Kilimanjaro Day 2 – Sunday August 17
Woke to find ice crystals on the outer shell of the tent, a clear demonstration of how cold it was on the mountain, but the Four-Seasons sleeping bag provided by AWC had kept me toasty warm, even without any additional layers of clothing. We were presented with coffee or tea in bed, followed by washy-washy, faffing to pack our stuff away (the porters would dismantle and pack away the tent), put out our water bottles and hydrapaks for filling, and then it was breakfast. And again it was surprisingly good. Porridge, apparently a slow-release of energy so ideal for hiking, bacon and eggs (or sometimes omelette), fruit, and lots of hot drinks. Then water was collected, day-packs assembled, sunscreen applied, last minute trips to Joshua’s throne managed, and we were ready to go.
The morning was clear with an expansive view of Mount Meru poking its head above the clouds, which at 4,566 metres (15,000 feet) is still considerably higher than we were at that moment. And finally, there above us, albeit some distance away, was Kibo.
It’s easy to forget but Kilimanjaro is of course a volcano, and is composed of three volcanic cones, Kibo, Mawenzi and Shira, with Uhuru Peak being the highest summit on Kibo’s crater rim. Unlike many volcanoes and mountains Kilimanjaro does not sit at the edge of any tectonic plates, but owes its being to a giant fault in the earth’s crust, otherwise known as the Great Rift Valley. Some three-quarters of a million years ago molten lava burst through that fault creating the Shira volcano, the oldest of the three. Shira eventually ceased erupting and collapsed in on itself, but the eruptive activity continued with the growth of first Mawenzi and then Kibo, giving Kilimanjaro the shape we recognise today.
And Uhuru Peak, on Kibo, was our target. Strangely not looking as imposing as it should, it elicited a tongue-in-cheek comment of “Is that it?” We could see Kibo and the Western Breach above us, and the sharp ridges of the Shira Hills, including The Needle and The Cathedral, to the west.
Today was an acclimatisation day, spent mainly on Shira Plateau, somewhere on which we met a charming fellow hiker emerging from some bushes: “There’s a warning fellers” he said. “Went for a fart and shat myself.” So that was nice. Given that irregular digestion is a symptom of altitude sickness I guess it’s not uncommon, but again I wouldn’t fancy his chances of summiting. Not with clean pants anyway.
We headed across the plateau, then made a diversion over to the summit of Shira Cathedral, a huge buttress of rock surrounded by steep spires and pinnacles. This proved to be a bit of a test and there was some heavy breathing in our midst, and it certainly gave your thighs a good stretch. Had we got there five minutes earlier the view over the plateau would have been spectacular. As it was, the mists rolled in and we were afforded only brief glimpses to assure us that we had indeed scaled a peak of sorts. The mist created a ghostly effect with the tree moss, also known as old man’s beard, hanging like damp Halloween cobwebs off the trees.
We walked back down from the Cathedral, across more moorland and past a heli-pad – another reminder of the potential dangers. It was the highest one on the mountain and it was a long, long way from the summit, which meant that if you got into trouble near the top, you’re a long stumble from the top to the nearest stretcher, a long carry from the stretcher to the heli-pad, and a long flight from the heli-pad to the hospital. And apparently they take you to hospital in Kenya, not Tanzania. We never did find out the reason for that, but it did beg the question – what if you didn’t have your passport? Would they turn you back at the border? My passport incidentally was in the hotel safe in Arusha. I did have a credit card with me having been warned that you would not be evacuated by air until you could provide means of payment. So you could be half dead from cerebral oedema and they’re going to ask “Visa, Mastercard, or AMEX?” Mind you, they’re almost certain not to accept AMEX, as it generally seems to be the pariah of credit cards. Which is a shame; you get double mileage points for overseas spend.
By early afternoon we’d reached the second campsite at Shira Two Bivouac, at 3,720 metres (12,200 feet). The common toilets here are perched on the edge of a precipice which, aside from the logistics of the long drop, provided an interesting view. Shame then that they were without doubt the most foul-smelling conveniences ever encountered. Having travelled to places such as India and China I’ve seen some dodgy toilets in my time but this was very definitely the worst toilet in Scotland.
I didn’t notice at the time but Aussie Matt (to distinguish him from t’other Matt) had had a bit of a bad day today, struggling with some sickness and nausea, needing to rest occasionally, and I think may have vomited a few times; probably the first significant occurrence of altitude sickness amongst us.
Camp life – evening. Faff. Hot drinks. Washy-washy. Dinner. Cards. Bed.
The Aussies were familiar with Arsehole although our version had some variations from theirs, and young Linus had proven to be something of an expert. He was President so frequently that he wryly commented that “It’s like playing with kids”. He would subsequently retract his statement.
Our tent tonight had a distinct slope running from head to foot. Waking in the middle of the night to find that you’d slipped some way down the sleeping mat then required some awkward worm-like wriggling to get back into place, which wasn’t easy in a cocoon-like sleeping bag. Stability was sought by putting our boots inside the tent and using them as a brace against which to arrest the slide. Hold the head of the sleeping bag, extend your legs, and you’d soon be back in position. I’d read a lot of literature about Kilimanjaro but no one had warned me of that particular hazard.
Go to Chapter 7: Walk high, sleep low