Martha Gully, Mount Lady Washington. RMNP 10-21-04
Tuesday, November 15, 2005
Bolivian Journey 2001
Bolivian Journey 2001
Unlike many international adventures this one was thrown together in a quick few months as a filler. I hadn’t been out of the country since the summer of 1999 and wanted to see someplace new, exciting and inexpensive South America has many inexpensive destinations with a tremendous amount of alpine peaks. Continuing with my desires to keep it simple I dropped emails to a fist full of friends and selected Bolivia due to its easy high altitude access. The capital city of LaPaz sits at over 12,000’ and the international airport elevation exceeds 13,000’. Following a positive reply from four other guys, seats were booked in April and my concern grew about the others due to the fact they live at sea level and jumping to great elevations would surely effect them dramatically than me. I thought living at 8,000’ would get me a distinct advantage, boy was I wrong.
We found the entire Bolivian capital city in full fiesta. There was a religious holiday, a political holiday and the winter solstice (June 21) all within two weeks of each other. The first day we divided into two teams to track down and secure logistical things like; food, stove fuel, transportation, money exchange, mountain route information and booze. Getting through downtown to the vendors side of town was time consuming. The full day-long parade was a cultural feast. Bands and dance troupes were non-stop and required us to literally dodge through the masses and dancers to bisect the city.
Our needs were fully met by Marco, the owner of Bolivian Journey. He had jeeps for transport, rental equipment for a couple small items that were over looked at home, and most importantly burros and drivers. The burros would be essential to our team of 5, to transport our piles of equipment from the trailhead to base camp. Although it is only a two hours walk; it is from 14,000’ to base camp at 15,200’. While still acclimatizing the hike alone will take your breath away without carrying a load. With the burros carrying only one duffel bag each it took eight of them to carry our load. There had been a mix up or delay at the trailhead for an unknown reason and the burros didn’t arrive until 4pm. This pushed us to hike in quickly and directly to have time to set up camp before dark. Keep in mind that we are approaching the winter solstice in the Southern Hemisphere on June 21st; the shortest day of the year. Being near the equator (16° south latitude) makes the days a bit longer than in USA but the angle at which the sun rises and descends is most direct. This means there is very little twilight, and it gets dark within 20 minutes of sunset. The delays at the trail were compounded by one of the burro boys stating that one of the duffel bags was too heavy. It was Jeff Alzners and it was locked, thus preventing me from swapping some gear to balance the load and requiring him to return to the trailhead. Jeff was pretty pissed about the return hike and made no attempt to hide his frustration. We wasted no time and by dark we had stoves running and tents set up.
That night I tossed all night with that quiet type of nausea that commands your attention periodically. By 4am it finally manifested itself and hurried out of the tent to answer the call of the beast. Little or no sleep was acquired before or after that the virus worked its way south. I immediately began eating Cipro the following morning in an attempt to rid myself of the bug. It felt like I’d been kicked pretty hard and spent 2 days trying to recover. The other guys were making the best of things by hiking high and climbing to adapt to the altitude. It is quite slow trying to recuperate at 15-thousand feet but by the third day I felt about 70% and hiked up the Condoriri Glacier with Charles. Fredrik joined us for a while but untied from the rope once we realized how save the glacier was, and made way for the summit of Pequeno Alpamayo. Charles and I hiked to the saddle of Tarija at 17,500’ and peered over into the headwaters of the Amazon jungle. It was a beautiful ocean of clouds capped by a deep blue sky and the high peaks of the Andes and the Cordiera Real under our feet. That day the two Jeff’s had rented the little wooden row boat from the only valley inhabitant and gone out into Lago Char Khota to fish. They had been successful and upon our return from our hike had 3 whopping rainbow trout for dinner. One fat monster was 18” long and probably weighed over 4 pounds. We feasted on trout and rice under the jet black Andean sky and attempted to see the Magellenic clouds (in vein) but enjoyed the Southern Cross and many other constellations we didn’t know. The following day Alzner, Fredrik and I headed up glacier again to climb some water ice. It only encompassed about 70 vertical feet of grade 2 or 3 but was entertaining anyway. I wasn’t recovering well and now only felt about 5-60% and therefore elected to go head down the following morning. Yates had departed this morning when he awoke with his lungs gurgling from fluid buildup – pulmonary edema. Sometimes it’s just too difficult to adapt to altitude.
Once back in LaPaz Charles and Yates had commented on going to Peru and seeing Machu Picchu. Heck we were close and the means were within reach. So we wandered around town that evening and arranged for a one way bus ride from LaPaz, Bolivia to Cuzco, Peru the next day and a return flight on the second day followng. Our departure was at 8am the next morning and once again Jeff and I found the bus hospitality amusing. As it was in Chili in 1994, they served hot tea and bread and nectarines in the morning and a full box lunch at midday. The bus ride took 12 hours and crossed the altiplano; that portion of the Andes that is generally flat but always at about 13,000’. We drove around the southern edge of Lake Titicaca and past vast grasslands and adobe houses. The border crossing was easy and quick. The day faded into afternoon as we started a long shallow descent into greener valleys toward Cuzco. We arranged a cheap hotel from an employee woman on the busline. At $10us each it was a steal and we had endless hot water in our private
Unlike many international adventures this one was thrown together in a quick few months as a filler. I hadn’t been out of the country since the summer of 1999 and wanted to see someplace new, exciting and inexpensive South America has many inexpensive destinations with a tremendous amount of alpine peaks. Continuing with my desires to keep it simple I dropped emails to a fist full of friends and selected Bolivia due to its easy high altitude access. The capital city of LaPaz sits at over 12,000’ and the international airport elevation exceeds 13,000’. Following a positive reply from four other guys, seats were booked in April and my concern grew about the others due to the fact they live at sea level and jumping to great elevations would surely effect them dramatically than me. I thought living at 8,000’ would get me a distinct advantage, boy was I wrong.
We found the entire Bolivian capital city in full fiesta. There was a religious holiday, a political holiday and the winter solstice (June 21) all within two weeks of each other. The first day we divided into two teams to track down and secure logistical things like; food, stove fuel, transportation, money exchange, mountain route information and booze. Getting through downtown to the vendors side of town was time consuming. The full day-long parade was a cultural feast. Bands and dance troupes were non-stop and required us to literally dodge through the masses and dancers to bisect the city.
Our needs were fully met by Marco, the owner of Bolivian Journey. He had jeeps for transport, rental equipment for a couple small items that were over looked at home, and most importantly burros and drivers. The burros would be essential to our team of 5, to transport our piles of equipment from the trailhead to base camp. Although it is only a two hours walk; it is from 14,000’ to base camp at 15,200’. While still acclimatizing the hike alone will take your breath away without carrying a load. With the burros carrying only one duffel bag each it took eight of them to carry our load. There had been a mix up or delay at the trailhead for an unknown reason and the burros didn’t arrive until 4pm. This pushed us to hike in quickly and directly to have time to set up camp before dark. Keep in mind that we are approaching the winter solstice in the Southern Hemisphere on June 21st; the shortest day of the year. Being near the equator (16° south latitude) makes the days a bit longer than in USA but the angle at which the sun rises and descends is most direct. This means there is very little twilight, and it gets dark within 20 minutes of sunset. The delays at the trail were compounded by one of the burro boys stating that one of the duffel bags was too heavy. It was Jeff Alzners and it was locked, thus preventing me from swapping some gear to balance the load and requiring him to return to the trailhead. Jeff was pretty pissed about the return hike and made no attempt to hide his frustration. We wasted no time and by dark we had stoves running and tents set up.
That night I tossed all night with that quiet type of nausea that commands your attention periodically. By 4am it finally manifested itself and hurried out of the tent to answer the call of the beast. Little or no sleep was acquired before or after that the virus worked its way south. I immediately began eating Cipro the following morning in an attempt to rid myself of the bug. It felt like I’d been kicked pretty hard and spent 2 days trying to recover. The other guys were making the best of things by hiking high and climbing to adapt to the altitude. It is quite slow trying to recuperate at 15-thousand feet but by the third day I felt about 70% and hiked up the Condoriri Glacier with Charles. Fredrik joined us for a while but untied from the rope once we realized how save the glacier was, and made way for the summit of Pequeno Alpamayo. Charles and I hiked to the saddle of Tarija at 17,500’ and peered over into the headwaters of the Amazon jungle. It was a beautiful ocean of clouds capped by a deep blue sky and the high peaks of the Andes and the Cordiera Real under our feet. That day the two Jeff’s had rented the little wooden row boat from the only valley inhabitant and gone out into Lago Char Khota to fish. They had been successful and upon our return from our hike had 3 whopping rainbow trout for dinner. One fat monster was 18” long and probably weighed over 4 pounds. We feasted on trout and rice under the jet black Andean sky and attempted to see the Magellenic clouds (in vein) but enjoyed the Southern Cross and many other constellations we didn’t know. The following day Alzner, Fredrik and I headed up glacier again to climb some water ice. It only encompassed about 70 vertical feet of grade 2 or 3 but was entertaining anyway. I wasn’t recovering well and now only felt about 5-60% and therefore elected to go head down the following morning. Yates had departed this morning when he awoke with his lungs gurgling from fluid buildup – pulmonary edema. Sometimes it’s just too difficult to adapt to altitude.
Once back in LaPaz Charles and Yates had commented on going to Peru and seeing Machu Picchu. Heck we were close and the means were within reach. So we wandered around town that evening and arranged for a one way bus ride from LaPaz, Bolivia to Cuzco, Peru the next day and a return flight on the second day followng. Our departure was at 8am the next morning and once again Jeff and I found the bus hospitality amusing. As it was in Chili in 1994, they served hot tea and bread and nectarines in the morning and a full box lunch at midday. The bus ride took 12 hours and crossed the altiplano; that portion of the Andes that is generally flat but always at about 13,000’. We drove around the southern edge of Lake Titicaca and past vast grasslands and adobe houses. The border crossing was easy and quick. The day faded into afternoon as we started a long shallow descent into greener valleys toward Cuzco. We arranged a cheap hotel from an employee woman on the busline. At $10us each it was a steal and we had endless hot water in our private
To Russia with Love (1999)
It seems like I had a lot of big dreams a decade ago. I was so amped up to go to Russia in 1988 that I even received a traveler’s phrase book for Christmas. I guess dreams are good and if you work at them hard enough, they will come true. So did my dream to climb the highest peak on the European continent. We departed for our three week trip on June 23, 1999.
Jennifer is a competent athlete and enjoys testing herself. She also has always wanted to test herself in thin air and this seemed to be a good starting point. We began our travel planning in February by scheduling time off from work, then making contacts to local accommodations, followed by airline ticketing. By April most of the groundwork was laid. Our equipment was mostly at hand but we did extend our needs to include a new tent and some cloths. I acquired support from The North Face and Jagged Edge Mountain Gear. I was renewing some of my equipment and also adding to my wardrobe. TNF covered me with a pro-deal and we ordered a new VE-25 tent and four large gear duffel bags. I also purchased a new backpack and Jen got a large down jacket. Jagged Edge was also nice enough to support us and Jennifer purchased a lightweight down jacket and we both got new pants. These climbing pants were the sole garment I wore for nearly a month.
There were many loopholes in our travel log that we were unable to fill due to the cultural and language barriers. While this makes for an interesting ‘live & learn’ approach to international travel, I would caution anyone from using TASS for any services. Things are politically open enough now that many of the fine points of transportation and lodging can be solidified after arrival in Russia.
We arrived in St. Petersburg pooped, following the usual jet lag of a 20 hour trip. We stayed with a local family we arranged through the outfit call HOFA (host family association). A university professor who is fluent in English operates it. We stayed with an English speaking, non-smoking family that were located in the heart of old downtown. Tonya & Michael were invaluable to our visit and helped us with tourist destinations, domestic flight and opera & theater tickets. Their apartment location also made access to all the great and historic sights within walking distance. St. Petersburg, formerly known as Leningrad, was once the capitol of Russia and still its primary industrial port city and historic backbone. The city is spread out over 47 islands that are links by many beautiful bridges that create a resemblance to Venice. Many of the building are ancient stone and manmade block and the street curbs and sidewalks made of granite. The two meter tall sea walls are all made of cut stone. In total we spend five days in this great city visiting Cathedral and museums. The Hermitage is titled as the quintessential 19th Century museum and is also the largest museum in the world. There was so
much to see we had sore feet several days.
The weather was better that we could have hoped for. Having lived in coastal maritime climate, at 60° North Latitude, for six years I know what should have been the norm. However, El Nino was in full swing. While in St. Petersburg the days were all above 90° and the humidity matched. So in short it was unseasonable and unbearable. Our nice hosts responded to my request favorably and one evening we all went to the forests to visit a lake. At 9:00pm we were swimming and frolicking along with thousands of others. It wasn’t a far cry different than when I was a little kid and would visit the New Jersey shore with family. It was however a pleasant relief from the heat.
Our domestic departure was none too soon to get out of that heat. Once on board the jet the old bat sitting next to us reeked of garlic and had the audacity to look down her nose, past her jewelry, at us for wearing shorts and tank tops. Now while that may not be the most proper manly attire in northern Europe it was befitting the season. We landed in Pyatagorsk a few hours later and were immediately pleased by the dryer, cooler and breezy climate. We were personally escorted off the tarmac to our private car and wisked away from clatter of the airport. This took us by surprise since we really didn’t know what our money had bought us when we wired it away from Colorado. As it turned out we really enjoyed the royal treatment and champagne reception at the Intourist Hotel. However, in hind sight, the local currency could have purchased this same treatment for half the price; so someone in Moscow made out like the bandits they are. This university town of 175,000 was in strict contrast to St.Petersburg. Most people seem to speak some English, seem to be mostly middle class, well educated and friendly. We enjoyed the view of Mt. Elbrus from our 8th story room. We wined & dined in Russian type luxury and shopped for camp foods and future gifts.
We departed the following morning in our private van with our full compliment of four bags that tallied 280 pounds of gear. We had planned to be fully self supported in the event that our destination in the Caucasus Mountains had no provisions available and unpalatable food. Our young interpreter ‘Roman’ was on his first professional outing with us. He is a university student studying English and math. His mother is the manager of the travel agency that booked our accommodations in the mountain village of Terskol. The drive took three hours as we departed from rich rolling farmland in the foothills and shallow valleys. We passed several police check stations and were never stopped due to our windshield sign that stated something like ‘private tourist car’. As we entered into the Baksan River valley the hills turned into mountains and the valley into a gorge. We quickly spotted glacier capped peaks 20 miles up and noted the soaring cliffs to our north. We were very pleasantly surprised by the location of our Hotel Volfram. It was seated deep in an alpine valley at 7,000’ that was choked with spruce trees. The air was fresh and cool. We realized that we would now catch up on our sleep. Until the previous night Jennifer had not slept in a week due to the intense humidity and heat in the city. Although the hotel was no resort, we were pleased with our tiny room, tiny beds and tiny private bathroom. The towels were as thin as paper and you could read through the sheets, which were barely wider than the infant width beds. We had a big glass window & door onto a private balcony. We quickly engulfed the small room in a sprawl of camping, climbing and skiing equipment.
Our first outing was just a stroll up the valley along the narrow paved and pot-holed road. The mountains soared up 40 degree slopes to their summits which averaged over 12,000’. Mt. Elbrus, at over 18,500’, dominated the head of the Baksan Valley as well as the view from every vantagepoint we were to visit over the next two weeks. Surprisingly our walk ended at the Tram Station. Following a rude introduction to Russian culture we bought a couple of tickets and jumped on the big European type tram. It seems that help, courtesy and communication are not high on the list of things to do, in a slowly waning communist culture. The tram climbed steeply to the Mir Station at 10,000’ while passing over rugged moon-like volcanic rocky slopes. At Mir we changed to the next tram which lifted us to 12,000’ , then onto the funky single-seat chairlift that deposited us at Garabashi. This is the infamous starting point for Mt. Elbrus ascents as well as the top of the year-round skiing. We took photos and notes and would return in four days following some acclimatization hikes throughout the local mountains.
The next day our hike started with another chairlift ride up Cheget ski area and mountain. Timberline in this region is at about 9,000’ and the upper mountain slopes are covered in a rainbow of wild flowers. Hillsides also often had extensive patches of blooming rhododendrons. At the top a fellow unloading from the chairlift with a Chow dog on his lap amused us. Shortly thereafter he invited us to join him for tea at the weather station. He spoke pretty good English (or is that English well?); certainly better than our Russian. Maybe that’s how he mistook the salt for sugar in Jenn’s tea. Valery is a dentist but also staffs the weather station about 3 days a week. This also allows him to ski free in the winter. The little hut sleeps 4 has a sauna and is perched on the summit ridge with awesome views of Elbrus across the valley. All his requests for us to join him in the sauna were nixed because of the unseasonable warmth. The next few days Valery befriended us and took us to several hiking destinations. His transportation was the ambulance or medicine car, as they called it. Sharapee, his driver is a tall, dark and quiet man with a broad smile. His complexion reminded us that we were only mere miles from Turkey and it’s Islamic culture. As requested we chipped in for benzene, which is their auto fuel. Our excursions included a long approach to the Junquat & Gumachi Glaciers which sit deep into the Caucausus and border Georgia. We skied the summer corn snow and made plans to return and climb Mt. Jantugan, a beautiful arete of a peak that resemble the Matterhorn. The next outing took us to the Shkelda Glacier adjacent to the base of the famous Mt. Ushba. This peak is situated just over the Georgian border and therefore requires a visa from that newly independent country. Some Britts had just been arrested and detained for violating that border in an attempt to poach a climb on that peak. My desires were outweighed by such consequences.
On July 3rd we packed enough provisions for a four days attempt on Mt. Elbrus. Checking out of the Volfram was always a huge fricken hassle. The goofy, lazy, uninterested man that owned the hotel did little more than wave to us daily. The crusty hag that ran the show insisted that we store our excess baggage in a maintenance closet across from her flat. They wanted nothing to do with working with us to maintain our room and charging us for it. They wanted us out, only then to check back in, in a few days. This coincidentally happened three separate times. It was a Saturday and the tram was nearly full as we muscled our way onto it. I guess its from decade of food lines but the Russian have no concept in making a line or waiting your turn. Its first come, first serve by any means – pushing works best. Upon departure at Garabashi we donned our skies and headed up the slope. We chatted with an American from Illinois and his son. They warned us not to use the local mountain melt water as it was contaminated with benzene. We ascended about 500’ and found a small level spot on the lee side of a rock rib. The evening provided us with a tremendous light show from the valley below. We were above the local rain storm and lightning. The next day we skied up to 14,600’ and made camp. We passed the remains of the Pruit Hut. It was constructed in 1939, slept 100 and survived wars and weather, only to be burned to the ground by a stupid idiot dousing a small stove fire with alcohol, mistaken for water. Again we located our tent on the lee side of the decomposed basaltic lava ridge to our east. We were at the foot of a huge mighty volcano and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. We were unaffected by the altitude and planned to rise at 1am and depart by 2am for the summit.
We both slept fairly well and rose on time. Instant oatmeal & hot chocolate are pretty usual quick breakfasts. We were out and moving promptly at oh-two hundred. The moon was in it’s last quarter and the snow slopes were lit up like a phosphorescent flair was over us. We used our skis with climbing skins attached for the first two thousand vertical feet. As the slope grew too steep to ascend we dropped the skies at Pastokov Rocks and proceeded on foot. We could see the headlights of the Snow Cats approaching our camp elevation. They were carrying their clients from Garabashi Station who have elected to sleep there, then go for the summit 6000’ up. As we approached the col (saddle) at 17,000’, between the twin peaked summit we were caught by two small climbing teams. One were local guides out for fun the other were some Euros that were breathing real hard. Abu was one of the guides and we had made his acquaintance days earlier. He was happy to take our picture in the frigid wee hours of alpenglow just before sunrise. We had missed the actual sunrise because be were circling onto the north side of the east peak and therefore still in the cold shade. We took our first break at about 6:30am immediately after entering into the warm sunlight. Within 10 minutes we were so warmed by our star that we shed one full clothing layer prior to proceeding. The last short but steep rise of about 800’ took a while in the thin air above 18,000’ and put on the rim of the summit crater. Fifteen minutes later, at 08:30am on July 5th we stood at 18,560’, the highest point on the European continent. It was an incredible morning, cloudless and calm. The entire Caucasus Range spread out to our south and east. Four other giant mountains over 5,000 meters were in clear view. It was dead calm, too calm, I couldn’t even fly the kite that I had brought all the way from home, just for this occasion ! The descent started out with a hoot. We sat on our butts and slid down the first 800’ in about 5 minutes. The droves of novice climbers were unsuccessfully attempting to crawl up and sucking wind bigtime. The average for summiting is 50%.
We quickly strolled down to our skies and then attempted to cut turns in the rapidly melting summer slush. Each turn made a spray of goop but also helped control the rate of descent. Our arrival at our tent at 11:00am was greeted by a tremendous head ache. Not from altitude, ok maybe a little, but mostly from the extreme heat and exposure. All that white, albedo and still air, added to dehydration, created quite the ‘pounder’! We attempted to hydrate and rest but it was over 100° inside the tent, even with the doors open. The snow compress on my head didn’t help at all. We forced ourselves to pack up and head down. Within a few turns my headache was completely gone. Amazing what a little blood flow can do for you.
We made quick work of the descent, skied down past the chairlift and loaded onto the Tram. We hailed a funky derelict of a van as a taxi, checked into our dirty little room and began re-unpacking. It was 3pm and we would have to wait four more hours before we could have hot water for a shower. We patted down and combed our greasy hair put on deodorant and clean cloths then headed out for dinner. The only restaurant in town was a small aluminum dome building - probably old space station parts. They always had great food. Again the language barrier was insurmountable but Jennifer was invited into the kitchen to select our dinner by pointing to items of her liking and holding up fingers for quantity. This method worked well every one of the 10 times we ate there. Dinner always included bread and soup and we always had to request butter. A full dinner for two with soda and beer usually cost about $5-7 dollars. Their beer is plentiful but dangerous. The brand I liked was a good pilsner, but the popular brand was 17% alcohol !! Can you imagine? That stuff tasted like it was cut with vodka and ethanol.
We were greeted with hugs of congratulations the next time we saw Valeri. He is currently an unemployed dentist and speaks some english. On our earlier outings he had mentioned his connection to the medicine car (ambulance) and Sharapee, the driver was happy to take us anywhere we desired, if we paid for the fuel with a little tip. We scheduled the following day to do some “touring” over the foothills and into the eastern Caucasus. This ambulance is an attractive gray with the customary red cross on the side. It’s stature is tall, narrow wheel base and reminiscent of a 1964 Ford van; meaning a perfect box with mid engine. We stopped in Terskol and picked up a couple young ladies who Valeri stated were friends of the family that we staying with him for the summer. Both attractive, they were sisters. one in college, the other in junior high. We set off to the east about an hour by highway they turned south into the hills. The road continually got stepper, more narrow and the scenery most beautiful. We passed along miles of soaring limestone cliffs that beckoned for my rock skills. As we topped onto a saddle in the mountain we stopped to photos the immense wild flowers. They were as thick and tall as they were varied; like nothing I had ever seen in any Colorado mountains. Sharapee then turn right! No road, no trail and only a steep flowered, grassy slope for nearly 1000’ up. Surely we werent headed up there!! Yup!! Jennifer and I were both scared shitless, and later I heard that Valeri and the girls were too. But steep nor traverse did stop the wild dark man with the broad toothy smile as wild flowers swept past the window sills of the doors. We summited. While walking around up top we were told that Sharapee grew up in the sole ranch barely noticeable in the far off valley below and as a young boy had built the stone monument that stood before us.
We slowly glided down the eastern slope and into yet another road-less valley toward what we found to be the bee keepers ranch. Out in the middle of absolutely nowhere an lone little old man had a substantial number of hives along with his goats, chickens and sheep. It was extremely hot that day and we drank directly from the natural creek that was flowing through his property. We were then treated to a delicacy that although common food was beyond earthly pleasure. Ackmad Genatoff is about 65 years old, short, stout and wielded his long narrow knife through the honey comb with the grace of a butcher cleaver. I told Jennifer to stop swatting at the bee’s that buzzer her head, she was going to piss them off. We stuck huge gooie cubes of pure honey and comb into our mouths. We sucked and swirled this fine confection and rolled out eyes at its unique sweetness. I humored the group by trying on his full length sheepskin coat, it weighted at least 20 pounds. And yes, jennifer finally got stung in the head. I was fascinated by the hives and got up near 5’ for close up photography while Ackmad took out some fresh crawling combs. We also mad a quick hike up the hill to observe an eagles nest in one of the rare tress’ nearby. The young were huge and just about to fledge and take flight.
Another half hour downhill we unlocked the four-wheel-drive hubs the van. Sharapee laughed at my amusment when he unscrewed the axle cap and with a large allen wrench, unscrewed and thereby disengaged the hubs. He laughed out loud and in broken english said “russian land rover”.
Our journey continued on past a crystal clear roaring river and through a slot of a limestone canyon. The walls were I estimated at 400’ tall and the gorge a mere 75’ wide. Locals were selling food and spirits and one enterprising chap had native clothing to rent and wear for photos; such as: Cossack, military, Czar and Queen.
As we continued into civilization we ended the day in Nalchik. We visited the bazaar or outdoor market. We stopped by the girls family for tea finally I insisted we all stop to eat dinner. Valeri selected a nice restaurant on the river at what appeared to be a resort. As I perused the menu the prices in rupies were merely pennies on the dollar. I insisted on buying dinner for everyone. They refused and I insisted. Dinner and beverages for all six of us tallied about $20 US. They were humbled by our generosity and obviously quite unaccustomed to dining out.
Our 3 hours drive back to Elbrus village was as long as the day was fun. We all were dozing off to the drone of the hot little six-banger under our seat. We arrived well after dark.
Jennifer & I made one more foray into the mountains to climb a Kogutai. The valley floor is at about 7000’ and this lesser peak is just about 12,500’. These approaches are brutally steep and all the peaks require glacial travel on approach. We made a camp at the toe of the glacier and summited the next morning. Our final return to the hotel was as rude as the first, only now we were used to it.
Our final morning in Terskol was a Sunday and the local sheep herds bring their woven goodies to the Cheget ski area parking lot for a wool market sales bazaar. We loaded up on wonderful Christmas presents of hats, scarfs, sweaters and shawls. Our return to Patygorsk was pleasant, our return flight to Saint Petersburg uneventful but still scarey on that old hunk of junk aircraft. We enjoyed a couple more days of Cathedrals and museums in much more seasonable weather.
Jennifer is a competent athlete and enjoys testing herself. She also has always wanted to test herself in thin air and this seemed to be a good starting point. We began our travel planning in February by scheduling time off from work, then making contacts to local accommodations, followed by airline ticketing. By April most of the groundwork was laid. Our equipment was mostly at hand but we did extend our needs to include a new tent and some cloths. I acquired support from The North Face and Jagged Edge Mountain Gear. I was renewing some of my equipment and also adding to my wardrobe. TNF covered me with a pro-deal and we ordered a new VE-25 tent and four large gear duffel bags. I also purchased a new backpack and Jen got a large down jacket. Jagged Edge was also nice enough to support us and Jennifer purchased a lightweight down jacket and we both got new pants. These climbing pants were the sole garment I wore for nearly a month.
There were many loopholes in our travel log that we were unable to fill due to the cultural and language barriers. While this makes for an interesting ‘live & learn’ approach to international travel, I would caution anyone from using TASS for any services. Things are politically open enough now that many of the fine points of transportation and lodging can be solidified after arrival in Russia.
We arrived in St. Petersburg pooped, following the usual jet lag of a 20 hour trip. We stayed with a local family we arranged through the outfit call HOFA (host family association). A university professor who is fluent in English operates it. We stayed with an English speaking, non-smoking family that were located in the heart of old downtown. Tonya & Michael were invaluable to our visit and helped us with tourist destinations, domestic flight and opera & theater tickets. Their apartment location also made access to all the great and historic sights within walking distance. St. Petersburg, formerly known as Leningrad, was once the capitol of Russia and still its primary industrial port city and historic backbone. The city is spread out over 47 islands that are links by many beautiful bridges that create a resemblance to Venice. Many of the building are ancient stone and manmade block and the street curbs and sidewalks made of granite. The two meter tall sea walls are all made of cut stone. In total we spend five days in this great city visiting Cathedral and museums. The Hermitage is titled as the quintessential 19th Century museum and is also the largest museum in the world. There was so
much to see we had sore feet several days.
The weather was better that we could have hoped for. Having lived in coastal maritime climate, at 60° North Latitude, for six years I know what should have been the norm. However, El Nino was in full swing. While in St. Petersburg the days were all above 90° and the humidity matched. So in short it was unseasonable and unbearable. Our nice hosts responded to my request favorably and one evening we all went to the forests to visit a lake. At 9:00pm we were swimming and frolicking along with thousands of others. It wasn’t a far cry different than when I was a little kid and would visit the New Jersey shore with family. It was however a pleasant relief from the heat.
Our domestic departure was none too soon to get out of that heat. Once on board the jet the old bat sitting next to us reeked of garlic and had the audacity to look down her nose, past her jewelry, at us for wearing shorts and tank tops. Now while that may not be the most proper manly attire in northern Europe it was befitting the season. We landed in Pyatagorsk a few hours later and were immediately pleased by the dryer, cooler and breezy climate. We were personally escorted off the tarmac to our private car and wisked away from clatter of the airport. This took us by surprise since we really didn’t know what our money had bought us when we wired it away from Colorado. As it turned out we really enjoyed the royal treatment and champagne reception at the Intourist Hotel. However, in hind sight, the local currency could have purchased this same treatment for half the price; so someone in Moscow made out like the bandits they are. This university town of 175,000 was in strict contrast to St.Petersburg. Most people seem to speak some English, seem to be mostly middle class, well educated and friendly. We enjoyed the view of Mt. Elbrus from our 8th story room. We wined & dined in Russian type luxury and shopped for camp foods and future gifts.
We departed the following morning in our private van with our full compliment of four bags that tallied 280 pounds of gear. We had planned to be fully self supported in the event that our destination in the Caucasus Mountains had no provisions available and unpalatable food. Our young interpreter ‘Roman’ was on his first professional outing with us. He is a university student studying English and math. His mother is the manager of the travel agency that booked our accommodations in the mountain village of Terskol. The drive took three hours as we departed from rich rolling farmland in the foothills and shallow valleys. We passed several police check stations and were never stopped due to our windshield sign that stated something like ‘private tourist car’. As we entered into the Baksan River valley the hills turned into mountains and the valley into a gorge. We quickly spotted glacier capped peaks 20 miles up and noted the soaring cliffs to our north. We were very pleasantly surprised by the location of our Hotel Volfram. It was seated deep in an alpine valley at 7,000’ that was choked with spruce trees. The air was fresh and cool. We realized that we would now catch up on our sleep. Until the previous night Jennifer had not slept in a week due to the intense humidity and heat in the city. Although the hotel was no resort, we were pleased with our tiny room, tiny beds and tiny private bathroom. The towels were as thin as paper and you could read through the sheets, which were barely wider than the infant width beds. We had a big glass window & door onto a private balcony. We quickly engulfed the small room in a sprawl of camping, climbing and skiing equipment.
Our first outing was just a stroll up the valley along the narrow paved and pot-holed road. The mountains soared up 40 degree slopes to their summits which averaged over 12,000’. Mt. Elbrus, at over 18,500’, dominated the head of the Baksan Valley as well as the view from every vantagepoint we were to visit over the next two weeks. Surprisingly our walk ended at the Tram Station. Following a rude introduction to Russian culture we bought a couple of tickets and jumped on the big European type tram. It seems that help, courtesy and communication are not high on the list of things to do, in a slowly waning communist culture. The tram climbed steeply to the Mir Station at 10,000’ while passing over rugged moon-like volcanic rocky slopes. At Mir we changed to the next tram which lifted us to 12,000’ , then onto the funky single-seat chairlift that deposited us at Garabashi. This is the infamous starting point for Mt. Elbrus ascents as well as the top of the year-round skiing. We took photos and notes and would return in four days following some acclimatization hikes throughout the local mountains.
The next day our hike started with another chairlift ride up Cheget ski area and mountain. Timberline in this region is at about 9,000’ and the upper mountain slopes are covered in a rainbow of wild flowers. Hillsides also often had extensive patches of blooming rhododendrons. At the top a fellow unloading from the chairlift with a Chow dog on his lap amused us. Shortly thereafter he invited us to join him for tea at the weather station. He spoke pretty good English (or is that English well?); certainly better than our Russian. Maybe that’s how he mistook the salt for sugar in Jenn’s tea. Valery is a dentist but also staffs the weather station about 3 days a week. This also allows him to ski free in the winter. The little hut sleeps 4 has a sauna and is perched on the summit ridge with awesome views of Elbrus across the valley. All his requests for us to join him in the sauna were nixed because of the unseasonable warmth. The next few days Valery befriended us and took us to several hiking destinations. His transportation was the ambulance or medicine car, as they called it. Sharapee, his driver is a tall, dark and quiet man with a broad smile. His complexion reminded us that we were only mere miles from Turkey and it’s Islamic culture. As requested we chipped in for benzene, which is their auto fuel. Our excursions included a long approach to the Junquat & Gumachi Glaciers which sit deep into the Caucausus and border Georgia. We skied the summer corn snow and made plans to return and climb Mt. Jantugan, a beautiful arete of a peak that resemble the Matterhorn. The next outing took us to the Shkelda Glacier adjacent to the base of the famous Mt. Ushba. This peak is situated just over the Georgian border and therefore requires a visa from that newly independent country. Some Britts had just been arrested and detained for violating that border in an attempt to poach a climb on that peak. My desires were outweighed by such consequences.
On July 3rd we packed enough provisions for a four days attempt on Mt. Elbrus. Checking out of the Volfram was always a huge fricken hassle. The goofy, lazy, uninterested man that owned the hotel did little more than wave to us daily. The crusty hag that ran the show insisted that we store our excess baggage in a maintenance closet across from her flat. They wanted nothing to do with working with us to maintain our room and charging us for it. They wanted us out, only then to check back in, in a few days. This coincidentally happened three separate times. It was a Saturday and the tram was nearly full as we muscled our way onto it. I guess its from decade of food lines but the Russian have no concept in making a line or waiting your turn. Its first come, first serve by any means – pushing works best. Upon departure at Garabashi we donned our skies and headed up the slope. We chatted with an American from Illinois and his son. They warned us not to use the local mountain melt water as it was contaminated with benzene. We ascended about 500’ and found a small level spot on the lee side of a rock rib. The evening provided us with a tremendous light show from the valley below. We were above the local rain storm and lightning. The next day we skied up to 14,600’ and made camp. We passed the remains of the Pruit Hut. It was constructed in 1939, slept 100 and survived wars and weather, only to be burned to the ground by a stupid idiot dousing a small stove fire with alcohol, mistaken for water. Again we located our tent on the lee side of the decomposed basaltic lava ridge to our east. We were at the foot of a huge mighty volcano and there wasn’t a cloud in the sky. We were unaffected by the altitude and planned to rise at 1am and depart by 2am for the summit.
We both slept fairly well and rose on time. Instant oatmeal & hot chocolate are pretty usual quick breakfasts. We were out and moving promptly at oh-two hundred. The moon was in it’s last quarter and the snow slopes were lit up like a phosphorescent flair was over us. We used our skis with climbing skins attached for the first two thousand vertical feet. As the slope grew too steep to ascend we dropped the skies at Pastokov Rocks and proceeded on foot. We could see the headlights of the Snow Cats approaching our camp elevation. They were carrying their clients from Garabashi Station who have elected to sleep there, then go for the summit 6000’ up. As we approached the col (saddle) at 17,000’, between the twin peaked summit we were caught by two small climbing teams. One were local guides out for fun the other were some Euros that were breathing real hard. Abu was one of the guides and we had made his acquaintance days earlier. He was happy to take our picture in the frigid wee hours of alpenglow just before sunrise. We had missed the actual sunrise because be were circling onto the north side of the east peak and therefore still in the cold shade. We took our first break at about 6:30am immediately after entering into the warm sunlight. Within 10 minutes we were so warmed by our star that we shed one full clothing layer prior to proceeding. The last short but steep rise of about 800’ took a while in the thin air above 18,000’ and put on the rim of the summit crater. Fifteen minutes later, at 08:30am on July 5th we stood at 18,560’, the highest point on the European continent. It was an incredible morning, cloudless and calm. The entire Caucasus Range spread out to our south and east. Four other giant mountains over 5,000 meters were in clear view. It was dead calm, too calm, I couldn’t even fly the kite that I had brought all the way from home, just for this occasion ! The descent started out with a hoot. We sat on our butts and slid down the first 800’ in about 5 minutes. The droves of novice climbers were unsuccessfully attempting to crawl up and sucking wind bigtime. The average for summiting is 50%.
We quickly strolled down to our skies and then attempted to cut turns in the rapidly melting summer slush. Each turn made a spray of goop but also helped control the rate of descent. Our arrival at our tent at 11:00am was greeted by a tremendous head ache. Not from altitude, ok maybe a little, but mostly from the extreme heat and exposure. All that white, albedo and still air, added to dehydration, created quite the ‘pounder’! We attempted to hydrate and rest but it was over 100° inside the tent, even with the doors open. The snow compress on my head didn’t help at all. We forced ourselves to pack up and head down. Within a few turns my headache was completely gone. Amazing what a little blood flow can do for you.
We made quick work of the descent, skied down past the chairlift and loaded onto the Tram. We hailed a funky derelict of a van as a taxi, checked into our dirty little room and began re-unpacking. It was 3pm and we would have to wait four more hours before we could have hot water for a shower. We patted down and combed our greasy hair put on deodorant and clean cloths then headed out for dinner. The only restaurant in town was a small aluminum dome building - probably old space station parts. They always had great food. Again the language barrier was insurmountable but Jennifer was invited into the kitchen to select our dinner by pointing to items of her liking and holding up fingers for quantity. This method worked well every one of the 10 times we ate there. Dinner always included bread and soup and we always had to request butter. A full dinner for two with soda and beer usually cost about $5-7 dollars. Their beer is plentiful but dangerous. The brand I liked was a good pilsner, but the popular brand was 17% alcohol !! Can you imagine? That stuff tasted like it was cut with vodka and ethanol.
We were greeted with hugs of congratulations the next time we saw Valeri. He is currently an unemployed dentist and speaks some english. On our earlier outings he had mentioned his connection to the medicine car (ambulance) and Sharapee, the driver was happy to take us anywhere we desired, if we paid for the fuel with a little tip. We scheduled the following day to do some “touring” over the foothills and into the eastern Caucasus. This ambulance is an attractive gray with the customary red cross on the side. It’s stature is tall, narrow wheel base and reminiscent of a 1964 Ford van; meaning a perfect box with mid engine. We stopped in Terskol and picked up a couple young ladies who Valeri stated were friends of the family that we staying with him for the summer. Both attractive, they were sisters. one in college, the other in junior high. We set off to the east about an hour by highway they turned south into the hills. The road continually got stepper, more narrow and the scenery most beautiful. We passed along miles of soaring limestone cliffs that beckoned for my rock skills. As we topped onto a saddle in the mountain we stopped to photos the immense wild flowers. They were as thick and tall as they were varied; like nothing I had ever seen in any Colorado mountains. Sharapee then turn right! No road, no trail and only a steep flowered, grassy slope for nearly 1000’ up. Surely we werent headed up there!! Yup!! Jennifer and I were both scared shitless, and later I heard that Valeri and the girls were too. But steep nor traverse did stop the wild dark man with the broad toothy smile as wild flowers swept past the window sills of the doors. We summited. While walking around up top we were told that Sharapee grew up in the sole ranch barely noticeable in the far off valley below and as a young boy had built the stone monument that stood before us.
We slowly glided down the eastern slope and into yet another road-less valley toward what we found to be the bee keepers ranch. Out in the middle of absolutely nowhere an lone little old man had a substantial number of hives along with his goats, chickens and sheep. It was extremely hot that day and we drank directly from the natural creek that was flowing through his property. We were then treated to a delicacy that although common food was beyond earthly pleasure. Ackmad Genatoff is about 65 years old, short, stout and wielded his long narrow knife through the honey comb with the grace of a butcher cleaver. I told Jennifer to stop swatting at the bee’s that buzzer her head, she was going to piss them off. We stuck huge gooie cubes of pure honey and comb into our mouths. We sucked and swirled this fine confection and rolled out eyes at its unique sweetness. I humored the group by trying on his full length sheepskin coat, it weighted at least 20 pounds. And yes, jennifer finally got stung in the head. I was fascinated by the hives and got up near 5’ for close up photography while Ackmad took out some fresh crawling combs. We also mad a quick hike up the hill to observe an eagles nest in one of the rare tress’ nearby. The young were huge and just about to fledge and take flight.
Another half hour downhill we unlocked the four-wheel-drive hubs the van. Sharapee laughed at my amusment when he unscrewed the axle cap and with a large allen wrench, unscrewed and thereby disengaged the hubs. He laughed out loud and in broken english said “russian land rover”.
Our journey continued on past a crystal clear roaring river and through a slot of a limestone canyon. The walls were I estimated at 400’ tall and the gorge a mere 75’ wide. Locals were selling food and spirits and one enterprising chap had native clothing to rent and wear for photos; such as: Cossack, military, Czar and Queen.
As we continued into civilization we ended the day in Nalchik. We visited the bazaar or outdoor market. We stopped by the girls family for tea finally I insisted we all stop to eat dinner. Valeri selected a nice restaurant on the river at what appeared to be a resort. As I perused the menu the prices in rupies were merely pennies on the dollar. I insisted on buying dinner for everyone. They refused and I insisted. Dinner and beverages for all six of us tallied about $20 US. They were humbled by our generosity and obviously quite unaccustomed to dining out.
Our 3 hours drive back to Elbrus village was as long as the day was fun. We all were dozing off to the drone of the hot little six-banger under our seat. We arrived well after dark.
Jennifer & I made one more foray into the mountains to climb a Kogutai. The valley floor is at about 7000’ and this lesser peak is just about 12,500’. These approaches are brutally steep and all the peaks require glacial travel on approach. We made a camp at the toe of the glacier and summited the next morning. Our final return to the hotel was as rude as the first, only now we were used to it.
Our final morning in Terskol was a Sunday and the local sheep herds bring their woven goodies to the Cheget ski area parking lot for a wool market sales bazaar. We loaded up on wonderful Christmas presents of hats, scarfs, sweaters and shawls. Our return to Patygorsk was pleasant, our return flight to Saint Petersburg uneventful but still scarey on that old hunk of junk aircraft. We enjoyed a couple more days of Cathedrals and museums in much more seasonable weather.
Climbing Kilimanjaro (1996)
The idea began to coagulate in November of 1993 while I was training for a climbing trip to Argentina. I was collecting data from my brother George’s friend in Colorado Springs. Coincidentally Phil was also headed to Mount Aconcagua. I rendezvoused with him and some of his friends and family on Thanksgiving day for a rapid day hike of Pikes Peak. As the 26 mile day hike wore on Phil and I talked in depth about our adventure travel plans and past successes. He planted a seed in my mind that day. Mount Kilimanjaro. He had done it years earlier and raved about it’s ease, enjoyment and surrounding culture.
A month later on New Years Eve, near midnight, Jeff Yates my buddy from Anchorage Alaska, and I, lounged at 10,000’ in the natural hot springs at Punta Del Inca awaiting moonrise and a new year. The Argentinean Andes rose all around us in a barren lunar landscape which was silhouetted against the Southern Cross and Magellenic Clouds. We gulped our Antarctica beers and enjoyed the local military cannon fire in celebration of the New Year. We realized that this would be a very memorable night in a long life of adventures. We talked the talk of worldly dreams, of inebriation, of past thrills and future villains. “If this go’s well, what next?” Quiet. Deep thought. Sleep was high on the priority list; we would hit the trail tomorrow and had a lot of packing to do in the morning. But first I had to find my Nikon camera. In my haste and stupor I had misplaced it and Forrest and Eileen, my antagonists from Longmont Colorado, were nice enough to hide it until I was sober with rage.
After our push for the Summit we slouched in Condor Camp at 18,000’ and resumed, “what next?”. We discussed that subject very little but agreed it should be warm. At Plaza De Mulas (14,000’) we met up with Phil and his crew from Colorado Springs. I relayed the Kilimanjaro details to Jeff and Forrest, and added “They require porters and a cook. Wow, we wouldn’t have to hump heavy loads at high altitude” I proclaimed! We were dreaming of a change of pace. Jeff and I had both done Mount McKinley twice and knew the arduous decay one feels after twenty days of sixty pound packs, frigid arctic exposure, dehydrated food and attrition to high altitude. “We shouldn’t be antagonized as being wimpy” Jeff added. “It’s decadent, I can do that” After all, we agreed, it’s required by the Tanzanian government. “Sounds good” Forrest voted, in his usual wordy, long soliloquy.
For those guys to save up enough frequent flyer miles to round trip to Nairobi free, would take they estimated, about three years. Their international businesses had its rewards. So if all went well we would pursue an African adventure as soon as late 1996.
Over the next three years I would see Jeff about four times. All very short visits. Twice in Anchorage at his home and office while I was vacationing in Alaska for ocean kayaking or mountain climbing. Twice in Colorado while he was traveling on business. I admire his self made career achievements with global travel. He sells computer mapping software and has clients in about fifty countries.
Forrest is also deeply involved in a career of computers. He’s a bicycle design engineer, and seems to have a spiritual commitment to the Olympic Superbike. As a slighter built man one may want to equate his size to ability, or endurance. I quickly dropped any notion of that. Years of amateur-pro bike racing had helped him to develop a powerful Will, which far exceeded most muscle or mind strengths. On summit day on Aconcagua he had strolled away from us at 20,000’ and seemed more fit than us even with his distinct lack on training. However, we were all taking Kilimanjaro very seriously. We wanted to stroll to the summit without affect, then retire to safari, beach or whatever adventure we could find.
As 1996 rolled in we all started communication in earnest. We mailed maps to each other, down loaded stories from the Internet on how-to, found people who had been there and tapped them for beta, visited folks who had slides and photos to share. Forrest and Jeff made airline commitments for all three of us. That schedule had to be synchronized well so Jeff’s flight from Anchorage would overlap ours from Denver. We would rendezvous in Dulles Washington DC. This would also make ground transportation in Nairobi simpler. We joked; knowing Jeff he’d probably know someone in Nairobi, and we’d have a local contact and maybe an escort from the airport. After all he had surprised us half way around the world, in Santiago Chili, with that.
As we passed customs in Santiago International Airport, Forrests wife Eileen leaned over to me and said “what’s Jeff’s last name?”. I followed her gaze and looked on through the mass of human bodies and into the crowd in amazement. There stood a well-dressed man holding a sign which read “Mr. Jeff Yates”. Jeff blushed a little and let on that he didn’t tell us in case the connection didn’t come through. It did, and we were handled very well by Senior Renato Ross. Our transportation arrangements in Chile and outings throughout his county, went smoothly. However his assistance was seriously needed to accomplish that. So now we wondered if Jeff could do it again.
During the planning phase there was much desire for both guy’s to have their wives join the trip. Cheryl even had an old friend in Nairobi and Eileen was definitely interested in adventure travel, having joined us in South America. Both women are quite capable of the mountain hike and female companionship would be greatly appreciated and help to control any testosterone overloads. However, as time wore on life’s complications dictated that, unfortunately, neither wife could attend.
After a busy construction year I had accumulated a very healthy chunk of vacation and compensatory time and was disappointed that the African adventure was slated for only nineteen days. It did however include Christmas. That would be fun, Christmas on the Serengeti. The work load at the office had burned me out and I didn’t feel that would be enough time off. So I added an extra week to the beginning of my vacation and planned a rock climbing trip.
I had been learning and practicing Aid Climbing for a few months and was itching to put it use. This is a branch of rock climbing which requires small nylon ladders for your feet which you connect directly to the protective pieces of gear you place in the rock. This is necessary on big wall routes which have a distinctive lack of hand holds or are overhanging, and generally very long (maybe 1000’). Therefore it is referred to as direct-aid, as opposed to free-climbing, which means all connection to the rock is with your hand and leg strength and no load is placed on the protection, unless you fall. Rope handling is still much the same with a belay person on the other end of the rope.
Well Zion National Park seemed as good of a place as any to visit for this. It was high on my list of places to see and has an abundance of clean aid lines. Clean indicates that no pitons are driven into the rock cracks, just the use of small wired nuts which wedge into the smallest of fissures. Zion is more awesome than my wildest imagination. While driving toward the Park and nearing the town of Springdale, Utah we could see the red, orange and white sandstone walls from 10 miles away. Holy shit, I thought they must all be over a thousand feet high.
It was Saturday afternoon December 7th and we had taken all of Friday evening and Saturday to get there. Rojo and I left Estes Park at 6:00pm after work and hoped to make it there by 2am. A huge winter storm required us to lock in the hubs on my 1977 Ford pickup east of the Eisenhower tunnels and stay in four wheel drive about 100 miles. The wind howled and refused to allow us to leave Colorado with any dignity.
We made the National Park visitors center just before closing and reviewed their climbers log for details of the route we wanted to climb. Spaceshot had been first climbed in 1978 and is now a test piece for beginning aid climbers. It is also a good introduction to Zion sandstone. We located the campground right after we drove up the canyon to spy the route and orient ourselves within the Park. What we thought were respectable sized walls, we now realized were phenomenally huge. This place was the sedimentary Yosemite. The towering cliffs were over two thousand feet high and some soared to 2,700 feet. We had no idea the total gain of elevation on Spaceshot but it was labeled as 6 pitches. That meant at least 700 vertical feet, without the scramble up to the base or off the top. We noticed a couple hauling a load up the lower pitch that evening. That meant they were planning to bivouac on the wall the next night, in a hanging port-a-ledge. We made a pact right then to get an early start and get ahead of them. Passing a rope team on a big wall would burn precious daylight, and we wanted to do the route in a day.
We made the approach at 6am in the dark. Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse. Scrambling the first three pitches was easy to moderate with few moves of 5.5 or so. With full day packs and double ropes we were extra careful, cuz any fall or slip would end my vacation and I still had Africa on my brain. I took the first pitch, which would allow Rojo to free climb the 4th, as we swapped leads. Wow, this was weird. No holds at all just a bolt ladder, and some of those were missing. It took almost two hours to lead it but only about 10 minutes for Rojo to jug it (ascend with mechanical devices). The temperature was in the low 60’s, balmy for December, and the sun warmed us deeply. By 3pm we were at the bottom of the forth pitch and John switched to his free climbing shoes and reracked the gear for his lead. I’ve heard from many climbing associates that this is tough; switching from aid to free. But Rojo is tough.
The day fell into darkness with the vibrant illumination of the canyon walls. The sandstone became iridescent like dayglow paint under a ultraviolet lamp, as John struggled up the 5.10+ pitch. It was dimming twilight when he yelled “off belay”. The last 120’ pitch we climbed in the dark by headlamp. Talk about tunnel vision ! Occasionally the lights of an automobile a thousand feet below, would break up the inky world we were now engulfed in. Concentration and determination allowed us to down-scramble and locate the rappel anchors in the hanging valley to our south. Rappelling at midnight, wow! Not unlike SCUBA diving at night; lowering oneself into the void.
The next day required some extra rest. Unfortunately that allowed the wet storm from the southwest to catch us. We packed up and headed north to Arches National Park. We had beat the storm by half a day, which allowed us one quick climb of something close by. This is a landscape of bazaar formations, like gargoyles hanging on cliffs and demons growing out of the belly of the earth. Our target was a phallic rock 130’ tall and a scant 15’ wide. That would be “Dark Angle”. We scampered across the four mile approach in an hour. The rock is naturally divided into two short pitches. The first a hand crack in what might as well be vertical chalk, the second: face moves on small rounded edges and ruggosities. The climb, summit celebration and ensuing grog removed another hour and a half to a diminishing day. The waning sunlight behind the towering storm clouds encouraged us to retreat to the trailhead as rapidly as we approached. Our big outing had been four and a half hours. The violent winter storm knew no bounds and had deposited three feet of snow in the high country as we high-tailed it home.
The message on my phone machine asked if I was to be expected tomorrow morning at 8:00am. “Of course, silly” I thought. “I’m not about to miss my flight to Nairobi !” It was Thursday afternoon, I had been out running errands most of the day. Had only been home 18 hours and just finished hanging up all the climbing hardware. A few weeks on the equator wouldn’t require much in gear or cloths, so a half a day to pack would suffice. It was all the C.Y.A. stuff that was adding up and weighing me down. The tent, inflatable ground pad, stove, pot, fuel, empty water bottles, dehydrated food, candy and extra thermal layers would all be unnecessary if the fine print were accurate, and the details worked out correctly. But I’m not about to go half way around the world and find out other wise. Neither were Jeff or Forrest.
I managed to keep all my belonging in two pieces of luggage; a large canvas duffel bag and a medium sized backpack. The duffel tipped the scale at 74 pounds at Denver International Airport. The limit was 70 pounds, but they were nice and didn’t charge me. Forrest and Eileen Yelverton were my transportation as well as my airline booking agents. Upon my arrival at their home in Longmont a couple of hours earlier Forrest announced he had the Flu and was running a fever of 103° all night. “That sucks” we all agreed.
Unlike other trips I was able to sleep on the plane. Although very excited, I had studied and rehearsed so many details to this trip that the nervousness was worked out. It was special to be in the brand new Boeing 777, a comfortable bus with good food and movies. We rendezvoused with Jeff in Dulles Airport, as planned. We would be adding 10 time zones to an already very weary 22 hour flight. I left Estes Park, Colorado at 7:00am local time Friday, December 13 and walked into our hotel in Nairobi at 11pm their time Saturday night. Ouch! And that was with no significant layovers, other than three hours in Frankfort (the first time I have returned to the hinterland as Dad would say).
Forrests condition hadn’t improved at all in travel. We thought the best augmentation to our agenda would be to allow him some rest at the hotel. We met up with our friend Naphtally the next day and arranged all the details for the entire trip; the guide and porter services on Mount Kilimanjaro, the game drives, transportation and food for the Serengeti and all bus transport, transfers and hotel accommodations. Then booked ourselves onto an afternoon bus to the coast. Hey, we figured we can’t help him get better so we best make the most of our vacation!
The six hour bus ride to the coastal town of Mombassa was grueling. Their highway system is like a U.S. narrow local street with lots of pot holes, but they still drive it at interstate speeds. The fellow in the seat next to me was chewing a popular tree branch shoot which he said helps to make nice dreams. The Kenyan accent is quite heavy but English is the official language of commerce. Swahili is their local dialect, but anyone with even minor education speaks English. Following my inquiries this guy tells me of a nice hotel on the north coast. Mombasa being the division between north and south coasts of Kenya. A quick taxi ride north 10 kilometers put us at the door of a swank joint much too nice for us and especially our wallets. However upon further inspection that $120 a night included full buffet breakfast and dinner. So divided by two we thought “what the hell, you only go around once!” And we were just in time for dinner. Such a palatial spread I haven’t seen since I worked as a grunt in a private elite club in Colorado Springs, while in college. We chowed down!
The dawn brought a vision of a tropical paradise I didn’t expect. When we opened the sliding doors onto our second floor balcony the electronic servo automatically turned off the air conditioner. There before my eyes was heaven ! Swaying palm trees and a mild surge of the 80° Indian Ocean water lapping at the white sand beach, just 50 feet away. Jeff went for a run but I elected to lounge and soak it in. Just wanted to watch the Sun rise out of the third ocean. There was a lot of fun to be had and we got as much of it as possible. Bargaining with beach urchins selling their wares, beer, camel rides, beer, snorkeling, beer, sailing, beer and oh did I mention beer? This place had three pools and three bars! But we were happy with just the swim up bar, where we spent most of the afternoon and evening. Then it was time to gorge ourselves again at the mother of all buffets. Days end was entertained with a snake show at the disco bar, where my comrade gave into the weight of waterlogged eye lids. And I thought he was a professional at this, I shoved him to wake and sent him off to the room.
We were very disappointed to find Forrest not feeling much better the next evening upon our return to the Fairview Hotel, in Nairobi. He had already rebooked his flight back to the States and would leave that night. It felt funny to loose him so soon. It go’s to show you that it’s not always altitude or indigenous diseases that weed us out. The common flu can kick your ass.
We met Naphtally the following morning at 9am at the predescribed bus area. It was not a public bus but a twenty passenger tourist bus with solo seats on one side and doubles on the other. Naphtally was his usual warm, polite and well dressed self. We settled up with the remainder of the U.S. cash for the climb and safari. He continued to verify that all things should be very well taken care of, and if not, he wanted to know about it in detail. He spoke with clarity and sincerity. He insisted that each change and venue should occur with class and precision. The bus driver had been versed on our itinerary and we would be expected both at the bus office and the hotel in Moshi, our destination in Tanzania.
Although we have been warned numerous times about pick pockets and shysters we had yet to meet anyone who was not polite and friendly. The people here are much darker than the African-American people at home and in general are slight of build. I find myself to be an above average sized man both in height and physique, an amusement I have never known in the States.
The border crossing from Kenya to Tanzania is not unlike those in Mexico I have visited. The office building is a small wood structure with jalousie window and no sign of plumbing. There is one small fan trying to disturb the hot, still air in which the 75 or so people from a few buses are humidifying by their very existence in the tiny room. The steady thump, thump of the stamp pad is louder than the dull murmur of conversation, and creates an illusion of control for the government workers. I’m sure everyone had the same thought on their mind. “I hope the visa arrangements I made, and the $50 bucks I sent in, are the proper ones, and these guys don’t screw with ME.” Outside in the street where there is no delineated parking nor organization to the motion of vehicles the vendors attack all viable prey. Their wares are very interesting and beautiful. These are the Masai people. The original people of the Serengeti Plains and all surrounding land, regardless of political boundaries. Their trade is mostly beadwork, water gourds and ebony wood carvings. It is all very enticing but I don’t want to carry it all over Africa, so my purchases will have to wait until the end of the trip.
Our arrival in Moshi was indeed expected and we were greeted by Emmanuelle, a representative from Davanu the tour bus organization. They had been instructed by Naphtally that we were ‘special ‘ and that it was imperative that no problems arise. Our bags were carried across the street to the Moshi Hotel and we checked into our room. Remember, I told myself, this is a Third World country, as we entered the room and were amused at it’s starkness. The two single beds were made up in a tight military style, and had crisp blue sheets on them. There was an attached bath which in this country is far from the norm. The general sanitation of the room was third world, but for us outdoor types was just fine. We would only be here one night and most of that time was spent repacking.
That afternoon we had a sit down review with the owner of Zara, which is the guide-service. We rehearsed the details of hiking Mount Kilimanjaro. This would be the objectives of the next five days. They would supply the food, porters, cook, National Park permits and all the fee’s associated to the use of the sleeping huts along the trail. They requested to team Jeff and I with two women so as to create a foursome which would be better for them and fit the accommodations on the mountain. They seemed to be pleasant, regular type folks who were in the midst of a huge one year travel plan. Both about 30ish, one Kunuck and one Kiwi. It didn’t hurt that they were attractive and very fit. Another hour of errands around town in the mini-van and we were finally off.
The hot mid-day drive from the hotel to the Park entrance took about an hour. The apparent second in command was a stocky woman much older than the owner and with the disposition of a lion. Don’t turn your back because she might eat the young! We first saw her at the office, where she ushered in a young Arabic girl, maybe 19 years old, who was in tears. She continued taunting, barking and generally chewing the poor gals ass, from the truck through the door. The poor young thing was the image of innocence, and had the adornment of the ruby in her forehead. It was hard for us to imagine she could have done anything to deserve such a public verbal flogging. Now the hag was ragging on the driver.
We did a quick repack at the trailhead, signed in with the authorities, were issued a box lunches and began walking. We followed an old narrow asphalt roadbed lined with Eucalyptus trees for the first half mile. The foliage was tall, dark and dense. It was substantially cooler under the canopy of flora than it was out in the parking lot. Town and the surround plains are at about 6,000’ and quite arid, not unlike Arizona. We were now in a tropical rain-forest, and grateful it was a very pleasant dry day. We strolled leisurely and after about an hour stopped to devour our box lunch. It consisted of a tomato and lettuce sandwich on white bread, a hard boiled egg, a BBQ’ed chicken leg, cookie, orange and little box of juice. We were all surprised and pleased. It was more food and better tasting than we could have imagined. Shortly thereafter we detoured off into the forest on a narrow and heavily overgrown path. I had heard about it from others, it came highly recommended. Shaved a half mile off the trail and led through the dense undergrowth of a Tarzan-like jungle. None of the other hiking groups opted for this trail, which was great and made the afternoon walk seem substantially more wild. We asked Lameck, our guide, if we might see lions, elephants or any critters. Unfortunately he said “no”. That didn’t deter us from thinking he must be wrong. The jungle was so dense you couldn’t see each other beyond about ten yards. We were constantly watching our footing since the tree roots created an endless staircase and stumbling arena.
Back on the main trail we found ourselves intermingled with other client groups and porters. The indigenous people are extremely durable and apparently uninterested or unfazed by technology. While many of the porters balance large 36” soft woven baskets on their heads which generally are for fruits and vegetables the others who carry client baggage prefer it to be in duffel bags. We had been informed of this back in the States and packed accordingly. Some folks however, had their belongings in the typical western high-tech backpacks. This didn’t stop the porters from carrying it on their heads. Quality footwear was also something which had not interrupted their lifestyle. Some wore knee high rubber fishing boots, others sneakers with no laces and yet others only flip-flop type sandals, all are without socks. Most importantly they all seemed to be quite content and happy. Be it the mountain environment, time away from their fields and livestock or maybe just to have a job there were no quarrels or complaints.
The Mandera Hut is located at 9,000’ in a grassy clearing. There are about twenty small A-frame huts there for sleeping and one large communal A-frame for dining and socializing. We arrived about 4pm and shortly afterwards were served hot popcorn and black tea. We were informed that dinner would be served at 6pm. We talked with some other English speaking people and mostly to Sophie and Kate. Figured if we were gunna be stuck together for five days we might as well get to know’em. Lameck gave us a key to our hut, which we immediately moved into. Each hut is divided in halves, each side sleeping four. Three on the floor and one bunk across the back. Each has a thick foam mattress covered in a dark blue slip-cover and matching pillow. Most impressive! Much more and nicer than I ever dreamed. Holy Cow there’s sit down toilets and showers too! Now this is what I call roughing it! Just when we thought it couldn’t get any better than this we saw dinner. A feast for ten people. What the heck were we going to do with that quantity of food? There was soup and crackers first. Dinner included spaghetti noodles, legs of chicken, toast, a large bowl of small potatoes, carrots and a cooked pile of shredded cabbage. We happily indulged and were immediately surprised to taste that everything was fried in copious quantities of oil. It wasn’t too many bites into dinner when I felt a very strange feeling come over me.?! A few more bites and primal instinct told me what I didn’t want to hear. It couldn’t be; I felt fine. Two minutes later I excused myself from the table and headed directly to the hut. I unlocked the big sliding deadbolted door and laid down. Then began running a diagnostics test on my system. The same results kept appearing. Within fifteen minutes I had scurried to the edge of the clearing and palmed a large tree in my left hand, with feet back and spread like a police pat-down. There I was, first day of our adventure, first day of a long five day journey - hurling my fuckin guts into the African jungle! The rest of me felt fine, so I figured this wouldn’t be so bad. Get rid of the poison and refuel with good food, eat a filling breakfast and continue on, no loss.
The theory was grand but six hours later the alien had worked itself through to the other end. Thirty minutes after achieving conscienceness I was in the Head. It was another A-frame and was quite classy considering my location. There I sat for thirty minutes, my entire body convulsing and shivering in a fever of anguish. During momentary rational thoughts I wondered how I could go on and hike ten miles tomorrow. Near death or not, I would manage. The others were tied to me both financially and by schedule. To add a day would add a hundred bucks each to the trip, something they would not be any party to. The waves of diarrhea came with spasms. My head wet with sweat while the rest of me shivered.
I did not sleep fitfully. My mind was occupied with maintaining bowel control. I dozed then awoke at 7am. This was worse than a college hangover. I struggled to pack my belonging. Everything was a tremendous effort. I dispatched the duffel bag with the porter, they were getting annoyed from waiting. I joined the others at the breakfast table, and forced myself to drink some tea and labored to swallow a few pieces of toast with jelly. We departed soon thereafter and my hell was revived. The horizon swirled as I walked and I felt incredibly weak. But on the good side, I could also tell that this would be short lived. It’s one of those innate senses one can just feel. At lunch break, however, the others let on their concern. They said they were really worried when after thirty minutes on the trail I said it felt like two hours. While my comrades chowed their lunches I took an hour nap. Upon rising I felt the breath of life in me again. I ate a banana and an orange and guzzled a quart of Gatorade. As we walked each step became more focused. After a mile I ate a power bar and some crackers and gulped more water. My pace became crisp again. I was actually keeping up with the crew. We passed many strange plants, some resembling Joshua Trees others in the Yucca family. The terrain became more arid and the mountain side ahead of us grew in shadow as the afternoon heat thermals rose to condense. As we entered a boulder strewn volcanic landscape I crested the ridge and viewed the Horombo Huts. I had caught up to the previous group, Germans, and found myself about a half mile ahead of my three associates. I guess I had recovered.
I registered our foursome with the camp manager and was assigned a hut. Popcorn and tea was served pronto and it felt good to eat. This camp was much larger than Mandera, about double. It also had a brick building under construction, and there was a tractor! I wondered how the hell that got here? This site provides shelter for teams returning from the summit and well as those heading up. Dinner was filling and could have been delicious, however, it was all fried in oil again. I ate all I could. The toast disappeared quickly and we asked for more. It doesn’t take long for the sun to set and the darkness to come on at this latitude. Being northern latitude dwellers we are accustom to lengthy twilight’s. Here at the equator the Sun plunges into the horizon near vertical and allows very little evening. Jeff was especially aware of it, being from Anchorage at 60° north, where dawn and dust last several hours.
The winter solstice arrived with beautiful blue sky’s and crisp cold air. Now at 12,000’ there is little but bushes for vegetation and the view of Kilimanjaro is spectacular. We now see it’s snow capped summit glisting in the African equatorial sun. We purchase another 1½ liter bottle of water at the camp managers hut, I loaded mine with Gatorade (a coolaid type energy drink which replaces electrolytes). The walk this day will deliver us to the Kibo Hut at 15,450’ above the Tundra region. We departed the grassy zone shortly after the small trickle of a creek we crossed was signed “last water”. The porters tanked up their jugs, which they use for cooking, christ I hope they boil it ! By late morning the adiabatic cooling creates lofty cumulus clouds which by early afternoon coalesce and condense into a fine mist of chilling rain. Our lunch break took only fifteen minutes. Following our arrival at the Kibo Hut the evening brings a breakup of the clouds and a spectacular view of Mawenzi Peak, Kilimanjaros easterly flanking summit. Grandiose vistas over Ambosili National Park far below us in Kenya look dark green and lush. To our south lie the high arid grasslands of the Serengeti, our next adventure. For now an evening hike up about 500 vertical feet affords me a little more acclimatization.
We dined at 5pm and attempted to bed down by six. The plan we understand is to rise at 11pm and depart at midnight to enjoy the sunrise from the summit at 6:30am. This would have worked better if our new roommates hadn’t upset our patterns. Here we had dormitory style accommodations and the four of us are now joined by three other Americans. One snored loud enough to drown out a bulldozer and one college fellow had a bad case of the fidgets. After twenty minutes I had to ask him to settle down.
My anticipation was running high and sleep was very elusive. Poor Sophie was up most of the night with the dry heaves, a nasty result of your bodies inability to adapt to high altitude. At 11pm I had only slept a few hours. Breakfast was an unappetizing affair, so I went with a couple cups of soup and a few slices of toast. At least I’m consistent, that’s all I had for dinner too; lack of appetite is another side effect of acute mountain sickness (AMS).
Our departure was quite timely and although we all were very anxious the guides now took over the pace and set the standard. It was quite evident immediately who was going to have trouble. Lack of training, overweight, altitude sickness, fitness, poor clothing and general lack of interest and fatigue created a 30% attrition rate within the first hour. The fifty or so people attempting the mountain today are quickly spread out in about eight guided groups. Ours was the last. I could see dozens of head lamps bouncing through the black inky night. To watch them could have easily made for a case of motion sickness. The waxing moon shown brightly on the scree slopes and made it easy to see without a flashlight if one allowed their eyes to adjust. Shortly into the hike Sophie was in tears, the AMS was overwhelming and she turned back. She had joined Chris the artist from San Diago and returned unescorted to Kibo. At that time Kate and I realized we had a different pace than Jeff. We stopped to discuss it with Lameck and Awitch our guides. Jeff was very understanding any curtly said “See you later”. It didn’t sound like a happy tone, but we knew the ramifications if we stayed together. For one to walk too slow will burn out your endurance for the other to walk too fast will wear you out. Our guides understood and Awitch stayed back with Jeff while Kate and I went on with Lameck. The night seemed like an eternity! The scenery was stark, just loose gravel which allowed little error without a slip or stumble. The stillness was only broke when the other guides became involved in some sort of a jive show down. Yacking back and forth for dam near thirty minutes. The night drug on and the temperature dropped with the moon. Elevation and time seemed endless. By four in the morning I needed a rest and some food. First I tried to clear the cobwebs out of my head the night seemed like an illusion and the horizon swirled. I added my last layer of clothing and ate a Stoker Bar and washed it down with more Gatorade. The total break was ten minutes. We hurried off to avoid the frigid 5° temperature chilling us beyond rewarmth. We found ourselves on steep solid rock as the eastern horizon had the faintest yellow glow. Only shortly before that, we later shared, we noticed that there was a strange white glow in the eastern sky which resembled another Milky Way. It was narrow and reached our zenith, too narrow to seem associated to the Sun rise which baths the horizon for a width of almost 150°. Another secret of the Dark Continent.
Without warning I was on level ground and saw the sky turn to a bright orange. Lameck turned to us and gave us a hug. A strange gesture I thought for these shy quiet people. I whirled around to check and see if we were on the Summit. There in the distance was a much higher point. Then I saw the sign “Gillmans Point”, we were at 19,000’, the false summit. I had no intentions of settling for this and smartly said “we’re almost there”. Kate smiled and we took off on a flat almost level trail. Now we could see into the vast crater and across the caldera. The trail was well beat even in the snowy sections. I was amused at African snow and glaciers. But now the AMS was hitting me hard. I reflected on the last 72 hours. Food poisoning, vomiting and greasy food; and the last twenty hours, two hours of sleep, two cups of soup, two slices of bread, one energy bar and one quart of drink. Not much to run on at 19,300 feet. The last quarter mile seemed endless. Kate was standing on the summit, squinting tightly, for a short while when I approached. The Sun tried, to no avail, to warn me and I was beginning to feel grumpy and exhausted. Then I stood atop the highest point in Africa, Uhuru Peak, at 7:08am on December 22, 1996. Suddenly I felt alive, envigorated and full of life again. Photos and a drink of water were in order.
I missed my buddy Jeff badly. I felt I had abandoned him and wanted to share this moment with him. I had once thought that if I ran into him this side of Gillmans point I would turn around to summit with him. But now that I feel so wore down that’s out of the question, I just hope he makes it. A few photos and I’m off. The frigid air and wind equate to a wind chill factor of 20 degrees below zero, no place to hang out as lightly dressed as I am and now sporting a good little headache. The bright Sun was blinding and I donned my dark glacier glasses. I never saw Jeff and really felt empty that he hadn’t made it. I wondered why and began to blame myself for not sticking with him. As I approached Gillman’s point I saw two people coming around the corner of a rock buttress. It had to be them because no one else could have been behind them. We exchanged salutations and ‘ol stoic Jeff even was open to a hug. He said all was fine, following my inquiries regarding head, legs, stomach and stamina. The guides indicated there was not enough time left for Jeff to summit. My immediate reaction was “either he go’s to the summit now or tomorrow morning, you choose!” Of course I was bluffing but I was counting on Lameck backing down. Follow a loud heated debate in Swahili between the guides they switched positions and we were off. Lameck returned to the summit with Jeff and I went down with Awitch. However, shortly after that Awitch asked (pantomimed is more like it, since he spoke no English) if I could make it down myself. I assured him that I felt fine and the descent would be no problem. I think he may have been concerned about his brother. These guys are tough; they do this entire day with no food and no drink! My descent was wonderful. Alone on this mountain was a feeling I had not experienced yet, there was always people around and usually quite a few. This was much more like the typical adventure for me, tranquil, serene and
time to be alone with my thoughts and the environment. I sat down at about 17,500’ and just soaked it in. The lush Kenyan forests were below me and I grinned in amusement at the thought that there were probably not many places on earth that one could be at these altitudes and have elephants, giraffes and lions lurking below me! To my right were the vast chaparral type grasslands of Tanzania, which were home to the great herds of Zebra and Wildebeests. A short hour later at 9:30am, I was in the Hut repacking and preparing for the journey out. The others were anxious and tired and all had departed by noon. By one o’clock I was getting concerned and by two I was pacing and wandering around camp looking up the mountain for any sign of life. Jeff and Lameck arrived at about 2:30. He stated that all went fine but his endurance and leg strength has evaporated shortly after the descent became steep and he was forced to follow the switch-backs instead of plunge stepping 2000’ straight down the loose talus.
The guides were extremely impatient and stood over us as Jeff was prodded to pack faster. They kept asking me to ask him to go faster. Our concern was that Kate and Sophie’s belongings had not left yet for the porters like to work as a team. Also, dinner could not be prepared until the food was carried down and there were clients to feed first because porters ate second, our left overs. My concern was Jeff but also realized that the girls had no extra clothes and we wouldn’t arrive until after dark at this rate.
The walk down from Kibo Hut to Horombo Hut went well. Jeff was quite tired and his pace was exceedingly slow. But our goal had been accomplished and we had that warm, pink fuzzy feeling all over. We strolled along in a great mood and chatted about everything under the sun. The afternoon air was substantially colder than yesterdays and the daily cloud build up produced snow instead of rain. What a tremendous experience, snow on the equator! It was so peaceful and quiet, not a sole around, and we walked for hours. Descending into the zone of the living, first the grasses, then ground shrubbery’s, then bushes and then richness of abundant foliage.
We arrived at Horombo at 7pm, I checked in with the camp manager to locate our hut. There I found Sophie laying on the bunk dressed in shorts and summer attire, shivering and Not happy. I asked why she had not received her clothes and explained that her belongings must have been in camp at least an hour, judging the speed at which the porter hike. I spent the next 15 minutes trying to locate any one of our porters. I was beginning to get a little worried when one of them finally recognized whitey in the other end of camp and asked what I needed. Soon we were all bundled up and eating in the main dining hut. Slept like babies that night.
The next day was uneventful and we all walked briskly to the Mandera Hut where we had lunch. Chris the artist bought a couple rounds of Cokes, wow, what a nice treat. I was looking forward to a bowel movement, it had been 3 1/2 days now! We were all excited about the next leg of our journeys. Kate and Sophie were off to the coast and Zanzibar, Chris and Drew were going on Safari in the same general direction as Jeff and I. We were met at the Park gate by the hag woman and escorted to the office to sign out and get our official summit certificates. Jeff and I exchanged good-byes with Lameck and Awitch and provided them with all our hiking and outdoor clothing. I had planned to relieve myself of some of the ten year old clothing I had been saving for no better use than this. This is a third world country and these people have no such equipment available in any manner. The guides tip was $50 for the five days and the porter get $10 each, we only hope that is at least matched by their employer. So at this level of income these clothes are a special gift. Many of these young men have wives and children too.
We were shown to the same room in the Moshi Hotel and it now seemed palatial. We were adapting quite well and now found it a treat to kneel in the dirty tub and shower with the hand hose which leaked and only supplied cool water. Still being careful to not get any in your mouth. We met with Zaineb the guide service owner that afternoon and discussed the details of the Safari and game drives. In overview, we were to depart the next morning and travel west through Arusha then onto Lake Manyara, across the Great Rift Valley to the Ngorongoro Crater, past the Ulduvi Gorge and finally the great Serengeti plains all of which are National Parks. This adventure would last five days and included all transportation, meal, permits & passes, the cook and the driver. Satisfied, we asked to be directed to a nice restaurant. Emmanuelle taxied us to, of all things, a Chinese restaurant, and offered to pick us up. We declined and chose to stroll the streets for adventure. The meal was wonderful and the Sechzuan was quite spicy. The Kilimanjaro half liter beers were cold and we swilled and gorged. The owner stopped by to check on our comfort. Our inquiry was responded to with a brief story that detailed the visiting of a Chinese chef who had stayed for about nine months and taught the owner the art of their cuisine. He had learned well.
The next day was Christmas Day and our departure was delayed from 9am to 2pm while Zara International tried to team us up with others for the safari so as to offset their expenses. It was a reasonable business choice but we lost a half of a day and I expressed my protest. We had after all, paid well in advance, and I didn’t take kindly to the delay. We ended up sharing our rig with a pleasant young German guy from the Stuttgart area. Jergen is a very proper and polite arrian who was by far a better choice than the strange couple from Chicago whom we had tried to avoid. The wait did, however, allow us to say goodbye to the girls who had roomed across town. We had truly enjoyed their company the last week and it was sad to split ways. As we bid our adieus I was looking for a place to unload a big zip-lock bag of candy and snack bars. It must had weighed five pounds and was left over from the mountain, but would surely melt on the arid plains. Just then a short, round woman in a bright, white Habit was strolling up the street. I interrupted Sister Angelica to ask if she knew some children who would enjoy some Christmas treats. With a big grin, a soft touch to my arm and a tear she blessed and thanked me. I guess even a hard-ass has a heart.
Our driver, Frank, was a young local guy who spoke English and was well versed in the names of all the flora and fauna we were to see over the next four days. Next stop, Arusha, a small dirty city which was home to Kilimanjaro International Airport and a few plush European hotels and where we picked up our cook, Mosses. Jeff and I looked at each other and grinned with approval. This guy comes bouncing out of an office type building with a big wide grin and says “ hey man how’s it going”? The whites of his large smiling eyes were contrasted against his dark black complexion. He was wearing a floppy style, camouflage boonie hat and had the charisma of a Jamaican reggae sole man. His charm offset the stoic attitude of our German safari companion.
Sunset was about 6:30 when we checked into an established campground with manicured lawns and walkways. They had hot showers and a bar, wow what a life ! We washed, guzzled and dined. Moses impressed us immediately. This was nothing at all like the food on the Mountain. The five of us ate together as we would the rest of the week. I felt uneasy that we were separating these people from their families on Christmas eve and the entire holiday. They assured us that it was all right and the extra income would make a belated Christmas a more happy one. The African stew was delicious ! Beef, lots of vegetables and spices such as ginger and tamarind. Then the crowning jewel, a cake! This guy is awesome. We sucked down about two liters of grog each and retired to our tents. Fairly nice, modern type backpacking tents from Europe. Snug for two but it would do. The bar noise and music was understandable until midnight or so, but by 2am my nerves were getting frazzled. Jeff responded to my whisper; I said “ if I’m not back in ten minutes come look for me”. I entered the screened in private party area with reluctance and guilt. Thinking “hell it’s Christmas, relax!” But I was surprised to see only about fifteen people, all quite pie-eyed and staggering. I was the only white person in the room. So I meekly approached the DJ, a woman with a tiny boom-box turned well beyond the distortion level. I knelt beside her and asked “how long the party would last”. Her response was warm and with question “ this is the last song, is that all right?” I assured her that was wonderful and exited as quietly as I entered.
The morning still came too early. We were on the road by 8am. We proceeded west across the Great Rift Valley, past Lake Manyara and up the Ngorongoro Crater. Pausing at the Crater rim to soak in it’s vastness and read the bronze monument which hails the efforts of many whom were killed by poachers. Our stop at the Park Headquarters took over an hour. We were entertained by some monkeys; the second time (in as many days) I had ever viewed wild primates. The slow progress on these rough dirt roads and a visit to the store, which sold beer, ate up the day. We camped on the Crater rim at the Simba (lion) campsite. There are about one hundred people camped here, mostly in groups of four to six. Following another fine meal we joined the neighboring camp around their fire for international stories and lies. It made for a delightful culmination to Christmas Day with representatives of a dozen countries passing almost as many types of spirits. The local anti-poaching militia even joined in.
We were very energetic the next day, for we were to descend 1800’ into the Crater for our first game drive. We needed four-wheel-drive to make the descent. The crater is twelve miles wide and we tingled with excitement at what beasts we might see that day. Not wanting to miss any animal no matter how small I immediately started asking Frank to stop for photo opportunities. The first animal an African Eagle sitting on a grassy hillside, then a tiny lizard. Soon we saw Thompson’s and Grant’s Gazelle. Things were starting out slow when we made a hard left and accelerated, we soon saw several other rigs parked. There at ten yard were three Lion ! We snuck into the group and turned off the engine. We stayed for almost an hour observing three very full, hot adult lion. As some trucks left we moved closer, up to about five yards. That became a typical scenario for the day, not just looking for game but looking for groups of other trucks, who were already watching game. Each event seemed to top the previous. Predators, heard animal, scavengers, waterfowl and wading birds, grazers, and lots of big animals with bad dispositions.
In Africa they have labeled their BIG FIVE, and these animals are sought after for photo viewing and prized for the label of a successful safari. They include Elephant, Rhinoceros, Buffalo, Lion and Leopard. Over the next six hours we saw four of the five. Over the course of the next three days we would come in contact with the a multitude of African wildlife. We drove back and forth a few times on the crater floor that day seeking bigger, better and more. They are generally a captive group, electing to not leave the crater, for it seems to supply rich feed and a safe environment.
The Serengeti Plains and National Park are huge, maybe only relative in size to Alaska standards. Most of the beasts we saw on the Serengeti were repeats of those in the crater. The list of animals viewed besides those already mentioned (and we came within twenty yards of) reads like an encyclopedia: Hippopotamus, Zebra, Wildebeest, Hyena, Jackal, Bat Eared Fox, Flamingo, Ducks, Crane, Dikdik, Reedbucks, Kori Bustard, Warthog, Heron, Egret, Baboon, Vervet monkeys, Cheetah, Ostrich, Hare, Grouse, Topi, Tortoise, Lizard, Hawk, Guineafowl, Dove, Giraffe, Superb Starling, Spurfowl, Stork, Cuckoo and a whole host of other wading and song birds. For long periods of time all you could hear was the clicking and winding of cameras and shutters. I think I shot five rolls of 36 exposure film that first day. By vacations end I had exposed over 500 frames of slide film, and the results later proved to be none to many.
The climate and surroundings of the Serengeti are pure heaven. The scenery looks like the rolling hills of Montana with the weather of Arizona. Daytime highs are usually 80° to 85°, with a nice 10 knot wind. At night it was a pleasant 60° to 70° and always dry, maybe 10-20% humidity. The vegetation is much more desert like. The vast majority of the bushes and trees were nasty, spiny, thorned bastards you don’t even want to get close to. The typical trees are short and wide with tiny leaves and 3” long, very hard, sharp spines. The saying there (probably Masai) is “if it doesn’t bite or prick, it will probably blow away”. A testament to thorns and teeth.
We were not allowed out of the vehicles at any time except to do “the job”. Two very good reasons. The Kenyan and Tanzanian governments are extreme about poachers and distrust everybody. But mostly because of the predators, and if it’s not a predator with big teeth it’s a really big animal, a ton or more, with a bad disposition. Buffalo and Elephant have been known to charge, unprovoked. Our lunches were usually held at prescribed locations as defined by the Parks. The most interesting was a lush lake site in the eastern Ngorongoro Crater, known as the Gorigor swamp. The rich grass was soft and cool in the shade of a single huge Nuxia congesta tree. Hippo’s wallowed while we ate but the danger lurked above. African Kites are large brown hawk-like birds, they swoop out of the sky with incredible speed and accuracy if they see food. They did and they did. Before we could adapt our dining style Jergen was hit in the hand and lost part of his sandwich. It isn’t funny because these birds talons are razor sharp and Frank said that a few weeks before someone had been hit in the head and required stitches. Immediately following our moving into a small depression to avoid the bandits we were accosted by three Irish women whom appeared from another visiting safari vehicle for what seemed to be for no better reason than to talk AT someone. But we were obliging and chatted for a while, just long enough to really appreciate the solace we would return to promptly.
In approaching and exiting the Serengeti National Park we had been lucky enough to drive directly through the awesome migration of the Wildebeest herds. These jumpy, skittish, horned, mule-like animals are the feed of most predators. Their herd number over one million animals ! To expand on that, they are joined by about another million Zebra and Gazelle. The Planes are extremely vast and flat, but from a minor rise we could see about twenty miles or more in all directions. The herd dotted the planes like flies on carrion. As far as the eye could see, it was unbelievable! I wondered if the Great Planes of North America looked like that in the early 19th century, covered with Bison. Amongst the herd ran the predators and scavengers. Mostly packs of Hyena but prides of Lion were not far off.
At that time of day the Lions were shaded from the intense African sun on nearby Kopje’s. These are granite rock outcroppings which appear to allow the extrusion of ground water and therefore create islands of foliage. They are literally an oasis in the typically unbroken horizon. They range in size from a half acre to several and are often 50 vertical feet tall. Within 600 yards of the Park Headquarters, which is constructed on a large 20 acre Kopje, we found a female Lion with two cubs. Nearby lay a large, black maned, adult male. He was not bothered by our vehicle or our close visit. He was content to lay and rest although as we moved closer and circled to get the sun behind us, he moved to a more comfortable spot under a tree. The strong breeze moved his mane about like the tall prairie grass, sometimes parting it like an Elvis hair-do. Not unlike the deer and elk in Estes Park, Colorado, these animals see dozens of tourist everyday, and have become comfortable with their prying. I believe that as long as you don’t get out of the vehicle they really don’t seem to care.
Our second day on the Serengeti involved a lot of driving. Unlike the Ngorongoro Crater where the critters were all within a six mile radius these animals had thousands of square miles of open grasslands and hillsides, spread over three countries, to roam. We ventured into the hills, far to the southwest, in search of more exotic breeds. Not far from there were happened onto a pair of Cheetah. They had been relaxing under the only few trees in the vicinity until there attention was captured by something beyond and down a draw. We first saw them at about two hundred yards and the crest of the ridge was another fifty or so farther away. There they paused, and stood, intent on something below. It gave us time to photo them with our 300 millimeter lenses but we could approach no closer. The rules of the Park require visitors to stay on established roads and trails.
Having a driver was decadent and unnecessary, we usually felt it would have been nicer to drive ourselves. It got a little old to continually ask Frank to shut off the engine. The idling seemed to be more annoying to us than to the animals. Another aggravation was his need to hold the brake and dump the clutch to kill the engine, instead of just using the key. This may sound like a petty complaint but when you’re standing up in the back trying to photograph and the vehicle lurches violently to stop, it’s nearly a camera accident every time. This would eventually lead to our breakdown too. On the other hand, Moses in the kitchen was always a pleasant experience. The meals became one surprise after the other. Beef Stroganoff, stews, hand created soups, even crepes with jam for breakfast.
The camp scene was pleasant although we wish we had a picnic table or something large and accommodating. Because these sites require you to be completely self-contained we had two small bench seats and a small round, 2 foot diameter table. It was sufficient. Keeping our belonging to a minimum, and accounted for was important night and day. For at night the Hyenas came to visit and scavenge, anything which was a food like item and within reach would be eaten or at the least, reason to provoke their interest. So all gear was stowed on the roof rack or in the truck. Then in the morning the trouble makers were the Baboons. They were very curious and aggressive and seemed to not be intimidated by humans. That in it self was reason for concern. One morning, across the site, I observed a woman seated and eating her toast and coffee. Before I made the connection of the cute baboon walking up behind her, he had accelerated to a trot and snagged the bread right out of her hand and continued to the edge of the clearing. There he sat promptly, and with his extended family, enjoyed his new breakfast. These animals appear to be very gregarious and family oriented. They travel in packs of several families and interact with all ages and groups. Later than morning not a mile from camp another male Baboon was deeply involved with his mate right along the very edge of the road. Only the immediate passing of our truck was enough to interrupt their morning copulation.
Our next viewing of primates was late that same day. We had been following a small creek north toward the Serenera Camp Area. As we passed though a lush grassy area we were amused by the antics of a large group of Vervet monkeys. Jeff recalled Forrest commenting on these playful little primates, which he had just seen on the Discovery channel. And just as Forrest had stated the male genitalia were colored bright powder blue! One must wonder, what evolutionary purpose does this have? But these little buggers were as lively and playful as a litter of puppies! It was humorous just to watch, especially the babies. They couldn’t have been more than 8” tall. They played tag with the intensity of football; jumping, rolling, diving and a little arm & leg pulling. The adults were only about 12”-18” tall and were content to groom each other and pick and eat fresh grass shoots.
We departed Serenera camp on Sunday, December 29th and prepared for the long grueling drive back to Arusha. It was only about 200 miles but would require over eight hours of driving on the rustic trails of the Serengeti. A stop at the Olduvi Gorge was high on our list of things to see and would help to break up the monotony of the ride. This shallow valley is the location where in the 1930’s William Leakey came to investigate the earlier discovery of strange primate type bones which a German scientist had discovered. Leakey was a renowned and studied professor of Anthropology and was quite interested in the artifacts of early man. His discovery is the closest thing to the ‘missing link’ that the human race can associate to a primate past. The bones came to be known as Austriopithicus, a bipedal hominid. I was surprised at the relative shallowness of the Gorge at about 600 feet. The general terrain there is sedimentary, and at some point was covered by a volcanic flow, and then some additional sedimentary layers were deposited. It took millions of years for erosion to cut through the volcanic layer, but when it did it unearthed the bones of many extinct animals and the small, erect walking hominid. Although there Park Service had little to offer in comparison to our western museums we enjoyed reviewing the contents of the small open air building with artifacts of sixty years of investigations. Mary Leaky followed in her fathers footsteps and in the 1960’s & ‘70’s continued to unearth and explore.
We stood somber on the edge of the Gorge and listened to the short history lecture from an employee. Personally I was lost in dream about the ancient ones who roamed this land. What was the climate like two millions years ago? Were the saber-toothed cats cunning and hungry all the time? Did the Mastodon type animals here really resemble the one’s from the northern climates? It was noon and this portion of Tanzania resembled the Sonoran Desert of northern Mexico. The temperature was getting close to 90°, and I wanted some food and water. We piled into the Landcruiser and headed west, back toward the main Path.
Now here is where the story got interesting! Jeff and I had both been hearing a loud thunk noise while driving for a few days. At one point, in the Crater, I even got under the rig and looked for a cause for this suspect sound. Later we thought it might be a broken shock-absorber or loose exhaust pipe, but the general condition of the vehicle was very poor and to isolate the noise was impossible. About five miles from the Gorge and that much from the main Trail we got our answer. With a loud thud and clank Frank brought the truck to a rapid halt. My first thought was we had blown the clutch, my second thought was rage. I assumed correctly that the two employees were just a driver and cook, they had no mechanical knowledge, much less tools! I was beginning to see myself elbow deep in grease, bashing up my knuckles or worse yet hitch-hiking across the Serengeti Planes of East Africa in the mid-day sun. We all bailed out and crawled underneath the truck. The damage was immediately obvious, and it wasn’t pretty. The drive shaft was hanging by one of it’s four bolts! As I twitched with anger and fought to control it, we looked throughout the vehicle for anything which resembled a tool, any tool. I grumbled loud enough for Frank to hear, that if he didn’t insist on dumping the damned clutch to kill the engine, this probably would not have happened. All that torque on the drive train was the culprit. We searched the vehicle for parts and tools, and only came up with one small wrench. In a stroke of sheer luck it was a fourteen millimeter and fit the drive shaft bolt head. Jeff was so pissed off he elected to go walk back down the road and look for one of the bolts; that was like looking for a needle in a hay stack. I took over and began to instruct the two employees that we must scavenge a few bolts from any part of the truck which might fit into the shaft and yoke holes and bind the two together lone enough to get us to a village. We looked over the body, spare tire and roof rack, dash, seats, then under the hood. I handled and fondled the cooling system, the brake system, battery rack, steering linkage and nothing seemed to have spare bolts we could steal. Then I saw the hood mounts. At some point the truck had been in a front end collision and instead of repairing the hood latch they added two exterior posts with springs and hooks which held the hood down. I figured the springs could be hooked directly to the hood and the little steel hooks eliminated thereby providing us with two bolts and nuts. But what about tools. The African sun had reached it’s apex, the temperature was over 90 and the usual breeze was missing. It couldn’t have been worse. The occasional passing vehicle didn’t slow a bit. A couple Masai boys came to investigate then wandered on when we had nothing to offer in money or food. Jeff returned as amazed as I that he had found one bolt but no nut. I whipped out my trusty Leatherman tool and confiscated Jeff’s also. These folding pocket knives are also pliers. Armed with these tools and the one broken handled wrench we liberated the bolts and installed them into the driveshaft. We were on our way in about an hour and none too soon for the intense sun was just about to force me into the vehicle or insane. We limped along at an agonizing pace of about 10mph, couldn’t tell for sure because the speedometer didn’t work either.
Several hours later we began the steady moderate incline, up the west side of the Ngorongoro Crater. Near Simba camp there was a small village where we had purchased warm beer. They had a petrol station and therefore a repair shop I thought. Frank insisted they did not have a mechanic without stopping. I felt my blood begin to boil. We’re a hundred mile from nowhere, in the middle of nowhere, third world no-place, and he’s going to pass up an (any) option! Somebody hold me back, I’m going to kill him! Rattle-thunk-rattle-thunk as we descended the east side of the Crater on the worst roads of the entire adventure. This would surely destroy the plier tightened bolts which didn’t even fit the holes properly. Somehow we made it to the village on the shoulder of the Crater and Frank obviously had a particular vendor in mind. We limped the truck to the front of a tar-papered shack and piled out. Moses lead us over to the restaurant and asked the owners if we might sit inside to eat our bag lunch, during the repairs on our truck. They graciously agreed. The work and our meal only took about thirty minutes. The remaining drive included several hours of additional spine wrenching roads before we hit the pavement. What a pleasure an asphalt road is.
The late afternoon sun was intense as it beat into the windshield, but as we turned east from south the relief was welcomed. It was a tremendously clear evening, as it had rained lightly and settled all the air born dust. As we approached Arusha Mount Meru at 15,000’ was bigger and more majestic than we had earlier thought. Arusha is well foliated and seems almost tropical compared to the Serengeti. I played a drum roll in my head as we entered the Novotel Hotel and asked at the desk for our reservation. The well dressed man with proper English dialect stated that things were quite hectic just then and offered for us to retire to the bar and he would call for us monetarily. Jeff and I were satisfied that we had been expected and ordered up a couple of Tusker Lagers. I noticed that all the reception staff were attractive women and were not typical in appearance to those we had observed thus far that month. About fifteen minutes later, just as I was getting antsy, we were escorted to our room. It was worth waiting for. We were admitted into a full double room. The two adjoining rooms both had televisions and private baths. Each bath was well stocked with shampoo, conditioner, paper products and the like. One room had a queen size bed the other had a sofa which folded open into a bed. Jeff felt it was necessary to flip a coin, but with my luck I didn’t see the reason.
After a nice long, hot shower we departed for a restaurant in search of beer and dinner, or viscera-versa. It was about 9pm and pitch black as we tried to maneuver along the busy two lane highway. We headed back down the road we came in on because I saw a fancy, lit-up place which looked appealing. We arrived just after I fell in a open pit in the concrete sidewalk and somehow manager to miss the dozen or so rebar spines sticking up out of the framework about 12”. No damage except to my ego, and a very wet leg. The source of the water in the hole I didn’t care to think about. The joint turned out to be a bar, but they claimed to have dinner. The waiter recommended the BBQ ribs, and we accepted. Several more Tuskers and dam near an hour and a big platter full of skinny ribs showed up on the table. We waited for the waiter to leave before laughing. But as he departed I asked what kind they were, “ Goat “ he replied. They were the skinniest, scrawniest little ribs I had ever seen ! The BBQ sauce was weak in flavor and we were ‘starved’. No pun intended, considering the location. We wolfed them down, tugging and tearing at the fibrous, sinew like matter they called meat. We kept laughing, and wonder if we would live. We had a few more Tuskers and pondered on whether they had slaughtered the animal on site, out back, to create this meal. Ah, that big bed felt good !
The last morning of this leg of the vacation was spent lounging around the pool reading and writing in our journals. The 2pm departure was planned and punctual. The bus was rolling out of the driveway as I was reduced to hollering at the laundry help in the basement of the Hotel to remove my shirt and pants from the dryer “wet” so I could catch my bus. Jeff had tried in vane to hold the bus, I finally sprinted 200 yards across the front gardens, only to catch the bus as it accessed the highway. The majority of the patrons were scowling at me for the six minute delay. When the bus got a flat tire several hours out from Niarobi I couldn’t contain my contempt for the young German guys who were so rudely insulting to Jeff and insisted the bus leave without me. Now by the roadside, my sarcasm was deep and sharp when I suggested to them, that it was too bad we had such a big delay in Arusha, because now we were really late. They didn’t offer a response face to face.
That evening we treated ourselves to a five star dining experience at the Tamarind Restaurant. The dining room was full and an hours delay in the cocktail lounge was in order. Fully relaxed, we were escorted to the dining area which was elegantly appointed in Teak tables and chairs on deep blue plush carpeting. We were casually dressed but many others were quite formal, even some tuxedos and long evening gowns. The plentiful wait staff were all very cordial and attentive. One aspect of culture in Kenya & Tanzania that I noticed throughout the trip, seemed that no matter your race or attire, all people were equally accepted. That may be a broad statement from a white person in a poor black country but there were numerous occasions for me to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time but everyone seemed to be accepting and friendly. This restaurant was no exception. The five course meal was exquisite and extremely rich. The seafood and native trout were finely prepared and served.
The following evening we took Naphtally along with us as we dined at the famous Carnivore Restaurant. He had been recommended to us for travel arrangements by my friend in Estes Park, Colorado. He is a well spoken and well dressed man in his late twenties, whom immediately we felt was honest and wholesome. He directed all our arrangements on a Sunday afternoon in Nairobi, and they all came to pass without a single hitch, over the next two weeks. He wouldn’t accept payment but just wanted a letter of recommendation to apply for a passport. We thought dinner should be the least of our offerings. The Carnivore serves wild game meat which is broiled on an open spit in the front of the open air restaurant. The specialty of the day varies with supply from the domestic ranches but the animals served that night were Wildebeest, Crocodile and Zebra. Other times Gazelle, Giraffe and Hippo is available. I ate like a starving Neanderthal man, and even had thirds. The Wildebeest was outstanding fare.
The next day we enjoyed our final moments on this wonderful adventure and in fine western style we slept in till about 8am when we were startled by the phone. Jeff grabbed it and I’m sure wanted to bark at this intrusion, but it was Naphtally. He was checking on our itinerary for the day and wanted to verify our schedule for departure. We planned a lazy day, sight-seeing in Nairobi and set aside several hours for the Masai Market. Our flight was at 11:40pm that evening, which happened to be New Years Eve. Allowing for customs and problems we would get our pick up from Naphtally and his buddy Joe at 9pm.
We had some trouble finding the market. It’s an open air affair on an undeveloped city corner. It is a half of a block, mostly grassy and fairly steep. We rattled around for about an hour looking for it. We often received conflicting directions, from lack of knowing to enjoyment in giving the tourist the run around. But best-out-of-four led us to a very crowed ground spread display of delightful arts. Perhaps the Masai started and perfected these forms of crafts but there are plenty of middle-men now involved in the marketing and sales. The most common crafts are small hand woven baskets, carved ebony statues and beadwork bracelets and necklaces. The carvings are mostly animals of the area or caricatures of the Masai people themselves. These people, both men and women, are very tall with high cheek bones, and there traditional garb are shawl type robes. The beadwork is very fine and delicate, the beads are plastic and about 1/16th inch in diameter and strung into rows, then set up in lines often about 3/4th of an inch wide for bracelets. My favorite, however, were the baskets. They’re hand dyed and woven into beautiful pieces of art. Many in the size ranging from 6” to 18” in diameter. I was especially attracted to the natural colored ones; tan, red and green, of which many had an almost southwestern design on them. Much like the New Mexico state flag symbol. These were often dark purple or dark green. Some of the weavings were serving platter size and flatter, while others had a woven matching lid which were large enough to fit a few baseball size objects in. We spent about four hours there and spent every last loose shilling we owned, except for what we had stashed for the airport, customs and T-shirts. We even traded our hats and I traded my American logo T-shirts ( which needed laundering ) for more, authentic East African goodies.
Well the final packing was a tight fit. All the cloths and food we had given away in Moshi had barely made enough room in our duffel bags for our souvenirs. The afternoon sped away quickly as we deposited our bootie at the Hotel and returned to wander the downtown area and explore the high-rise modern buildings. We found elegant lobbies with very pricey souvenirs, like what we had just purchased. We also found limited stakes gambling and a lot of one-armed-bandits. We wandered into some art shops and museums then had a greasy American cheese burger and pop for lunch. Following a long refreshing shower to rinse off the road grime we tossed back the last couple Tuskers and made our final departure. The airport and customs went smoother than expected. Naphtally disappeared quickly following an all too brief salutation and hug, maybe he just doesn’t like good byes. We progressed to the waiting area where we found some great duty free T-shits and Kaluha type booze. We worried a little about the dozen or so Arabic type folks occupying a great deal of the lobby, spread out and eating dinner. We jokingly hoped Allah hadn’t directed them to come and visit Him, better yet, maybe they would be on a different flight.
We were treated to two New Years Eves in flight, as we changed time zones. Twelve time zones and twenty-two hours later I was picked up by Forrest at Denver International Airport. I filled him in on all the great stuff he missed which you’ve just read the short version of and spent the next two weeks suffering jet lag, travelers stomach and the euphoric roller coaster of post travel glee.
A month later on New Years Eve, near midnight, Jeff Yates my buddy from Anchorage Alaska, and I, lounged at 10,000’ in the natural hot springs at Punta Del Inca awaiting moonrise and a new year. The Argentinean Andes rose all around us in a barren lunar landscape which was silhouetted against the Southern Cross and Magellenic Clouds. We gulped our Antarctica beers and enjoyed the local military cannon fire in celebration of the New Year. We realized that this would be a very memorable night in a long life of adventures. We talked the talk of worldly dreams, of inebriation, of past thrills and future villains. “If this go’s well, what next?” Quiet. Deep thought. Sleep was high on the priority list; we would hit the trail tomorrow and had a lot of packing to do in the morning. But first I had to find my Nikon camera. In my haste and stupor I had misplaced it and Forrest and Eileen, my antagonists from Longmont Colorado, were nice enough to hide it until I was sober with rage.
After our push for the Summit we slouched in Condor Camp at 18,000’ and resumed, “what next?”. We discussed that subject very little but agreed it should be warm. At Plaza De Mulas (14,000’) we met up with Phil and his crew from Colorado Springs. I relayed the Kilimanjaro details to Jeff and Forrest, and added “They require porters and a cook. Wow, we wouldn’t have to hump heavy loads at high altitude” I proclaimed! We were dreaming of a change of pace. Jeff and I had both done Mount McKinley twice and knew the arduous decay one feels after twenty days of sixty pound packs, frigid arctic exposure, dehydrated food and attrition to high altitude. “We shouldn’t be antagonized as being wimpy” Jeff added. “It’s decadent, I can do that” After all, we agreed, it’s required by the Tanzanian government. “Sounds good” Forrest voted, in his usual wordy, long soliloquy.
For those guys to save up enough frequent flyer miles to round trip to Nairobi free, would take they estimated, about three years. Their international businesses had its rewards. So if all went well we would pursue an African adventure as soon as late 1996.
Over the next three years I would see Jeff about four times. All very short visits. Twice in Anchorage at his home and office while I was vacationing in Alaska for ocean kayaking or mountain climbing. Twice in Colorado while he was traveling on business. I admire his self made career achievements with global travel. He sells computer mapping software and has clients in about fifty countries.
Forrest is also deeply involved in a career of computers. He’s a bicycle design engineer, and seems to have a spiritual commitment to the Olympic Superbike. As a slighter built man one may want to equate his size to ability, or endurance. I quickly dropped any notion of that. Years of amateur-pro bike racing had helped him to develop a powerful Will, which far exceeded most muscle or mind strengths. On summit day on Aconcagua he had strolled away from us at 20,000’ and seemed more fit than us even with his distinct lack on training. However, we were all taking Kilimanjaro very seriously. We wanted to stroll to the summit without affect, then retire to safari, beach or whatever adventure we could find.
As 1996 rolled in we all started communication in earnest. We mailed maps to each other, down loaded stories from the Internet on how-to, found people who had been there and tapped them for beta, visited folks who had slides and photos to share. Forrest and Jeff made airline commitments for all three of us. That schedule had to be synchronized well so Jeff’s flight from Anchorage would overlap ours from Denver. We would rendezvous in Dulles Washington DC. This would also make ground transportation in Nairobi simpler. We joked; knowing Jeff he’d probably know someone in Nairobi, and we’d have a local contact and maybe an escort from the airport. After all he had surprised us half way around the world, in Santiago Chili, with that.
As we passed customs in Santiago International Airport, Forrests wife Eileen leaned over to me and said “what’s Jeff’s last name?”. I followed her gaze and looked on through the mass of human bodies and into the crowd in amazement. There stood a well-dressed man holding a sign which read “Mr. Jeff Yates”. Jeff blushed a little and let on that he didn’t tell us in case the connection didn’t come through. It did, and we were handled very well by Senior Renato Ross. Our transportation arrangements in Chile and outings throughout his county, went smoothly. However his assistance was seriously needed to accomplish that. So now we wondered if Jeff could do it again.
During the planning phase there was much desire for both guy’s to have their wives join the trip. Cheryl even had an old friend in Nairobi and Eileen was definitely interested in adventure travel, having joined us in South America. Both women are quite capable of the mountain hike and female companionship would be greatly appreciated and help to control any testosterone overloads. However, as time wore on life’s complications dictated that, unfortunately, neither wife could attend.
After a busy construction year I had accumulated a very healthy chunk of vacation and compensatory time and was disappointed that the African adventure was slated for only nineteen days. It did however include Christmas. That would be fun, Christmas on the Serengeti. The work load at the office had burned me out and I didn’t feel that would be enough time off. So I added an extra week to the beginning of my vacation and planned a rock climbing trip.
I had been learning and practicing Aid Climbing for a few months and was itching to put it use. This is a branch of rock climbing which requires small nylon ladders for your feet which you connect directly to the protective pieces of gear you place in the rock. This is necessary on big wall routes which have a distinctive lack of hand holds or are overhanging, and generally very long (maybe 1000’). Therefore it is referred to as direct-aid, as opposed to free-climbing, which means all connection to the rock is with your hand and leg strength and no load is placed on the protection, unless you fall. Rope handling is still much the same with a belay person on the other end of the rope.
Well Zion National Park seemed as good of a place as any to visit for this. It was high on my list of places to see and has an abundance of clean aid lines. Clean indicates that no pitons are driven into the rock cracks, just the use of small wired nuts which wedge into the smallest of fissures. Zion is more awesome than my wildest imagination. While driving toward the Park and nearing the town of Springdale, Utah we could see the red, orange and white sandstone walls from 10 miles away. Holy shit, I thought they must all be over a thousand feet high.
It was Saturday afternoon December 7th and we had taken all of Friday evening and Saturday to get there. Rojo and I left Estes Park at 6:00pm after work and hoped to make it there by 2am. A huge winter storm required us to lock in the hubs on my 1977 Ford pickup east of the Eisenhower tunnels and stay in four wheel drive about 100 miles. The wind howled and refused to allow us to leave Colorado with any dignity.
We made the National Park visitors center just before closing and reviewed their climbers log for details of the route we wanted to climb. Spaceshot had been first climbed in 1978 and is now a test piece for beginning aid climbers. It is also a good introduction to Zion sandstone. We located the campground right after we drove up the canyon to spy the route and orient ourselves within the Park. What we thought were respectable sized walls, we now realized were phenomenally huge. This place was the sedimentary Yosemite. The towering cliffs were over two thousand feet high and some soared to 2,700 feet. We had no idea the total gain of elevation on Spaceshot but it was labeled as 6 pitches. That meant at least 700 vertical feet, without the scramble up to the base or off the top. We noticed a couple hauling a load up the lower pitch that evening. That meant they were planning to bivouac on the wall the next night, in a hanging port-a-ledge. We made a pact right then to get an early start and get ahead of them. Passing a rope team on a big wall would burn precious daylight, and we wanted to do the route in a day.
We made the approach at 6am in the dark. Not a creature was stirring not even a mouse. Scrambling the first three pitches was easy to moderate with few moves of 5.5 or so. With full day packs and double ropes we were extra careful, cuz any fall or slip would end my vacation and I still had Africa on my brain. I took the first pitch, which would allow Rojo to free climb the 4th, as we swapped leads. Wow, this was weird. No holds at all just a bolt ladder, and some of those were missing. It took almost two hours to lead it but only about 10 minutes for Rojo to jug it (ascend with mechanical devices). The temperature was in the low 60’s, balmy for December, and the sun warmed us deeply. By 3pm we were at the bottom of the forth pitch and John switched to his free climbing shoes and reracked the gear for his lead. I’ve heard from many climbing associates that this is tough; switching from aid to free. But Rojo is tough.
The day fell into darkness with the vibrant illumination of the canyon walls. The sandstone became iridescent like dayglow paint under a ultraviolet lamp, as John struggled up the 5.10+ pitch. It was dimming twilight when he yelled “off belay”. The last 120’ pitch we climbed in the dark by headlamp. Talk about tunnel vision ! Occasionally the lights of an automobile a thousand feet below, would break up the inky world we were now engulfed in. Concentration and determination allowed us to down-scramble and locate the rappel anchors in the hanging valley to our south. Rappelling at midnight, wow! Not unlike SCUBA diving at night; lowering oneself into the void.
The next day required some extra rest. Unfortunately that allowed the wet storm from the southwest to catch us. We packed up and headed north to Arches National Park. We had beat the storm by half a day, which allowed us one quick climb of something close by. This is a landscape of bazaar formations, like gargoyles hanging on cliffs and demons growing out of the belly of the earth. Our target was a phallic rock 130’ tall and a scant 15’ wide. That would be “Dark Angle”. We scampered across the four mile approach in an hour. The rock is naturally divided into two short pitches. The first a hand crack in what might as well be vertical chalk, the second: face moves on small rounded edges and ruggosities. The climb, summit celebration and ensuing grog removed another hour and a half to a diminishing day. The waning sunlight behind the towering storm clouds encouraged us to retreat to the trailhead as rapidly as we approached. Our big outing had been four and a half hours. The violent winter storm knew no bounds and had deposited three feet of snow in the high country as we high-tailed it home.
The message on my phone machine asked if I was to be expected tomorrow morning at 8:00am. “Of course, silly” I thought. “I’m not about to miss my flight to Nairobi !” It was Thursday afternoon, I had been out running errands most of the day. Had only been home 18 hours and just finished hanging up all the climbing hardware. A few weeks on the equator wouldn’t require much in gear or cloths, so a half a day to pack would suffice. It was all the C.Y.A. stuff that was adding up and weighing me down. The tent, inflatable ground pad, stove, pot, fuel, empty water bottles, dehydrated food, candy and extra thermal layers would all be unnecessary if the fine print were accurate, and the details worked out correctly. But I’m not about to go half way around the world and find out other wise. Neither were Jeff or Forrest.
I managed to keep all my belonging in two pieces of luggage; a large canvas duffel bag and a medium sized backpack. The duffel tipped the scale at 74 pounds at Denver International Airport. The limit was 70 pounds, but they were nice and didn’t charge me. Forrest and Eileen Yelverton were my transportation as well as my airline booking agents. Upon my arrival at their home in Longmont a couple of hours earlier Forrest announced he had the Flu and was running a fever of 103° all night. “That sucks” we all agreed.
Unlike other trips I was able to sleep on the plane. Although very excited, I had studied and rehearsed so many details to this trip that the nervousness was worked out. It was special to be in the brand new Boeing 777, a comfortable bus with good food and movies. We rendezvoused with Jeff in Dulles Airport, as planned. We would be adding 10 time zones to an already very weary 22 hour flight. I left Estes Park, Colorado at 7:00am local time Friday, December 13 and walked into our hotel in Nairobi at 11pm their time Saturday night. Ouch! And that was with no significant layovers, other than three hours in Frankfort (the first time I have returned to the hinterland as Dad would say).
Forrests condition hadn’t improved at all in travel. We thought the best augmentation to our agenda would be to allow him some rest at the hotel. We met up with our friend Naphtally the next day and arranged all the details for the entire trip; the guide and porter services on Mount Kilimanjaro, the game drives, transportation and food for the Serengeti and all bus transport, transfers and hotel accommodations. Then booked ourselves onto an afternoon bus to the coast. Hey, we figured we can’t help him get better so we best make the most of our vacation!
The six hour bus ride to the coastal town of Mombassa was grueling. Their highway system is like a U.S. narrow local street with lots of pot holes, but they still drive it at interstate speeds. The fellow in the seat next to me was chewing a popular tree branch shoot which he said helps to make nice dreams. The Kenyan accent is quite heavy but English is the official language of commerce. Swahili is their local dialect, but anyone with even minor education speaks English. Following my inquiries this guy tells me of a nice hotel on the north coast. Mombasa being the division between north and south coasts of Kenya. A quick taxi ride north 10 kilometers put us at the door of a swank joint much too nice for us and especially our wallets. However upon further inspection that $120 a night included full buffet breakfast and dinner. So divided by two we thought “what the hell, you only go around once!” And we were just in time for dinner. Such a palatial spread I haven’t seen since I worked as a grunt in a private elite club in Colorado Springs, while in college. We chowed down!
The dawn brought a vision of a tropical paradise I didn’t expect. When we opened the sliding doors onto our second floor balcony the electronic servo automatically turned off the air conditioner. There before my eyes was heaven ! Swaying palm trees and a mild surge of the 80° Indian Ocean water lapping at the white sand beach, just 50 feet away. Jeff went for a run but I elected to lounge and soak it in. Just wanted to watch the Sun rise out of the third ocean. There was a lot of fun to be had and we got as much of it as possible. Bargaining with beach urchins selling their wares, beer, camel rides, beer, snorkeling, beer, sailing, beer and oh did I mention beer? This place had three pools and three bars! But we were happy with just the swim up bar, where we spent most of the afternoon and evening. Then it was time to gorge ourselves again at the mother of all buffets. Days end was entertained with a snake show at the disco bar, where my comrade gave into the weight of waterlogged eye lids. And I thought he was a professional at this, I shoved him to wake and sent him off to the room.
We were very disappointed to find Forrest not feeling much better the next evening upon our return to the Fairview Hotel, in Nairobi. He had already rebooked his flight back to the States and would leave that night. It felt funny to loose him so soon. It go’s to show you that it’s not always altitude or indigenous diseases that weed us out. The common flu can kick your ass.
We met Naphtally the following morning at 9am at the predescribed bus area. It was not a public bus but a twenty passenger tourist bus with solo seats on one side and doubles on the other. Naphtally was his usual warm, polite and well dressed self. We settled up with the remainder of the U.S. cash for the climb and safari. He continued to verify that all things should be very well taken care of, and if not, he wanted to know about it in detail. He spoke with clarity and sincerity. He insisted that each change and venue should occur with class and precision. The bus driver had been versed on our itinerary and we would be expected both at the bus office and the hotel in Moshi, our destination in Tanzania.
Although we have been warned numerous times about pick pockets and shysters we had yet to meet anyone who was not polite and friendly. The people here are much darker than the African-American people at home and in general are slight of build. I find myself to be an above average sized man both in height and physique, an amusement I have never known in the States.
The border crossing from Kenya to Tanzania is not unlike those in Mexico I have visited. The office building is a small wood structure with jalousie window and no sign of plumbing. There is one small fan trying to disturb the hot, still air in which the 75 or so people from a few buses are humidifying by their very existence in the tiny room. The steady thump, thump of the stamp pad is louder than the dull murmur of conversation, and creates an illusion of control for the government workers. I’m sure everyone had the same thought on their mind. “I hope the visa arrangements I made, and the $50 bucks I sent in, are the proper ones, and these guys don’t screw with ME.” Outside in the street where there is no delineated parking nor organization to the motion of vehicles the vendors attack all viable prey. Their wares are very interesting and beautiful. These are the Masai people. The original people of the Serengeti Plains and all surrounding land, regardless of political boundaries. Their trade is mostly beadwork, water gourds and ebony wood carvings. It is all very enticing but I don’t want to carry it all over Africa, so my purchases will have to wait until the end of the trip.
Our arrival in Moshi was indeed expected and we were greeted by Emmanuelle, a representative from Davanu the tour bus organization. They had been instructed by Naphtally that we were ‘special ‘ and that it was imperative that no problems arise. Our bags were carried across the street to the Moshi Hotel and we checked into our room. Remember, I told myself, this is a Third World country, as we entered the room and were amused at it’s starkness. The two single beds were made up in a tight military style, and had crisp blue sheets on them. There was an attached bath which in this country is far from the norm. The general sanitation of the room was third world, but for us outdoor types was just fine. We would only be here one night and most of that time was spent repacking.
That afternoon we had a sit down review with the owner of Zara, which is the guide-service. We rehearsed the details of hiking Mount Kilimanjaro. This would be the objectives of the next five days. They would supply the food, porters, cook, National Park permits and all the fee’s associated to the use of the sleeping huts along the trail. They requested to team Jeff and I with two women so as to create a foursome which would be better for them and fit the accommodations on the mountain. They seemed to be pleasant, regular type folks who were in the midst of a huge one year travel plan. Both about 30ish, one Kunuck and one Kiwi. It didn’t hurt that they were attractive and very fit. Another hour of errands around town in the mini-van and we were finally off.
The hot mid-day drive from the hotel to the Park entrance took about an hour. The apparent second in command was a stocky woman much older than the owner and with the disposition of a lion. Don’t turn your back because she might eat the young! We first saw her at the office, where she ushered in a young Arabic girl, maybe 19 years old, who was in tears. She continued taunting, barking and generally chewing the poor gals ass, from the truck through the door. The poor young thing was the image of innocence, and had the adornment of the ruby in her forehead. It was hard for us to imagine she could have done anything to deserve such a public verbal flogging. Now the hag was ragging on the driver.
We did a quick repack at the trailhead, signed in with the authorities, were issued a box lunches and began walking. We followed an old narrow asphalt roadbed lined with Eucalyptus trees for the first half mile. The foliage was tall, dark and dense. It was substantially cooler under the canopy of flora than it was out in the parking lot. Town and the surround plains are at about 6,000’ and quite arid, not unlike Arizona. We were now in a tropical rain-forest, and grateful it was a very pleasant dry day. We strolled leisurely and after about an hour stopped to devour our box lunch. It consisted of a tomato and lettuce sandwich on white bread, a hard boiled egg, a BBQ’ed chicken leg, cookie, orange and little box of juice. We were all surprised and pleased. It was more food and better tasting than we could have imagined. Shortly thereafter we detoured off into the forest on a narrow and heavily overgrown path. I had heard about it from others, it came highly recommended. Shaved a half mile off the trail and led through the dense undergrowth of a Tarzan-like jungle. None of the other hiking groups opted for this trail, which was great and made the afternoon walk seem substantially more wild. We asked Lameck, our guide, if we might see lions, elephants or any critters. Unfortunately he said “no”. That didn’t deter us from thinking he must be wrong. The jungle was so dense you couldn’t see each other beyond about ten yards. We were constantly watching our footing since the tree roots created an endless staircase and stumbling arena.
Back on the main trail we found ourselves intermingled with other client groups and porters. The indigenous people are extremely durable and apparently uninterested or unfazed by technology. While many of the porters balance large 36” soft woven baskets on their heads which generally are for fruits and vegetables the others who carry client baggage prefer it to be in duffel bags. We had been informed of this back in the States and packed accordingly. Some folks however, had their belongings in the typical western high-tech backpacks. This didn’t stop the porters from carrying it on their heads. Quality footwear was also something which had not interrupted their lifestyle. Some wore knee high rubber fishing boots, others sneakers with no laces and yet others only flip-flop type sandals, all are without socks. Most importantly they all seemed to be quite content and happy. Be it the mountain environment, time away from their fields and livestock or maybe just to have a job there were no quarrels or complaints.
The Mandera Hut is located at 9,000’ in a grassy clearing. There are about twenty small A-frame huts there for sleeping and one large communal A-frame for dining and socializing. We arrived about 4pm and shortly afterwards were served hot popcorn and black tea. We were informed that dinner would be served at 6pm. We talked with some other English speaking people and mostly to Sophie and Kate. Figured if we were gunna be stuck together for five days we might as well get to know’em. Lameck gave us a key to our hut, which we immediately moved into. Each hut is divided in halves, each side sleeping four. Three on the floor and one bunk across the back. Each has a thick foam mattress covered in a dark blue slip-cover and matching pillow. Most impressive! Much more and nicer than I ever dreamed. Holy Cow there’s sit down toilets and showers too! Now this is what I call roughing it! Just when we thought it couldn’t get any better than this we saw dinner. A feast for ten people. What the heck were we going to do with that quantity of food? There was soup and crackers first. Dinner included spaghetti noodles, legs of chicken, toast, a large bowl of small potatoes, carrots and a cooked pile of shredded cabbage. We happily indulged and were immediately surprised to taste that everything was fried in copious quantities of oil. It wasn’t too many bites into dinner when I felt a very strange feeling come over me.?! A few more bites and primal instinct told me what I didn’t want to hear. It couldn’t be; I felt fine. Two minutes later I excused myself from the table and headed directly to the hut. I unlocked the big sliding deadbolted door and laid down. Then began running a diagnostics test on my system. The same results kept appearing. Within fifteen minutes I had scurried to the edge of the clearing and palmed a large tree in my left hand, with feet back and spread like a police pat-down. There I was, first day of our adventure, first day of a long five day journey - hurling my fuckin guts into the African jungle! The rest of me felt fine, so I figured this wouldn’t be so bad. Get rid of the poison and refuel with good food, eat a filling breakfast and continue on, no loss.
The theory was grand but six hours later the alien had worked itself through to the other end. Thirty minutes after achieving conscienceness I was in the Head. It was another A-frame and was quite classy considering my location. There I sat for thirty minutes, my entire body convulsing and shivering in a fever of anguish. During momentary rational thoughts I wondered how I could go on and hike ten miles tomorrow. Near death or not, I would manage. The others were tied to me both financially and by schedule. To add a day would add a hundred bucks each to the trip, something they would not be any party to. The waves of diarrhea came with spasms. My head wet with sweat while the rest of me shivered.
I did not sleep fitfully. My mind was occupied with maintaining bowel control. I dozed then awoke at 7am. This was worse than a college hangover. I struggled to pack my belonging. Everything was a tremendous effort. I dispatched the duffel bag with the porter, they were getting annoyed from waiting. I joined the others at the breakfast table, and forced myself to drink some tea and labored to swallow a few pieces of toast with jelly. We departed soon thereafter and my hell was revived. The horizon swirled as I walked and I felt incredibly weak. But on the good side, I could also tell that this would be short lived. It’s one of those innate senses one can just feel. At lunch break, however, the others let on their concern. They said they were really worried when after thirty minutes on the trail I said it felt like two hours. While my comrades chowed their lunches I took an hour nap. Upon rising I felt the breath of life in me again. I ate a banana and an orange and guzzled a quart of Gatorade. As we walked each step became more focused. After a mile I ate a power bar and some crackers and gulped more water. My pace became crisp again. I was actually keeping up with the crew. We passed many strange plants, some resembling Joshua Trees others in the Yucca family. The terrain became more arid and the mountain side ahead of us grew in shadow as the afternoon heat thermals rose to condense. As we entered a boulder strewn volcanic landscape I crested the ridge and viewed the Horombo Huts. I had caught up to the previous group, Germans, and found myself about a half mile ahead of my three associates. I guess I had recovered.
I registered our foursome with the camp manager and was assigned a hut. Popcorn and tea was served pronto and it felt good to eat. This camp was much larger than Mandera, about double. It also had a brick building under construction, and there was a tractor! I wondered how the hell that got here? This site provides shelter for teams returning from the summit and well as those heading up. Dinner was filling and could have been delicious, however, it was all fried in oil again. I ate all I could. The toast disappeared quickly and we asked for more. It doesn’t take long for the sun to set and the darkness to come on at this latitude. Being northern latitude dwellers we are accustom to lengthy twilight’s. Here at the equator the Sun plunges into the horizon near vertical and allows very little evening. Jeff was especially aware of it, being from Anchorage at 60° north, where dawn and dust last several hours.
The winter solstice arrived with beautiful blue sky’s and crisp cold air. Now at 12,000’ there is little but bushes for vegetation and the view of Kilimanjaro is spectacular. We now see it’s snow capped summit glisting in the African equatorial sun. We purchase another 1½ liter bottle of water at the camp managers hut, I loaded mine with Gatorade (a coolaid type energy drink which replaces electrolytes). The walk this day will deliver us to the Kibo Hut at 15,450’ above the Tundra region. We departed the grassy zone shortly after the small trickle of a creek we crossed was signed “last water”. The porters tanked up their jugs, which they use for cooking, christ I hope they boil it ! By late morning the adiabatic cooling creates lofty cumulus clouds which by early afternoon coalesce and condense into a fine mist of chilling rain. Our lunch break took only fifteen minutes. Following our arrival at the Kibo Hut the evening brings a breakup of the clouds and a spectacular view of Mawenzi Peak, Kilimanjaros easterly flanking summit. Grandiose vistas over Ambosili National Park far below us in Kenya look dark green and lush. To our south lie the high arid grasslands of the Serengeti, our next adventure. For now an evening hike up about 500 vertical feet affords me a little more acclimatization.
We dined at 5pm and attempted to bed down by six. The plan we understand is to rise at 11pm and depart at midnight to enjoy the sunrise from the summit at 6:30am. This would have worked better if our new roommates hadn’t upset our patterns. Here we had dormitory style accommodations and the four of us are now joined by three other Americans. One snored loud enough to drown out a bulldozer and one college fellow had a bad case of the fidgets. After twenty minutes I had to ask him to settle down.
My anticipation was running high and sleep was very elusive. Poor Sophie was up most of the night with the dry heaves, a nasty result of your bodies inability to adapt to high altitude. At 11pm I had only slept a few hours. Breakfast was an unappetizing affair, so I went with a couple cups of soup and a few slices of toast. At least I’m consistent, that’s all I had for dinner too; lack of appetite is another side effect of acute mountain sickness (AMS).
Our departure was quite timely and although we all were very anxious the guides now took over the pace and set the standard. It was quite evident immediately who was going to have trouble. Lack of training, overweight, altitude sickness, fitness, poor clothing and general lack of interest and fatigue created a 30% attrition rate within the first hour. The fifty or so people attempting the mountain today are quickly spread out in about eight guided groups. Ours was the last. I could see dozens of head lamps bouncing through the black inky night. To watch them could have easily made for a case of motion sickness. The waxing moon shown brightly on the scree slopes and made it easy to see without a flashlight if one allowed their eyes to adjust. Shortly into the hike Sophie was in tears, the AMS was overwhelming and she turned back. She had joined Chris the artist from San Diago and returned unescorted to Kibo. At that time Kate and I realized we had a different pace than Jeff. We stopped to discuss it with Lameck and Awitch our guides. Jeff was very understanding any curtly said “See you later”. It didn’t sound like a happy tone, but we knew the ramifications if we stayed together. For one to walk too slow will burn out your endurance for the other to walk too fast will wear you out. Our guides understood and Awitch stayed back with Jeff while Kate and I went on with Lameck. The night seemed like an eternity! The scenery was stark, just loose gravel which allowed little error without a slip or stumble. The stillness was only broke when the other guides became involved in some sort of a jive show down. Yacking back and forth for dam near thirty minutes. The night drug on and the temperature dropped with the moon. Elevation and time seemed endless. By four in the morning I needed a rest and some food. First I tried to clear the cobwebs out of my head the night seemed like an illusion and the horizon swirled. I added my last layer of clothing and ate a Stoker Bar and washed it down with more Gatorade. The total break was ten minutes. We hurried off to avoid the frigid 5° temperature chilling us beyond rewarmth. We found ourselves on steep solid rock as the eastern horizon had the faintest yellow glow. Only shortly before that, we later shared, we noticed that there was a strange white glow in the eastern sky which resembled another Milky Way. It was narrow and reached our zenith, too narrow to seem associated to the Sun rise which baths the horizon for a width of almost 150°. Another secret of the Dark Continent.
Without warning I was on level ground and saw the sky turn to a bright orange. Lameck turned to us and gave us a hug. A strange gesture I thought for these shy quiet people. I whirled around to check and see if we were on the Summit. There in the distance was a much higher point. Then I saw the sign “Gillmans Point”, we were at 19,000’, the false summit. I had no intentions of settling for this and smartly said “we’re almost there”. Kate smiled and we took off on a flat almost level trail. Now we could see into the vast crater and across the caldera. The trail was well beat even in the snowy sections. I was amused at African snow and glaciers. But now the AMS was hitting me hard. I reflected on the last 72 hours. Food poisoning, vomiting and greasy food; and the last twenty hours, two hours of sleep, two cups of soup, two slices of bread, one energy bar and one quart of drink. Not much to run on at 19,300 feet. The last quarter mile seemed endless. Kate was standing on the summit, squinting tightly, for a short while when I approached. The Sun tried, to no avail, to warn me and I was beginning to feel grumpy and exhausted. Then I stood atop the highest point in Africa, Uhuru Peak, at 7:08am on December 22, 1996. Suddenly I felt alive, envigorated and full of life again. Photos and a drink of water were in order.
I missed my buddy Jeff badly. I felt I had abandoned him and wanted to share this moment with him. I had once thought that if I ran into him this side of Gillmans point I would turn around to summit with him. But now that I feel so wore down that’s out of the question, I just hope he makes it. A few photos and I’m off. The frigid air and wind equate to a wind chill factor of 20 degrees below zero, no place to hang out as lightly dressed as I am and now sporting a good little headache. The bright Sun was blinding and I donned my dark glacier glasses. I never saw Jeff and really felt empty that he hadn’t made it. I wondered why and began to blame myself for not sticking with him. As I approached Gillman’s point I saw two people coming around the corner of a rock buttress. It had to be them because no one else could have been behind them. We exchanged salutations and ‘ol stoic Jeff even was open to a hug. He said all was fine, following my inquiries regarding head, legs, stomach and stamina. The guides indicated there was not enough time left for Jeff to summit. My immediate reaction was “either he go’s to the summit now or tomorrow morning, you choose!” Of course I was bluffing but I was counting on Lameck backing down. Follow a loud heated debate in Swahili between the guides they switched positions and we were off. Lameck returned to the summit with Jeff and I went down with Awitch. However, shortly after that Awitch asked (pantomimed is more like it, since he spoke no English) if I could make it down myself. I assured him that I felt fine and the descent would be no problem. I think he may have been concerned about his brother. These guys are tough; they do this entire day with no food and no drink! My descent was wonderful. Alone on this mountain was a feeling I had not experienced yet, there was always people around and usually quite a few. This was much more like the typical adventure for me, tranquil, serene and
time to be alone with my thoughts and the environment. I sat down at about 17,500’ and just soaked it in. The lush Kenyan forests were below me and I grinned in amusement at the thought that there were probably not many places on earth that one could be at these altitudes and have elephants, giraffes and lions lurking below me! To my right were the vast chaparral type grasslands of Tanzania, which were home to the great herds of Zebra and Wildebeests. A short hour later at 9:30am, I was in the Hut repacking and preparing for the journey out. The others were anxious and tired and all had departed by noon. By one o’clock I was getting concerned and by two I was pacing and wandering around camp looking up the mountain for any sign of life. Jeff and Lameck arrived at about 2:30. He stated that all went fine but his endurance and leg strength has evaporated shortly after the descent became steep and he was forced to follow the switch-backs instead of plunge stepping 2000’ straight down the loose talus.
The guides were extremely impatient and stood over us as Jeff was prodded to pack faster. They kept asking me to ask him to go faster. Our concern was that Kate and Sophie’s belongings had not left yet for the porters like to work as a team. Also, dinner could not be prepared until the food was carried down and there were clients to feed first because porters ate second, our left overs. My concern was Jeff but also realized that the girls had no extra clothes and we wouldn’t arrive until after dark at this rate.
The walk down from Kibo Hut to Horombo Hut went well. Jeff was quite tired and his pace was exceedingly slow. But our goal had been accomplished and we had that warm, pink fuzzy feeling all over. We strolled along in a great mood and chatted about everything under the sun. The afternoon air was substantially colder than yesterdays and the daily cloud build up produced snow instead of rain. What a tremendous experience, snow on the equator! It was so peaceful and quiet, not a sole around, and we walked for hours. Descending into the zone of the living, first the grasses, then ground shrubbery’s, then bushes and then richness of abundant foliage.
We arrived at Horombo at 7pm, I checked in with the camp manager to locate our hut. There I found Sophie laying on the bunk dressed in shorts and summer attire, shivering and Not happy. I asked why she had not received her clothes and explained that her belongings must have been in camp at least an hour, judging the speed at which the porter hike. I spent the next 15 minutes trying to locate any one of our porters. I was beginning to get a little worried when one of them finally recognized whitey in the other end of camp and asked what I needed. Soon we were all bundled up and eating in the main dining hut. Slept like babies that night.
The next day was uneventful and we all walked briskly to the Mandera Hut where we had lunch. Chris the artist bought a couple rounds of Cokes, wow, what a nice treat. I was looking forward to a bowel movement, it had been 3 1/2 days now! We were all excited about the next leg of our journeys. Kate and Sophie were off to the coast and Zanzibar, Chris and Drew were going on Safari in the same general direction as Jeff and I. We were met at the Park gate by the hag woman and escorted to the office to sign out and get our official summit certificates. Jeff and I exchanged good-byes with Lameck and Awitch and provided them with all our hiking and outdoor clothing. I had planned to relieve myself of some of the ten year old clothing I had been saving for no better use than this. This is a third world country and these people have no such equipment available in any manner. The guides tip was $50 for the five days and the porter get $10 each, we only hope that is at least matched by their employer. So at this level of income these clothes are a special gift. Many of these young men have wives and children too.
We were shown to the same room in the Moshi Hotel and it now seemed palatial. We were adapting quite well and now found it a treat to kneel in the dirty tub and shower with the hand hose which leaked and only supplied cool water. Still being careful to not get any in your mouth. We met with Zaineb the guide service owner that afternoon and discussed the details of the Safari and game drives. In overview, we were to depart the next morning and travel west through Arusha then onto Lake Manyara, across the Great Rift Valley to the Ngorongoro Crater, past the Ulduvi Gorge and finally the great Serengeti plains all of which are National Parks. This adventure would last five days and included all transportation, meal, permits & passes, the cook and the driver. Satisfied, we asked to be directed to a nice restaurant. Emmanuelle taxied us to, of all things, a Chinese restaurant, and offered to pick us up. We declined and chose to stroll the streets for adventure. The meal was wonderful and the Sechzuan was quite spicy. The Kilimanjaro half liter beers were cold and we swilled and gorged. The owner stopped by to check on our comfort. Our inquiry was responded to with a brief story that detailed the visiting of a Chinese chef who had stayed for about nine months and taught the owner the art of their cuisine. He had learned well.
The next day was Christmas Day and our departure was delayed from 9am to 2pm while Zara International tried to team us up with others for the safari so as to offset their expenses. It was a reasonable business choice but we lost a half of a day and I expressed my protest. We had after all, paid well in advance, and I didn’t take kindly to the delay. We ended up sharing our rig with a pleasant young German guy from the Stuttgart area. Jergen is a very proper and polite arrian who was by far a better choice than the strange couple from Chicago whom we had tried to avoid. The wait did, however, allow us to say goodbye to the girls who had roomed across town. We had truly enjoyed their company the last week and it was sad to split ways. As we bid our adieus I was looking for a place to unload a big zip-lock bag of candy and snack bars. It must had weighed five pounds and was left over from the mountain, but would surely melt on the arid plains. Just then a short, round woman in a bright, white Habit was strolling up the street. I interrupted Sister Angelica to ask if she knew some children who would enjoy some Christmas treats. With a big grin, a soft touch to my arm and a tear she blessed and thanked me. I guess even a hard-ass has a heart.
Our driver, Frank, was a young local guy who spoke English and was well versed in the names of all the flora and fauna we were to see over the next four days. Next stop, Arusha, a small dirty city which was home to Kilimanjaro International Airport and a few plush European hotels and where we picked up our cook, Mosses. Jeff and I looked at each other and grinned with approval. This guy comes bouncing out of an office type building with a big wide grin and says “ hey man how’s it going”? The whites of his large smiling eyes were contrasted against his dark black complexion. He was wearing a floppy style, camouflage boonie hat and had the charisma of a Jamaican reggae sole man. His charm offset the stoic attitude of our German safari companion.
Sunset was about 6:30 when we checked into an established campground with manicured lawns and walkways. They had hot showers and a bar, wow what a life ! We washed, guzzled and dined. Moses impressed us immediately. This was nothing at all like the food on the Mountain. The five of us ate together as we would the rest of the week. I felt uneasy that we were separating these people from their families on Christmas eve and the entire holiday. They assured us that it was all right and the extra income would make a belated Christmas a more happy one. The African stew was delicious ! Beef, lots of vegetables and spices such as ginger and tamarind. Then the crowning jewel, a cake! This guy is awesome. We sucked down about two liters of grog each and retired to our tents. Fairly nice, modern type backpacking tents from Europe. Snug for two but it would do. The bar noise and music was understandable until midnight or so, but by 2am my nerves were getting frazzled. Jeff responded to my whisper; I said “ if I’m not back in ten minutes come look for me”. I entered the screened in private party area with reluctance and guilt. Thinking “hell it’s Christmas, relax!” But I was surprised to see only about fifteen people, all quite pie-eyed and staggering. I was the only white person in the room. So I meekly approached the DJ, a woman with a tiny boom-box turned well beyond the distortion level. I knelt beside her and asked “how long the party would last”. Her response was warm and with question “ this is the last song, is that all right?” I assured her that was wonderful and exited as quietly as I entered.
The morning still came too early. We were on the road by 8am. We proceeded west across the Great Rift Valley, past Lake Manyara and up the Ngorongoro Crater. Pausing at the Crater rim to soak in it’s vastness and read the bronze monument which hails the efforts of many whom were killed by poachers. Our stop at the Park Headquarters took over an hour. We were entertained by some monkeys; the second time (in as many days) I had ever viewed wild primates. The slow progress on these rough dirt roads and a visit to the store, which sold beer, ate up the day. We camped on the Crater rim at the Simba (lion) campsite. There are about one hundred people camped here, mostly in groups of four to six. Following another fine meal we joined the neighboring camp around their fire for international stories and lies. It made for a delightful culmination to Christmas Day with representatives of a dozen countries passing almost as many types of spirits. The local anti-poaching militia even joined in.
We were very energetic the next day, for we were to descend 1800’ into the Crater for our first game drive. We needed four-wheel-drive to make the descent. The crater is twelve miles wide and we tingled with excitement at what beasts we might see that day. Not wanting to miss any animal no matter how small I immediately started asking Frank to stop for photo opportunities. The first animal an African Eagle sitting on a grassy hillside, then a tiny lizard. Soon we saw Thompson’s and Grant’s Gazelle. Things were starting out slow when we made a hard left and accelerated, we soon saw several other rigs parked. There at ten yard were three Lion ! We snuck into the group and turned off the engine. We stayed for almost an hour observing three very full, hot adult lion. As some trucks left we moved closer, up to about five yards. That became a typical scenario for the day, not just looking for game but looking for groups of other trucks, who were already watching game. Each event seemed to top the previous. Predators, heard animal, scavengers, waterfowl and wading birds, grazers, and lots of big animals with bad dispositions.
In Africa they have labeled their BIG FIVE, and these animals are sought after for photo viewing and prized for the label of a successful safari. They include Elephant, Rhinoceros, Buffalo, Lion and Leopard. Over the next six hours we saw four of the five. Over the course of the next three days we would come in contact with the a multitude of African wildlife. We drove back and forth a few times on the crater floor that day seeking bigger, better and more. They are generally a captive group, electing to not leave the crater, for it seems to supply rich feed and a safe environment.
The Serengeti Plains and National Park are huge, maybe only relative in size to Alaska standards. Most of the beasts we saw on the Serengeti were repeats of those in the crater. The list of animals viewed besides those already mentioned (and we came within twenty yards of) reads like an encyclopedia: Hippopotamus, Zebra, Wildebeest, Hyena, Jackal, Bat Eared Fox, Flamingo, Ducks, Crane, Dikdik, Reedbucks, Kori Bustard, Warthog, Heron, Egret, Baboon, Vervet monkeys, Cheetah, Ostrich, Hare, Grouse, Topi, Tortoise, Lizard, Hawk, Guineafowl, Dove, Giraffe, Superb Starling, Spurfowl, Stork, Cuckoo and a whole host of other wading and song birds. For long periods of time all you could hear was the clicking and winding of cameras and shutters. I think I shot five rolls of 36 exposure film that first day. By vacations end I had exposed over 500 frames of slide film, and the results later proved to be none to many.
The climate and surroundings of the Serengeti are pure heaven. The scenery looks like the rolling hills of Montana with the weather of Arizona. Daytime highs are usually 80° to 85°, with a nice 10 knot wind. At night it was a pleasant 60° to 70° and always dry, maybe 10-20% humidity. The vegetation is much more desert like. The vast majority of the bushes and trees were nasty, spiny, thorned bastards you don’t even want to get close to. The typical trees are short and wide with tiny leaves and 3” long, very hard, sharp spines. The saying there (probably Masai) is “if it doesn’t bite or prick, it will probably blow away”. A testament to thorns and teeth.
We were not allowed out of the vehicles at any time except to do “the job”. Two very good reasons. The Kenyan and Tanzanian governments are extreme about poachers and distrust everybody. But mostly because of the predators, and if it’s not a predator with big teeth it’s a really big animal, a ton or more, with a bad disposition. Buffalo and Elephant have been known to charge, unprovoked. Our lunches were usually held at prescribed locations as defined by the Parks. The most interesting was a lush lake site in the eastern Ngorongoro Crater, known as the Gorigor swamp. The rich grass was soft and cool in the shade of a single huge Nuxia congesta tree. Hippo’s wallowed while we ate but the danger lurked above. African Kites are large brown hawk-like birds, they swoop out of the sky with incredible speed and accuracy if they see food. They did and they did. Before we could adapt our dining style Jergen was hit in the hand and lost part of his sandwich. It isn’t funny because these birds talons are razor sharp and Frank said that a few weeks before someone had been hit in the head and required stitches. Immediately following our moving into a small depression to avoid the bandits we were accosted by three Irish women whom appeared from another visiting safari vehicle for what seemed to be for no better reason than to talk AT someone. But we were obliging and chatted for a while, just long enough to really appreciate the solace we would return to promptly.
In approaching and exiting the Serengeti National Park we had been lucky enough to drive directly through the awesome migration of the Wildebeest herds. These jumpy, skittish, horned, mule-like animals are the feed of most predators. Their herd number over one million animals ! To expand on that, they are joined by about another million Zebra and Gazelle. The Planes are extremely vast and flat, but from a minor rise we could see about twenty miles or more in all directions. The herd dotted the planes like flies on carrion. As far as the eye could see, it was unbelievable! I wondered if the Great Planes of North America looked like that in the early 19th century, covered with Bison. Amongst the herd ran the predators and scavengers. Mostly packs of Hyena but prides of Lion were not far off.
At that time of day the Lions were shaded from the intense African sun on nearby Kopje’s. These are granite rock outcroppings which appear to allow the extrusion of ground water and therefore create islands of foliage. They are literally an oasis in the typically unbroken horizon. They range in size from a half acre to several and are often 50 vertical feet tall. Within 600 yards of the Park Headquarters, which is constructed on a large 20 acre Kopje, we found a female Lion with two cubs. Nearby lay a large, black maned, adult male. He was not bothered by our vehicle or our close visit. He was content to lay and rest although as we moved closer and circled to get the sun behind us, he moved to a more comfortable spot under a tree. The strong breeze moved his mane about like the tall prairie grass, sometimes parting it like an Elvis hair-do. Not unlike the deer and elk in Estes Park, Colorado, these animals see dozens of tourist everyday, and have become comfortable with their prying. I believe that as long as you don’t get out of the vehicle they really don’t seem to care.
Our second day on the Serengeti involved a lot of driving. Unlike the Ngorongoro Crater where the critters were all within a six mile radius these animals had thousands of square miles of open grasslands and hillsides, spread over three countries, to roam. We ventured into the hills, far to the southwest, in search of more exotic breeds. Not far from there were happened onto a pair of Cheetah. They had been relaxing under the only few trees in the vicinity until there attention was captured by something beyond and down a draw. We first saw them at about two hundred yards and the crest of the ridge was another fifty or so farther away. There they paused, and stood, intent on something below. It gave us time to photo them with our 300 millimeter lenses but we could approach no closer. The rules of the Park require visitors to stay on established roads and trails.
Having a driver was decadent and unnecessary, we usually felt it would have been nicer to drive ourselves. It got a little old to continually ask Frank to shut off the engine. The idling seemed to be more annoying to us than to the animals. Another aggravation was his need to hold the brake and dump the clutch to kill the engine, instead of just using the key. This may sound like a petty complaint but when you’re standing up in the back trying to photograph and the vehicle lurches violently to stop, it’s nearly a camera accident every time. This would eventually lead to our breakdown too. On the other hand, Moses in the kitchen was always a pleasant experience. The meals became one surprise after the other. Beef Stroganoff, stews, hand created soups, even crepes with jam for breakfast.
The camp scene was pleasant although we wish we had a picnic table or something large and accommodating. Because these sites require you to be completely self-contained we had two small bench seats and a small round, 2 foot diameter table. It was sufficient. Keeping our belonging to a minimum, and accounted for was important night and day. For at night the Hyenas came to visit and scavenge, anything which was a food like item and within reach would be eaten or at the least, reason to provoke their interest. So all gear was stowed on the roof rack or in the truck. Then in the morning the trouble makers were the Baboons. They were very curious and aggressive and seemed to not be intimidated by humans. That in it self was reason for concern. One morning, across the site, I observed a woman seated and eating her toast and coffee. Before I made the connection of the cute baboon walking up behind her, he had accelerated to a trot and snagged the bread right out of her hand and continued to the edge of the clearing. There he sat promptly, and with his extended family, enjoyed his new breakfast. These animals appear to be very gregarious and family oriented. They travel in packs of several families and interact with all ages and groups. Later than morning not a mile from camp another male Baboon was deeply involved with his mate right along the very edge of the road. Only the immediate passing of our truck was enough to interrupt their morning copulation.
Our next viewing of primates was late that same day. We had been following a small creek north toward the Serenera Camp Area. As we passed though a lush grassy area we were amused by the antics of a large group of Vervet monkeys. Jeff recalled Forrest commenting on these playful little primates, which he had just seen on the Discovery channel. And just as Forrest had stated the male genitalia were colored bright powder blue! One must wonder, what evolutionary purpose does this have? But these little buggers were as lively and playful as a litter of puppies! It was humorous just to watch, especially the babies. They couldn’t have been more than 8” tall. They played tag with the intensity of football; jumping, rolling, diving and a little arm & leg pulling. The adults were only about 12”-18” tall and were content to groom each other and pick and eat fresh grass shoots.
We departed Serenera camp on Sunday, December 29th and prepared for the long grueling drive back to Arusha. It was only about 200 miles but would require over eight hours of driving on the rustic trails of the Serengeti. A stop at the Olduvi Gorge was high on our list of things to see and would help to break up the monotony of the ride. This shallow valley is the location where in the 1930’s William Leakey came to investigate the earlier discovery of strange primate type bones which a German scientist had discovered. Leakey was a renowned and studied professor of Anthropology and was quite interested in the artifacts of early man. His discovery is the closest thing to the ‘missing link’ that the human race can associate to a primate past. The bones came to be known as Austriopithicus, a bipedal hominid. I was surprised at the relative shallowness of the Gorge at about 600 feet. The general terrain there is sedimentary, and at some point was covered by a volcanic flow, and then some additional sedimentary layers were deposited. It took millions of years for erosion to cut through the volcanic layer, but when it did it unearthed the bones of many extinct animals and the small, erect walking hominid. Although there Park Service had little to offer in comparison to our western museums we enjoyed reviewing the contents of the small open air building with artifacts of sixty years of investigations. Mary Leaky followed in her fathers footsteps and in the 1960’s & ‘70’s continued to unearth and explore.
We stood somber on the edge of the Gorge and listened to the short history lecture from an employee. Personally I was lost in dream about the ancient ones who roamed this land. What was the climate like two millions years ago? Were the saber-toothed cats cunning and hungry all the time? Did the Mastodon type animals here really resemble the one’s from the northern climates? It was noon and this portion of Tanzania resembled the Sonoran Desert of northern Mexico. The temperature was getting close to 90°, and I wanted some food and water. We piled into the Landcruiser and headed west, back toward the main Path.
Now here is where the story got interesting! Jeff and I had both been hearing a loud thunk noise while driving for a few days. At one point, in the Crater, I even got under the rig and looked for a cause for this suspect sound. Later we thought it might be a broken shock-absorber or loose exhaust pipe, but the general condition of the vehicle was very poor and to isolate the noise was impossible. About five miles from the Gorge and that much from the main Trail we got our answer. With a loud thud and clank Frank brought the truck to a rapid halt. My first thought was we had blown the clutch, my second thought was rage. I assumed correctly that the two employees were just a driver and cook, they had no mechanical knowledge, much less tools! I was beginning to see myself elbow deep in grease, bashing up my knuckles or worse yet hitch-hiking across the Serengeti Planes of East Africa in the mid-day sun. We all bailed out and crawled underneath the truck. The damage was immediately obvious, and it wasn’t pretty. The drive shaft was hanging by one of it’s four bolts! As I twitched with anger and fought to control it, we looked throughout the vehicle for anything which resembled a tool, any tool. I grumbled loud enough for Frank to hear, that if he didn’t insist on dumping the damned clutch to kill the engine, this probably would not have happened. All that torque on the drive train was the culprit. We searched the vehicle for parts and tools, and only came up with one small wrench. In a stroke of sheer luck it was a fourteen millimeter and fit the drive shaft bolt head. Jeff was so pissed off he elected to go walk back down the road and look for one of the bolts; that was like looking for a needle in a hay stack. I took over and began to instruct the two employees that we must scavenge a few bolts from any part of the truck which might fit into the shaft and yoke holes and bind the two together lone enough to get us to a village. We looked over the body, spare tire and roof rack, dash, seats, then under the hood. I handled and fondled the cooling system, the brake system, battery rack, steering linkage and nothing seemed to have spare bolts we could steal. Then I saw the hood mounts. At some point the truck had been in a front end collision and instead of repairing the hood latch they added two exterior posts with springs and hooks which held the hood down. I figured the springs could be hooked directly to the hood and the little steel hooks eliminated thereby providing us with two bolts and nuts. But what about tools. The African sun had reached it’s apex, the temperature was over 90 and the usual breeze was missing. It couldn’t have been worse. The occasional passing vehicle didn’t slow a bit. A couple Masai boys came to investigate then wandered on when we had nothing to offer in money or food. Jeff returned as amazed as I that he had found one bolt but no nut. I whipped out my trusty Leatherman tool and confiscated Jeff’s also. These folding pocket knives are also pliers. Armed with these tools and the one broken handled wrench we liberated the bolts and installed them into the driveshaft. We were on our way in about an hour and none too soon for the intense sun was just about to force me into the vehicle or insane. We limped along at an agonizing pace of about 10mph, couldn’t tell for sure because the speedometer didn’t work either.
Several hours later we began the steady moderate incline, up the west side of the Ngorongoro Crater. Near Simba camp there was a small village where we had purchased warm beer. They had a petrol station and therefore a repair shop I thought. Frank insisted they did not have a mechanic without stopping. I felt my blood begin to boil. We’re a hundred mile from nowhere, in the middle of nowhere, third world no-place, and he’s going to pass up an (any) option! Somebody hold me back, I’m going to kill him! Rattle-thunk-rattle-thunk as we descended the east side of the Crater on the worst roads of the entire adventure. This would surely destroy the plier tightened bolts which didn’t even fit the holes properly. Somehow we made it to the village on the shoulder of the Crater and Frank obviously had a particular vendor in mind. We limped the truck to the front of a tar-papered shack and piled out. Moses lead us over to the restaurant and asked the owners if we might sit inside to eat our bag lunch, during the repairs on our truck. They graciously agreed. The work and our meal only took about thirty minutes. The remaining drive included several hours of additional spine wrenching roads before we hit the pavement. What a pleasure an asphalt road is.
The late afternoon sun was intense as it beat into the windshield, but as we turned east from south the relief was welcomed. It was a tremendously clear evening, as it had rained lightly and settled all the air born dust. As we approached Arusha Mount Meru at 15,000’ was bigger and more majestic than we had earlier thought. Arusha is well foliated and seems almost tropical compared to the Serengeti. I played a drum roll in my head as we entered the Novotel Hotel and asked at the desk for our reservation. The well dressed man with proper English dialect stated that things were quite hectic just then and offered for us to retire to the bar and he would call for us monetarily. Jeff and I were satisfied that we had been expected and ordered up a couple of Tusker Lagers. I noticed that all the reception staff were attractive women and were not typical in appearance to those we had observed thus far that month. About fifteen minutes later, just as I was getting antsy, we were escorted to our room. It was worth waiting for. We were admitted into a full double room. The two adjoining rooms both had televisions and private baths. Each bath was well stocked with shampoo, conditioner, paper products and the like. One room had a queen size bed the other had a sofa which folded open into a bed. Jeff felt it was necessary to flip a coin, but with my luck I didn’t see the reason.
After a nice long, hot shower we departed for a restaurant in search of beer and dinner, or viscera-versa. It was about 9pm and pitch black as we tried to maneuver along the busy two lane highway. We headed back down the road we came in on because I saw a fancy, lit-up place which looked appealing. We arrived just after I fell in a open pit in the concrete sidewalk and somehow manager to miss the dozen or so rebar spines sticking up out of the framework about 12”. No damage except to my ego, and a very wet leg. The source of the water in the hole I didn’t care to think about. The joint turned out to be a bar, but they claimed to have dinner. The waiter recommended the BBQ ribs, and we accepted. Several more Tuskers and dam near an hour and a big platter full of skinny ribs showed up on the table. We waited for the waiter to leave before laughing. But as he departed I asked what kind they were, “ Goat “ he replied. They were the skinniest, scrawniest little ribs I had ever seen ! The BBQ sauce was weak in flavor and we were ‘starved’. No pun intended, considering the location. We wolfed them down, tugging and tearing at the fibrous, sinew like matter they called meat. We kept laughing, and wonder if we would live. We had a few more Tuskers and pondered on whether they had slaughtered the animal on site, out back, to create this meal. Ah, that big bed felt good !
The last morning of this leg of the vacation was spent lounging around the pool reading and writing in our journals. The 2pm departure was planned and punctual. The bus was rolling out of the driveway as I was reduced to hollering at the laundry help in the basement of the Hotel to remove my shirt and pants from the dryer “wet” so I could catch my bus. Jeff had tried in vane to hold the bus, I finally sprinted 200 yards across the front gardens, only to catch the bus as it accessed the highway. The majority of the patrons were scowling at me for the six minute delay. When the bus got a flat tire several hours out from Niarobi I couldn’t contain my contempt for the young German guys who were so rudely insulting to Jeff and insisted the bus leave without me. Now by the roadside, my sarcasm was deep and sharp when I suggested to them, that it was too bad we had such a big delay in Arusha, because now we were really late. They didn’t offer a response face to face.
That evening we treated ourselves to a five star dining experience at the Tamarind Restaurant. The dining room was full and an hours delay in the cocktail lounge was in order. Fully relaxed, we were escorted to the dining area which was elegantly appointed in Teak tables and chairs on deep blue plush carpeting. We were casually dressed but many others were quite formal, even some tuxedos and long evening gowns. The plentiful wait staff were all very cordial and attentive. One aspect of culture in Kenya & Tanzania that I noticed throughout the trip, seemed that no matter your race or attire, all people were equally accepted. That may be a broad statement from a white person in a poor black country but there were numerous occasions for me to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time but everyone seemed to be accepting and friendly. This restaurant was no exception. The five course meal was exquisite and extremely rich. The seafood and native trout were finely prepared and served.
The following evening we took Naphtally along with us as we dined at the famous Carnivore Restaurant. He had been recommended to us for travel arrangements by my friend in Estes Park, Colorado. He is a well spoken and well dressed man in his late twenties, whom immediately we felt was honest and wholesome. He directed all our arrangements on a Sunday afternoon in Nairobi, and they all came to pass without a single hitch, over the next two weeks. He wouldn’t accept payment but just wanted a letter of recommendation to apply for a passport. We thought dinner should be the least of our offerings. The Carnivore serves wild game meat which is broiled on an open spit in the front of the open air restaurant. The specialty of the day varies with supply from the domestic ranches but the animals served that night were Wildebeest, Crocodile and Zebra. Other times Gazelle, Giraffe and Hippo is available. I ate like a starving Neanderthal man, and even had thirds. The Wildebeest was outstanding fare.
The next day we enjoyed our final moments on this wonderful adventure and in fine western style we slept in till about 8am when we were startled by the phone. Jeff grabbed it and I’m sure wanted to bark at this intrusion, but it was Naphtally. He was checking on our itinerary for the day and wanted to verify our schedule for departure. We planned a lazy day, sight-seeing in Nairobi and set aside several hours for the Masai Market. Our flight was at 11:40pm that evening, which happened to be New Years Eve. Allowing for customs and problems we would get our pick up from Naphtally and his buddy Joe at 9pm.
We had some trouble finding the market. It’s an open air affair on an undeveloped city corner. It is a half of a block, mostly grassy and fairly steep. We rattled around for about an hour looking for it. We often received conflicting directions, from lack of knowing to enjoyment in giving the tourist the run around. But best-out-of-four led us to a very crowed ground spread display of delightful arts. Perhaps the Masai started and perfected these forms of crafts but there are plenty of middle-men now involved in the marketing and sales. The most common crafts are small hand woven baskets, carved ebony statues and beadwork bracelets and necklaces. The carvings are mostly animals of the area or caricatures of the Masai people themselves. These people, both men and women, are very tall with high cheek bones, and there traditional garb are shawl type robes. The beadwork is very fine and delicate, the beads are plastic and about 1/16th inch in diameter and strung into rows, then set up in lines often about 3/4th of an inch wide for bracelets. My favorite, however, were the baskets. They’re hand dyed and woven into beautiful pieces of art. Many in the size ranging from 6” to 18” in diameter. I was especially attracted to the natural colored ones; tan, red and green, of which many had an almost southwestern design on them. Much like the New Mexico state flag symbol. These were often dark purple or dark green. Some of the weavings were serving platter size and flatter, while others had a woven matching lid which were large enough to fit a few baseball size objects in. We spent about four hours there and spent every last loose shilling we owned, except for what we had stashed for the airport, customs and T-shirts. We even traded our hats and I traded my American logo T-shirts ( which needed laundering ) for more, authentic East African goodies.
Well the final packing was a tight fit. All the cloths and food we had given away in Moshi had barely made enough room in our duffel bags for our souvenirs. The afternoon sped away quickly as we deposited our bootie at the Hotel and returned to wander the downtown area and explore the high-rise modern buildings. We found elegant lobbies with very pricey souvenirs, like what we had just purchased. We also found limited stakes gambling and a lot of one-armed-bandits. We wandered into some art shops and museums then had a greasy American cheese burger and pop for lunch. Following a long refreshing shower to rinse off the road grime we tossed back the last couple Tuskers and made our final departure. The airport and customs went smoother than expected. Naphtally disappeared quickly following an all too brief salutation and hug, maybe he just doesn’t like good byes. We progressed to the waiting area where we found some great duty free T-shits and Kaluha type booze. We worried a little about the dozen or so Arabic type folks occupying a great deal of the lobby, spread out and eating dinner. We jokingly hoped Allah hadn’t directed them to come and visit Him, better yet, maybe they would be on a different flight.
We were treated to two New Years Eves in flight, as we changed time zones. Twelve time zones and twenty-two hours later I was picked up by Forrest at Denver International Airport. I filled him in on all the great stuff he missed which you’ve just read the short version of and spent the next two weeks suffering jet lag, travelers stomach and the euphoric roller coaster of post travel glee.
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