by Kieren Kershaw
On the route that we took for the trek, the summit attempt begins in the early hours of the 5th day after one of the hardest 24 hours we had to face across the trip. We met the medical team around lunch time on day four, the doctors who ultimately decide whether you are in a good enough state to continue towards the pre-summit camp. For the entire duration of the trek, the group mantra had been “22 out of 22”, the message that all of us would make it together as a team. Despite many of us facing sickness along the way, altitude or otherwise, spirits were sky high and hearing that the medics had cleared us all to progress was the boost we needed. However, this was painfully short lived. Shortly before we were due to leave camp, the doctors requested (partly at our advice) to re-test one of our members before we left revealing that his blood oxygen levels had dropped by 10% down to 46 putting him at extreme risk. This was arguably the hardest moment of the entire trip. Rob had been suffering all the way but persevering nonetheless and to lose him so close to the end was heart-breaking. The team morale went from an all-time high to a crushing low and having to slowly trudge away from Karanga Camp, looking back to see Rob watching us alone was more than enough to start putting doubt in the minds of others in the group.
Arriving at Barafu Camp (4645m up and several hours later than planned) the group looked ready to give up here, myself included. Severe headaches and exhaustion were commonplace by this point but immediately it became apparent that one girl had developed hypothermia and she was swiftly bundled into her tent wearing every layer she had available in the hopes that she would recover in time. The prospects look bleak at dinner that night with the guides not sticking to their usual tradition of singing local songs after the meal and instead coming to us with the news that we would be starting our summit attempt at 11:30pm, a good 2 hours before the usual departure time and leaving us less than 2 hours sleep beforehand. You could almost see some of the group give up there and then.
I managed to get around one and a half hours of rest before being rudely awoken at 11pm by the guide team. Blindly throwing on every layer I could find in the two-man tent that three of us had shared for warmth, I packed all my water and snacks and mentally prepared for what we were about to face. Seven hours of trekking in potential lows of -18 degrees with almost no sleep since the 8 hours of walking the previous day. We set off on time (one of the only occasions we managed this on the trip) in single file with our team of 10 guides spread out among the line, keeping a watchful eye over the ones who had struggled the most in past days. Each and every step was a struggle – not physically but mentally. I had no energy and no drive to continue. Whenever the person in front of me would stop for a second I almost instantly fell asleep upright waking up to find a 10 metre gap in front and those behind nudging me to keep moving. The hallucinations kicked in around 3 hours in. All of the large rocks around us looked like people, and I don’t mean that they had the vague shape of a body. If anyone had asked me at the time I would’ve sworn that each one was a member of our guide team sitting on the floor with a backpack on. The dangling straps on the bag of the whoever walked ahead of me looked like snakes slithering along the floor at my feet. Others swore they could see Minions from Despicable Me in the darkness or Jack Russell’s running past as they walked.
A team that started the trip as 22 was slowly reduced to the final 14. Strangely with each friend we lost it strengthened my desire to keep going. I had no motivation at this stage to reach the summit for myself but instead to ensure that all the support and motivation that those who turned back had offered was not wasted. But when the sun rose as we were ascending towards Stella Point (5,685m) was the first happy moment of the morning as we stopped to admire the beauty of what we had accomplished and looked back down at how far we had come. The final slope to this spot was unstable, gravel-like ground and I had lost my footing, rolling 20 metres down over rocks before a guide stopped me. Reaching Stella Point, I was ready to call it quits with headaches and dizziness clouding my mind completely. However, our Head Guide “Godlisten” directed us to look towards the edge of the ridge ahead and squinting you could see the famous sign at Uhuru Peak and I knew I had to try. I’m sad to say that I do not remember much of the hour-long ascent to the peak, nor do I remember having my photo taken with the sign. Within minutes of starting off from Stella I collapsed and was unable to walk without the assistance of a guide and in fact for the entire journey there and back I effectively had to be carried by one or two members of the guide team.
Despite not being able to remember the majority of that last hour (and a great deal of the way down the mountain too) I can without a doubt say that this was the best thing I’ve ever done. Whilst the sights were breath-taking and the experience itself an amazing chance to prove to myself how much I can achieve, the reality is that what made the trip so special was the people. I was lucky enough to take on this challenge with an amazing group; some my closest friends and some whom I’d never met before, but all people I would now consider like family. Without them I wouldn’t have made it but with them I had the best time of my life (so far).
If you ever get the chance – climb Kilimanjaro. You won’t regret it… at least once you’ve had a week or so to reflect on it!
Photos courtesy of Laura Carlin, Kieren Kershaw, and Choose a Challenge.
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