Me at Stella Point, 5:40am
One minute after midnight, we set out. Eliawony had recruited an assistant guide, Soloman, "in case" one of wanted to turn back. That would be me. I started counting steps before even leaving the camp. I decided I would reevaluate my position and mental state every one thousand steps.
The first two grand were up about a fifty degree slope. The air was so thin that I was inhaling on one step, exhaling on the next. Still, I counted, and I prayed for the rain that had plagued us up to now to return so that I would have an easy way out. It did not. A full moon lit our path, so much so that we didn't even need our flashlight.
Another thousand, and the snow became noticeably deeper. Up until that point, there was maybe an inch or two between rock outcroppings. Now, it was step and sink, step and sink. Three thousand four hundred forty three. Three thousand four hundred forty four. I was very, very careful, of course, to skip anything ending in 666 -- but I doubled up on 777 to compensate. Thus, a true count was maintained.
There was no talking during the climb. I have no idea what Trent was thinking, but I know for certain that his backpack had to weigh a good twenty pounds. Of course, every thousand steps or so, it weighed less and less as he added clothing according to his carefully conceived plan. I tried to envision a huge rope coming from around his waist and pulling me along with him. I traced his exact footsteps, which were easy to find in the now foot deep snow. We continued.
Around 6200, we stopped for a break. I peered at my watch: three hours since we left camp. It was definitely well below freezing, as my shoes and feet were completely stiff. My fingers were numb. Eliawony said "Mr. Philip, we must continue. You can reach the top today." At least that is what I thought he said -- the space bag rustled on every breath and obscured about every other word of his broken English.
Without premeditation, my breathing pattern changed. Our pace had slowed considerably -- from about 2,100 steps an hour, to about 1,000. The thin air was taking its toll. Inhale, exhale, step, sink. Inhale, exhale, step, sink. Eliawony called out when we were one hour from Stella point, a landmark along the route -- the end of the worst of the steep slopes. Eight thousand two hundred sixty four. At 8681, I realized that I forgot to skip 8666. I desperately wanted to retrace those 15 steps and skip it, but Trent would have none of it.
One more hour turned out to be two. We reached Stella point, 5,745m ASL, at 5:41am. The sun was beginning to rise in the east, the moon was setting in the west. The wind was whipping up snow-devils. I fell to the ground and collapsed. Trent took my picture, and I was sure that I had had enough.
"I'm continuing to the summit," he said. Eliawony said it was only forty five more minutes. Deep within, I reached and reached. I literally have no idea how I got to my feet. My mind was too numb to count. 9,844 was the last number I remember. We clamored through the now meter deep snow toward Uhuru Peak.
Forty minutes later, we were within spitting distance of the peak. Only it wasn't the peak. The real peak, with a faintly visible Tanzanian flag waving in the 20 knot wind, was still seemingly miles away. Eliawony developed a headache. I was dying. Trent, much to my surprise was fading. The flag, the goal of the previous 26 hours of hiking through rain, snow, cold, and mud, magically pulled me toward it. I passed Eliawony and Trent and was forging my own path. For the next thirty minutes, there was no one on the continent higher than me.
I waited a minute or so for Trent to catch up, and we reached the summit together, seven hours and ten minutes after our midnight departure. We were the first people of the day to attain Freedom Point, Uhuru Peak, 5,895m above sea level. I touched the flag though my gloves. I sat upon a chair near the flag and cried: It is satisfying beyond words to know that my tears will form part of the ever present glacier atop Mount Kilimanjaro. Trent and I both marveled at the spectacular scenery.
 Glacier field from the top of Africa |
 Uhuru, one of my proudest moments |
 Spectacular icicles and formations |
There was precious little time at the top for celebration. At 20 below, and a wind chill factor near -35, we had to descend. It took about an hour to rereach Stella point. It was only clear to me from that moment that going down was going to be just as tough as going up. But, with each step the air gained viscosity. We trudged our way through the snow, and I even gave consideration to sliding some of the way down on my rain pants. Of course, Eliawony would not allow such dangerous activity.
I do not remember much of the hike back. My mind was numb, there was no counting, indeed no thoughts. I only came to when I spotted our tent and its promised warmth. Three hours and twenty minutes to get down. I arrived at the tent at exactly 10:31am. Every muscle, ligament, and tendon in my body was bruised and battered. My feet were frozen solid. I accepted the congratulations of the porters and then crawled into the tent.
Eliawony came over almost immediately: "We have to leave in forty five minutes." I nodded.
What? Did he say we have to leave? Leave to go where! Indeed, we were scheduled for yet another three hour walk to the Mweka Hut at 3100m, as altitude sickness can be quite severe if you stay at this altitude for too long. No way in hell was that going to happen. I called Eliawony over and told him that I was desperately ill and would not be moving from my tent until at least 1:30. I think he got the idea. I slept, chilled to the bone, soaked, satisfied.
I awoke to the porters trying to tear down the tent. Quickly, we gathered our possessions and headed out for yet more walking. Now, the rain decided to return. Great. The next three and a half hours were, in short, total hell. I was sore in ways I don't know how to describe. Yet, all we could do is walk down slippery slopes in the rain. And walk. And walk. The time did not pass easily.
At 4:45pm, some thirteen hours and fifty minutes of hiking since midnight, I reached the Mweka campsite. Trent had arrived a good hour earlier. I collapsed and couldn't even be bothered to drink the tea I was given. Eventually, the tent was set up and I entered. Dinner was carefully prepared, but totally unappetizing. I slept almost straight through, rain ceaseless, until the next morning.