3. Kit and caboodle

The planning continued apace throughout the spring of 2014. Terry was passing through Hong Kong one weekend in March en route from business in China. So we arranged a planning meeting. We all met in the Globe for a Sunday lunch.

It begged the question of how this group of finely tuned athletes would cope with being up a mountain without a drink for a week. A week. Without a drink. I suspected that would be a record for some of us and more of an undertaking than actually climbing the mountain.

If I’d had to take a guess, I’d say Toby was probably the fittest. He’s a bloody whippet. Stick thin with not an ounce of fat on him and a hiking pace which left the rest of us floundering. As a personal trainer Kevin was of course in great shape, especially as he is, ahem, a smidge older than the rest of us. I’d been playing football every week for the previous nine months, with regular gym time in between, so considered myself to be in reasonable shape.

Cormac does the occasional half marathon so if he wasn’t at peak fitness then, he could certainly get there in time. Callum is a big man – and we’d later discover suffers from high blood pressure – but had experience in such matters. He’d been to Everest Base Camp before, and even though it was a long time ago, that still elevated him in our hypothetical hierarchy. Martin is the slimmer of the Garry brothers, and Terry is, well, Terry. We’d received occasional pictures of the Garry Brothers taking their dogs for a walk in the Brecon Beacons in Wales. We could only hope they’d done enough. The dogs at least looked fairly sprightly. 

Having written that I realise that I equated fit to fat. Toby is the slimmest so he must be fittest; Terry is the fattest so he must be the least fit. And that was probably unfair. Having hiked up Mount Kinabalu with him before, Matt had commented that even if he was a little heavy Terry would get up the mountain “on the strength of his will alone”. 

The Hong Kong contingent did a fair bit of training over the preceding few months on Hong Kong’s walking trails. With over 75% of the territory designated as national park, and a landscape of mountains, valleys, islands and beaches shaped by long-distant volcanic activity, the trails are numerous, lengthy and stunningly spectacular. It is certainly not what most people see in their mind’s eye view of Hong Kong. It’s not all concrete canyons.

As it was on my doorstep I’d been up Mount Butler at least four times in the preceding weeks. Together we’d been over the two killer peaks known as the Twins and down to Stanley a couple of times. We’d done the entire Hong Kong Trail in two sections of 25km each, from the Peak to Wong Nai Chung Gap, and Wong Nai Chung Gap to Big Wave Bay. That included the Dragon’s Back – listed somewhere (Time Out?) as one of the finest one-day walks in the world.

We’d done a lengthy trail around Sunset Peak on Lantau Island. Stage 5 of the MacLehose Trail up Lion Rock and along the wonderfully named Gin Drinker’s Line). Stage 2 of the MacLehose including a detour up the spectacular Sharp Peak in Sai Kung. Lantau Peak via the even more spectacular Dog’s Tooth Ridge. And no doubt a few other miscellaneous strolls.

But would it be enough? And did it even matter? Obviously you can give yourself the best chance possible of scaling Kilimanjaro by being as fit as reasonably possible. But at the end of the day altitude sickness does not discriminate. Fit or fat, young or old, healthy or not. It can affect anyone and there is no way of knowing whether or how severely it would affect you until it does. Or doesn’t. Which, in the days before departure, gave rise to no shortage of anxiety. Yes, you can hope that the food would be okay, that you can sleep at night, beat Toby at Scrabble, but at the end of the day that question of ‘will I make it’ is the killer.

Kit-anxiety also caused a few dilemmas and no end of discussion. The kit-list the African Walking Company gave us appeared rather comprehensive to say the least. How the hell you were supposed to take all that and still stay within your 15kg weight limit was a mystery. And as fantastic as the internet is everything I read was so effing contradictory. One account would say a down jacket is a must, another would say that it is  excessive. One report knowingly said that gaiters were unnecessary, another said they were critical. Must you have merino wool base layers, or would synthetics do? How many pairs of trousers would you need for summit night? First world problems.

Living in the tropics there isn’t much demand for down jackets, and I didn’t anticipate doing this kind of thing too often, so I was loathe to splash the cash on something which may have never be worn again. Kevin, Toby and I had mulled over ski jackets (which we already owned) versus down jackets (which we didn’t). In the end Kevin and Toby would settle for their ski gear; and I’d hire a down jacket from the trekking company.

Based on past experience I should have considered gaiters critical. Hiking across the Yorkshire Moors a few years ago my boots fell apart. And the rather unusual solution was to wear a pair of gaiters, using the strap that goes under the boots, to hold things together. And lo and behold, it actually worked. I looked a bit of a dick wearing gaiters and shorts, but they got me through the day at least. It’s not necessarily what gaiters are designed for but I’m not sure what I’d have done without them.

Layering is apparently critical, meaning that you can add and remove layers according to temperature and preference. But it also means that each layer must support the wicking process and allow moisture to pass from one layer to the next. Eh? I think that means that synthetics are good, cotton is bad. Merino wool is particularly good as aside from being very warm, it doesn’t smell. Maybe we should wear that all the time then eh?

At the end of the day, you read as much as you can, and try to find a sensible balance, making the most of what you’ve already got, buying some new stuff, not buying everything under the sun, but ultimately aiming to have the right kit. I hazarded a guess that I ended up spending more than the others due to kit-anxiety.

One thing I didn’t opt for was oxygen. The African Walking Company made a big fuss about it being available. But then at USD 245 a pop they would do. None of the accounts I’d read of climbing Kili had involved using oxygen, and most tour companies do not appear to make it available. It seems to be considered for emergency use only. It’s there to get you off the mountain if necessary, but not to help get you up the mountain.

There is another argument of course for doing everything within your power to maximise your chances of summiting. Mulling over the oxygen option Cormac observed that “If it was a case of pushing that last bit and not having it there when you need it, well that would just piss me off”. The net result was that Terry and Martin opted for oxygen; myself, Cormac, Matt, Callum, Toby and Kevin opted against. The worrying thing is that one of those who had opted for oxygen, Martin, is the doctor. What did he know that we didn’t? 

There was also a question of whether or not to get a Yellow Fever jab. Tanzania require a Yellow Fever certificate if you’re coming from a country at risk. Ethiopia was one such country although we were only in transit so technically did not require a certificate. But if something went wrong, a flight was delayed, or we got stuck somewhere, then we would need a certificate. If you didn’t have a Yellow Fever certificate, and they decided you needed one, then they’d give you a jab on the spot. Now I knew jack shit about Tanzania, but I did know that if I had to have a Yellow Fever jab, I’d rather have it done in the safe hands of Hong Kong’s excellent Department of Health, than in an unknown airport in Africa. Decision made.

So a visit to the Department of Health’s Travel Health Centre was in order. The doctor determined that it may have be over twenty years since I’d had any other inoculations. So after a reasonably detailed consultation I emerged having had injections for Yellow Fever, Hepatitis A, typhoid and tetanus, plus pills for altitude sickness (Diamox) and malaria (doxcycline). A decision on whether to actually take the malaria pills would be deferred for the time being. But as they cost only HKD 100 (£9) it made sense to get them now. The downside is that you have to continue taking them for twenty-eight days after you leave the affected area. If not, the whole course of treatment would be rendered ineffective and the risk of dormant malaria becoming full-blown actually increases. 

The alternative anti-malarial pill, mefloquine, cost HKD 1,000 (£90), which seemed damned expensive to me. The doctor actually advised against it due to the potential psychosis it could induce. Cormac, incidentally, was taking mefloquine. But if he developed psychosis and began acting strangely, we’d probably think it was no stranger than normal.

There was also some discussion as to whether to take Diamox or not amidst concerns that it masks symptoms of altitude sickness rather than preventing them. Doctor Martin Garry was apparently reluctant. But almost everyone else said to take it, including the Travel Health Centre man, and that was good enough for me. Once up the mountain the guides would actually advise taking it only if you felt symptoms, rather than before. And recommended taking only half of a 250mg pill. We’d been taking four times that amount (2 x 250 mg per day) and that was still one less than the Hong Kong doctor recommended.

But fair dues to the Hong Kong doctor, he certainly knew his beans. He knew the  height of Kilimanjaro, the height at which trekking starts, the climate and vegetation, the risk of malaria, the symptoms of altitude sickness, and so on. So much so that it became quite off-putting. If you were a hypochondriac you’d have quit there and then.

In the week or two before departure an outbreak of the deadly Ebola virus in Sierra Leone and Liberia raised more concerns. But a glance at a map showed the distance between Sierra Leone and Tanzania to be quite extensive. It was akin to cancelling a trip to Beijing because someone in Mumbai was sick. Africa is that big. The Hong Kong Government’s Travel Advisory service and the UK’s Foreign & Commonwealth Office posted no concerns about travel to Tanzania. So that worry was off the table as quickly as it was put on.

On the penultimate weekend before departure, myself, Kevin, Toby and Callum did a fantastic hike up Lantau Peak, along Dog’s Tooth Ridge. We started virtually at sea level, then – as the name suggests – it was up and down, up and down, gaining height all the while, until we finally hit Lantau Peak at some 980 metres. Which meant we had to do that six times over in Africa. (That’s technically not true as we’d start half way up Kilimanjaro but who’s counting.) The trek was tough – lots of scrambling and clambering up rock faces – but the views incredible. Jagged peaks, sheer cliffs, verdant vegetation, and all shrouded in mist. I’ve never been to the Andes, but this is what I imagine it to look like. If Macchu Picchu had emerged from the clouds rather than the Big Buddha, it would not have seemed out of place.

In the pub and on the ferry afterwards, there was a palpable air of excitement, as we were comparing what kit we’d each got and not got, and running through checklists of what else we still needed. What may previously have been anxiety had definitely now evolved into excitement. We were like a bunch of kids, chattering excitedly over one another.

There was further panic when we realised that the dates of our safari were off by one day. We were scheduled to begin safari when we were actually still halfway up a mountain, which, irrespective of whether it was our mistake or the tour operator’s, was downright impossible. Thankfully the safari organiser managed to resolve it, and rebooked everything, without any penalties or additional costs, and without any arguments over whose responsibility it was. And in all likelihood, it was ours.

Five grown adults had looked at the itinerary and not one of us had noticed that it was wrong. We’d not even read the large print let alone the small print. The planning of the safari was rather casual in comparison to the planning for the mountain. Toby got a quote from one company, Kevin got a quote from another. Myself and Cormac did nothing. Then we took the best bits of both, merged them into one, and chose the company that was most responsive to emails.

Apologies to Toby and Kevin if I under-estimated their efforts but the only real decision we made was to upgrade from a tented safari to a hotel safari. As much as the idea of sitting round a campfire appealed, so too did hotel buffets, proper beds, proper bathrooms, showers and swimming pools. Call us spoilt amateurs but after a week spent camping up a freezing mountain we thought we’d deserve some luxury.

To be honest, everything to do with the safari part of the trip was rather secondary to the mountain part. It was the mountain that represented the challenge and the preparation of kit. The safari kit was just the same as the mountain kit, without the cold weather stuff. The light aircraft which would take us from Lobo, deep in the Serengeti, back to Arusha, had a baggage limit of 15 kilos. The mountain kit alone would weigh more than that so while on the mountain any safari-specific stuff would be left in Arusha. And when we went on safari, any mountain-specific kit would also be left in Arusha. So some logistics to manage, with a potential for a cock-up. But it was a minor hurdle, especially in the face of other concerns.

Statistically, one of us wouldn’t make it. And that would be tough on whoever it was. If anything was going to get me up the mountain, it was peer pressure. The fear of failure. I really, really, really did not want to be the one who had to go back to the pub and confess to not having summited while everyone else waxed lyrical about how fantastic it was. To reach the right group size for the African Walking Company, our group of eight would be joined by another group of seven. We just had to hope that the one or two who wouldn’t make it came from the other seven, and not our eight. Although I’m sure the other seven would be hoping the same of us.

On the evening of Wednesday August 13 I was at home making final adjustments to the packing. A last minute call with Cormac, literally minutes before I was due to leave for the airport, then resulted in the panic dumping of items. He pointed out that my mountain bag needed to allow for 3kg of weight for the down jacket and sleeping bag hired from AWC. Oops, forgot about that.

How to shed some weight then? Most of the clothing was more or less essential, so what else could go? The catchingly-named Pocari Sweat electrolyte sachets were relatively heavy, so they were mostly out. The Ibuprofen gel is liquid, liquid equals weight, so it was out. The number of wet wipes were halved. A large tube of toothpaste swapped for a smaller one. A small bottle of aftershave dumped. I was getting desperate now. A t-shirt ditched. A long-sleeved shirt ditched. One pair of trainers swapped for a lighter pair. A notebook binned. A pair of socks. A pair of underpants. Obviously a pair of underpants doesn’t weigh much but it all helped. Within a few minutes I’d shed almost 2kg, and felt more comfortable with my lot.

So after all the kerfuffle what exactly was my lot?

Clothes

• Down jacket – hired from AWC, to pick up in Arusha.
• Waterproof jacket – a bit thin, little more than a shell, bought in the UK a few years earlier, hopefully okay (and recently tested in the shower, much to my own amusement).
• O’Neill fleece – the detachable lining from my ski jacket.
• Patagonia R1 micro-fleece hoody – I’d watched a video on YouTube in which some feller swore by one of these. Bought new, and not bloody cheap.
• Sweat wicking long sleeve top – a mid-priced Berghaus (from RC Outfitters).
• Three sweat-wicking t-shirts – ranging from an expensive Icebreaker to a McKinley cheapo bought from Stanley market for HKD 50. Bargain.
• Two pairs of Columbia trekking trousers, with detachable legs to double-up as shorts. Criminally unfashionable, the epitome of function over form, I may once have sworn never to wear such things, but hey ho.
• Pair of insulated, warm trousers – half price from RC Outfitters.
• Pair of waterproof trousers – bought in the UK years ago, hopefully still waterproof (sadly not tested in the shower).
• Two sets of thermal long johns (tops and bottoms) – one expensive set of merino wool Icebreakers bought new and one pair out of the skiing kit bag.
• Five pairs of socks of various weights (RC Outfitters).
• Five pairs of underpants – the usual cotton boxers/trunks that I wear all the time. The luxury of having clean underpants every day was out – each pair would stretch to two days.
• Sunhat – which resembled your Mother’s gardening hat and had no fashion credibility whatsoever (RC Outfitters).
• Two woollen beanies – one old Oakley and one Newcastle United – had to have something NUFC in there somewhere!
• A neck buff – still not entirely sure what this was for but everyone claims they’re useful. I found it in amongst Sue’s ski gear, it took up no space, so in it went.
• Two pairs of gloves – Berghaus fleece gloves which I’d had for years, plus my ski gloves, which would fit over the fleece gloves for summit night.

Footwear

• A pair of Asolo Drifter boots – high ankle support, Gore-tex, waterproof. Bought in Mong Kok some months prior, they’d been a source of anxiety for some time due to some rubbing on my right big toe. But I’d worn them over a dozen times and not experienced a single blister so fingers, or toes, crossed that they’d do the biz on the day.
• Lightweight trainers – for wearing around camp.

Luggage

• Nike kit bag – rather old, probably not ideal but I was reluctant to buy a ‘proper’ waterproof, mountaineering duffel bag. Surely AWC would put our bags in additional waterproof covering anyway?
• Vaude 30 litre day bag – the bollocks. Adjustable body size, fitting for hydration hose, waist strap, sternum strap, rain-cover, two side pockets and innumerable other hooks, zips, flaps and straps.

Toys

• GoPro video camera; four batteries; a 5,000mAH power bank; head strap; 18” pole; 1 x 32 gig SD card, 1 x 64 gig SD card, charger.
• Canon 60D digital SLR; 1 x zoom and 1 x wide-angle lens; spare battery; charger.
• ipod and charger – one of life’s indispensables and arguably my favourite piece of technology of all time. Pure genius.

Toiletries

• Wet wipes, Imodium, Diamox, anti-malarials, Ibuprofen, plasters, lip balm, Deep Heat, DEET, factor 50 sunscreen, deodorant, toothbrush, toothpaste, toilet roll, razor.

Misc

• Four-seasons sleeping bag – hired from AWC, to pick up in Arusha.
• Sleeping bag liner – in case the above was a bit manky (RC Outfitters).
• Sleeping mat – hired from AWC, to pick up in Arusha.
• Travel pillow – fleece lined, super cheap (RC Outfitters).
• Walking poles – borrowed from Jamie Owen.
• Headlamp, and spare batteries – borrowed from Will Pirie…the lamp that is, I’d splashed out on the batteries myself.
• 3-litre hydrapak – bought new (RC Outfitters).
• A 600ml stainless steel water bottle (RC Outfitters) and a 500ml plastic water bottle (from the cupboard under the sink).
• Sunglasses (RC Outfitters).
• Small micro fibre towel (RC Outfitters).
• Paul Auster’s The Brooklyn Follies – one of those books that had been on the shelf for years but never read. Now was its time.
• Assortment of dry bags (RC Outfitters and some outlet store in Wan Chai).
• Ear plugs.
• Assorted snacks, energy bars, nuts, etc, plus Pocari electrolytes for adding to the water (RC Outfitters).

The excellent RC Outfitters in Causeway Bay had earned a few bob from this trip. Cormac, Kevin and Toby were all regular customers as well. It was close to my office so I was a frequent visitor. Each time they’d tell me what ‘my friends’ had bought the day before. A good sales technique, using fear and insecurity to drive more sales.

The safari kit would basically be a subset of the mountain kit, with one or two additional cotton t-shirts and shorts thrown in. But unfortunately no Roger Moore circa 1970’s safari suit. 

I also wondered how I was going to shave me heid halfway up a mountain? I didn’t mind growing a beard on me chin but I didn’t want to look like Bobby Charlton on top. Did I mention that me Mam went to school with Bobby Charlton? Or that I never miss an opportunity to tell anyone? They were on the same dinner table.

And that was it. At some stage – usually the last possible minute, if not in the airport itself – you have to draw a line and say that’s it. Otherwise you could keep adding to this list forever. If I needed anything I’d be buggered . I shouldn’t imagine the shopping in Arusha to be too promising.  

Which made me wonder if there wasn’t a market for second hand gear in Arusha? You’d have all these people coming off the mountain with all this kit that they would probably never use again, plus all the stuff that they took but didn’t need. And all these people about to go up the mountain in a panic because they’d forgotten to get hand warmers or didn’t have as many layers as that bloke they met in the bar last night who seemed to really know what he was on about. Well, if there was such potential, good luck to someone because I certainly wouldn’t be exploiting it. 

Go to Chapter 4: On the road to the roof of Africa