Late P.M. Thursday 23 August 2001 to Early A.M. Friday 24 August 2001
BARAFU (HIGH CAMP) to UHURU POINT/PEAK and POINTS IN-BETWEEN
The Magical Misery Tour
Someone, probably Godlisten, rousted us around 11:15 PM. Hot tea and biscuits were available in the meal tent. I chose to skip them, not being cold or thirsty. As arranged earlier, Samwa came over to use our tent while we attempted the summit. Nik preempted any use of his sleeping bag by putting it in its stuff sack. I figured the least I could do for the guy was let him have a decent night's sleep for the first time during the entire trek— Samwa was after all carrying my gear bag and our meal table on his back all week. Thus, my sleeping bag and pad were his for the evening.
In all the excitement and apprehension of the climb we all forgot to break out the chemical heat packs I distributed at Springlands. It was a big mistake—the winds had gotten even stronger through the evening and the wind chill factor got worse as we ascended. Fingers and toes eventually numbed and stiffened despite layers of insulation.
The plan laid out earlier went into effect. Several climbers had started up ahead of us, resulting in a traffic jam of sort on the trail up. Our headlamps illuminated the massive quantities of dust stirred up by the high winds creating a surreal effect, adding to the already palpable weirdness of what we were doing.
About an hour up the trail things accelerated. Godi, the Ivanovs and Andrea sped ahead. I continued at a more leisurely pace with Prosper. Sometimes we passed others, sometimes others passed us. I could see tiny lights high up in the darkness with no real point of reference. Most of Kibo was a massive black hulk.
After some time I could barely discern that we were at or above the summit of Mawenzi Peak (~17,000 feet). Somehwere beyond this point I started losing motor skills and coordination. The high winds added to the fun by pushing me uncomfortably close to the edges of the often narrow switchback. As a bonus I began hallucinating mildly. It was a bit off-putting to say the least. I summoned Prosper and proposed a break. We stopped a bit then continued. Perhaps another 15-20 minutes passed when I started veering off the trail. Clearly this was more than simple fatigue.
More ascent then another break. We sat down on the far side of a boulder in a vain attempt to get shelter from the winds, our feet dangling off into the void below. Neither of us said anything for a long while. I saw tiny lights far below us on the trail. The next thing I knew those lights were right next to us, attached to a bunch of climbers silently trudging up the switchback. My sense of time was completely shot. I slowly weighed things over in my increasingly addled mind: My fingers and toes were completely numb, I was bobbing about like a drunk, I had flashbacks that would rival the Grateful Dead’s, and this would probably be the last time I could make any sort of clear judgment over my well-being.
I recalled an e-mail conversation I had with a professional mountain guide named Jesse Williams. Jesse climbs all over the world with a few outfits like Alpine Ascents though he is based in New York’s Adirondack Mountains. He warned me to look out for myself in Africa as there is a relatively casual attitude toward life and death here. It’s apparent that some deaths on the mountain were the result of poor judgment by guides either poorly trained in recognizing Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS) in its various forms or too cavalier in dismissing its symptoms. That rumbled around in my head for a while as we sat in our crude shelter from the howling winds. It was around 3 AM.
"Prosper, I think we better go back down to Barafu."
"Are you sure? We are only 2 or 2-1/2 hours from Stella Point."
"Yes."
Stella Point, at 19,000 feet is the pre-summit on the Machame Route. Climbers who reach it get a green achievement certificate down at the park gate. On the Marangu Route the pre-summit is Gilman’s Point (18,000 feet or so). Only climbers who reach the true summit, Uhuru Point (19,340 feet) get the gold certificates. A steep gravel slope stretching for several hundred feet or more is the final approach to Stella Point from below. I did not yet reach it, nor would I that night. I had heard of its ugliness which the Ivanovs later confirmed. I was in no condition to take it on.
The descent was a psychedelic experience of sorts. Shooting stars flashed by while the lights of Moshi glowed beneath clouds off in the distance. For one eerie moment I spotted some headlamps coming toward us from far below that disappeared as we approached. I was never sure if I imagined them or if they simply turned around as well.
The terrain quickly became misleading. Every time we turned a corner on the switchback it looked like the section we had descended 5 minutes ago. Suddenly Prosper slipped and fell hard on his ass. Concerned as I was for his well-being, my camera equipment was in the daypack he was carrying--my brain had that brief moment of clarity. He got up quickly and announced he was fine. Godlisten had pointed out several times how strong Prosper was. I’d add indestructible to the list. We resumed our downward spiral.
I began to worry (must have caught it from Nikola—gotta get a separate tent!) that we were veering off the main trail and were going to end up in the SouthEast Valley on the east side of Barafu Camp. Said valley’s walls are a difficult 300-foot climb and I did not know how we would surmount such an obstacle in my condition let alone in the dark with only one headlamp. I voiced my concern to Prosper once or twice who assured me he knew the way. After 2 hours of delirious trudging we got to Barafu Camp.
Samwa was woken to his great surprise. He was ready to dash out of the tent for one of the huts, but I assured him that he could stay in the tent in my sleeping bag. I was perfectly happy to sprawl onto Nik’s sleeping pad. First, I thanked Prosper several times in both English and Swahili. He seemed really happy that I was happy. I truly think the guides and porters fret that they won’t get any tips if a client fails to reach the summit. Next, I found a nearby rock to relieve myself for the first time in perhaps 9 hours. While occupied I noticed it had suddenly started raining… Damn winds.
Got my boots off and collapsed, wearing all my gear, on Nik's pad. Samwa slept contentedly for a few more hours before leaving for other lodging, in anticipation of Nik’s return. He thanked me wholeheartedly for my allowing him to sleep "Hollywood style" despite my early return. No problem!
[See the Picture Tour for Nik's Summit Night tale.]