On her ascent of the spectacular Mount Kilimanjaro, GRÁINNE BYRNEwent from hell on Earth to the edge of heaven
THE Kilimanjaro Nine challenge that was part of Comic Relief a few months back brought memories flooding back of my reaching the Roof of Africa last October. The most abiding one was relief that it was finally over – following the worst eight hours of my life.
But those eight hours were just a minuscule part of the seven-day climb – there was also the camaraderie, the characters, the discussions with people we barely knew about toilet habits, the long hours of walking and the many, many times I felt part of a very special group.
Each year, 25,000 people attempt to climb Mount Kilimanjaro, and approximately one-third do not make it. So from January 2008, I walked every Saturday for 9½ months with the Countrywide Hillwalkers Association (CHA) – and they still haven’t got shot of me.
On October 22nd, our group of 17 arrived at Machame Gate at the foot of Kilimanjaro, 1,800m above sea level. We had come as part of a fundraising challenge for Debra Ireland – a charity which funds research and support for epidermolysis bullosa (EB), a rare genetic disease that leaves children’s skin as fragile as a butterfly’s wing – and means they cannot be touched or hugged.
The Machame Route is known as the “whiskey route”, as it is harder, more expensive and much more intoxicating than the more popular “Coca-Cola route” (Marangu Route).
On this route, all climbers have to camp; there are no huts. The stunning toilet facilities are known as “long drop” – a far cry from the bordering-on-luxury loos the Kilimanjaro Nine had.
Day one featured a beautiful walk through lush forest to Machame Hut (3,000m). We kept getting glimpses through the trees of the mountain to our right. It looked so far away and unattainable – unbelievable that we would be scaling it in five days’ time.
Day two saw a smaller gain in height, just 840m, as we walked from Machame Hut to Shira Camp (3,840m). Again, it started with a steep climb – described eloquently in the guide book as “an aggressive ascent of a steep volcanic fin that juts out into the mountainside, the terrain levels and the path eases onto the Shira Plateau, an atmospheric ancient part of Kilimanjaro”. Couldn’t have put it better myself.
Day three was our acclimatisation day – despite walking all day, we had a net gain of just 110m. The path crosses the Shira Plateau to a high point by Lava Tower. After lunch, we descended into the Barranco Valley – a route that facilitates the intense production of red blood cells, which means that there is more oxygen in the body to combat the altitude.
We camped at Barranco Hut – a dramatically sited camp with the impressive Barranco Wall on one side and sweeping valley on the other.
Day four was my favourite of the climb – Barranco Hut to Barafu Hut (4,600m), a gain of 650m. I was really nervous of scaling the 300m-high Barranco Wall, so what was probably a minor milestone for many of the group felt like a major achievement for me.
What followed felt like a very long approach to our next camp, Barafu Hut. Barafu is the Swahili word for ice – and this campsite was certainly bleak and cold. Here, the effects of high altitude kicked in – I couldn’t catch my breath and had a pain in my heart. I panicked as my dad died of a heart attack at 50 and I wondered if genetics were going to get the better of me. But by the following morning I was fine.
Day five was D-Day. We began our ascent at midnight – all summit climbing takes place at night to take advantage of the frozen scree. None of us realised how hard this night would be. Climbing in the dark, in temperatures of 20 degrees below and winds of 80mph – “hell on Earth” is a remark I remember making to the others, and this was only about two hours into the climb.
Two of our party and one of the guides helped drag me up that mountain – and I mean drag; head down, feet trailing and shoulders slumped. It seemed never-ending. During those eight hours, we drank nothing except a few sips of hot, sweet tea. Food was a couple of biscuits. My platypus (water pack) had sprung a leak hours earlier and it froze almost as soon as we started climbing.
Before I went to Tanzania, I couldn’t understand why climbers would give up when they got to Stella Point (on the crater rim) without going the further stretch to the summit. But by dawn, I was swearing blind that I would stop at Stella Point and didn’t give a damn about getting to the summit.
When I finally reached Stella Point just before 8am, after what seemed like hours of one step forward, two steps back on that blasted scree and sand, all I felt was relief that it was all over. Around me, some of the others were getting emotional – crying, laughing and we were all hugging each other – but, for me, no elation, no sense of achievement.
However, once I saw that the summit looked like a cliff walk, I mustered up some energy and made the final 45-minute push. The scenery was spectacular – with the glaciers and the receding snows of Kilimanjaro all bathed in the morning sunshine. Just gorgeous. It felt quite unreal.
At 8.40am on Monday, October 27th, 2008, we made it to Uhuru Peak, the summit. More hugs were exchanged and everyone lined up to have their photo taken in front of the “Mountain Furniture” – the celebrated sign which says, “Congratulations. You are now at Uhuru Peak, Tanzania, 5,895m AMSL. Africa’s highest point. World’s highest free-standing mountain. One of the world’s largest volcanoes. Welcome.”
** www.debraireland.org