Hiking on Kilimanjaro

Monday, September 5, 2005

I have long suspected I am not the athletic mountaineering type. For instance, here's an important clue: I avoid walking up hills.

But, given an opportunity to climb on Mount Kilimanjaro, I was willing to give it a try. Turns out I was right about my mountain-scaling abilities, but what better way for a rank amateur to find out the humbling truth than to attempt the first leg of the highest peak in Africa and the tallest free-standing mountain in the world?

Oh, I'd love to say I charged all the way to the top of Kilimanjaro on my summer vacation, but all I was trying to do this morning was make it to the Base Camp at Mandara with some dignity.

That leg of the climb is just eight kilometres if one is speaking of a flat path, but there's a vertical kilometre in there somewhere which makes it more challenging than it sounds.

After the grumbling and bargaining unpleasantness at the check-in station at the bottom of the mountain, we had all managed to hire our guides at nearly double their originally stated rate. Aside from that, it was a beautiful morning.

We set off in the September sunshine up a wide trail of red earth through the rainforest on the lower slopes of Kilimanjaro.

The first hour or so was pretty easy hiking.It reminded me strongly of a steeper hike up a path at Seal Bay Park on Vancouver Island in my own British Columbian rain-forested part of the world.

The fern gullies, the little waterfalls, and tiny violets in the undergrowth added to the illusion that I was in the forest back home. The trees even dripped with familiar moisture.

Of course there are no monkeys where I live, but other than that...well, I was all ready to pat myself on the back. Jeff and I were not even far behind the fastest hikers in our group (Simon, Helen, Andy, Evelyn) for the first third of the climb.

But somewhere along the route (well before the two hour mark if I'm honest) I started to get a little winded....Hmmm, I'll just stop and drink from my water bottle. (pant pant)

I walked a little further.

Hmmm, maybe I'll just stop and admire the hanging moss on this tree. (puff gasp) Uh, I'll just stop a sec and...

Hmmmm...maybe I'll just stop.

The trail would level out reassuringly for a short while, but then we'd go around a bend and a steep disheartening stretch would be there, looming like a ladder, only with lots of rocks and skinny drainage ditchesto trip over and fall in.

I go for long periods in my life when I forget I have asthma and I'm just fine with forgetting. But today I became acutely aware that my lungs were displeased with me. The nerve! Striding briskly up mountainsides in thinning air!

Oh well. So I slowed down. It was very beautiful, and aren't you supposed to stop and smell the flowers?

Jeff claimed he wouldn't want to hike much faster anyway, but he is a gallant fellow with legs much longer than mine, so I suspect he was politely lying.

The most embarrassing thing about not being a good climber on this mountain was the steady stream of African porters carrying heavy loads on their backs and heads that would breeze on by us.

Well, they breezed by ALL the foreign hikers, not just me I want to add.

Those porters were in fabulous shape! One fellow had a propane tank balanced on his head as he strode up the steep incline. It must've weighed a lot. Sweat was actively running down his forehead. There is no way that they are getting paid enough for doing that kind of work. I really couldn't complain anymore after seeing him, loaded down as I was by my water bottle and a sweater tied around my waist.

One porter smiled as he went by and teasingly shook a finger at me. "Pol-ee Polee!", he grinned. I believe that literally means "slowly, slowly" in Kiswahili. Sigh.

But I made it.