Indeed, it was a very fitful night. I awoke no less than twenty times due to rain, cold, a rip-roaring bean induced flatulence from my tent mate, and general unpleasantness. 6am and the rain was still coming strong. Eliawony came to our tent with some not so subtle news: "Three French go back today. Very rainy." We chuckled, but then seriously weighed our options. It was only a four hour hike back to civilization, warmth, tea, shower, and clean clothes. Yet, we continued.

I donned my multicolored rain gear and set out for a "very hard day." Indeed. About 45 minutes from Barafu camp, some four and a half hours into the day's hike, we ran into two Swiss guys in professional gear and obviously in very good shape: "Don't want to turn you off, but there is a blizzard at the top and the snow is very deep. Terrible conditions, I think, terrible." That made me feel a whole lot better.

Sometime later, we arrived at the Barafu Camp, 4600m ASL. Trent wondered how cold it really was -- a trip to relieve myself told me it was about 2mm or so, but I have no idea what that translates to in Celsius or Fahrenheit. We ate our lunch, and then headed off for a quick nap. Still, it rained.

View from Barafu Hut

Uhuru from Barafu

During the afternoon, I seriously questioned continuing. All that was left was to wait and see what the night held. A light dinner served inside our tent (so we wouldn't have to leave and get even wetter), and then Trent and I assembled our ascent plan by flashlight.

I decided that if it was raining, I would not attempt the summit. Trent was going no matter what, of course, but that didn't really matter. I had already stretched my limits beyond my imagination, and I was satisfied. If I did go, I decided to wear everything I owned and worry about getting "too hot" if it came to that. Of course, the camp was about one degree Celsius, so that seemed a remote possibility. Trent decided to dress comfortably and carry his backpack with all his extra clothing. Yeah, right buddy, good luck. I hoped for rain, dreamt of rain, and prayed for rain.

After four hours of sleep, I was forced awake at 11pm. I knew I was in trouble. I could see the full moon quite clearly through the nylon roof of our tent; I'd have to at least attempt the summit. So, we exited and began the process of psyching up for the unknown. I thought about faking an ankle sprain, a migraine headache, pulmonary edema. But, Trent's mad-man pace of preparation gave me little time to execute the ruse.

I cut up my "space bag", a tinfoil-like sack that fits inside sleeping bags and provides insulation. I tucked it every conceivable crevice of clothing: between socks, in my pants, on top of my belaclava, even around my hands before slipping them into my gloves. Psychologically it was a boost, but it made for an unbelievable rustling noise on every step.

Day 5...