Stage 5a

Tuesday 23rd June:
The Final Stages

I was first up in our room and I went to get Sara and I a cup of tea to keep us warm. I didn't feel too much like eating much but forced some toast down. At this time I have made a conscious decision. I am going to the top of Kilimanjaro tonight. A sign outside said that we were 982 metres from Gilmans Point and a further 210 from Uhuru Peak. The walk to Gilmans Point would, according to the sign, take us about five hours. We had been told that the extra effort to Uhuru Peak would take somewhere close to another three hours. Eight hours in all...to cover less than two miles up and down...surely not!!!

It was 00.20 when we finally heard the call to 'get into single file and head this way'. Sara and I had our picture taken one last time before we set off and we took our place in the line Sara leading me, both of us about a third of the way down, and off we went. The words 'pole-pole' would be our best friends for the next few hours. 'Pole-pole' [pronounced polee-polee] is Swahili for 'slowly-slowly'. Looking behind us from time to time all we could see was the eerie sight of a line of head lights in the darkness. [These are lights worn on our heads and not a line of cars behind us!]

As I recall, conversation was sparse although there was the odd call of 'oooh haa' as we went up. This was a relic of a conversation I had had with the whole group before we left about sixteen hours earlier. Most of the original group started the final climb to the summit. I seem to remember hearing about one guy who was taken straight back from the huts when we got there and I think there were about three people who didn't leave the huts at 00.20 to start the climb to the summit.

I have massive sympathy with all of them - to have come so far and then succumbed to something that you cannot prepare for or do anything about when it gets you. I have no experience of altitude or altitude sickness so far but having seen some of these guys, it doesn't exactly look like a picnic.

Anyway here we are walking up a mountain thousands of miles away from home in the pitch darkness being led by a guy called Moses. Not exactly you're run of the mill Tuesday night/Wednesday morning is it?

We can hear the radio that Moses is carrying with him. There are occasional checks to see if anyone else needs to go down when the dreaded altitude has overcome another group member.

We didn't have a finite number of guides so when someone needed to go down, the idea was that a check was made to see if anyone else needed to return and they could go down together. I'm not too sure how many left the group between starting and making it to our first stop at the caves but I do know that I felt desperately sorry for every one of them as they went.

We arrived at the caves after just under three hours walking/climbing. This was to be a massive turning point for Sara and I. As we were approaching the caves I had noticed that Sara's legs were not working as smoothly as they had been when we set off [who's were?] and that she had stopped talking to me. When we sat down she looked at me and said, "I don't think I can go on."

I had no intention of forcing her or even putting any pressure at all on her but I did say, "What would have to happen for you to go on?" She said that she would have to be certain that we could stop for another rest very soon after starting again. Moses said that we 'might' stop after another forty-five minutes but that would be all.

Sara and I had already discussed this eventuality before we left the huts. Neither of us knew whether we could absolutely guarantee reaching the peak. I had said before we left home that if we didn't do it together I didn't want to do it at all. I decided, though, that my sentiments, all be them honourable, were a little selfish. If Sara decided she couldn't finish and I dropped out as well, how guilty would she feel if she ever thought that she had prevented me from continuing? So we decided that if one of us couldn't continue the other one would carry on. After all, reaching the top together was my goal not Sara's. [BIG learning point for Clive here!]

Sara spoke with the Doc and between them they decided that it would be safer for everyone concerned if Sara called it a day here. Just 400 metres from Gilmans Point. We were both absolutely devastated. We hugged each other and cried like babies. [note: I am holding back the tears as I write this.] I have NEVER felt as close to my darling brave hero of a wife as I did at that point. We hugged each other tighter than I can ever remember holding her before in our relationship. [That's it, I'm weeping again now!]

Sara set off back down to Kibo Huts with about half a dozen others who had made the same brave and unselfish decision at the caves. I say their decision was brave and unselfish because I honestly believe it was. Any one of them could have gone on a little further. But at what cost to the rest of the group. Had Sara chosen to carry on and then succumbed in a big way to the altitude she may have become quite ill in which case I would have had to return with her. She [we] didn't want that. The decision to return was completely her own as was my decision to continue. But where she and the others who turned back at this point had considered others, I did not. I just knew that now I WAS going to the top. I had no idea, or concern for that matter, how I would get back down.

Something to think about...

In the previous paragraph detailing Sara's decision to turn back you will notice that I have used the word 'I' a great deal. During our many discussions since that night, it has become apparent that the goal for Sara and I to reach the peak of Kilimanjaro was more my goal than 'our' goal. It is one of the fundamental rules in any goal setting exercise that all goals must be personal goals. Another person, or persons, can set targets for another individual but any goals that are set for that individual must be personal.

In setting a goal for the two of us to reach the peak together I was in fact imposing my dreams and wishes on Sara to satisfy my personal goal. In doing so I had broken one of the major rules in goal setting and put at risk one of the most important things in my life, the happiness of my wife.

Of everything that Sara and I have learned about each other, and about ourselves as individuals, during this adventure this, above all, will be the main learning point that I shall take away with me. My goals are my goals and as such I should be aware that they should not be imposed on others, consciously or subconsciously.

This does not provide any excuses for Sara. Her decision to return was still her own. However it does further outline how courageous her decision was. This learning, I believe, will result in our partnership becoming even stronger than it already is now. More importantly, I have learned to have a much greater understanding of both Sara's and other peoples feelings and goals.

The call went out to start again and off we went. The next ten minutes are a blur. I only recall walking with tears streaming down my face. I was so proud of Sara and what she had achieved, after all she had already walked over twenty miles, climbed more than 5000 metres and was within 500 metres of the highest peak in Africa. But I missed her terribly.

As Sara left she said something to me that was strangely mushy for her and a little bit Hollywood. She said "You do it for both of us" So I decided that I would. I owed her courage and tenacity that much at least. So off we went, our depleted group on our quest for Uhuru Peak the highest peak in Africa.

Up to this point the climb from Kibo Huts had been fairly straightforward. Sure it had been testing and steep but it had pretty much followed a footpath. We were now on 'scree'. I had never encountered 'scree' before but apparently climbers love it - at least they do when they are coming down!

Scree is a layer of small rocks, or large pebbles depending on how you want to look at it. However you describe it, it is VERY difficult to walk up a mountain on. "Pole-pole" they would say to us. "For f*** sake," someone said, "if we go any pole-pole'er we will be going backwards!" Etiquette and consideration for the English language had long since left some of us at this point. In fact, I found myself shouting at the mountain at one point, a pointless exercise I know. After all it couldn't hear me and if it could, I doubt if it would have cared what I thought about it.

By now we were taking two steps forward and then slipping one step back. It was very difficult to get any sort of grip underfoot but many others have done it so it must be possible.

To make the climb easier, or perhaps I should say less difficult, we were led up the 'scree' in a zig zag direction. Some zigs were fairly short, a couple of metres or so, but then we would be on a long zag. In the end, I was to use these zigs and zags as my motivation for reaching Gilmans Peak.

Walking behind our experienced guides was interesting to say the least. They appeared to be 'dancing' their way up the mountain. This was their way of keeping some sort of rhythm in their step. When you looked closely at the way they walked they were actually taking half steps at a time. This proved to be an invaluable lesson later in the climb.

The weather was now extremely cold and I began to realise that the fleece gloves I had brought along would only just suffice for the purpose they were meant for. Most people had experienced challenges at some point in the climb with their water freezing. Those intrepid ones who carried their water in a platypus [a clear water sack carried in the rucksack that fed a pipe placed near the mouth that the walker could suck water through] found that the external pipe had frozen very early in the exercise. I had one bottle freeze on me fairly early on but my second bottle that I had wrapped in a spare sock was hanging in there for me.

A couple of other people would drop out not long after the caves and from that point there would be a steady stream of messages crackling through the radio asking if anyone else needed to go back. I'm not at all certain, but I think we did eventually run out of 'spare' porters to take people down. Because of the pitch darkness we had no clue as to how much further we had to go and I was also beginning to lose track of exactly how far we had come.

At this point I recall being aware of only three things: I knew was that I was going to the top, I knew that our group had now dwindled down to just a few of us and a porter and I knew that if I didn't take a dump very soon I was going to do it in my pants! The latter was taken care of on one of the corners of a zag, or was it a zig? Whatever it was, a dump was had. I know this is probably not what you want to read but I remember being very surprised at how much waste was coming out of my body and how surreal it seemed that it was coming out on top of a mountain in Africa in the pitch darkness.