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Ron Stepneski's Trails
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Conquering Kilimanjaro
What I learned on my way to the top of Africa's tallest mountain: DON'T QUIT!
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Clockwise from top: Mount Kilimanjaro, glaciers at dawn viewed from the rim. At left, Ron Stepneski, in red, reaches the highest point with two German climbers and an unidentified guide.
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ON MOUNT KILIMANJARO, ELEVATION: ABOUT 19,000 FEET -- It’s cold.
Although it is located close to the Equator, Africa’s tallest mountain is covered with odd standing icicles at this lofty elevation -- wind-whipped daggers of ice unlike anything I have ever seen. The wind blows the rain and it freezes standing up.
My guide Exaudi Kisaka and I are climbing to the 19,340 foot summit of this legendary Tanzanian mountain in the moonlight, one step at a time.
The air is so thin I have to wait five seconds to make more energy with every five steps. I want to sit and rest.
Exaudi lets me do that. It’s the second time I have to take such a rest in a half-hour or so. It isn’t getting any easier. We started hiking up the steep final slope to the summit at midnight, aiming to make it by dawn.
But all I want to do is close my eyes right now. My mind is telling me its over. I can’t make it. You’re not ready for this.
So you ran the 26-mile New York City Marathon last year; you’re not in shape to climb where there is no air. Aerobic fitness doesn’t matter if there is no air! You can come back another day, another year, and give it a try.
I close my eyes. I want to sleep.
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"You don't carry my pack and you don't carry me but we do what it takes to get to the top of the mountain and I will take care of you." -- My promise to Exaudi.
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But my guide Exaudi recalls my promise: “You don’t carry my pack and you don’t carry me, but we do what it takes to get to the top of the mountain and I will take care of you.”
He also remembers my pride in completing the New York City Marathon the previous year.
And as I sit – developing potentially fatal hypothermia and saying “ I don’t think I can make it.” – Exaudi makes the perfect remark.
“Well, Ron, if you don’t have the legs…”
Yes, in my darkest moment on the toughest climb of my life, like a great coach goring a player, Exaudi plucks my pride. He goads me. He humiliates me. My guide, Exaudi, pisses me off.
If you don’t have the legs. This bastard mountain is too cold, too steep, and has no air and he’s saying it’s me?
If you don’t have the legs. I have trained and I have suffered and I have triumphed in the face of pain.
If you don’t have the legs. And, God help me, I will do it again.
I reach down deep, bite down hard and make a silent promise: I will die before I quit.
If you don’t have the legs.
I get up, take what passes for another deep breath, and march upward, one foot ahead of the next, slowly, deliberately. Take five steps and take five breaths. Again. Do it till you die. Or make it to the top. Again.
It’s the culmination of a 4 1/2-day hike up, including a rest day at 12,000 feet to acclimate. Three days of fairly easy climbing through rain forest, grasslands and moonscape before the steep final ascent up powdered rock, snow and ice that will nearly kill you -- this painful climb from the final camp at 15,000 feet to the peak at 19,340 feet.
You’ve got to be relentless. And suddenly, unexpectedly, you achieve an important plateau. You are standing on the rim of the snow-and-ice capped giant whose Swahili name means shining mountain: Kilima Njaro.
You are way above the clouds where glaciers grow and flow. The sun is rising over east central Africa.
You take a moment. It is hard to believe you have come this far. You must still walk along the edge of the volcano to reach Uhuru Peak, the highest point. But that will be easy compared to how far you have come.
You are giddy. You half expected to see all the animals in Africa waving at you from up here, but all you see are clouds and glaciers and sun and that’s okay.
You are up here where planes fly, nearly 20,000 feet in the sky.
You feel very alive. You are triumphant. And it is glorious.
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TALE OF THE TRAIL
Climbing to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro and back takes six days – 4 1/2 days up, including one for rest and acclimatization at 12,000 feet, 1 1/2 days back.
The first leg on the Marangu Route, the most popular tourist route, starts at an elevation of 6,000 feet and goes through a rain forest to A-frame huts at 9,000 feet where you spend the night.
On Day Two, you march above the clouds to a second set of huts at 12,000 feet.
Here you spend an extra day to let your body make more red blood cells to carry oxygen at higher elevations.
The air has begun to get thin.
It gets even thinner as you hike through an acrid moonscape to a dorm building at 15,000 feet, the final camp. Breathing becomes progressively labored. You feel it in your chest with every step and it will get worse.
The plan for the final ascent is to leave at midnight with a light pack, aiming to hammer up the mountain by dawn six hours away.
This is the most difficult portion of the journey -- the last steep 4,000 feet of elevation to 19,340 feet in subfreezing cold with less oxygen at every step.
Part of the footing is powdered rock, pulverized by the relentless wind. Part is snow and ice, lots of it. With luck you will have a clear sky and gorgeous moon to light your way as I did.
When you reach the rim of this extinct volcano you will be standing on Gillman’s Point, peering out over a sea of African clouds at dawn.
Hike along the edge to the highest point, Uhuru Peak. Pose by the sign that states you are there. Take lots of pictures. Share congratulations with others. It is a very special moment you will never forget.
Play for an hour or so but – don’t forget – you have to hammer down the hill to your hut at 12,000 feet in the remainder of the day and exit the park by the end of the next day.
Enjoy the views from the tallest mountain in Africa -- the clouds, the sunrise and glimmering glaciers that cover the 19,340 foot peak.
Be careful since the sun has melted the snow on volcano's rim slightly and the wind has frozen it instantly, making it slipperier than ever. Use a ski pole to stay on your feet. I fell on my butt at least once.
Sliding down the hill on your behind is enormous fun at first. It is steep and you can really gain some momentum. Plus it is easier than walking after knocking yourself out since midnight.
But you will soon realize how far you have climbed to get up there and those standing icicles that break on your body as you slide are going to bruise you before you reach bottom. Slide a bit and walk a bit.
Above all, enjoy yourself. You have already made it to the top. This is a victory lap.
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