Kilimanjaro Day 6 – Thursday August 21
Woke from a good night’s sleep to a stupendous view from the door of our tent looking down on the clouds below us and Mount Meru in the distance. Then it was on with camp life and the usual morning stuff.
Today was a short day, at least in some respects. We had a short but steep climb out of Karanga Valley, onto a relatively easy path across a wide, shallow valley, gradually gaining altitude until we reached the Barafu Hut at 4,600 metres (15,000 feet) in time for lunch. Barafu apparently means ‘ice’ in Swahili – which sounded rather ominous. And that was it for the day.
Because tonight would be our summit night. What this trek had been all about.
The remainder of the day was spent resting in preparation for the final ascent before a very early night; day-bags were re-packed for the morning, clothes were changed clothes so that we’d wake with the right under-layers on; we fussed and faffed, faffed and fussed.
We were in the mess tent for dinner at 4pm, prior to which Christopher announced that another of the porters, this time George, who had served us breakfast and dinner every day, needed to go down. It still shocked us that even those who have climbed Kili countless times can still be struck down with altitude sickness. Cormac coped with it well though. On being told of George’s situation he said “Oh no. Who’s going to serve us dinner?”
Kevin then announced that he will be going no further. In consultation with Christopher and Martin, they have agreed that the fluid on his lungs and the risk of making it worse, was not a risk worth taking. He was of course, bitterly disappointed, especially when he’s the type who never wants to give up on anything. But, as Kevin said, he has a lot of live for, in the context of which having a photo taken by a sign is small cheese. There was a bit of a silence as we took this in, before encouraging words were offered, although I’m not sure we could really offer him much support.
But then there was something of a volte face. After dinner Christopher came into the tent for the briefing, and said that they could add an extra summit porter to the team, meaning that an extra hand would be available to help Kevin if Kevin wanted to give it a go. He’d need to set off an hour earlier than the rest of us, and would be accompanied by two guides, but at least it gave him a chance which, suffice it to say, he didn’t need to think twice about.
Talk about an emotional roller coaster. One minute we were up, then down, then back up again. And it meant that not only was Kevin coming with us but so too was Goodjob, the man with the biggest smile in camp, normally a helping porter but tonight to be a summit porter, and whose English was seemingly limited to saying “Good job. Good job”.
And then there was the briefing. We were to go to bed at 6pm, woken at 11pm, given some food and drinks, and start walking at midnight with the aim of reaching Stella Point by sunrise. “And no cards tonight please.”
Clothing-wise Christopher recommended five layers on top – two layers of thermals, two layers of fleece, and a down jacket; and four layers below – two layers of thermals, one fleece layer and an outer layer; or variations thereof depending of course on what you actually had and what you were comfortable with. Plus two pairs of gloves, hats/hoods, and however many scarves you may need. That was a lot of clothing: “Just about everything I’ve got” according to Toby.
Go to Chapter 11. Africa’s highest point