There wasn’t much of a celebration at Uhuru Peak. Sure were all happy to finally get there, but after climbing from midnight straight on until 6:30AM, our asses were all kind of dragging. We took the requisite photos of life on the ceiling of Africa, and then after about fifteen minutes we were herded off the mountaintop again by our faithful guides.
I don’t have any photos capturing the descent on the morning of Day Six, but I will tell you that our departure from Uhuru was free and easy until we reached the boulder-guarded chokepoint known as Gilman’s. Only just recently a place of great celebration, we now peered over the precipice and took in what we couldn’t see under starlight: a long, scary dip down.
“Holy……we came up that?!”
After taking in the ridiculous view, we get on with negotiating our trail in reverse, all the time agreeing that had we’d been able to see what laid front of us a few hours earlier, we probably would have told Jonas to go find us a helicopter to bring us to Gilman’s Point. We snake down the cliff side with care, and the path downhill looks like it is going to take an awful long time to negotiate. We’re already operating on fumes. It is about the time that I am wondering how I’ll negotiate this literal ski slope of thick sand that Mighty Max, our trail guide, tells us we are indeed going to ‘ski’ down.
Sand ski? Rearry? At first I don’t quite get what he means, so he grabs one of my walking poles in his left hand, and links his right arm with up with my left. He says “Just act like you are walking- like a Sunday stroll” before we take off and proceed to bound straight down the mountain in a bizarre slalom fashion. I’m absolutely exhausted and a little scared of this straight down approach- especially as we encounter Mario Kart-esque turtle shells that pop up in front us (these are partially hidden rocks lying in the thick sand). But I trust Max, and I can tell by the strength of his arm that he is not going to let me go, even if I start to tumble down the hill. Soon enough I get the hang of things, and before we know it we are almost at Kibu huts, our lunchtime stopping point. What would have taken hours to trudge through in a normal walking style has now only taken about forty-five minutes. I’m grateful for this expedient approach, but no one tells you that when you ski through sand, you kick up a metric ton of dirt that then becomes embedded in your clothes and body.
We arrive at Kibu and are immediately greeting by some of our Team Kilimanjaro porters. They are armed with scrub brushes, and they immediately set to brushing down our legs to get some of the dirt off. After our dusting, one of our favorite porters (because he brings us our food each day with a smile) comes over with a mug of mango juice. I’m thirsty and ravenous, so I could almost kiss this guy for his perpetual alacrity. Team Kilimanjaro is a company that things of everything, and I’m happy to say that I really did get my money’s worth from choosing them.
See that dirt-paved ski slope up there? That’s what we just cruised down. I have a new layer of dust covering my body, and I’m ready for another baby wipe ablution and a few hours of horizontal recovery.
Lachlan and I just after having arriving at Kibo.
Heh heh heh. This sign should say: “Gilman’s Point: Just 5 Hours of Hell”.
At Kibo Hut we find that our tents have been pitched in order to facilitate a few hours of downtime before we must walk some more (yes, some more). I go through a pack of baby wipes as I try to extract some of this dirt from my skin, and then I lay down and open up my book on nuclear diplomacy (really, it’s a fascinating read). At about noontime we wake up and eat some food before setting out again. Our porters breaks down our tents, and soon we are off for a few more hours of downhill walking. Yay.
Thankfully, the rest of the day’s walk is relatively flat, and we pass a good amount of people who are on their way up the mountain. Our guides advise us to wish these newcomers good luck, but I can hear several of the Aussies yelling out “Turn back now!” as we increase our range from the mountaintop.
After what I deem to be Part Three of Day Six, we finally arrive at our campsite. This place is more of a small camp city than we have ever seen (the staff is even selling beer here!). We’re not too big on doing anything but getting a decent stretch of rest- but we do manage to gather for popcorn in the mess tenet. Our cook, bless him, he goes through the usual motions of cooking us a fine meal, but unfortunately none of us decide to stick around for sardines and whatever else he prepared. We all racked out early.
Day Six at dusk, and we are still above the clouds. In one day we will be back to civilization.
Day Seven
“It looks like we’re walking in the cloud now.” – Me
“Megan, we’ve been walking in the cloud for over an hour.” – Lachlan
The next morning, we wake up feeling a bit like we’ve been knocking about inside a clothes dryer. The act of walking is a tender undertaking, and our knees and feet are understandably angry with all of us. Still, we’ve got a morning of 20 kilometers to cover, and we all know that as soon as we make it, we are that much closer to our first shower in a week. I have long since fallen out of love with baby wipes.
We gather for our final meal in the mess tent- a breakfast of gruel (I am also falling out of love with gruel), fruit, eggs and other stuff. We once more fill up our water battles and are ready to move.
I had no idea how my feet would accept a 20 kilometer hike downhill. Luckily for me, one of the lovely British girls named Jenny has been engaging me in a recall game that is right up my alley. We are starting at the front of the alphabet and alternate naming any band or singer that comes to mind. This activity keeps my mind engaged as we cruise along at a fairly decent clip, all the time passing more and more people.
Soon we leave the open air of higher elevations and enter the rainforest. Our hike up the mountain did not take us on this route, and it is very beautiful, as well as- well- rainy. We are going so fast that I have to stop and snap a few photos, just to ensure that I remember this part of the hike.
Julia and John negotiating the trail behind us. Again, our group started to resemble the extended version of an accordion, and we had to stop to make sure that we were all indeed progressing in the same direction.
The walk in the rainforest is nice, and my cruise through the greenery is interspersed with some impromptu trail running (not my idea). It feels great to run- but we can only do so much for fear of inflicting stupid bodily harm when we are so close to winning this stupid game.
We know that we are nearly at the park entrance when we cross a bridge and there are two small Tanzanian boys standing there. One has a lizard on the stick and tells us that we should take a photo because it changes seven colors. The other one is just pointing in his mouth and saying, “chocolate”. Ah young entrepreneur/beggars- we knew for sure that we were almost back to civilization.
And just like that, it was over. We are spit out at last the end of the trail and pause for a photo with Hans Meyer, apparently the first white dude to head up this peak back in the 1880s.
Seems like just a hop, skip and a jump away. Or as Max would say “easy peasy”. Actually, Max admitted to us on the way down that Climbing Mount Kilimanjaro is actually not easy peasy- and we were strong to have done it. (Meanwhile he’s gone up and down the mountain over 300 times).
We have to wait at the starting point for Jonas to sign us off the mountain. Here we see people queuing up to start their climbs. So clean, so clueless, so fresh smelling…
I finally sit down. I am not clean.
Our Team Kilimanjaro bus is waiting for us, and our porters are all ready to get out of Dodge and head back to their families. Can’t say I blame them- they worked damn hard.
Jonas, Max and some of our porters. Jonas is still the consummate professional, and here he’s overseeing our packs getting loaded onto the bus.
Get on the bus.
Yeah….this bus doesn’t smell good at all. John one of our new Aussie pals seems to be the only person who doesn’t mind.
While we sit on the bus and commence Space Out Mode, I grab a piece of paper to scratch down some memories of Day Seven. I wish that I had something thoughtful to say after such a cool undertaking, but unfortunately my brain is really only visualizing a shower. Still, this is what I wrote down:
20K hike that took 4.5 hours. Toes angry, took four hand washes to release surface dust from hands.
Literary gold, I assure you.
Our bus ride takes an hour before we arrive at an actual restaurant for lunch. We wash our hands again and then sit down to a meal with Jonas, Max and our other leaders from Team Kilimanjaro. Joe, our former Army officer who told the best joke of the entire trip (Q: How many ADD kids does it take to change a lightbulb? A: Let’s go ride bikes), he gives a thank you speech to our guides.
The drink menu at our restaurant. I’ll have #13 and 14 please.
After our meal is complete, Jonas gets up to give us one more half-intelligible speech. He also has a parting gift for each one of us: our very own serialized (oooh) certificates that prove we’ve just climbed his mountain.
After lunch, the only thing that is left to do is be dropped off at our hotel. I’m a bit emotional after the entire experience. Sara and I started off this experience by having our lives shaken upside-down (a definite low), and we are now ending our experience after doing something neither of had ever attempted (an exhilarating high). The only thing left to do now is get in the shower- glorious running water that will be supremely better than any baby wipe cleaning regimen. I am so done with baby wipes.
Sara lets me shower first, and I take the most decadent Hollywood of my life. I’m impressed at how coated I am with dirt, and even though I do a fair scrubbing, my white bath towel still looks brownish when I dry off. I next assess my feet- to see how they faired during the descent- I’ve got one black toenail and a few small blisters- not bad, all told. My feet look clean and happy- but then I look at the back of my heel and see that I missed a whole spot that is still covered in dirt. Without thinking, I reach up into my toiletries bag- and you know what I pull out to clean it off?
Yep, a baby wipe. Did just the trick.
***
Before I close the book on this subject, I wanted to give a few shout-outs to some people and inanimate objects. While I know that climbing Kilimanjaro is nothing like scaling the Matterhorn, it was still a challenge by Megan Standards.
Thanks to Sara for doing this climb with me. When we got to the summit, the only thing that I said before giving her a hug was “We’re SWOs, we can put up with anything.” I was so glad to have her on the trip with me.
Thanks also to Justin and Laurie (I hope you don’t mind that I stole your photo!). I really love these guys, and they gave me a lot of great gouge and encouragement as I readied for this trip.
A big assante to Jonas, Max, and everyone at Team Kilimanjaro. Not only did they bring up up the mountain, but they also brought Sara and I to the police station. Now that’s bang for your buck.
Thanks to Angela, Jenny, Julia, Lachlan, John and G.I. Joe. We started the trip as strangers, but quickly bonded over our appreciation for cricket low-brow humor. I hope to see you all again on flat ground.
Thanks to Chocolate Outrage and Espresso Love GUs. I have a resupply coming in the mail, but in the future will be using them exclusively to fuel my long runs.
And finally, thanks to General Olmsted, for once again giving me the opportunity to do things in the Navy that I never imagined I’d ever do. I really feel like I’m getting away with something by serving this tour of duty…
….and with this blog entry completed, I kinda feel like I need to go and take another shower….
). At about noontime we wake up and eat some food before setting out again. Our porters breaks down our tents, and soon we are off for a few more hours of downhill walking. Yay.
