Kilimanjaro - Summit to Think Ab

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Kilimanjaro - Summit to Think About! - by Gary Spinks

THIS WAS the moment I’d been waiting for. To stand on the ‘Roof of Africa’, celebrating my highest mountain climb with my wife Jane and surveying a whole continent below.

Everything had been geared towards this time: months of research into travel arrangements and itineraries, trip planning, training walks, gear buying and dreaming of having our photo taken triumphantly together on the summit of Kilimanjaro.

All of that to stand tall by the famous wooden sign at Uhuru Peak that tells you you’ve made it to the top of Africa’s highest mountain, just shy of 5,900m above sea level.

An amazing picture but not one that I can show you now in any photo. For now it is only visible in my mind’s eye, still an unfulfilled dream.

Where I stood still was not at Uhuru Peak but a point on a zig-zag path several hundred metres below and several hours from the summit. No triumphant photo. No celebrations with my trekking group. And no Jane (she had succumbed to altitude sickness earlier on the dark early morning ascent).

I did not feel ill, just a numbing sense of shock. This was the first time I had trekked up a high-level mountain and failed to reach the summit. Previous trips to places as different as Nepal, Peru, Borneo and Morocco had all ended in success. And on some of those treks there had been times when I had not felt well.

Yet here I was on the slopes of Kilimanjaro (a mountain which requires no technical mountaineering skills or experience) with no hint of a headache or note of nausea (both signs of possible altitude sickness – and one of the main reasons fail to reach the top). I felt fine . . . except I couldn’t get moving. Even with trekking poles, it was incredibly difficult to get my legs going forward and the harder I tried to progress the worse it became. It was like being in a car and not being able to find any gear, let alone first gear.

I was still several hours from the summit and, even if I could get there, a steep descent would also have to be negotiated back to the safety of camp. My heart wanted me to go up, my head told me there was only one option: down.

What made it worse was that virtually everything on this trek up to that point (and an acclimatisation hike up the neighbouring but smaller Mt Meru) had gone well.

Mt Meru stood at 4,560m (much lower than Kilimanjaro) yet had presented a tough summit day. The ascent included walking on narrow ridges; clambering around the side of the mountain; trudging up steep, volcanic ash slopes; and negotiating tricky rock steps and sections. Only a few people made it to the top that morning and I was among them. The journey down was full of fatigue-induced stumbles.

With a rest day before setting off, our Kilimanjaro adventure started well. We had excellent guides, a great cook and a dedicated team of porters. We made deliberately slow and steady progress along the barren Rongai route, emerging through forest to heathland and barren ash slopes before reaching the Kibo Huts ‘base camp’ in good shape for the final ascent.

All the preparation, physical effort and excitement felt wasted on summit morning as I stood on the side of the mountain path – still bathed in darkness - breathing hard and seemingly unable to move any higher. Stan, the assistant guide who was with me at this point, helped me safely down to base camp and a reunion with Jane. We were both disappointed, slightly the worse for wear but alive.

Several hours later we would join celebrations and add our congratulations to three of our group (Jean, Margaret and Paul) who did make the summit. An amazing achievement for them.

For weeks afterwards, I have reflected on our adventure and wondered what went wrong at the final hurdle. Was part of it the emotional shock of seeing Jane being helped down early with altitude sickness (the guides thought she would make it to the summit and at that point we knew we’d not be on top together)? Was it the stop-start pace in places which threw my rhythm? Or a lack of food or drink (should I have had one or two more energy bars or more water)?

Had the lack of sleep or rest the night before taken its toll? Had I taken a pack that was just too heavy? Should I have selected a better combination of clothing so I could adjust my temperature more easily? Or, was all that largely irrelevant and was I just not hill fit? Had the lack of days in the true hills during the summer (when I was preoccupied with moving home and preparing for our wedding) blunted my fitness, stamina and endurance?

I’ll never really know the answer but there were many positives to take home. For example, I had:

Reached my altitude record at around 5,500m (just pipping my previous efforts in Nepal) with less pre-trek training than on my previous trips;
Acclimatised so well (by taking the advice to take it “pole-pole”, or slowly slowly) that I suffered no obvious signs of altitude sickness. This suggests I should be able to adapt well to high peak trekking on future trips.
Coped with camping in a tent at high altitudes better than on previous trips.
Met some great people on the way and been supported by a wonderful team of guides, cook and porters (some of whom we have kept in touch with).

And the important lesson for me for the next adventure is to ensure my preparation and training for trek walking is better. You can never underestimate the mountains and it’s just an amazing feeling at the top.