Kilimanjaro re-post: Day 5 on the Mountain- the Summit!

Day 5 on the Mountain- Summit Day!! September 6, 2010

Today was certainly a whir of emotions and events.

Frank woke us up just before 4 and asked us if we wanted to try to summit. Dad hadn't slept at all and we barely ate anything last night so we probably should have said no... but we didn't. We got up and dressed in the warmest clothes we had. It was freezing cold outside and this angry wind blew at the tent. But stepping out and looking up at the stars was pretty incredible. I've never seen anything like that night sky. It looked liked it had been sprinkled with powdered sugar. I still had a throbbing headache due to the altitude and my stomach was queasy. I forced down some hot chocolate, crackers, and a little fruit and then we said a prayer all together. Sifuel and Frank told us that we'd be okay and we semi-believed them. 

Within seconds of starting, the tears in my stinging eyes froze on my cheeks. The water in my camelpack froze. The snot in my nose froze. It was pitch black and we could barely see in front of us. We wore headlamps so that we didn't lose our footing. I wore mittens the size of pillows and the thickest coat I've ever put on my body along with about 10 layers and I was still shivering. I admit, I was hating life for the first little bit. I wasn't feeling well or strong, my headache was getting louder (does that even make sense?) and my legs were shaking. We were hiking across huge frozen boulders covered with ice and it was really scary. I kept slipping. Freezing cold and miserable, I began a continuous discussion with Heavenly Father.  

"Father, I can't do this." 

"Yes, you can."

"Okay, maybe I can... but I don't want to."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I really don't. It's too hard, I don't have enough energy or strength. I want to turn back, I want to be done. I'm scared of falling or hurting myself or not being able to breathe, I can't do this. I can't. I don't want to and I can't."

"Lizzie?"

"What?"

"What makes you think you're going off of your own energy and strength?" 

Just around the time that the pale pinks and lavenders began to smear across the skyline, my mind was flooded with names and faces of people who love and support me-- people who promised to include me daily in their prayers while I was gone. I thought of my Mom's faith particularly and I realized that I really wasn't doing it alone. I had access to the faith and strength and energy of others. Tears filled my eyes at the thought... then promptly froze. But despite the cold, the altitude, the precarious footing, the lack of sleep and energy, the sore muscles and shaking legs, and even despite the temptation to give in to fear, I began pushing forward with renewed purpose. Right then, the sunlight spilled over the horizon in a dazzling display of color and warmth. We turned off our headlamps and continued in daylight. 


Quite frankly, I don't remember many specific details from the next 4 or 5 hours. The terrain got progressively steeper and more rocky and the air continuously thinner the higher we rose yet I felt like for me it got easier and easier-- like I wasn't really breathing with my lungs or moving with my own legs. It was unreal. I kept praying and feeling comforted and hopeful. I felt like I had prepared to get here and now that the task was greater than I was, the Lord was recognizing my preparation and helping me realize a dream that meant a great deal to me. 


Even though I don't remember much, I do remember a few things. 


First- a moment of true despair. 17,500 feet. Up a crazy steep incline. Bathroom break. Still freezing cold. I laboriously hike off to the edge of a cliff so I can't be seen by all the men (I was the only girl in sight). My hands were numb and tingling at the same time (is that even possible?) and my grip on the toilet paper wasn't the best. In the middle of it all (my nether-parts frozen in the frosty wind) I lost hold of the roll and it bounced merrily down the incline and off the cliff. That, my friends, is the definition of true despair. I couldn't do anything to change it so I just sat up there and laughed. 


Second- I took one small dose of Diamox to help me with my breathing at such a high altitude. It helped my headache and nausea as well but Diamox as two interesting side-effects. First, it makes carbonation taste SUPER funky. I realized this at the top of Stella's Point (45 minutes from the top) when Frank gave me a Red Bull. Now, I don't usually drink Red Bulls but an energy drink was exactly what I needed in that situation so I downed it. It sparkled and burned on the way down my throat. It felt like a drink made of pop rocks and flames. Second, Diamox makes you tingle, especially your fingers, toes and face. It felt like every part of me was asleep all day long. My face was the weirdest. I don't know if you've ever felt your face tingle but it is a little disconcerting. 


Third- When the trail got especially rough, I got in the "work-out zone" meaning that I shoved my ipod headphones in my ears and sucked it up. I am immensely grateful for each and every spin class I ever attended. I noticed that some songs deeply affected me, sometimes to the point of tears. In such a mentally and physically vulnerable state, emotions tend to run high and close to the surface. The remix of the song "I Got Soul But I'm Not A Soldier" for instance impacted me deeply-- I listened to it 9 or 10 times in a row, whacking the frozen ground with my hiking poles to the beat of the song. Everything from Lion King Broadway made me cry. It was hilarious and I knew it at the time, I couldn't stop laughing or crying the whole way up. Thankfully everyone was so intent on the task at hand and so concerned with their own feet that they didn't really notice my sniffles, chuckles and passionate conviction-filled steps. 


Fourth- We passed the huge group from Scotland. I mentioned Mary, the one with the sore throat I gave the lozenges to. It was one of the steepest and most discouraging parts of the trail when I saw her again. She recognized me and took off her sunglasses to reveal eyes full of gratitude and thanks. She seemed close to tears. "I've been looking for you in camp to say thank you! I can't thank you enough, I don't think I would've been able to summit today without those lozenges." Little warm and fuzzy moment to keep me going. 


The climb up to Stella Point was incredibly difficult for me. The weights tied to my hands and feet that I began to feel at about 16,000 feet were now huge boulders. It honestly felt like I was carrying an 80 pound pack up a never-ending hill while breathing out of a straw. It was essentially straight uphill in shale and gravel- it was hard to maintain footing and there were a few times I almost tumbled down the hill Princess Bride "Aaaas Yooooou Wiiiiish" style. 


At the top of Stella Point my breathing was really rapid and shallow. I could barely talk, which made sense because we were over 19,000 feet in the air. Stella Point is on the edge of the crater and is only about 45 minutes from Uhuru Peak- the actual top. I had to sit on a rock and catch my breath for quite a while. It was freezing cold and very windy. We were surrounded by incredible glaciers hundreds of feet high. 

 Spectacular.

Glaciers near the top. These were enormous. 

We dropped our packs and continued without them. Sifuel stayed at Stella Point to watch our stuff and Frank continued with us. I was hesitant. I knew the top wasn't far and that the rest of the climb wasn't anything like our journey up to Stella Point (the path evened out quite a bit) but I had just tackled an incredible distance and altitude and I wasn't sure how I was going to get there. Every step seemed to take all of my energy and those boulders attached to my legs and arms were growing heavier and heavier.  Even sitting and resting I was breathing like I had just run a 5K at a dead sprint.  My heart was racing. 

Frank (left) and Sifuel (right) at the top of Stella Point. We were getting ready for the final ascent. 

The last 45 minutes were the hardest for me. The incline wasn't bad and the trail was fine but I simply couldn't breathe. It was a scary feeling. It took me ten minutes to walk 100 feet. My breathing was raspy, shallow, and quick. Dad and Frank helped me by holding on to my arms and helping me walk. I couldn't quite believe that we were almost at the top. It seemed unreal. I was scared by how hard I was breathing and how tired my body was. We were hiking through a thick cloud and we couldn't tell exactly what was ahead. But then I saw it... the sign. 


The sign that says "Congratulations, you are now at Uhuru Peak." As soon as that was in focus through the fog I began to run.  

Somewhere in my body was this store of extra energy I hadn't tapped in to and I was filled with adrenaline. On my ipod was "How Firm a Foundation"- my theme song in so many ways and at so many different parts of my life. 


Fear Not, I am with thee, oh be not dismayed. 
For I am thy God and will still give thee aid.
I'll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand
Upheld by my righteous omnipotent hand. 


The tears started right before I reached the sign. I fell to my knees- this moment symbolized so much to me. It wasn't about merely hiking to the top or climbing one of the tallest mountains in the world. I knelt there clutching the sign and cried and cried- out of gratitude, triumph, joy.

Crying.

Happy tears at the sign. 

My Dad and I had made it to the very top of Mount Kilimanjaro. 

We did it!!

Standing atop Mount Kilimanjaro is an emotion in and of itself. I can't think of one that would adequately describe the feeling. It was a mixture of excitement, relief, and victory. I gave my dad a big hug and then went to go sit on a cliff that looked out over the crater that formed the top of Kilimanjaro. A good friend gave me a great piece of advice before I left. He said "Do something significant at the top. It doesn't need to be significant to anyone else but you, but do something." I thought all the way up about what I wanted to do and decided around day 4. While sitting there on the cliff trying to catching my breath, I selected the two biggest rocks that I could find. 

I named one fear and one doubt… then I hurled them off the top of the mountains and watched them smash and shatter as they rolled off the cliffs below. That was why I climbed [read on to find out what I mean] and so that was my significant act at the top. We stayed at the top for about 45 minutes. A thick fog began settling over the peak, covering the ground and draping over rocks and boulders. The air became even colder and wetter. It was time to go.

The cloud we were in got thicker as we headed down. My breathing was much better, probably because I wasn’t exerting nearly as much while going downhill. However the trek down was much more dangerous in my opinion. We were weak and tired, my legs were shaky and keep in mind that all I’d really had to eat were some cookies, an apple, and a few bites of a Snickers bar. I had been drinking quite a bit but my stomach was virtually empty. I also didn’t realize going up how steep the trail we had just completed really was. We were going down sheer rock faces—steep ones—and I had to be extremely careful with my footing. Dad’s headache was back so I was concerned about him as well. We got off of the boulders and essentially started ski-sliding down loose gravel and dirt up to our knees. Since we weren’t sure what was under the gravel and dirt, I was worried about having my ankle or knee caught on an unseen rock. An injury at this point would be really bad. Falling or tripping would be equally dangerous. Downhill is also a lot harder on your joints. My ankles were in good shape because of my boots but my knee had been giving me problems the whole way up and it was starting to ache. It was a rather stressful situation.

An hour into the downhill, Dad had to stop and rest to try to get rid of his migraine. We were still exposed at and a long way down. The fog was getting thicker and the cold air stung my red cheeks. We took it slower but I could tell that he wasn’t feeling so hot. I felt okay, but really tired. Frank took my dad down one way that was apparently gentler and longer and Sifuel took the other route which was ambitious but quicker. I was hiking in front of Sifuel and listening to music to distract me from my knee, whose ache had now turned into a throb. The fog was now so thick that I couldn’t see more than 5 feet in front of or behind me. I lost sight of Sifuel. I took out my headphones and called his name. No answer. I called louder and with more sharpness in my voice. Again no answer. Taking a deep breath, I turned to face the trail. It now seemed completely incomprehensible. This trail was nothing like the clear well-kept trails down in the rainforest. This was jagged and unclear, muddled by snow, ice and boulders. I couldn’t tell where I should be going and at this point in the hike down direction was crucial. Guessing and taking the wrong path could lead me precariously close to the edge of a cliff or lost in the fog. Panic rose in my chest as I called Sifuel’s name again. I heard nothing but the wind whipping between the rocks around me. 

I thought about staying where I was in case Sifuel had simply fallen behind me and needed to catch up. But I felt like I needed to keep moving in order to stay warm. Thinking back to the last several minutes, I  also realized that I might have been hiking alone for a while and that I wasn’t sure if I had already taken the wrong path. If that was the case, sitting and waiting surely wasn’t an option. I closed my eyes and said a prayer out loud, pleading for help. I felt like I should continue to move but to literally move according to the spirit. I chose one path over another and spoke out loud "Father, I'm going down this way. Stop me if I shouldn't." I began down, then felt unsure so I traced my steps back and chose the other path. "Okay, so I'll try this way. Let me know if that's unwise." If I felt okay about it, I kept going. This continued for five  minutes or so when I heard my name being called by Sifuel, who was somewhere in front of me. I called back and worked my way towards his voice. He didn’t seemed panicked but was obviously a little concerned. Apparently he go an emergency phone call and was headed from another guide asking him what to do with an evacuation situation. He couldn’t move from where he was because he would lose reception. He had called down to me and asked me to wait and he thought I had heard him but couldn’t see me through the fog so when he began again, he couldn’t find me. 

I immediately recognized this as a literal representation of the hymn “Lead, Kindly Light.” Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom. Lead Thou me on. The night is dark and I am far from home, lead Thou me on. Keep Thou my feet, I do not ask to see the distant scene, one step enough for me.

Sifuel and I continued at a rapid pace down the mountain. Because I had gotten lost, Dad and Frank beat us down by a few minutes. Dad sat in the tent with his hands over his eyes looking pale. He couldn’t drink much and didn’t want to eat anything. I also didn’t have any appetite, though I was drinking plenty. The guides decided that the most important thing to do would be to get Dad out of the altitude and continue hiking down for three more hours to a lower camp. Though at the time I didn’t think we had three hours of strength left, this decision proved to be very wise.

I felt really good on the way down. I’m certain that had nothing to do with my own strength, I’m usually tired and sore after long intense hikes and this had by far been the longest and the most ambitious of my life. I also hadn’t eaten much or slept much the last few days. My Dad’s headache was worse than ever and he had slept and eaten less than I had. In spite of all that, we were able to maintain a fairly steady pace on our way down to Millennial Camp where we spent the night. Sifuel and Frank were monitoring both of us closely and Sifuel told me that if Dad’s headache didn’t get better within an hour of us arriving at camp, they would likely plan an emergency evacuation to prevent dehydration or worse. The were slightly worried that Dad might have cerebral edema (swelling in the brain caused by altitude) since the symptoms of migraines are similar.

We got to camp and Dad went to the tent to lie down. I went to talk to General and asked if he wouldn’t mind preparing some really mild foods. Dad said watermelon sounded okay. General got us some bland chicken broth, unseasoned rice, watermelon, bread, cucumbers, and apples. Dad ate a little and after he warmed up, he was doing much better. I was relieved. I ate a little and both of us drank Gatorade to replace electrolytes. Not much of a celebratory meal for two people that made it to the top of Kilimanjaro today but there will be time to celebrate later. For now, I just want to sleep. I’m finding that a little difficult for two reasons. 1) We are camping by some other victors of the mountain who I believe are drunk. They are singing. Loudly. And poorly. 2) My earplugs are in my backpack in the other tent and it is freezing cold so I don't feel like braving the night air to go get them. Sleep might not come easily tonight.