Kikelewa Cave Camp to Mawenzi Tarn Camp (Day #6) (2/17/2011)

I was in the tent writing my daily log and had no idea what day it was.  All I knew was that it was yesterday plus one.  I had to go back out to check the date on my watch  to figure out the date (it was too dark in the tent and my old eyes were having trouble focussing on the tiny date scale).

Reveille was at 6am with Adam's solemn voice ringing in the new day and the aroma of freshly brewed tea wafting in the air.  We were out of the camp by 8am.  Today's was a "special" hike.  What was so special one might ask?  Kikelewa Cave was at 11,200 ft and we finished at Mawenzi Tarn Camp at 14,160ft; and it was all UP, all the way, not much in the way of flat areas and very few if any downward slopes.  It was one of those hikes where we look up ahead at the trail and it snakes its way through boulder-strewn hillsides and disappears into the clouds.  It was another cloudy day during the trek.  That was probably a blessing in disguise as it hid the ultimate highs we had to cross before getting to camp.  If we had glimpsed those insurmountable heights it might have proven to be very demoralizing.  So into the clouds we trekked.  We pass numerous valleys lined with giant groundsels with marks of the fire that had destroyed parts of the vegetation a few years back, still lingering among the plants.  And even here fresh shoots arose from the charred remnants, continuing the circle of life.  We soon left the heather at the lower altitudes as we ventured into the alpine region with hardly andy vegetation at all.  The trek was a slog but not unduly tiring.  All credit go to our excellent guides, Bernard and Godlove, who  kept up a very manageable pace and ensured we rested often.  The Harry and David trail mix packs were put to good use with everyone enjoying the variety.  Oh, and the elk jerky: excellent.  Just chewing on the tough, juicy strips of meat was especially satisfying.  Everyone is required to drink atlas 4 liters of water.  I found that to be the most difficult feat during the trek.  I drank enough, but not the 4 liters, a secret that I did not tell Bernard until we were at camp the next day.  He was a little concerned but I was doing my best.

We passed and were passed by a number of groups.  One could always tell the groups with Brits among them; there was always someone who just could not leave his beloved brolly (umbrella) home.  There was one strolling among the tents at the next camp as if it was just an afternoon stroll along the banks of the Great Ouse, a brolly protecting his balding pate from the bright sun.  One of the spectacles of the day was the sighting of a rare species on this trek: lady porters.  I had seen one or two at one of the camps, but here, as we were resting for a few minutes after an especially arduous portion of the climb, here come three ladies bearing their burden, delicately balanced on their heads.  How they mange to climb balancing the stuff on their heads is beyond me.  They smiled as they went by and there was always the familiar, "Jambo."  Prosper, sat by the trail talking to one and all.  It seemed that everyone knew my friend Prosper.  He always had a kind word for everybody.  He could speak English quite well and was well versed with most of the flora and fauna we encountered.  What he did not know he would promise to read up when he got to his books.

Just before we got to camp the trail passes over a sharp ridge and then winds down along a particularly rocky path.  I suppose we could have had a great view of the camp but the with the ever present mist and clouds we could see not more than a few feet in front of us.  A few delicate steps over rocks and there was water.  That was Mawenzi Tarn, a small body of water at the foot of Mawenzi.  The Thomson Safari brochure had described this camp as "...a placid mountain lake at the foot of the majestic, steep ridges of Mawenzi, Kilimanjaro's second highest volcano. The camp is nestled at the edge of the lake in a protected alcove with spectacular views towards Mawenzi's cathedral-like spires." All true.  What they neglected to mention was that half the population of New York was camped there.  There were traffic jams here.  There were streets and avenues.  Now, if there were street lights and traffic signs the transformation would be complete.  I think everybody who had anything to do with climbing Kilimanjaro was there.  There was a group from Seattle led by the outfitter herself, a bossy lady who insisted the group dine outside without the luxury of a tent (or was it because the tent carrier was missing?)  Some of her group were not very happy.  Then there was the school teacher from Crete, with a bunch of British expatriate teenagers, all unusually well behaved.  This gentleman told me that it was his third trip up Kilimanjaro.  Every time in the past, when he got done, he promises never to have anything to do with Kilimanjaro again only to find that when the memory of the pain of the climb passes into the vaults of amnesia, he is back.  I checked in Stateside by sat phone to make sure everything was OK and then indulged in the luxury of an afternoon snooze, something I love but never get to practice very often.  Mawenzi was out of the clouds when I awoke, the sun was out and it was not too cold either.  I took the opportunity to take a few pictures of Mawenzi and the Tarn.  Renee and Norah are doing great.  I had been worried about Renee but she has done remarkably well since that bad day when exhaustion and a touch of altitude sickness had really did a number on her.  Ken was his usual self, taking notes, referencing his books, we were always kept well informed of all the curious plants and birds we saw, and taking pictures.  Then there was the Jordie and his brother from Morecambe Bay in Cumbria.  He works in IT and is a frequent visitor at Furness General Hospital, my old hospital.  I have asked him to say hi to my friends at the hospital.

I've gotta mention one other thing: Thomson Safaris had provided us with a convenient "loo" tent, one that had a chemical toilet.  I never did ask what happened to all the excrement.  Maybe I will the next time…  Some of the other groups did not have the luxury of their own private potty tent, and they made use of the permanent "outhouses" found at each camp.  The ones at Mawenzi Tarn were special, the drop through the aperture in the floor was a few hundred feet.


Tomorrow we hit the saddle...