Hot Fudge Mint Oreo Brownie Sundae...with a Pickled Sardine on Top

A November blog entry unveiled my plan to meet my brother in Tanzania to attempt to climb the highest free-standing mountain in the world. At 19,340 feet, Mount Kilimanjaro is the highest peak on the continent of Africa and as I soon discovered, quite a sight to behold from the towns which lie nestled in its shadow. I have to admit, I was intimidated seeing the glaciers on the peak towering over us, while sitting in the tropical 90+ degree town of Moshi. The climates are worlds apart, let alone the difference in oxygen levels and yet we’d committed ourselves to traverse that gap in just 5 days. My fears mounted as we finished the pre-climb meeting. You may remember my blog about stair climbing in preparation, but I have to confess, the stairs won that contest as I was sidelined by a building pain in my knees. After some rest, the pain went away, but in order to avoid re-aggravating them, I decided to forgo any extended cardio-vascular exercise for all of December and January. Was I in good enough shape to make it to the top? Would my knee pain come back with vengeance? In high school I was diagnosed with asthma but only with regard to allergy and sickness, not exercise-induced. Yet still, any respiratory limitations at low-oxygen altitudes could easily send me back down. Would my lungs be able to suck in enough of the thin air to keep my body going and mind clear? In addition, I am allergic to sulfa-based drugs, which includes diamox, a glaucoma drug commonly taken by mountain climbers to help reduce altitude sickness. Would my body as a whole function at extreme altitudes without any drugs to help it? Adding these factors up, I had no problem calling myself the weakest link in our three-man team.

Much to my surprise, however, none of my initial fears ever materialized. My knees stayed strong, feeling only the slightest stress/pain when we raced down a long decent after an altitude acclimatization hike on day three. My cardio-vascular fitness was more than sufficient, especially since our guide drastically slowed our pace at every incline (to go quickly uphill is to invite altitude sickness). The asthma never became an issue, possibly since I was in good health and breathing nice clean mountain air. And finally, of the three of us, I was least affected by the altitude despite being unable to take the diamox. This is possibly due to living part of my year in Addis Ababa, an altitude around 8000 feet. I praise God that I was able to enjoy my experience on the mountain without any of these limiting factors!

And, believe me, the enjoyment of the experience was beyond words, just as the scenery we encountered is beyond that which a camera can capture. Each morning after the daily delivery of tea and hot chocolate to the front door of our tent, we braved the cold morning air, armed with cameras to snap crystal clear pictures of the mountain before the late morning clouds would roll in. It was absolutely beautiful!

The scenery, the physical exercise, the time with my brother, I compare it all to a huge hot fudge mint Oreo brownie sundae – delicious in all of its many layers. However, this mountain climbers’ delight seemingly lacked the traditional cherry on top. We arrived at Camp Barafu (15,200 ft.) feeling good, yet nervous. Excitement kept us from sleeping much before our 11pm wake-up call (summit attempts take place at night).

Hitting the trail at midnight, things started well. We could walk by the light of the moon, we felt strong and our many layers of clothes seemed about right. However, it wasn’t long before the unusually strong wind and its accompanying below-freezing temps confronted us like fierce temple guards protecting the sanctuary of Kilimanjaro’s peak. My fingers froze inside my gloves making me unable to hold my trekking poles. So, packing the poles away in my belt, I pulled my fingers into the palm part of the gloves and clutched tightly to the chemical hot packs I had hidden in there. Walking without poles put more stress and risk on my knees, but I had to take that chance. The pickled sardine was just beginning. Imagine trekking up a huge sand dune with only the light of your headlamp, unable to see any of our surroundings apart from the shoes of the person in front of you. Then add a strong headwind whose gusts grab your raincoat like a sail and send you sliding backward in the sand. Drop the temperatures down below zero so that stopping for a rest is miserable as you can feel your much-needed body heat seeping out through the zippers. Now, imagine doing this sand dune climb for 5 hours without any mile markers to show you your progress. That, my friends, was the pickled sardine on top of the beautiful brownie sundae. Nevertheless, this was the reason we came, so whether its discomfort, exhaustion, or fear of losing a finger to frostbite, turning back simply was not an option.

Shortly before 5am, when we reached the crater rim, knowing that the worst part was over. Only 50 minutes of gradual incline remained before reaching the summit. However, we were early. Either we started too early or climbed too fast, but our guides told us we needed to take a 20-minute break in order to be at the summit at sunrise (the goal of every climbing team). Fighting the wind a bit further up the trail, we found some rocks to duck down behind and began our punishing wait for arriving too early. However, before long, we agreed, let’s just finish the summit and get out of here. And so we did. We reached the top of Africa in total darkness, snapped some pics with freezing fingers, and started back down. Thankfully, as we backtracked, the sun began to light the sky so we could see the glaciers, crater and surrounding landscape. Now with the wind at our backs and hot chocolate awaiting us at our base camp, there was no reason to go slow.

Reaching crater rim again, our lead guide, Washington, looked back, smiled and launched himself down the steep, sandy slope we had come up just 90 minutes prior. His method in going down looked much like downhill skiing. And that it was, I threw myself down after him, planting my right foot into the sandy terrain, sliding on it until it found something hard to support my weight. Then the left, then the right. It was exhausting, constantly fighting to maintain control of my body and my speed, but at the same time it was ridiculously fun, maybe a reward for having eaten through the pickled sardine of the early morning hours. We had been told that most teams take 2.5 to 3 hours to come down from the summit, we reached camp in less than an hour and a half.

It was there that the strain on our bodies finally caught up with us as we were both down for the count with pounding headaches. Yet, we did as instructed. Packed up our gear, ate what we could of lunch and hit the trail again for another six hours downhill to our final camp. Seeing the gradual return of bushes and then trees and then all out rainforest as we walked was really nice and helped take our minds off of the aches and pains coming from our many bodies parts demanding a long rest.

The final morning before hiking out, we ate our usual porridge, eggs, sausages and toast, enjoyed a final farewell song sung by our guides, cooks, and porters (12 in all), and started down the trail for the last time. All in all, the climb was amazing and truly a once in a lifetime experience. Sure, a few bites of the sundae were quite distasteful at the time, but as with anything wonderful, it’s amazing how quickly that bad taste dissipates when we step back to see the experience as a whole. If such a crazy adventure is in anyway appealing to you, my advice is this: be prepared for and persevere through the pickled sardines, but don’t miss out on savoring the world’s tallest free-standing “hot fudge mint Oreo brownie sundae.”