The transfer from Kenya back into Tanzania via the Loitoktok border rose to be quite a challenge again without our yellow fever cards. However getting into a heated debate about South Africa, politics, Jacob Zuma, Marikana and the general future of our land with a border official distracted him past the point of realizing none of us had our yellow vaccination books.
Almost immediately after leaving the border our driver took a sharp right and acceded a hill for about and hour before collecting our guide along the way. Deo had a hug 85L back pack with him and it was my first realization of how tough this climb might actually be. He seemed fresh and ready for an adventure with the two Longueira's. While acceding via 4x4 for another half hour my dad and I ran through a checklist out loud and realized we had managed to leave sunblock behind (my fault) as well as all my t shirts, again obviously my fault. I could punch myself. Our late night celebration the night before leaving was now creeping up to haunt me.
Deo was on it though and managed to organize a motorbike to run down the mountain along the western route and then pick up a tub for a small price and bring it to us at our first campsite on the mountain.
When we finally arrived at the Rongai Gate that stood dwarfishly small under the shadows of the highest mountain in Africa, the 11 porters, cooks and team made light work of the tons of luggage that needed to be heaved up the slopes. There was tents, stoves, pots, pans, clothing, gear, water buckets that were all shuffled and re packed and distributed evenly amongst the 11. Each porters bag, as in line with mountain regulation, had their bag weighed to see if it exceeded any limits. All seemed well and before looking again the brave young men and one women had headed into the forrest and the footpaths heading into the hills and were soon out of site in the clouds.
We were now at 1800m Above Sea Level. Dr Lombards words two days before were returning to me as my heart rate increased, "You will be fine Manuel, its him I am worried about, the young guys usually suffer on the mountain..." he looked at me with genuine concern.
My dad and I geared up, prepared our water, signed the registration book which felt like signing away any last chances to flee from this challenge, and waited patiently as Deo arranged the last of the needed certification that needed to be produced to the park authorities.
My Dad and I starting on our great father and son adventure up Africa's highest mountain
And we were off..."Pole Pole" (pronounced Pauly Pauly) Deo said as we left which meant, slowly slowly...it became our mountain mantra, our concentration, our everything as we chugged towards that icy peak. Before long we were in the clouds and in a beautiful rain forrest on the lower slopes. We stopped and waited at a wooden picnic table in the trees and received a hot cooked meal of spagetti and vegetable sauce about 3kms into the trail. The meal was done by our cook, Nico, who became quite a legend in the days to come. 3 kms took us about 3 hours, going at a really slow rate as to not dance with the little devil know as AMS or acute mountain sickness. We knew all the symptoms by then, headache, confusion, vomiting, nausea, dizziness, shallow breathing and were told to make sure we told our guide as soon as we felt changes in our body. Again I thought back to that fateful day Gugu Zulu passed away.
Another 3kms in we were at camp 1, Simba camp situation 6 km steeply uphill from where we had started just before lunch. It was the only camp we would have on the mountain with green grass and beautiful sunshine for the entire afternoon. The camp lay at 2600m above sea level and just out of the natural forrest. My dad and I shared a little two man tent which was already set up by the crew when we arrived. We went for a short acclimatization hike up the trails for the next day to fulfill the popular belief of hiking high and sleeping low (or lower)
That afternoon resting in the tent just before dinner we got the first clear glimpses of the mountain so majestic and covered in snow. It was truly the biggest natural specimen I had ever seen. They say a photo can't do mountains justice, but no matter how far away you were from this, it still looked absolutely massive on a photo.
Our eating tent, my dad enjoying some soup on day 1
The eating hall was also the same tent most of the crew would sleep in. It was the place we would eat and chat to the crew and proved to be some of the best memories from the trip. After dinner our other guide Michael appeared with the sunblock which really made me feel better about the days to come, because now, the tree cover would be a thing of the past.
The view of Mount Kilimanjaro at Simba Camp
My dad and I retired early and read on our kindles before falling asleep but waking shortly after to a massive thundershower that hammered down on the sails of our tent for hours. The wet and the rain was something I knew all to well from my camping adventures in Africa and Europe...getting up in the wet and cold and preparing for a long day was probably one of the worst things mentally. I really prayed it would stop at least a couple of hours before it was time to tackle the next day on the mountain.
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