It was a bright night, dreamlike and other-worldly, something that a Mumbai resident could have previously seen only in a National Geographic magazine. Within seconds of crawling out of my tent, the head torch I had laboured to pull on proved redundant.
The jagged snow-streaked contours of the Mawenzi Peak glistened in the light of the near-full moon. A handful of tents, housing human beings oblivious to the beauty outside, lay scattered across the campsite. The sound of frost crunching beneath my boots cut through the absolute stillness.
The prospect of trudging out in the sub-zero temperature to the faraway toilet block seemed daunting.
Kilimanjaro has three volcanic cones — Kibo, Mawenzi (in the picture), and Shira.
Eventually, I had stirred out of the sleeping bag, eased into the outdoor gear, switched on the head torch, crawled into my boots kept outside the tent room, and crouched out, zipping the tent shut behind me. Using minimal effort and slow motion was critical—in the thin air, nearly 3,900m above sea level, even bending down to tuck in shoelaces leaves one panting for breath.
We were a day away from the final summit night in our attempt to scale Kilimanjaro—the world’s highest free-standing mountain. The Uhuru Peak at
Kilimanjaro, Tanzania, is the highest point in Africa at 5,895m (19,341ft) above sea level. The peak is fully “trekkable”—one does not need special climbing skills or fancy equipment—but the sheer altitude, and the five different climate zones one has to negotiate en route make it a challenging climb.
But, as I gazed awestruck at the bright night, all dark shadows and elemental beauty, the awareness came from within: This was the reward for the exertions of the past few days.
Three days earlier, we had started out on our trek close to the Kenyan border, a motley group comprising five Australians, three Iranian-Canadians, two Norwegians, an American and an Indian. The Rongai Route, which we followed, is the least used of the five routes to the peak—there is a gentler path for those reluctant to deal with tent life and the rapidly changing gradients—but the inaccessibility factor has nurtured the unspoilt vistas all around.
Starting with maize fields at 1,950m, we had passed pole-pole (Swahili for “slowly”) through dense equatorial rainforests and damp moorland up to 3,500m, where acclimatization becomes necessary. But rain and thunder struck that night, making us fear for our tents. It didn’t help that Canadians Aitin and Sheida claimed to have spotted large mountain rats, although a few of us believed—or, rather, hoped—that we were merely hallucinating due to the altitude.