Some people say Kilimanjaro is easy, and some people would agree, but anyone who has done it will tell you it is no walk in the park. However it does have no technical aspects to speak of, and if you are looking for something just a little bit left of center, a little bit more challenging than the norm, and if you think you a too tough for any of the standard Kilimanjaro routes then this one might be for you.

This is a 8 day trip, starting off at the Rongai Trailhead, Approaching the Western Breach via the Northern Circuit and approaching the summit via Crater Camp. It will be a small group, exclusive and fully guided and supported option.

The Northern Circuit has fallen into disuse over recent years, and it is way off the beaten track, and of course the Western Breach is by no means the commonly used access to the high peaks. A feature of the trip is a night spent in Crater Camp at over 18 000ft which is not the granny version of camping. This will be a spectacular climb, but not for the faint hearted.

If this is the 2009 trip for you then get in touch with me as soon as you can for prices, detailed itinerary and other general information. Places are limited and time is short.

Contact BootsnAll at + 1 503 528 1005 or email me directly. Don’t waste time…the moment is now!

AFTER a delightful week with the Germans and the colonists of Moschi we made ready for an ascent of Kilimanjaro. We consulted with Sultan Sulima, and he procured for us sixteen of his strongest young men to carry our loads up the mountains. The chief guide was the famous Souho, who five months before had guided an expedition led by Dr. Ahlbory. They had reached the edge of the crater of Kibo, but on the way down had lost several of their men by the terrible cold on the bare, storm-swept slopes of the upper mountain. We took an abundant supply of chocolate, dried goats’ meat, and rice; also medicine, and four blankets each.

With the good wishes of the Sultan and his people we started up the mountain, July 6th, 1908. We had thirteen carriers and two tent men, all Wa-chagas, and our big headman, Mohamet, who was a Swahili from Zanzibar.

At first we were amid teeming tropic gardens on the hillside. The goats and flocks were feeding around the huts and the boys whistled and the birds sung in the soft air.

The good fellows who carried our burdens had forty pounds each, and we let them rest whenever they wished. Very beautiful birds were found as we came toward the higher slopes, resembling humming birds and sun birds. These little creatures may be noticed hovering around the long tubular flowers of certain labiate plants, and on their feathers pollen is conveyed long distances. Nature thus uses them as she does certain insects for purposes of fertilization.

The spoor of eland elephant and leopard were found, but none of lions. At an elevation of between 6000 and 7000 ft long drooping creepers lianas and moss hung from the trees. Great tree ferns were seen in graceful fronds along the valley. A brook followed our path most of the way. It was an artificial canal cut by the natives from the glaciers to their gardens. Rain came weeping from the clouds at two o clock and we encamped at about 9000ft above the sea. Here we found the remains of an old camp and our men cut down trees and brought in fire wood. I felt very much as if I were in the Adirondack Mountains. Soon three great fires were burning and Mr Dutkewich and I had a lordly lunch of hot tea and hard biscuits.

I kept a diary of each day of our trip and difficulties on Mt Kilimanjaro and perhaps I cannot do better than to quote here directly from it:

July 6th 1908 4 PM As I write this the men are seated about the fire or bringing in the wood. Our tents and beds are all arranged and Peter Dutkewich has gone into the forest with a guide to look for game. We are in an open space surrounded by trees one of which is a species of cedar.

July 7th 1908 It rained terribly all night and we put most of the Wachaga porters in our tent. It was rather distressing to the olfactory nerves but Peter Dutkewich is so Russian in his democracy that he must needs put the dusky crowd all under cover of a single tent. I was glad for them poor fellows protected only with a cotton rag from either nakedness or the bleak wind. We had a blanket for each of the porters but did not realize at first how bitterly cold the ascent was going to be. At 4 AM a leopard visited us but did not fancy our scent.

Peter MacQueen’s diary entry continues….

‘We broke camp at 8.45 and ascended through steep and bushy country to the Mué stream. Trees began to look spindling the bush and briar and thorn cut our hands and impeded our porters. Spoor of elephant disappeared but marks of wild boar eland and leopard were plentiful. The kudu, a beautiful antelope, ascends the mountain to fourteen thousand feet, and the wild buffalo comes nearly as high, probably attracted by the sweet perennial pasture. The gorgeous scarlet of the turaco lapped through the forest aisles and we heard the chatter of the hyrax a kind of squirrel whose voice in the trees sounds almost human.

By noon we were through the heavy dripping woods and out in a series of brown fields. We saw much evidence of boar and eland and sighted a paa about as large as a small lamb. In the afternoon the sky was hung with dense curtains of purple gray cloud, and the plain below lay in monotonous blue shadow, [and] only away to the west behind the pyramid of Meru the heavens exhibited one clear cloudless belt which the descending sun turned to refulgent gold and against this relief as on some antique illumination of decorative design the peak of Meru and the jagged hill tops at its base stood out in a simple tone of indigo. There was no end to the beauty and the wonder of the wild flowers. Small pink irises studded the ground in vast numbers and the crimson gladioli gleamed out brightly from the tufted grass. Along the pretty streams which flowed from the snowy crest of the mountain through deep ravines our path was gaily lit by the brilliant red leaf shoots of the protea shrub.

‘At one place where we crossed the stream the banks were shelving, and above the little ford the water fell in dainty cascades. About this spot the scenery lost much of its accustomed asperity. Strange sessile thistles grew here, and fairy-like lobelias. Other remarkable plants were the bright ultramarine flowers, and a peculiar arborescent plant, named Senecio Johnstoni, looking somewhat like a banana, but in reality consisting of a tall, black, smooth trunk, with a crown of broad leaves and yellow blossoms.

‘Tufts of chevril and patches of vivid green moss overhung the gleaming water, which itself was lovely in its pellucid clearness. At an altitude of 12000ft bees and wasps were still to be seen — their very presence seeming to account for the vivid colours of the flora. The fields were sprinkled with beautiful flowers, red and pink, blue and purple. Heather and gorse appeared. There were plenty of signs of game in this upland plateau. We were now up thirteen thousand feet.

‘We set up our tent in a hollow at the timber line, among long dry grass, with plenty of small cedar and cypress trees which could be used for fire wood. We made the Wachaga build a shelter and thatch it with grass close to us in case of wild beasts or rain, and also three fires against the cold.

Yesterday at 5 P. M., Ther. 54° Fahr…. we felt the cold keenly in the woods, and slept little, with all our woolen clothes and four blankets apiece; we gave our mackintoshes to the black porters. Tonight, we are looking at a misty sun. This afternoon, we saw a wonderfully clear view of the foothills of Kilimanjaro. We could look upon an unbroken stretch of green ridges, fields and plains ; the Catholic mission at Kilima ; the houses of Marangu ; the Lutheran mission at Moschi, and that town itself.

‘A formation of clouds, the most peculiar I have ever seen, formed an archway under which we saw the near hills and far away plains, framed as in a picture. At 5 P. M. we were comfortably settled in the highest camp of Africa, and P. D. (Peter Dutke- wich) had gone to shoot wild boar.

July 8th, 19oS: Written in our camp above the clouds, at an elevation of 13000ft.

‘Last evening P. D. returned from boar-hunting, having twice fallen into native traps about eight feet deep. These traps are deep holes, being wide at the top and so narrow at the bottom that the animal cannot use its legs when once it falls in. The natives cover the hole so cleverly that, in the growing dusk, it was impossible to detect the natural ground from that covered by the trap. Hence Dut- kewich fell into the snare.

‘Between five and six last night the clouds parted, the mist drifted down into the valley and Kilimanjaro, the grandest peak in a whole continent, showed its white forehead. From our cots in the tent we could see this glowing wonder of eternal snow amid the eternal green. On the west gleamed the waning sun in a bed of old rose and amber, amid the scarred rocks of Mount Meru, eighty miles away. To the east the piled-up clouds were below us. At one place they were like castles in the air; at another like cities of jasper amid walls of gold; ending in one high mountain peak which leaned close against the Southern Cross and seemed to be the throne of God himself. Then slowly, softly, faded the pink and amber and Chrysoprase, and the light left hill and forest and cloud and far off fortifications and missions of the white man ; and the sky paled and then became aglow with the splendour of the moonlight, and all around was darkness over the land except where the proud Kilimanjaro on her silver throne shone silent and alone, the queen of all the Afric land.

‘We retired about 7 o’clock and were well wrapped, but we shivered all night, having come from 86° to 22° in two days. I was clothed thus : four pairs of socks, one pair of trousers, one pair of puttee leggings, one jersey-woollen, one woollen blue shirt, one negligee shirt, a suit of underwear, a khaki coat, a mackintosh, a skating cap and twoblankets, and yet I was ‘ acold.’ Shall put on a pair of boots up to my knees to-night.

‘We shall probably make the final attempt to reach the summit to-morrow. The height of Kibo is nearly twenty thousand feet. There is a ridge running from Mwenzi Mountain to Kibo. The saddle is sixteen thousand feet. Mwenzi and Kibo are the twin peaks that form the Kilimanjaro. We will get our guides up to the saddle and leave the rest of the men here. We hope by moonlight to walk all night and reach a point near the top of Kibo by daylight. Meanwhile we rest awhile. P. D. makes pictures and I collect all the flora I can for a picture. There are thousands of wild flowers on this plateau, Scotch heather, violets and immortelles.

July 9th, 19o8: Clear and bright this morning. We made pictures from the top of the hill above our camp. At 9 A. M. I started up to the snow line with my guide Souho. He did not seem to mind the rarefied air; but when we had risen a thousand feet I got dizzy; from that time onward for two thousand feet the dizziness continued, till up at the snow line, sixteen thousand feet, I became fearfully nauseated. My guide was as polite as Lord Chesterfield and kindly as the finest gentleman of the world could be. So I owe much to the bare-footed natives of this country, who patiently for eight cents a day bear the white man’s burden. On the wild, desolate uplands I thought of what the Scotchman said of the Kyles of Bute: ‘The works o’ God is hellish.’ For athwart the landscape are rocks, hills and mountains thrown in dreadful confusion, the wreckage of a former world.

‘To-night trouble and mutiny developed in camp. The Wachaga did not bring posho (corn) enough for more than a few days, whilst we had paid them to bring food for ten days. We began giving two heads of corn by the hand of Mohamet, our Swahili man. They all brought the corn to our door, and laid it down, declaring they would not go further with us. We made it three heads, but still discontent. Peter threatened that we would have the discontented flogged and he went out to get a whip. This brought the discontented to their senses.

July 11th, 1908: To-day foggy all day. I went up to fourteen thousand feet to try my weakened system. Was all O. K. except a bit of indigestion pain. Breathe easier after a number of days in high altitudes. The small boy, Moji, hunts rats. The rats are striped like chipmunks. They are very tame and clean.

‘The man we call Moses, an old bald headed fellow, has a fine name, Michili. He came back to-night from the foot of the mountain with a dress coat and we gave him a chicken which died on the way up. We have eaten up the goat and chickens sent us by Salima, King of the Wachagas. Food question alleviated by the arrival of more maize brought by Moses and four men.

‘They keep this posho money to buy wives. A wife costs ten goats. One of the boys said to me, ‘Ver hard on Wachaga to get wife, but when he get her she can make do plant corn, she make wash and cook and make do work for him. Ingreza (English) man very much money to spend. She wife no can wash, no plant corn, herd goats or cook. All money, much merkani (cloth), heap money, big dinner. She eat much posho. She no can cook dinner. She only make Safari and look. Porr, porr Ingreza man.’

July 12, 1908: We ascended in the afternoon with two guides and five men to cave at foot of Kibo. It was at first through dry grass, then through scrub and heather, on to one solitary cactus and huge rocks and stones in great cosmic confusion. Bright yellow euryops flowers studded the occasional patches of bare earth. Beyond rise Kibo and Mwenzi and on the plateau a few volcanic hills, just membra disjecta of the Creation.

‘On upper plateau we made kinetoscope pictures; some stereos and a few fine 4 x 5’s also. Came to cave. Men cold. Passed two corpses of young men who died of exposure, a short time ago. The vultures had pecked out their eyes, the leopards had taken a leg from each. Nothing beautiful now save the beauty that comes from the sublimity of death. Made fire in cave. Guides looked weird, like some play of a theater. Slept a little, but feet cold in spite of heavy boots and several German army blankets.’

July 13th, 1908: At 6.30 A. M., After a cup of cocoa, a potato and some cold goat’s meat, we started for the glaciers of Mount Kibo, highest and grandest of all African mountains, nineteen thousand eight hundred feet. Mwenzi, the nineteen thousand feet neighbouring peak across the plateau to the east, showed its scarred, serrated head wrapped in a cap of white clouds. The moon was going out. The sun was filling this theatre of wonder, making a gallery and museum of things magnificent and grand.

‘Just when we reached the edge of the snow at 16,000 feet, our guides looked at the ice, picked up a few handfuls of the gleaming wonder, then ran away, exclaiming : Oh, masters, this is magic : this is water turned to burning wood. So the ascent was made more difficult ; for they carried away all our food.

‘By nine o’clock we made some panoramic views of the country at a height of 17000ft above the sea. About this height I began to breathe so hard I had nausea, which continued all day. P. D. carried cameras and plates. On we went over a scarified river where formerly the glacier was a burning coal, a river of lava, when the earth was just beginning.

For, before the eland and the elephant took shelter in her sacred heights, — reigned Kibo, Queen of Africa, Kibo, queen of white water, now crowned with gold in the sunrise and sunset. Clothed with ermine always, mysterious, inaccessible, unapproachable, Sovereign now of snow ; once of fire. Her glorious crown flashes back the ruby and the diamond to the sun; and in her diadem of snow were the purple of the jacinth, the blue of the amethystine fire, the brilliance of the emerald, the soft shining of the opal.

By 11 A. M. I noticed, at 18000ft, even stalwart Peter Dutkewich beginning to weaken in the breathing apparatus. At noon we were well nigh on the roof of Africa, photographing, from the very glacial throne of Kibo, the mighty, plains that stretch away towards Nairobi on the northeast, the great German steppe of Moschi, with the blue Parri Mountains in the far, fair, shining horizon, sixty or seventy miles away. At 1.30 we seemed to touch the very sky, we could not walk ten yards without stopping to breathe. I was excessively nauseated. At 19200ft we were struck by a snow storm. It chilled us to the marrow of our bones.

‘We decided to return to camp and try the ascent next day. We put a small American flag up in the snow at 19200ft, the highest point yet reached by English-speaking men in Africa, although the peak was ascended by Dr. Hans Meyer, a German, in 1889.

‘We came in safety almost to the cave when P. D. (Peter Dutkewich) fell on an Old glacial rock and fractured several ribs.

‘We hastened to-bring him down from the mountain and got lost in the rain and the clouds. We found our way to camp by the dead bodies of the men who died on Dr. Ahlbory’s expedition. Arrived at camp at 10 P. M. Got P. D. to bed. Slept fairly well but still cold.

July I4th, 1908: We are getting ready to move P. D. Men are around the camp fires, drying out their garments, only one cotton rag. not difficult; one is trying to dry my stockings. But it rains, and when one side is dry the good fellow turns it so that the dry side is rained upon and he makes no progress in the drying process. The air is very wet in this camp, which is just among the clouds. I question if there are any people in all Africa so highly situated as we are. Perhaps few are more uncomfortable. Rain, mist and fog, morning, noon and night. We shall get away to-morrow and then shake our fists at the worst the cruel Kibo can do to us. I read on my German map: ‘ Kibo, 6,010 meters; Mwenzi 5,353 meters.’ Ah, those careful, scientific Germans!

July 15th, 1908: We had a most awful time tonight. All had gone well with Peter Dutkewich till 6 P. M., when he gave signs of fainting and of heart failure. He had a fierce chill and called me to put a fire near him. We built a fire in the door of our tent; it suffocated him. Put it out and then the natives showed me how to arrange coals in three pans, one at his feet, one at his middle and one at his head. This I did every 20 minutes for 14 hours. His pulse would go 16 and then stop 4 beats. Temperature 102°. Rained and nearly put out the fire. My feelings as I thought fire was going out I cannot describe. It did not go out, and by 6 A. M. he slept an hour.

He awoke and told me to make a stretcher. I cut two long poles of cedar in the forest and then put two cross poles at each end, about two and a half feet long. First we rolled a blanket-waterproof around each of the long poles. These we secured by ropes and then we tied on the cross poles as they do in the army. Afterwards we put two good thick blankets in this improvised stretcher, and, placing P. D. on it, we threw four heavy ones over him, also a waterproof received from the German Bureau.

At 7.30 A. M. eight of the men took up the stretcher and the march down the mountain began. It was raining, and the long grass wet us and the cold dawn chilled us to the bone. When we had gone an hour, I saw three of our men cowering and shivering in the grass. Mohamet would not leave them behind. I had no heart to desert the poor, wretched, fever-stricken men. So I returned to where they lay and carried one on my back for a mile. The others could walk. I found my strength giving out, but ate chocolate and gave some to the sick men. Was revived.

‘Looking ahead I noticed that the stretcher with P. D. had been carried across the fields and that the carriers had entered the woods. For fear that I should lose Dutkewich in the forest, I left the sick man with two of his comrades to take care of him. I plunged through a thicket of trees and lianas and by calling to the men who were carrying Dutkewich I found the party had emerged upon a field.

‘We took the wounded man up to a knoll in the open space, and laid him down while I sent back after the shivering men left out in the grass. The strong men came through the wood without the sick comrade whom I had carried on my back. I gave them chocolate, as they could hardly stand upon their feet. The strongest one I sent back for the lost comrade. He soon returned and told me that he could not find him. The horror of the situation began to break upon me. This man was going to die; he was only half a mile away, and yet I could neither go for him myself nor send a man strong enough to bring him.

‘Souho, the guide, I had sent on through the forest in the darkness of the night with a letter to Dr. Ahlbory, beseeching him to come and save us, if he could. We were making half a mile an hour; would we ever reach the German station? Or would half of us be alive when we did ?

‘So we kept moving slowly and painfully through the forest, over fallen trees, under the great tree-ferns, crossed the little streams that were coming from the glacial heights. The forest was one long, dank vista of gloom. At 4 P. м. we met Souho, the guide, who had carried the letter through to the German fort and returned bringing us two askaris and six new men to carry our stretcher.

‘Sent Souho back for the sick man; and he saved him, carrying him in next day on his back. The Germans sent also a hammock and a tent; and Herr Wolfe sent two bottles of champagne. I went ahead to look for a place to camp; got too far and was lost. Soon darkness came on in the gloom of the forest.

‘I got back in time to see P. D. lying on sloping ground, slipping off the stretcher, and in great pain. Small fire had been made under the root of a great tree. Rain soon came on and wiped out the fire. Tent was not put up and we were all in great misery. Men with tent lost in the darkness. Thought if the rain stopped we would go on in the moonlight. Rain did not stop.

Sat down beside P. D. in the mud. Gave him one bottle of champagne. Revived him greatly. An Askari gave me three thin blankets. Peter had four or five blankets over him, but the pain of his poor broken ribs was intense all night, and the unfortunate position of the stretcher, which I could not move, caused him to slip down constantly hurting him. Wet to my thighs for twelve hours.

‘Night came very dark; no moonlight. Soon the rain became a torrent and for fifteen hours we lay there in the mud. The poor Wachaga men were almost as badly off as ourselves, some were worse, and poor Mapandi, a carrier whom I had noticed shivering with fever for the last day or two, stiffened, grew cold and died beside me in the mud. We prayed for dawn. Again and again it seemed to brighten, but it was only the clouds getting thin near the face of the moon.

July 17th, 1908: At 8 o’clock this morning, I looked around upon the wretched camp; another man had died. Dutkewich was quiet and I thought at first he was dead. I had now been wet and chilled twenty-seven hours, no food, no fire, no warmth. A few chocolates left; I divided them with the men. Even the new carriers sent us by the Germans seemed utterly demoralized. We started the stretcher; it still poured rain, the men had no food. At 9.30 Mohamet, our Swahili man, deserted and ran away. He could stand the strain no longer.

‘I resolved to go for white help. Gave P. D. half a bottle of whiskey, and started down ahead to find the doctor in case some mistake had been made. Met a boy carrying hammock. Offered him three rupees to get me to Lutheran mission. On I went ; fell in the stream fainting. Took a little champagne from the second bottle sent me by Herr Wolfe. Got out of the stream; dragged myself onto my feet and began to repeat in German the words : ‘I will give any man 500 Marks who will bring my friend down from the hill to-day.’ Left Dutkewich at 9 o’clock, met Dr. Ahlbory and Mr. Mauck, one of the German officials from the boma, at n. At first I could not speak, but sat down on a fallen tree, quite overcome.

‘After a few minutes I recovered and was able to show the doctor the spot where Dutkewich was when I left him. The Germans went on and found Dutkewich entirely deserted, except for one of the askaris. The askari was helping him to stand upon his feet; another of the Wachagas had died. Dutkewich threw a blanket over him, as he crawled up toward the stretcher, trembling with cold and exposure. Shortly afterwards the stronger men came out of the woods where they had been hiding and took the blanket from the dying man, Kasungu. Then Kasungu died. The doctor gave Dutkewich hot tea and rum, with food. Upon examination he found three ribs crushed in over the heart.

‘I was taken to the German Lutheran mission where I was treated with great kindness by the missionary, Dr. Passman and his wife. Mr. Dutkewich was brought down to the German Hospital where he had to lie for ten weeks. He wrote me later that the German Dr. Ahlbory treated him as if he had been a brother and that all the white residents of Moschi had helped and cheered him in his long and dangerous illness.

‘Thus ends a really tragic incident that came near wiping out our expedition.’

There are a few particulars of the ascent that I have not mentioned. At the height of fourteen thousand feet I saw the kudu antelope. At the same place I made a note of a brown Stonechat bird who sang to us a cheery note and kept us company amid the chilling mists. Moreover, in our camp at over 13,000 feet, there were many field rats of which I have read no mention in the books of other travellers, and which might well be named Rodcntis Macquccnicnsis. These mountain rats were very tame and came almost up to the table to eat. They were striped like chipmunks but had tails like rats.

I quote again some leaves from my diary: July 19th, Sunday: Lutheran Mission, Moschi, 4800ft. It was a calm and restful day to me after an exciting week. Dr. Passman and I had breakfasted together. Then to church. Two hundred clean, well-dressed Wachaga went to service. Seemed glad to go to the House of God. Singing good and vespers sounded sweetly in the quiet Sabbath hush. In the afternoon I looked for signs of my camp followers from the mountain, but they came not. Slept again. In the evening looked over the scene. Very striking one. Sun sets over Mount Meru, 12000 feet in elevation. Plain is very green after the rain. Small volcanoes on the plains and the Parri mountains in a blue haze on the horizon. Streams flow, birds sing before they repair to rest. The Wachaga cattle graze peacefully. Glorious are the streams of light: tints of brightness, blues, mauves, — opalescent, glistening. Garden smells of wild flowers. Chirp of insects. Great Kibo covered up in mist. I hear songs of praise from German church. The whole scene sings itself into my memory for ever. Limes, pears, nasturtiums, bananas, the pawpaw. Respectful attitudes of the people. Mission folk look better than other natives.

The Crater Highlands

One of these is the Crater Highlands Trek that has recently begun to grow in popularity. This trip is less focused than Kilimanjaro and Mount Meru, since no summit forms the climax, and there is of course much to see and do on a daily basis in one of the most unusual human and natural landscapes on a continent replete with such things.

The Crater Highlands of Tanzania is usually associated almost entirely with Ngorongoro Crater itself, but in actual fact the reserve is much larger, and although its wildlife potential is largely concentrated in the Crater, a more diverse and subtle attraction exists in the wider landscape of the reserve.

It would be difficult as a consequence to pinpoint a focus for the 10-day plus Crater Highlands Trek, but probably the itinerary would be diminished considerably if it did not include Ol Doinyo Lengai, one of the most rugged and spectacular features of an already extravagant landscape. Meaning Mountain of God in the language of the local Maasai, Lengai Crater is an active volcano that last recorded a significant eruption in 1966, with lesser eruptions in 2007 and 2008.

A number of smaller, sister craters also litter the landscape, giving the region its name, and making for a unique trekking environment that intermingles the distinctive culture of the Maasai with the land that their traditional existence depends upon.

This is a landscape of moulded volcanic peaks and rolling tropical highland countryside punctuated by lakes, streams and rivers. It exists in a state of grace, with a large human population, but with no development, and certainly do advanced tourist infrastructure to speak of.

The Ngorongoro Crater Highland Trek can be completed over the course of ten days, or can be broken up for smaller excursions of 1 to 3 days. Features of the trek include:

The lake bottomed Empaakai Crater with its significant flamingo population, including a long lakeshore hike.

Naiyobi Maasai Village and Lerai Forest Camp

A climb to the summit of Ol Doinyo Lengai itself

Lake Natron, a saline lake set in a volcanic landscape and noted for large flamingo populations

The Crater Highlands Trek is certainly a different way to see this part of Tanzania with its multi-layered cultural diversity and changing landscapes. The tropical highlands scenery, peppered with Maasai villages, and the day to day life of this pastoral people, is uniquely Africa, and uniquely Tanzania.

The trek is fully supported, with donkey portage and local guides provided a rich flavor of local knowledge, anecdotal insights and local history.

Official Trail Map

There is a strong commercial incentive among the many climb and expedition outfitters aligned to Kilimanjaro to be seen to be active in the ‘give back’ phenomenon. This obviously paints those involved in a sympathetic light, and disguises a blunt commercial philanthropy with a warm and fuzzy image of non-profit.

Kili porters appeal, and keep appealing…

One of the most popular focus’ of this strategy has tended to be the local porters, who rightly or wrongly have a reputation for being downtrodden and abused. Naturally it is in their interests to maintain such a view of their existence, and as a consequence there is certainly no shortage of sympathy and support for this gregarious little sub-culture associated with the Kilimanjaro climb culture.

In fact there is a bit of a grumble underway in Tanzanian at the moment that no-one seems to lavish such care and attention on other disadvantaged working groups in Tanzania, such as mine or agricultural workers. Certainly this is true, but one must not forget that giving back to the porters is primarily a high profile marketing campaign to jostle for Fair Trade space in the market, and in fact the Kilimanjaro porters are such an amorphous and itinerant body of workers that you rarely see the same faces on the mountain twice.

Keep Kilimanjaro Clean…

However an interesting version of this was recently launched by Northwest Passage and Auram Safaris to utilize under-employed, or unemployed porters to clean up Kilimanjaro in the wake of the vast number of porters themselves who are usually responsible for the mess. The idea is to provide something more of a sustained and dependable work environment for older and irregularly engaged porters, of which there are in theory a good many.

In actual fact there exists several strata of porters. The vast majority are itinerate lowlanders working for climb agencies on a walk-in walk-out basis when they need the work, and these are usually the ragged men so patently ill prepared for expedition work. Then there are those aiming to slip into the mainstream guiding fraternity, and they tend to occupy the more direct support crew roles, and then of course those licensed guides who where once themselves porters and are now expedition leaders, and some business owners and climb entrepreneurs.

Where is TANAPA in all this?

The point of course is the mess on Kilimanjaro, which, bearing in mind the volume of climbers and associated personnel that make this climb annual, is reasonably limited. This is largely thanks to the efforts of the Tanzanian National Parks Authority (TANAPA), with very limited support from outside philanthropic efforts.

Why this is so is education. As with the efforts of Sebastian Chuwa in the preservation of the Kilimanjaro Forest, it is ultimately the local people themselves who will define the conservation direction of such natural wonders as Kilimanjaro, while brief and faddish foundations and initiatives put in place by commercial organizations do not, and cannot replace the long term strategies of the responsible government agencies. TANAPA’s Community Conservation Service Department (CSS) is at the forefront of this official education drive, mainly implemented by parks personnel at a grassroots level, and definitely lately being rewarded with a growing community awareness on the need and necessity fro long term conservation strategies.

So while it is not fair to say that external agencies glossing their image with Philanthropy Plus 45%, this should not imply in any way that they are stepping into an official vacuum. Far from it. Tanzanian National Parks Administration is highly effective by African standards, and although it enjoys support from minor commercial efforts, is not in any way dependent on them.

The Trip Page has been published for this years New Years Summit which as always is a great trip and a great time to stand on the roof of Africa and catch the first rays of the new year over Mawenzi from the famous Uhuru Peak summit of Kilimanjaro.

This year we have chosen the Lemosho Route, which remains the most scenic and accessible of the outfield trails, and is ideally placed for a few days of decompression and safari at the Ndarakwai Ranch before setting off on the climb.

The BootsnAll New Year summit is a BWA tradition and is fully hosted, guided and supported by in house Africa expert and mountain guide Peter Baxter. Expect the usual high standards of information and expertise combined with a guarantee of a trouble free trip from start to finish. Fly into Kilimanjaro International Airport where you will be met by Peter and the BWA Tanzania support crew, and transferred to Ndarakwai Ranch for a few days to recover from the flight and enjoy the superb hospitality of this integrated wildlife and conservation project that offers understated tented accommodation in a beautiful African bushveld habitat.

The facilities at Ndarakwai, although understated, are safe, comfortable and relaxing. Activities include dawn, daytime and evening game drives or walks, or local horse riding safaris complimented by local cultural exchange in and around the surrounding community.

On the climb day we will all gather at the Londorossi Gate for porter weigh ins and the general hustle and bustle of organized chaos. Soon the porters set off, and we follow, and the climb begins.

The 2008/9 blog gives a detailed account of Lemosho Route and the tale of strain and hilarity, suffering and exhilaration, and displays of extraordinary commitment and courage that in one way or another characterize all Kilimanjaro climbs.

The climb ends at Mweka Gate on January 2, and after a night of celebration – usually at one of the handful of excellent Indian flavored restaurants in Moshi, and washed down with cold Tusker - the trip ends. However there is usually a general interest in a safari program to follow, which as is customary in Northern Tanzania, will involved visit to Serengeti National Park and Ngorongoro Crater Reserve, with a number of other possible options included.

This is one of the best, safest and most trouble free options to visit Tanzania and climb Kilimanjaro. Get in touch with BootsnAll World Adventures today for all the information and support you need. Peter will be available at all times to discuss the logistics of the climb and anything else you need to know to get you safely to the roof of Africa and back.

Tanzania is at the vortex of the African tourist industry, positioned equidistant from everywhere, and packed with just about everything that anyone needs to see of Africa in a compact fortnight’s worth of travel.

The integrity and standards of preservation of Tanzania’s national parks are almost unique in Africa, and with iconic names like Serengeti and Ngorongoro to pull in the crowds, the crowds come. The petit Kilimanjaro International Airport daily disgorges hundreds of visitors, each processed and divided up among the dozens of tour busses and safari Landcruisers lining up in the parking lot under the spreading red flamboyant trees. It is an industry that handles nearly 400 000 visitors a year, a major contributor to the Tanzania economy, and a significant employer in a conspicuously challenged corner of the world.

Ebony And Ivory

The Tanzania tourist industry however has a soft underbelly. Visitors may take heart from the high standards of resource management in all the national parks, but still, at such places as Oldonyo Orok Curio Market situated just outside Arusha, scores of otherwise wise and salient folk from the liberated west linger among row upon row of carved artifacts made from the iconic local ebony wood. Colossal quantities of this precious resource are purchased and shipped abroad daily, with apparently not the slightest inkling of how this impacts the environment that each person has paid so much to visit.

The fate of African Blackwood (Dalbergia melanoxylon), known locally as Mpingo, is just a tiny symptom of a vast global disease of resource abuse, but it is bitterly ironic that it is from the heartland of enviro-consciousness that the main culprits in this crime are drawn. With powerful education applied in all aspects of the rational west towards the conservation of the environment, it is astonishing how easily these lessons are forgotten when they come to be applied. Oldonyo Orok sells a wide selection of items of cultural and curio interest, and yet two thirds of the shop floor is dominated by blackwood, with prominent signs offering worldwide shipping, suggesting that this is fate of most of it.

Speak to any shop assistant or a curio seller on the side of the road and all will either claim to have ‘license’ to harvest Blackwood, or that what is harvested is ‘replanted’. Rarely are these claims true, but they are nonetheless all it usually takes to make those few tourists who care hand over their money. In fact very few licenses are issued to harvest and utilize African Blackwood (Dalbergia melanoxylon), known locally as Mpingo, and certainly no program motivated by the artists themselves exists to institute the replanting of a tree that can take more than a generation to reach a stage of any sort of commercial viability.

African Blackwood

Mpingo is one of the most recognizable of all wood species to the layman, categorized usually under the name ebony, an umbrella term it shares with other woods of a similarly dense, black and highly ornamental form. It appears most commonly on the flutes of bagpipes, and other woodwind instruments, as well as on the black keys of some pianos, and in many other decorative and functional applications. Its value lies mainly in its qualities of dense composition and beautiful black patina, both of which allow it to be easily carved or turned, and then polished to an immaculate finish.

The tradition of carving Mpingo for implements, fetish and decoration dates back to antiquity, and traditionally was the preserve of the Makonde people of the border region between Tanzania and Mozambique. With the concentration of tourist markets in northern and coastal Tanzania, many Makonde woodcarvers have migrated north with the result that their sculptural style has tended to become more closely associated with Tanzania than Mozambique, and with their main subject matter evolving into popular themes of wildlife and Masai cultural iconography.

The Future of Mpingo

While obviously if each tourist that visits Tanzania removes an average of a kilo of this wood each year, then it will not be long before it disappears altogether; but it is also true that each kilo that is sold adds about US$20 of tax fee revenue into the informal economy. Take this away and large number of people in and around the northern circuit will be without an income. Creative conservation measures are required here, but creativity in this regard is not a common feature in Africa.

Surprising therefore it is that in a quiet house along the congested road to Machame lives an unassuming man who stands at the forefront of the hardwoods conservation movement in this vulnerable region, and although modestly supported by a few outside organizations, he has almost single handedly taken on the responsibility of ensuring the viability of the beautiful African Blackwood reserves into the future.

Sebastian Chuwa

Sebastian Chuwa began the serious advocacy of woodland and forest conservation in the district of Kilimanjaro in 1991, after his return form study abroad, during which time he worked, taught and studied at the Kew Botanical Gardens in London, and prior to that he worked for many years in the Ngorongoro Conservation Area in the field of conservation. Sebastian still lives in the house built by his father, a prominent local herbalist who inspired his son with a basic sense of how the forest lives and functions, and how its integrity impacts the lives and livelihoods of many who exploit it directly, and many, many more who live downstream.

Sebastian is the driving force behind two local projects, the first is perhaps the flagship outreach, the African Blackwood Conservation Project, and the second a more personal crusade to halt the decline of the Kilimanjaro Forest itself.

The African Blackwood Conservation Project

The two project are linked broadly under the umbrella of forest conservation, but the Blackwoods Conservation Project has a more international flavor, being partly the brainchild of Texan decorative wood turner James Harris, who in partnership with Sebastian started the project in 1996. The technical know-how and local energy, however, is wholly local, and is not focused on the good work of Sebastian Chuwa alone.

Sebastian began his work in the protection of Mpingo during a period of work in Tanga, a coastal region of Tanzania close to the border with Kenya, but on his return to Moshi in 1997 he was welcomed by local community leaders who gave him a plot of land in exchange for the promise of Mpingo saplings to replant in the neighborhood. Now, less than a decade later, the Blackwood Conservation Project nursery, situated about 7km south of Moshi, at the end of a rough bush track in a zone of irrigated market gardening, is a thriving tree nursery. Here rows of the inconspicuous but iconic trees are planted out under shade where they wait for a patch of African soil somewhere in the lowland bush to contribute to the regeneration.

The Kilimanjaro Forest

This is the public work that Sebastian does. Somewhat more behind the scenes is his community work on behalf of the Kilimanjaro forest, that green cloak of verdant cover that gives the great mountain so much of its mystique. The forests of Kilimanjaro have been under threat for a long time. Early travelers through the region wrote of the difficulties and irritation of moving through a blanket of canopied forest stretching mile upon mile in every direction. Pockets of community life existed here and there, pockets that were expanded with the development of a colonial economy, and the introduction of cash crops like coffee and bananas. Nowadays all the usual maladies of over-exploitation affect the Kilimanjaro forest, which has now diminished to an almost remnant fringe of old growth pressed upwards by the crush of humanity, and downwards by the drying of the environment and the spread of the high desert.

It might be the preservation of the Mpingo that gets the funding, but it is easy to get the sense in conversation with Sebastian that it is the preservation of the forest that is the work of his passion. The ghost of his father, a man of spiritual substance for whom the diversity of this living, forming structure was both his livelihood and his art form, is fundamental to the journey that Sebastian takes today. The highland forests of Africa are places of contest and emotion, and of differing and at times contradictory objectives. Sebastian’s acts a bridge in this regard, speaking on behalf of the community to conservation agencies that would like to limit non-fee paying human access into the forest altogether, and behalf of conservation agencies to the communities for whom the forest has been a resource and source of spiritual and temporal support for hundreds, perhaps thousands of years.

The threat to the forest was recently deemed sufficiently serious for the boundaries of the National Park to be extended over all of what had previously been under local government management. This, as Sebastian observes, does not stop people using the resources of the forest, it simply means that now they do it illegally. It has also driven a wedge between the interests of one group and the interests of another.

Sebastian is the first to recognize the right of the community to utilize its environment. His answer to the prevailing conundrum of community verses ecology is education. Such innocently misnamed initiatives as the Mile High Club, a government sponsored outreach designed to advocate responsibility towards nature has been a vehicle that Sebastian has used to preach his message of sustainability. It is too much to expect that the community can be barred entirely from the use of the forest, but if they are to be allowed access to the resources of this vital natural zone, then equally it is incumbent on them to exercise responsibility.

The Disease And The Cure

And this certainly seems to be happening. Near his home in the lush back country of the Kilimanjaro small holdings Sebastian has a nursery developing a stock of local hardwood seedlings that has resulted in the 2004 celebration of 1 million trees replanted. These have mainly found their way along the stream banks and water catchments of the upper forest, and indeed sometimes as deep into privately owned land as 15km from the forest edge. The people who work and sustain this effort do so voluntarily, and unlike the Blackwood Project, which is support by agencies as divers as the Cottonwood Foundation, the Lindberg Foundation and British Petroleum Tanzania, the work in Kilimanjaro enjoys very limited financial support from the United Nations through its COMPACT program, and massive moral but almost no financial support from the Tanzanian Government.

And yet still the challenges are enormous. Sebastian revealed a touch of the humorous African fatalism that is the only way to survive the moral ambiguity of the tropics. A drive through any one of the towns and villages in the district, and particular conurbations like Moshi and Arusha, will reveal not only mountains of charcoal manufactured illegally, and timber yards stocked to the rafters with illegally harvested camphor wood. This, when one considers that the national parks administration only confiscates timer and fines offenders with a view to individual profit within the department, has an unstoppable momentum.

But Sebastian maintains that the his efforts are making a difference. It is in education that the future lies. When children are nudged towards a more sympathetic understanding of conservation, coupled with the potential for a life liberated from poverty and the primary exploitation of the environment, there is a chance that what remain will be protected, and perhaps, with aggressive reclamation of the forest, the river backs and gullies, that it might even be expanded.

Most of all though it is necessary for us, the tourists who bring our dollars into the community, to make sure that we do does not further the destruction of what we come so far to see and enjoy. Responsible tourism cannot just be the preserve of the operators, it is our responsibility too.

Anyone who has climbed Kilimanjaro will know what a huge part the porters played in their climb. As a photographer, I can vividly remember standing on top of Kilimanjaro in a sea of clouds watching with intrigue and amusement as the porters who had accompanied us to the top muscled in on summit photos, grabbing cameras to record our happy moment. And from there sprang the idea for the The Porters of Kilimanjaro Photographic Project – a chance to see the mountain through the eyes of a working porter.

The project is currently distributing disposable film cameras to porters who work on Kilimanjaro to collate a unique record of life on the mountain. Many of the published photographs available of porters on Kilimanjaro are taken from a distinctly Western perspective and taken by professionals on specialised equipment. Removing the technology and textbook expertise from photography can create some fantastic and unexpected results – especially when coupled with documenting day-to-day life on the roof of Africa.

The ultimate aim of the project is to create a book and series of exhibitions of the images in order to raise money for Kilimanjaro Porters Assistance Project, a non-profit organisation based in Moshi, providing support and education to porters as well as educating climbers on the proper working conditions and treatment of porters on the mountain (visit www.kiliporters.org for more information).
To date 40 cameras have successfully gone up and down the mountain but we need your help to keep the momentum going so as to collect a good variety of images:

How can you help?

We need to distribute as many cameras as possible to porters on the mountain.

Distribute: If you are travelling to Kilimanjaro and can help to distribute cameras please contact me.

Donate: One camera costs less than $5 and takes 27 images. If one person can donate one camera to one porter we can build up the number of images very quickly – can you fit one in your backpack?

Spread the word: If you know someone who might be interested in the project or the work of the Kilimanjaro Porters Assistance Project please forward on the links.

Please contact me to help, donate or ask for more information

One of my concerns for the climb up Kilimanjaro was my ability to manage the altitude necessary to make the summit, and equally important, to enjoy the experience. Also, the threat of severe AMS lurked in the background to completely derail my attempt to summit or worse to miss my next birthday.

Past Experience

During previous hikes over 10,000 feet (3000m), I had struggled. Headaches, loss of appetite, and general fatigue were always present during trips to the Sierra Nevada. I recall experiencing shortness of breath just walking around camp at 12,000. When I was younger, better physical conditioning helped me push through the physical problems and get to the top (usually 13,000 to 14,000 feet). But Kilimanjaro is 19,341 feet (5895m)! Plus now that I am, let’s just say more mature (over 50), I was really concerned.

I know that in my earlier mountain trips, I did not drink enough water. Compounding this was usually no time to acclimatize because of the requirement to finish hikes over a weekend. Drinking adequate water (4 to 5 liters per day) will be easy to do this time and our extended trek across the western flank of Kilimanjaro will provide for acclimatization. However, my doubts still lingered.

Diamox: How & Why…

For this trip, I decided to take Diamox (Acetazolamide) to speed up the acclimatization process. Because of the reduced oxygen at altitude, breathing harder and faster allows your body to get more oxygen in the system as it produces more red blood cells. The increase in carbon dioxide exhaled at the same time makes the blood more alkaline. The kidneys get involved to excrete the excess alkaline to balance things out. Diamox helps the kidneys by speeding up the process. My local doctor prescribed 250 mg daily starting 2 days before the hike. I had read a number of articles that recommended anywhere from 125 mg to 500 mg per day, so this seemed reasonable.

Side Effects

The side effects described were numbness or tingling in the fingers and toes plus more frequent urination. There was also a big caution about not taking any sedatives once you started the medication. All of the side effects go away when you stop. This seemed manageable especially compared to not making it to the top.

I started taking the Diamox at the hotel in Moshi the night before we left for Kilimanjaro. I wanted to have a bathroom ready to see just how frequent, frequent is. Three Tuskers that night at dinner added more liquid than normal, but frequent turned out to be every other hour! Manageable in the hotel, but no more Tuskers until the end of the trip.

The first three days of the hike we climbed from 6890 feet (2100m) to 12,600 feet (3840m) over a relatively gradual incline and 22 km. I did not have any difficulty. The tingling side effect in my fingers and toes was no different than if you slept on your arm and felt mild numbness. It lasted for 20 to 30 minutes. I maintained my water intake which created two excursions per night out of the tent. This was not a problem because after midnight the skies cleared and I was able to view the splendor of every star in the sky and the Milky Way stretched across the heavens. A great side benefit even at the expense of a temporary chill from getting out of the sleeping bag.

The Result

The first test was Day 4 when we hiked from Shira Hut to Barranco Camp via the Lava Tower at 15,230 feet (4642m). We would ultimately sleep that night at 13,000 feet, but 15,000 feet was the highest I had ever hiked. It turned out to be no problem at all. Walking slowly (Swahili - poley poley), plenty of water, a good workout program prior to the trip, and the Diamox combined to make this day’s hike a great experience. I was not winded, no headache, and plenty of energy. The landscape was phenomenal and I was able to fully enjoy and appreciate it.

This was a major confidence booster for me. Over the next two days, we hiked up to Barufu Huts Camp at 15,358 feet (4681m). This was the last camp before our summit attempt that night at midnight. After 6 days and almost 40 kilometers of walking, the excitement and anticipation provided plenty of adrenaline. I was raring to go and felt great.

The Summit

When the last cheers of “Happy New Year” started to subside, we left Barafu Camp for the summit. Pitch black with your headlamp only illuminating the next three feet, we trudged steadily up the next 4,000 feet over the next 7 hours. We pass multiple groups huddled over fallen comrades and we lose one of our own to the altitude (Note - later in the day, she recovered and made it to the top). The ingredients of training, pace, hydration, and modern medicine combined to deliver me to the peak at 6:45AM. An unbelievable feeling of accomplishment and satisfaction wash over me as I get my picture taken at Uhuru Peak 5895m, Africa’s highest point, the world’s tallest freestanding mountain.

Could I have made it without Diamox? I don’t know. I wanted to give myself every advantage possible so I trained hard, took care of my body during the trip, followed directions (poley poley), and used available medicine whether it was Imodium or Diamox to aid my ascent. What I do know is that I made it and that is good enough for me.

What makes Kilimanjaro such a powerful draw is also what makes it such a unique challenge. A question to ask yourself when evaluating the individual courage that it takes for a novice to suceed is this: ‘Is it more impressive for someone wholly fit and acclimatized to stroll to the summit with ease, or for someone who had no idea what to expect, was never really mountain ready, but who by the sheer force of will and desire defied the odds and made it to the top anyway?’

You decide…I know what I think!

Clockwise from left: Bob, Dave, Twiggy, Joe, ‘Obama’ Sam, Robbin, Marlene and Oskar…

The first to sign up for the 2008 summit was Robbin Jordan, a Human Resources Officer with the US Liver Foundation in New York, for whom summiting Kilimanjaro stood at the top of a list of conquests she was determined to achieve before turning forty. She also signed up her over-forty significant other, Sam Williams, an ex-Army drill sergeant, and a man who had clearly nothing left to prove in terms of stamina and self reliance.

Robbin’s email moniker is painintheass.com, which has a defiant feeling about it that seemed at the time to offer mixed omens to the prospects of our evolving group. The same was true for our next climber, Marlene Brown, a new-age traveler from New Mexico who goes by the handle of wildwoman.com. Fortunately Robbin turned out to be much less than a pain-in-the-ass, and if Marlene is a wild-woman she managed to keep the beast caged on this trip.

Behind Robbin and Marlene in a queue of women with mountains to climb came Gurleen ‘Twiggy’ Tirwana, a Virginia appointments executive who had a dream one night that she was standing on the summit of Kilimanjaro, a challenge she accepted. A combination of work, a family bereavement and a butterfly sensibility kept Twiggy’s attendance in doubt until the last minute when she stepped off the Precision Air flight from Dar es Salaam and strolled into the Kilimanjaro International Airport arrivals hall.

Bob Holdsworth has the air about him of a spiritual traveler. A man over fifty with a life well lived and a world yet to see. He threw a dart at the map for the sake of a different travel experience and scored a direct hit on Kilimanjaro. After a quick phone call, and a minimum of reflection, it was a case of Bob’s your uncle!

Next came an inquiring note from a certain polish wunderkind whose tender years seem to do no justice to his intellectual and social accomplishments. Before too long Oskar Tetzlaff, with his encyclopedic hard-drive and indestructible self confidence, was amongst us.

Lastly came the James brothers, Joe and Dave, two laconic Texans with a sparse turn of phrase and a shared humor of the quick and lively type. Joe hovered on the brink for a week or two before committing, and during that time I gave up on them both, and looked around for some other leavening to thicken the loaf, but fortunately for us all Joe and Dave signed up, and then we were nine!

Moshi and the Mountain

Oskar and I arrived in Moshi a few days ahead of the others. For me it was an opportunity to conduct a quick tour of inspection of the BootsnAll mountain and safari program, which is an excuse if one is ever needed to bounce around the countryside in an air-conditioned safari Landcruiser. This difficult job also involved checking in at all the listed hotels and lodges and stopping for an occasional cold Tusker in any likely looking bush boozer along the way. The warm tropics are after all never short of opportunity to explore the local hostelries and brews.

Kilimanjaro is ringed by a belt of tropical forest that has these days diminished to little more than a narrow strip under direct KINAPA protection. Beyond this a sprawl of smallholder properties has grown up in the last century to occupy every inch of available space. The result is a uniquely beautiful but densely compacted human conurbation, intermingled with cultivated groves of coffee and banana, roadside villages, colorful homesteads and occasional towering forest trees, all of which are stitched together by mixed gardens of flagrant color and wild indiscipline. It is a uniquely African environment, chaotic, unkempt, noisy and vivacious. Here and there a hotel or lodge lies nestled in a quiet corner, but the energy of life – plant, animal and human – resonates like a ringing in the ear, and is never too far away.

Further down the mountain slopes lies Moshi town itself. The downtown district is set in a dry depression that could hardly be further removed from the tropical verdure of the mountain foothills just a few miles away. It is a noisy, dusty and energetic little town in the grand old African tradition of civic decomposition. The traffic is dirty and chaotic and the shop fronts clogged with humanity. Tiny stall-like shops all seem to sell the very same merchandise as the street touts who stand with their boards of cheap Chinese wares on almost every street corner.

Despite this there is no stress associated with a walk around downtown Moshi. Foreigners are plentiful hereabouts, and even the street sharps and safari touts tend to adopt a low pressure sales policy. So different it is from such hot-beds of petty theft and villainy as Nairobi or Dar es Salaam. At propitious moments Kilimanjaro looms over the bustling town as if to remind the unwary that the contest awaits. Mostly however the mountain lies swathed in mist and cloud, and is usually invisible from the bustling town.

An Unlikely Mountain Town

Under the soft grip of the tropics it is easy sometimes to forget that Moshi is a mountain town. There are no outdoors emporiums here, nor any bars or restaurants with any discernable mountain theme. Kilimanjaro is largely the playground of foreigners, for no diligent local would waste his time and money to climb it. There is no local culture of mountaineering other than that prompted by tourism, and even that has more of a journeyman feel about it than any sense of passion for the pursuit of mountaineering.

The Crew

This is nowhere more evident than at the National Park gates as the porters arrive in busses to descent like a flock of starlings on a disordered pile of kit. These are definitely not mountain men. They are a workforce of itinerate individuals who show up when they need to and do not when they don’t. For those of us standing around watching, and we were the only group at the Londorossi Gate in Western Kilimanjaro on that day, it is hard to imagine that all these people could have assembled simply to facilitate our comfort.

Our porters were the usual motley collection of men in outfits of a distinctly lowland flavor. For a long time they were tightly compacted around the scales as loads were assigned and weighed. Out of chaos comes order, and as we signed in at the desk, and adjusted our very minimal packs, bundles were formed and assigned their places, and in due course each porter was loaded rather unfairly, it seemed, and sent off up through the forest to disappear into the gloom way in advance of the climb party.

Our guides for this trip were Joshua and Eugene, two of Kilimanjaro’s salted veterans, and a pair of mature gentleman far removed from the crude and rude youth that often pose as guides in these parts. Both men have been working this route for well over a decade, and neither can accurately remember just how many times he has summited.

Miti Mkubwa

The refreshing thing about coming in from the west via the Londorossi Gate is that for the first couple of days the trail is quiet. By then we have all begun to bond, particularly after a few nights on the town, and another few days on safari. We are all accepting of the challenge ahead…if not ready, then at least prepared for the shock.

And mild enough a shock it turned out to be. The opening sequence of the Lemosho Route amounts to little more than an easy two hour amble upwards through the forest, challenged now and again by no more than mud or a slick trail. This is a fact of life shared by the elusive forest elephant who leave deep skid marks on the trail as they clearly also struggle for purchase after a rain shower. It is comforting to think that they perhaps also occasionally lose their footing and tumble into an unruly heap at the bottom of a gully.

First night camp is Miti Mkubwa, or Big Tree Camp, which is really no more than a clearing on a wooded knoll sited midway up the heavily forested western flank of Kilimanjaro. It is dominated by a large podocarpus tree and a lonely park rangers hut around which every night a small village of tents arises.

When I arrive I see Bob in the center of the clearing, surrounded by the hubbub of porters assembling camp, his arms akimbo and his lungs awash with champagne air. ‘This is just a little piece of heaven.’ He marvels, feeling thoroughly invigorated. Like us he has only been comfortably challenged by this the first mild stretch of our six-day climb.

Shira

Day two continues upward from Miti Mkubwa Camp with the forest beginning to change character slightly to become dominated by the giant forest juniper, or Juniperus procera, that are strung with lichen and give the forest a strangely moody and temperate appearance. Soon however the trail breaks out of the canopy and settles into a curious landscape of diminutive cedar groves tightly compacted and called for convenience the Heather Belt. This is a uniform type of bush about head high in places, and fluoresced very subtly by Protea bushes and an occasional sprinkling of pin-flowered ericas tucked away into sun sparse corners.

The trail veers northeast towards the leading edge of the Shira Crater, and after a breathless series of ridge climbs it descends onto the Shira Plateau where in the distance the featureless Shira Camp hosts its usual nocturnal colony.

Shira 1 Camp sits at the western edge of the Shira Crater, the oldest of the three main volcanic features of the mountain, and within which the undulating expanse known as the Shira Plateau leads up to the first of the steep steps that form the beginning of the main Kibo Crater. The camp itself is like most of the larger camps - for here the drive-in Shira Route is dumping ever more packs and more porters, and the dozen or so latrines that mark the immediate landscape lend the air a particular aroma. The wide camping area is littered and noisy, and strewn with tents, bundles of kit and porters. Once again the air is alive with chatter, transistor radios and the occasional whir of wings as ravens move to and fro through the social mass in search of scraps.

Day two has been a significantly harder push than hitherto. As dinner evolves within a large bell-tent - wherein all 32 porters are noisily ensconced - we all stand around in various postures of anticipation. Iin the distance a thick swaddling of cloud occasionally parts to reveal a portion of the glaciered slopes of Kibo. After supper it is an early night. This is testimony to fact that the game is on. Tired limbs demand rest. It is only during the midnight visits, under a sky so clear that you can almost run you fingers through the stars, that the first dramatic display of the glacier encrusted peaks of Kibo appear in total to both tempt and terrorize.

Such fears are of course absent during the day. Sunshine washes clean the valleys and ridges, and melts the icy pools and the hoar encrusted tents. In the far distance Kibo looms in sunlit clarity, seemingly closer than before, not particularly intimidating, and significantly less haunting than she appears under moonlight.

Daylight humor begins again at the breakfast table. My predictions was then that the easy atmosphere evolving between us would evaporate as altitude and exhaustion pared away at our reserves. This usually happens, but for the moment we are all friends, and the group strings out in friendly parties over the easy expanse of the Shira Plateau.

This is one of the most beautiful quadrants of Kilimanjaro. Its beauty is enhanced by the fact that it is easy, the weather is warm, and the gradient shallow. By early afternoon we are in camp, and again just occasional glimpses of Kibo appear through the afternoon cloud.

Shira 2

From Shira 2 a more serious air of endeavor begins to take hold. The trail veers directly towards the mountain with a long and steady climb that soon begins to wear on the ankles, and prompt a suspicious shortening of breath and a slight throb in the temples. At some 15 000ft, and after a three or four hour steady trudge, the trail weaves around the Lava Tower and into a campsite that has seen better days. Lava Tower Camp is a nasty place, liberally strewn with trash and malodorous from poorly sited and ill maintained latrines. This is the reality of altitude. All standards of health, decorum and commitment begin to decline. It is with evident relief that our party of sober climbers begin the rapid descent to the Barranco Camp at around 12 000ft to begin the serious business of altitude adjustment.

Barranco

Barranco Camp is situated in an extraordinarily dramatic location. It lies at the foot of the Western Breach, tucked close to the skirts of Kibo, and walled in on either side by the great Barranco that offers and easy turn neither to the left nor the right. From below access is only via the narrow line of the Umbwe Trail which is the stiffest and shortest of all the access trails to Kilimanjaro. Stranded in the lap of this great geographic feature the heavily glaciered dome of south Kibo looms in suddenly exaggerated dimension. As the clouds skid and wane a little of it at a time becomes visible. No clear views of course, that is strictly for mid-night contemplation, for those moments as you stand and pee into a frozen puddle, and shiver in the open just long enough to be awed.

The Barranco Wall, a 2000ft face, presents a fearsome sight over the rim of a coffee cup as the facts of the day begin to dawn. By 08:00 a ribbon of whooping and whistling porters is strung from top to bottom, as these irrepressible souls illustrate to the over-equipped just how easy this all is.

As we start up the wall it seems less daunting than it first appeared, and is in fact just a long and steady trudge that consumes much less of our vital reserves than would earlier have seemed reasonable.

Karanga Camp

The next stop is Karanga Camp, not too far away, and only a little higher. By now exhaustion is deep seated and the wear and tear is beginning to show. Diamox keeps the worst of it at bay, but for those without, or determined to do without, the headaches are continuous and motivation thinning as perceptibly as the air.

Karanga Camp is precipitously poised along a narrow ridge, with the looming face of Kibo behind, Mount Meru to the fore, and the lights of Moshi and Arusha spreading in between. It goes without saying that; as darkness cloaks the mountain; as the congestion of climb parties merging towards the summit grows; and as the wind only briefly diverts the smell from the latrines, that the whole scene is beautiful, and even enchanting. With the proximity of New Years Eve, and the big push for the summit, it is also more than a little scary.

Barafu Camp

Barafu Camp is a hectic concentration of hundreds of tents spread over a ridged finger of slate and scree in the lifeless high desert. The glaciered flanks of Kibo look deceptively close, and friendly, but this is no pleasant place. It is a staging post, noisy, odorous, predatory and determined. Hundreds of climbers, and many, many more support staff jostle and squabble for limited space. Everybody endeavors to bunk down as early in the day as possible. Today is the day of the midnight wake up call and the solid six or seven hour, 4000ft slog to Stella Point, and then the summit.

No one sleeps of course, and the wake up call in unnecessary. Our ascent has been staggered, and besides which the hundreds of porters and guides billeted within a mile radius of camp keep up a steady clamor until a dam burst of noise and cheering in the darkness greets the bewitching hour.

Oskar, characteristically, made the noble determination that he would be the first to the summit in 2009. He left for the summit at 22:00, two hours early, with Twiggy, unsurprisingly daring and reliant, keeping him company. They both made the summit, and apparently they were indeed the first of 2009 to reach it.

Meanwhile an hour later Sam and Marlene set off into the bleak and freezing night, slower than the rest of us, and eager for a little advantage. Then, more or less at the point of midnight, those remaining plod off into the darkness and join a narrow line of blinking head-lamps rising like a dizzy spiral into the infinite darkness.

The Summit

These are moments that have no fireside relevance. No evening spent sitting around the pub chatting about it to friends can really capture the oddly surreal mood that grips a person locked into this strange endeavor. Picture the darkness and the increasingly bitter cold. The exhaustion, the anxiety, the temptingly hypnotic rhythm of one foot slowly placed before the next. One light ahead and another behind. Pole-pole (Swahili: slowly-slowly). One step at a time. Breathing is hard, concentration total, humor evaporated and well-being a distant memory. Someone has collapsed on the right while someone else is patting warmth into their hands and whispering urgent pleas. Who cares? Onwards and upwards. One foot in front of the other. So this is how those terrifying stories of climbers dying and being left to die on Everest play out? Who cares if he or she expires right there? Leave her…or him. It is a tough call…but really who cares?

Then Robbin suddenly staggers and collapses. This is a terrible moment. If there was one person more than any other among us who had a deadline to do this thing it was she. This she had to do before she turned forty. Time waits for no man…or woman. It was fortunate that she fell back in a cleft of rock, and did not stagger over the skree and fall.

There is no wrong decision in a situation like this. She knew it, and we knew it, and after a brief protest she turned around and set off back down in the company of a guide. The reasoning was simple. An injury here is a death sentence. Within 20 minutes or less she could have frozen to death waiting for a rescue. The water in our water bottles was solid. Hands were frozen and hypothermia just a lingering moment away.

One foot in front of the other. Pole-pole. We set off again with the merest band of pink on the eastern horizon that brought vaguely into view the broken peaks of Mawenzi. There is no time to admire the Rebmann Glacier looming dense and cold on the left, nor the blossoming sunrise to the right. One foot in front of the other. Pole-pole. That is all.

We caught up with Sam dragging himself inch by agonizing inch towards Stella Point. These last few hundred yards are more than exhausting. Exhaustion is by now an already familiar sensation. This is the difference between starvation and a healthy appetite, between excruciating pain and a mild discomfort. This is what afflicts souls in extremis in the seconds before dying. It is the moment that the deepest reserves are tapped, and the last precious drops of determination are measured out step by painful step…pole-pole…one foot in front of the other.

From Stella Point a 45 minute trudge remains along the rim of the crater, and up a gentle but desperate incline. A wide gravelled trail leads to the gallows-like marker of Uhuru Peak. All the way up the merry souls on the downward journey swear to you that you can make it. ‘…you’re almost there!’ they merrily quip, and if any strength remained in me to utter words ‘…go fuck yourself!’ I would have.

And then suddenly you have made it! It is new years day and hundreds of people have succeeded. The sun is sending oblique rays through the thin air and illuminating happy faces with a curious custard hue. A quick queue for photographs. Hands hurriedly exposed to the freezing wind. Then 180 degrees turnaround and back down the slope…we are all now one of the merry ones: ‘…you can make it…you’re almost there!’ A steady stream of last-chancers plodding the desperate half mile utter their own half formed expletives. Each with the 7000-yard stare. Each placing one foot in front of the other. Pole-pole.

Home For Some

Back at Barafu there is to be 90 minute rest before fleeing to the lower altitude of Mweka Camp.

Restless in her tent was where I found Robbin. She had meekly accepted the inevitable but had nonetheless devised an alternative plan on the way down. She was naturally reconciled to what had earlier happened, but she had not eaten at midnight and had left ill prepared. It was a mistake she had rrectified. She had eaten and rested, and she was recovered. Could she try again?

It was a puzzling question. Try again? You mean next year? In a few days? No, she said, right now!

I was astonished. What an audacious idea! People like Robbin are not easily diverted. She is a quiet woman, and acute testimony to the fact that still waters run deep. A quick query and the promise of reward prompted Joshua to volunteer to guide her back up. Then, for the second time that day, and leading a women more determined in aspect than any I have ever seen before, the indestructible Joshua set off towards the summit.

It was noon by then and the rest of us packed up and set of on a downward trajectory towards the the green forest and an accommodating altitude. It was another long and thankless trudge, merry thanks to having done the job, but wobbly after no less the 12 hours of solid endeavor. Soon enough however we were keeping the bottle porters running between the village pub and Mweka Camp, having traded the Kilimanjaro of rock and ice for the label on a warm brown bottle of beer.

At about 03:00 the following morning I heard Robbin arrive back in camp. I heard her grunt a few words to Sam before her lights went out. It was morning before I discovered that she and Joshua had summited just before sunset, before then turning around for the solid eight hour hike to join us at Mweka Camp.

So the toast of the trip goes to Robbin Jordan for that epic performance, and to ‘Obama’ Sam for making it as far as Stella Point. For the others – Bob (Bobu) Holdsworth, Marlene Brown, Dave and Joe James, and Twiggy and Oskar, thanks for a fabulous trip, and great company, rich in questionable humor, but humor all the way: and thanks for making the trip a success. Here’s to 2009/2010!

Thanks mainly to Bob for the pix