Kilimanjaro Part 4: An Alien Odyssey
I want it known, for posterity’s sake, that I am brilliant in an abundance of manners. However there are times in my life where my brilliance is more dormant than active. Night Two at Shira Two was one of those times.
See, I've never been fond of sleeping bags. Sleeping like a cocooned caterpillar has never been my thing. It's why I've typically used them as blankets more than bags. This has never been a problem.
Until now.
I fail to anticipate how cold it would be this early into the voyage. I cling obstinately to my bag-as-a-blanket. Sleep becomes an unwinnable game of warmth-preserving whack-a-mole. I cover this now that is cold. I cover that now this is cold. I toss and turn desperately seeking sleep inducing body positions. I’m sound starving racoon in a trash can. Fortunately, Dani, my tent-mate for the night, sleeps like a mummified log.
Eventually I find something suitable and begin my descent into dreamland. Then, rudely, my bladder knocks. An eternity of conflict passes in my mind. Venturing out into the cold and windy seems like torture. Can’t I just power through? Eventually I accept my pulsing bladder will make sleep impossible.
A comical and desperate sequence ensues. Ruffle for headlamp. Unzip tent. Slip on shoes. Tie shoes. Contort out of tent. Re-zip tent (can't let the warmth escape). Devour gusts of frigid wind. Scuffle along. Almost trip over tent wire. Sent text. Scuffle back. Slip off shoes. Untie shoes. Unzip tent. Contort back in. Re-zip tent. Ruffle towards bed. Scavenge for sleep induction. Resume descension to dreamland. Feel bladder pulse again. Repeat everything.
This goes on until light pokes through the tent signaling the rising sun. I measure the night’s sleep in minutes. Groggy and irritated, I rear my head out the tent. Wilson greets me with hibiscus tea. Zach grabs my attention and signals upward. Above us towers our prize, our muse, Kilimanjaro's peak, It's magnificent and menacing. Deceptively close yet so far.
We eat, text, fax, gather, and depart.
Mudi takes over as lead guide for the day. He’s less stern than Jonas and walks with Buddha-like calm. He radiates with a warm and brilliant smile. We ask him about the weather, hoping to avoid yesterday’s rain. The weather is unpredictable, Mudi says, repeating Jonas' mantra. But I think today will be sunny, he says smiling.
We get to know him more. What will you do when you get back home to your family, Mudi? One of us asks. I will build a window in my house! he says excitedly. We have very different lives, though he seems generally content.
Today’s route is a curious one. From sun rise to sun down we'll ascend to Lava Tower and descend to Barranco Camp.
Mudi's semi-prediction is accurate. No rain clouds haunt us. Fortune blesses us with warm sun and cool winds. We ascend deeper into this strange world above the clouds. Yesterday's crater shrink's farther behind us. Our planet morphs. Life reduces to moss on boulders and defiant golden shrubs. The color palate harshens to dusty grey trails, earthen beige and black volcanic rock.
We find a slow, but comfortable groove. Hours pass undramatically. DJ Decca captains the speaker and maintains morale. Stefan and Manu troll each other relentlessly. Dani, always photogenic, finds herself on the other side of Zach's many lenses. Mudi surprises us by competing with Zach for Director of Photography. Chloe, a sommelier on top of adventure sports fashion icon, educates me on the finer nuances of Southern Italian wines. Mishka details his many adventures abroad.
We reach Lava Tower, our halfway point for the day. It’s cold, windy, and misty. Unfortunately, Lava Tower lacks actual lava. But it compensates in drama with staggering and ominous imposition. Here seems better suited for orcs than humans.
We meet the day’s adversary - altitude. Altitude is Kilimanjaro's great curveball. Compromised oxygen impacts everyone differently. Some, not at all. Others, heavily. Side effects for the unfortunate include headaches, nausea, dizziness, puking, shortness of breath, and, in worse cases, death. Altitude doesn’t discriminate with fitness level. Even the fit and healthy can succumb to it’s grip.
Mudi warns of another pernicious side affect - appetite reduction. You don't feel hungry, so you eat less, and then you don't have enough energy for the hikes. It's why they militantly stuff us with food.
Lunching at Lava Tower, which is the same elevation as Base Camp, allows us to acclimate. Drugs too, Diamox in this case, plays a critical role. We pop two each day. As always, no drugs are free lunches. Diamox is a diuretic, which annoyingly means many more text messages and much more hydration to compensate. Thankfully, each of us seem to be handling the altitude well enough.
Lava Tower complete, we venture towards the night’s camp. Today’s second half begins with a steep descent down an volcanic boulder obstacle course. I’m great going up, but terrible going down. Mudi hands me hiking poles. I give them a shot, but after a few minutes I decide I hate them and hand them back.
Pole Pole, but no hiking Poles for me.
Kilimanjaro is far from the gradual diagonal ascension I had mind. Here, steep inclines follow boulderous descents. On and on we go. Generous sun, baby blue skies and humble clouds continue to grace us. Porters fly by as usual. We encounter another group’s porter along the way. He seems far too old to be doing what he’s doing. He’s hunched over puking. Offering water and well wishes is the best we can do.
We make our final descent into a sharp valley. The planet morphs again. This mutation is more alien than anything I have ever seen. Fuzzy green shrubs return. Long streaming waterfalls tempt us from afar. Glacier fed streams line our path. Boulders and black volcanic stones guard the path forward. Rainbow colored sunbirds sip nectar from the wildflowers jeweling the horizon. Fierce ravens fly above.
Trees I can only describe as palms with biceps halt us in our tracks. We examine and admire. Underneath they shed fibers that could be mistaken for alpaca fur. They become backdrops for photoshoots. Accompanying them are purple accented pineapple-agave fusions. Kilimanjaro's peak and it's icy glaciers appear in higher resolution. The tired continue towards camp. The rest of us stay and play.
Barranco Camp is an highlighter-box colored village of tents, hikers and porters. Clouds veil the world below. We have enough sun to wind down and mingle with other camps. We cross Megan again. She's happier and healthier this time. Her team is a mirror image of ours. In different circumstances we become friends. But we must tend to ourselves.
Dinner, another soup-carb-meat medley, caps our night. Darkness falls. Stars return. Another long day in the books. We nestle for the night. I make necessary adjustments from last night’s sleep debacle. I tweak my layers, organize my gear, master the motions for the inevitable mid-night texting ritual. Most importantly, I sleep in the bag.
I pay my sleep deficit back in full.