climb upward, almost completely in the rocky outcroppings now. Only one of the seven was still lagging behind, so Freddy took his day-pack and we moved on as a group without problems. It was impossible to tell how much time was passing. We were supposed to be on the summit by dawn, but as the glaciers around us started to turn purple we were still not even to the crater. This picture shows the Arrow Glacier Camp (red arrow) and Lava Tower (yellow) in the background of the climb:

During a brief rest-stop, someone asked Freddy how much longer to the rim of the crater. We were in the rocky crown at the top of the breach, and I expected an answer like 15 minutes, but instead Freddy said an hour and a half. I couldn’t see how that was possible, but something like an hour and a half later we crossed a little bit of sun-cupped snow and stepped out into the brilliant sunlight on the crater’s rim, at about 18,800 feet. The southwestern part of the crater is mostly flat, and the ground was covered with a layer of large ice crystals. The sun was fully up now (since we were on the Western side of the mountain it had been blocked during the climb) but we were suddenly exposed to the wind so it was still quite cool. I had my camel-back inside my down west, but the exposed hoses and valves froze solid unless I kept them in my shirt. After a short rest we walked across the crater, toward Crater Camp (many people do the Western Breach one day, then camp in the crater and summit the next) and past the edge of the incredible 30 or 40 foot tall Furtwängler glacier (there is a 400 foot deep ash cone, but it is in another part of the crater so we didn’t get to see it).

Now we were at the base of Uhuru Peak, the final climb. Someone asked if we could take a rest before starting up, but I was moving very slowly and didn’t want to stop, so I trudged past the group and started up the soft dirt and rock switchbacks on the final 500 foot push to the summit. My maximum speed was somewhere between one and two breaths per step (and no one and one half breaths was not an option, I need rhythm) so I would walk at left foot forward, take a breath, right foot forward, take a breath until I got too winded, then would go back to left foot, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, right foot, breathe in, breathe out, breathe in, breathe out, repeat until I could go back to single breaths again. The orthopedic surgeon came zooming up past me with his enormous pack and I explained that I was pushing on at my maximum pace. He looked surprised and then raced on up to the top, with the assistant guide calling “hey, hey” trying to get him to wait. Now the rest of the group had started below me and the race to the summit was on (what did the snail say when he got on the turtle’s back?). The other strong hiker in our group (one of the Air Force guys) passed me, but then I finally stepped out onto the broad, gently sloping summit plateau. There were big sections of sun-cupped snow with dirt and rock paths through them. I followed the other two toward the highest point where there was a little radio antenna that I didn’t recall from the pictures. And where was the sign from the pictures? [All of the mountaineers are nodding their heads now and smiling.] When I reached the antenna, quite an effort even with the gentle slope at 19,300-plus feet, on the false summit, I could see the actual summit with the recognizable sign another hundred yards away. Moving slowly (but no longer actually stopping to breathe) I made it across another snow field to the actual summit, where I sat down and rested. It was just before 1000. Then I got out my sock bunnies and took pictures of them with the sign, and took the obligatory shots of the horizon all around. You can see the curvature of the Earth from up there. I had worn a beaded necklace that Isabel made me the whole trip, and I intended to take it off now and leave it at the top of the mountain, but there wasn’t a place I felt like I could hide it down in the rocks (because it was mostly dirt), and I didn’t want it to become trash, so I just kept it on. We were at the highest point on the continent of Africa, one of the Seven Summits, and we had done it the hard way. The assistant guide now pulled out glass mugs and a huge thermos of hot tea. We were amazed, but not so amazed that we didn’t drink it. I had a Snickers bar to eat, which I don’t particularly like, but I somehow have turned into a personal tradition, but I didn’t feel good enough to eat it. So I didn’t. Later you will hear me complain about that.

We took group pictures and then headed down in the other direction toward Stella Point, down the more gentle slope that hikers on the other routes use. We heard on the radio that another of our groups had just reached the crater. Had we made it? We had made it half-way…

It is easy to focus on the summit of a mountain as the ultimate goal, but once you get to the top you still have to get back down. The events described in Into Thin Air and Touching the Void, and any number of other mountaineering disasters all occurred after the summit when people were tired and the weather turned bad. We had already violated the first rule of safe summiting, missing our projected summit time by four hours (first group) and more than six (remaining four people now split into in three groups), but being nearly right on the equator Kilimanjaro is a forgiving mountain with no afternoon thunder storms or surprise blizzards. The reported number of climber deaths on Kilimanjaro is 10 or so per year, out of 25,000 people who attempt the summit (I tried to find a figure for Mt. Whitney but couldn't), mainly from heart attacks, so it is a very safe mountain overall.

So, around 1030 we headed East down the gradual descent to Stella Point (which was our original planned ascent route). Freddy said he had just gotten a call on the radio and some of our group had just crested the crater rim behind us. We passed a few hikers still coming up that way, and having a rough time of it. I broke out the hiking poles I had carried to this point to take the pressure off of my knees and started to develop the splitting headache that would be my constant companion for the rest of the day. Our two fast hikers sped ahead (the guide trying to catch them, "Hey, hey") and the rest of us strung out in a line, each moving at his own pace. When we reached the start of the steep descent (marked by Freddy's jacket, he was still chasing the leaders) from the crater rim we started down the steep, loose sand, gravel and rock descent route. There are separate trails for ascent and descent, the ascent trail has switchbacks but the descent route plunges straight down. Normally this would be a very pleasant way to descend, plunge stepping down the mountain, sliding an extra foot or three with each step, but between my headache and being out of breath I spent most of the time just shuffling down, planting my poles and taking small steps. Now we were protected from the breeze but not the sun, and it was hot. I didn't have my sunscreen or my cap (left with the porters for weight reduction) so I had to leave my stocking cap on, but I did take off a few layers and put them in my pack. I got depressing glimpses of one of the camps far, far below, between breaks in some clouds below me, but boy did those clouds look cool and comfortable.

I needed to keep the leaders (and the head guide) in sight below, or I would have to wait for the guys behind me, which was unthinkable, so from time to time I would make a run of plunge steps until I ran out of breath or (worse) hit a solid rock buried in the sand which stopped me short and sent white flashes of pain through my vision. I came to a stream crossing, complete with a minefield of toilet paper piles (why wait for the stream? Don't you know this is the water people are drinking down below?) and decided that maybe my headache was caused by not having eaten in 12 hours of hard climbing. So, too little too late I ate my Snickers bar and started down again. Finally I got into the blessed clouds and cooled off a little, but lost sight of the guys in front completely. Now sections of the trail flattened out and traversed to the right, but the hard stone steps just made my headache worse. I saw a guy wearing all black waiting up ahead, and I thought maybe he was out ultra marathoner who had taken the different route, but by the time I got there he was gone. Shortly thereafter Freddy came back up to me and walked along behind, as I alternately plunge-stepped, shuffled, or sat down and rested, until we finally reached the flat ground, and I saw the figure in black waiting once again up ahead. I decided that the ultra marathoner must have died on the trail by himself and that he was now haunting me, but once again by the time I got there he was gone (see, so typical of a haunting). Now there was a slight climb up to a small camp whose name I can't recall, and then a steep final rocky descent (where we picked up the leaders resting on a flat rock) to Barafu Camp, where we were supposed to find a rest-tent and snacks. We signed in at the ranger's hut and sat down to relax.

Barafu is the stepping off point for the summit on the most popular Marangu (or Coca-Cola) route, and it had permanent huts and solar toilets. Freddy called and called on his little radio for Gabriel to find out where the trailing groups were, but never got an answer. A lammergeier, a huge bearded vulture, joined the ravens overhead and for a moment I forgot to be tired as I jumped up and ran through the camp to take pictures (but I quickly remembered to be tired again). Now I found my lunch in my pack, a broken egg, a Red Bull and a Cadbury bar. I quickly drank the Red Bull and ate the Cadbury bar, and threw away what was left of the egg. We didn't find the rest-tent (which we found out later had packed up and headed down after the ultra marathoner came through hours earlier), so we stepped off behind Freddy once again, who wasted no time speeding down the trail, passing everyone but the porters.

We stepped it out pretty well for the first hour or two, which was only slightly downhill, but the clouds had broken and we were in the sun again so it was hot. When the trail branched again we headed sharply downhill toward our camp for the night, once again breaking into the clouds. I hung back to make sure the last guy in our group took the correct trail and arrived at Millennium camp (at about 12,000 feet) to find the group sitting around on some porter's benches. They said that because of a miscommunication the porters had moved on and we had another hour and a half of hiking to get down to the next camp where they had set up. I said "well, what are you going to do?" and they thought that was a good Marine attitude (I mean really, what are you going to do? You're going to keep walking, that's what). Then Freddy came over and said they had food for us, so we walked through the trees and low and behold there were our tents and there was the ultra marathoner looking as fit as ever (apparently, there was a lot of miscommunication going on at this point).  Here he is coming down from the summit just after sunrise:

This was nice, but meant we would have to get up an hour and a half earlier in the morning to keep on schedule. We ate a little lunch (I was so sick of soup at this point) and I settled down in my tent around 4 in the afternoon for a few hours of shivering restless sleep and waking hallucinations. When a guide came and said dinner was ready I really didn't want to get up but I was so miserable I decided anything was better than more shivering in my sleeping bag, so I got up and trudged twenty feet up the miserable four foot high slope to the dinner tent through the thick fog. Only three other guys had made it to dinner, and we listened to the ultra marathoner's summit account as we nibbled our food (except the orthopedic surgeon, who ate like a horse as usual). Every time a guide came in we asked whether they had news of the other four guys still on the mountain, but no one had. Freddy and the other assistant guides soon set off back up the mountain to look for them, after still getting no responses on the radio. Suddenly the tent door opened and one of our missing guys stumbled in. We plied him with hot cocoa he told us his story:

When the first group broke from the middle group halfway up the Western Breach he stayed with the two commanders, but later as they slowed he maintained his pace and crested the crater rim without them. Sometime later, much to his surprise, the sickly guy crested the rim dragging behind one guide and being pushed by another, using one trekking pole like a cane. They then waited until the commanders came up, to all push for the summit together. Once the commanders crested the rim they took a brief rest and then moved to the foot of the final climb. One of the commanders said they intended to rest another half-hour before pushing on, but the first guy had now been waiting an hour and was cold, so he and a guide pushed on for the summit, took the obligatory pictures and then headed on down the descent route (we had been afraid to ask whether he had made it, but at this point we stopped him to shake his hand and congratulate him on making it). Above Barafu camp he passed a rescue party of rangers heading up to look for the rest of our climbers, now "missing" somewhere between the crater rim and the camp. They borrowed his headlamp.

The guides were all up the mountain, as was the rescue party, and I could barely walk, so I filled a water bottle with hot water and crawled into my sleeping bag to go to sleep.  The next morning when the guides woke us we found out that the other climbers had made it in during the night, but that one of the commanders was delirious and coughing, apparently with either High Altitude Pulmonary Edema, High Altitude Cerebral Edema or both. A stretcher crew had been sent up to retrieve him. Our sickly climber (who now was not our most sickly climber) was up and about, although still not on full form. The stretcher crew of six arrived with the stretcher, a contraption with one knobby motorcycle tire underneath (with a broken hub, so it kept coming halfway off) and brakes, and the commander was strapped on in his sleeping bag. They set off down the trail at a breakneck pace. The sickly climber set off down the trail with his two guides supporting him (they tried to carry him but he was too heavy) and five minutes later the rest of us set off with Gabriel. Five minutes down the trail we passed our sickly climber, standing silent between his guides (this was a bad sign). Eventually we started to catch up with the stretcher on the really rocky parts, where they had to stop and lower the stretcher down, and then we would lose them again as they would literally run on the flatter parts, the guy in the back leaning back and digging in his heals to drag the stretcher to a stop before the next drop off.

The commander couldn't generate enough suction to drink from a camel back, so one of our nurses who stayed with the stretcher crew had to squeeze it for him. As we descended into the heather forest and into the clouds the rocks were wet and smeared with mud and were as slippery as ice. I used my poles judiciously and stayed on my feet (although I took one or two skidding slides into the bushes), but other people without poles (including some porters) took multiple spills. In the cloud forest it was wetter than ever, with mud holes and puddles everywhere. My headache was completely gone and after stopping to eat a snack at the camp where we were supposed to overnight I took to jogging down the trail until I caught the stretcher again. The other climbers who had been with it had gone on ahead, so one of the nurses and I stayed behind it in case they had any problems. Again, it would race ahead on the flats and we would catch it when they stopped to rest or lower him down a drop off.

Finally we reached a part of the trail with vehicle access where a park service Landcruiser was waiting for us. We loaded the commander in, and the nurse climbed in behind him, but I begged off. Tired as I was I was also starting to feel nostalgic about this grand adventure coming to an end. An hour or so later I heard singing and car horns ahead and then came back into civilization at the Mweka gate. The gate was a mass of people selling souvenirs and porters milling about waiting to be paid off. I paid two dollars to get the mud scrubbed off of our boots (a wet experience for me in running shoes) and another to get my trekking poles cleaned, and bought a few bracelets for the girls (and a beer for me).

There was a mountain medic there waiting for another group and he measured the commander's blood oxygen content at 86%, so there is no telling how low it had been at altitude the night before. We sat, and we sat and we sat, now past the time we needed to leave for the two-hour drive to Arusha to catch our bus back to Nairobi, and now past the time our bus was supposed to pick us up in Arusha. I read comments out of a climbers' comment book. Most complained about the state of the bathrooms and the trash on the trails. A ranger (with an AK-47) handed me a pen to write a comment, but I never got around to it.

Finally, Gabriel and Freddy showed up and said they had our sickly climber in the car, and we could now walk another 10 minutes down the mountain to where our bus was waiting. We walked through banana and coffee farms, and past waving (and begging) children to a little town where we were presented with the opportunity to buy more souvenirs (or trade our clothes for souvenirs) and where we loaded up on the bus for the ride back to Arusha after a quick picture of the guides and porters who were still around. Once we finally got on the main roads we broke out the cell phones and the Air Force guys started calling to try to make arrangements to get the commander to a doctor. No one thought he could fly the next day, because of the danger of the C-130 depressurizing at altitude.

When we got to the hotel one of the guys announced that we would be staying in Arusha, rather than going to Nairobi, triggering a mini-mutiny. I took advantage of my position (on paper) as group leader and made everyone stop arguing or making declarative statements about what we would or would not do until we all gathered in the hotel courtyard and got the whole story: Turns out the Flex flight was delayed a day until Thursday; an air ambulance was being dispatched to take the commander to a hospital in Nairobi; it was already getting dark and we would not be able to leave for Nairobi until after we got him on the plane, putting us driving across Africa after dark, which is not recommended for safety reasons. With all the facts in, everyone calmed down and agreed that we could stay one night in Arusha. Our tour guide and bus driver were willing to stay the night as long as we paid for their hotel, and they could also arrange to get the commander to the Kilimanjaro International Airport (the unfortunately named KIA) for the medevac. Two of us went and got pizza and beer, two took the commander to the airport and everyone finally showered (and I shaved off my mustache, it having served its purpose of taking me to the top of the mountain).

The next morning we headed back to Nairobi. Most people slept but I willed myself to stay awake to watch for birds, and I was richly rewarded with glimpses of a Secretary Bird and a Kori Bustard, among others. The orthopedic surgeon sat behind me and pointed out birds to me as well, which is a rare but helpful quality in non-bird-aware travel companions. We made it back to Nairobi and to our hotel without incident, and they actually produced rooms for us (despite us being a day late for our one night reservations). The Flex left the next morning with ten of the original twelve on it (one of the nurses was left behind to visit the commander in the hospital) and we returned to Djibouti without incident. I checked us in and went immediately to work in my travel clothes, where I found 200 emails waiting for me. The commander came back a week later. He turned out to have had High Altitude Pulmonary Edema.

Epilogue

            No one died, but that was probably just our good luck.  Had we not had physicians with us I wouldn’t have thought twice about putting a sick climber on the airplane and getting him back to Djibouti as soon as possible, and it was only the air guys who knew how to set up the air ambulance to get him to the hospital in Nairobi.  The group was immediately divided on why it had happened, with several hikers blaming the Western Breach route (or just the change of routes mid-trip), me blaming the system of guides paid to get you to the top, and others saying it could have happened to anyone.  I had wanted to do the Western Breach from the initial planning stages and was happy to have done a “superior” route with a little bit of class three scrambling while the vast majority of hikers just walk up the easy trail.  The ultramarathoner did the route he wanted to do and was happy with his trip, but concerned that only the orthopedic surgeon and I had done the Western Breach for the right reasons (because we wanted to, rather than because it was shorter).  In retrospect if we would have stuck with the original route and slept lower the last night the commander may not have gotten as sick.

The command instituted a new series of pre-96 safety briefs and started requiring pre-trip medical exams for future Kili climbers, but as our sick climbers were quite fit I don’t think this will make any difference.  Despite all of the guide services claiming that they can recognize altitude sickness and provide first-aid, they also tend to publish success rates (99% of our clients summit), and no one pays thousands of dollars without wanting to get to the top.  I want to say that it takes more courage to turn around without summiting than to keep pushing on in the face of sickness but really you can only tell in hindsight.  Most of the people who decide to turn around probably could have made it without injury if only they would have toughed it out.  Some of the people who summit are probably sick and don’t ever realize how close they came to serious injury.  An incredible book by David Roberts called On the Ridge Between Life and Death: A Climbing Life Reexamined that I read after the climb discusses how we weigh the risks of mountain climbing but the issue is never really resolved.  I read the book and decided that it says we need to be more careful because too many climbers only consider their own safety and not the effect their lives have on others.  The ultramarathoner read the book and decided he should have taken the risk and done the Western Breach.

Another Perspective, from Antoine Crite, the "Sick Climber" from the story above

In mid-August, I and 11 others set out to ascend Africa’s highest peak – Mount Kilimanjaro. Our destination, the snow-capped summit of Uhuru Peak (5,895 meters or 19,340 ft), the highest point on Kilimanjaro.

We began our journey at the Machamé Park Gate, a route favored for its scenery and steepening trails; ascending gradually through our first climate zone -- a dense evergreen rainforest. Of the seemingly continuous canopy of foliage stretched above, the sun had not shone itself, only rays of light streaming through gaps between leaves and branches. The atmosphere was oppressively humid and silent save a stream flowing nearby; the way was muddy and blanketed with a white mist that hid one end of the path from the other. Thick undergrowth of shrubs, brush, fallen timber and clinging moss added character and contour to our route until we eventually entered a clearing of fragmented rocks and low bushlands. We hiked nearly five hours that day to the Machamé campsite, situated at an elevation of 3000 meters; we’d reached our home for the night. And, for the first time we could see the snow-covered summit in the distance.

Not long after the sun was up we began our second day; through sparse trees, here and there springing up among low-lying, coarse vegetation. Our path had become lost amongst the rocky slope of the woodlands, yet we continued still; but, by alpine scrambling. Hands were required to grasp protruding rock to pull and hold the body’s weight while negotiating low-angled rock structures. After navigating through the rough rock, we ended our hike upon a small plateau in the moorlands. Finally, rest could be had at Shira, our second campsite at 3840 meters (12600 feet). Of course, with the increase in altitude and no overhanging canopy of trees to shield us we were vulnerable to beams of intense sunlight and sweeping winds.

It’s now day three. Our six-hour trek towards Lava Tower was across a relatively level plain compared to the previous day’s travel. Almost without notice, we ascended beyond the tree line, the highest elevation which sustains tree-life; higher up, it is too cold or snow cover persists for too much of the year, to sustain trees. Tree growth is often very stunted, with the last trees forming low, densely matted bushes. Across the open range, with fewer coarse vegetation and more broken rocks and giant heathers; we crossed the moorlands on into the montane desert, a desolate vastness of sand and stone. If it were a more temperate region, in which an attraction to the scenery had been felt; walking across the sandy plain where moisture was lost to evaporation, vegetation was stunted by temperature and wind swept through with an arrogant temerity; I might have been compelled to rest myself until nightfall before continuing my journey; but, scavengers lurked overhead and my stillness may have been misleading.

The forth day brought with it a rather uncomfortable chill and greyness. The wind off the mountain blew hard and whipped our canvas tents with loud, sharp movements. Dense clouds drifted above, a dark overcast threatening rain; and, the air was quite cold and melancholy. Soon, the approaching sun broke through the clouds, and a cascade of light flowed down the southern versant. The day’s 2-hour hike from Lava Tower (4600 meters) to Arrow Glacier (4865 meters), the last camp site before our final ascent to the summit, began early. Moving upwards, though but slowly, over steep screes took extreme effort; and, of all of us, the mountain would demand more.
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The final day was upon us; and, the great Western Breach, bold and defiant, stood before us, ascending nearly 900 m (or 3000 feet) from Arrow Glacier. It’s regarded as the toughest and most physically challenging of the routes to the summit for its nearly vertical incline. In recent years, there have been several accidents, including the unfortunate death of three climbers from a rockfall in 2006, only recently has it been re-opened. We set forward at 2am; the night was cloudless; and the broad, silver moon shone down peacefully; so still and splendid did it hang in the sky. Our course was marked by a serpentine line, a curving trail over loose gravel. The dense richness of oxygen experienced at lower altitudes was no more. Every exertion, from crawling out of my sleeping bag that morning to eating breakfast; the most modest of movements caused shortness of breath, sure signs that portend an arduous ascent. A weaker being would have shuddered at what this route and environment presented; its intimidation would succeed with me. Laboring in short gasps, and the pulsating quickness of my heart forced a search for a resting-place more frequently than imagined. The steep screes segued into a firmer slope of rock and boulder; then, our route progressed, still, to large natural rock formations and rock walls where hands and stepping high and wide were necessary movements. By mid-morning I fulfilled those last staggering steps to the icy summit...

-Antoine Crite, December 6, 2008

And here is the ultra-marathoner's account on his blog...