Original Article: http://dartreview.com/archives/1998/10/28/spandex_candy_corn_and_one_big_hill.php
Wednesday, October 28, 1998
For the purpose of clarity, and because the authors aren't very bright, this article is written in the first person singular, even though there are 2 authors.
—BCS and WTSH
Trudging up the slopes of Mount Kilimanjaro at 4 in the morning at 17,000 feet, I stopped and stared upwards and there was only one thought in my mind: cripes, its immense! I was not referring to the snow-capped peak of Kilimanjaro but rather the gigantic spandex-clad rump before my eyes. I was hoping that it was Cindy, the thirty year old vixen from London. But to my frustration, I quickly realized that it was her fiancee, 'Big' John. Confusing the 115 pound aerobics instructor for the 225 pound former linebacker was an example of the disorienting effects of altitude.
It took four days for my mental state to deteriorate to such a level. We hiked up from 6,000 feet at the base of the mountain, slowly acclimatizing ourselves to the lack of oxygen at altitude. We quickly progressed through several different climate zones, beginning in a rainforest and quickly hiking through a woodland region, a region of underbrush, a field of scree (Swahili for little rocks), and finally 1,000 feet of hard packed snow.
At our third campsite, I took off my pack. Unfortunately, I forgot that I had not unbuckled my waist belt, wrenching my lower back out of place. Throwing myself to the ground in agony, I crawled to the tent of our expedition doctor, Lon Hoover.
Lon introduced me to the world of osteopathic medicine. He sounded suspiciously like a chiropractor, even though he claimed he was different because he could prescribe heavy narcotics. The quack offered to give me an 'adjustment.' After I lay face down on the ground, he stood over me and wrenched my back into place. When the cracking and popping had stopped, Lon said that there was nothing left to do except give me a 'pelvic thrust,' (apparently a standard maneuver in the osteopathic world). I quickly left his tent, my back feeling strangely better. I didn't get any more 'adjustments' for the rest of the trip.
Before I left the states, I received attention from a medical doctor. I had to undergo a regimen of eight shots over two weeks. I also got to pick up some cool drugs: Diamox and Lariam. Diamox is famous in the mountaineering set. It is a drug which dehydrates you, so that your brain and lungs don't fill up with excessive water at altitude. Lariam put the trip back into mountaineering trip. Lariam is a drug which wards off malaria with the added benefit of being a mild hallucinogen. It has the greatest effect on dreams, giving them incredible clarity and focus. Sometimes I would wake up and get my dreams confused with reality.
Our leader for this assault on the 19, 340 foot peak was Joe Anderson, a 28 year old rugger-bugger (Rugby player to you Yanks) and an Oxford grad. Joe trained heavily for this trip during the four day safari leading up to our ascent. Namely, he tried to drink everyone under the table. Joe, the classic soccer hooligan, informed us that he preferred Safari Lager to Kilimanjaro beer for the sole reason that it had .4% more alcohol per volume.
The real all-stars on this trip, however, were the porters. For the fifteen people in our group, we had forty-five porters carrying our gear to the top. Clad in sandals and chain-smoking their way to the summit, these Tanzanian natives motored by us, balancing our bags on their heads. Not only did they carry our gear, but they hung out with us a lot at our campsite — friendly Africans.
The real highlight of this trip, however, was the summit day. We camped at 15,000 feet in anticipation of our hike the next day. We went to bed at 8:30, but I didn't rest much due to sleep apnea, a medical condition in which you sleep for about 10 minutes and then wake up gasping for breath. My anxiety about the big ascent also contributed to my insomnia.
I woke up at midnight and had about 3 mugs of Chai (Masai for tea) and a handful of candy corn (altitude has a debilitating effect on your appetite). Turning on my headlamp so I could see the path before me, I followed in single-file line up the mountain.
Walking up the mountain was tremendously difficult. Every step takes considerably more effort than at sea level. Our guide told us to use a walking technique called the 'rest step' a complicated maneuver which I didn't understand. I just walked real slowly for six hours. Far below us, I could see the twinkling lights of Moshii. It was exciting to see how high we were, not to mention incredibly beautiful. I entertained myself by free-styling to Young M.C.'s 'Bust a Move' and Springsteen's 'Born in the USA.' My compatriots soon told me to shut my yapper, so I spent the next 5 hours 45 minutes in silence.
The hours soon drifted away and soon snow covered the ground. The sun came up just as I reached what appeared to be the summit. Kilimanjaro is a volcano with a crater rim at the top. The official summit was just a short hike away. On this short walk to the true peak, I saw the sun rise above the clouds below me. I guess it was beautiful, I didn't care. I was too brain-addled and cold to care. The winds at the top of the mountain were fifty knots and the wind chill was thirty below.
It wasn't as easy as I make it out to be. Three members of our group suffered serious injuries on the push for the summit. Eric, a veteran climber from California, was plagued by hypothermia, and had to be helped down by one of the guides. William Lee, an investment banker from New York City, collapsed at the top from HACE (High Altitude Cerebral Edema). This occurs when your brain fills up with fluid, causing unbearable pressure on the brain, and often results in mild to severe brain damage. Another climber, Bob, had a diabetic seizure and also had to be carried down by a guide.
Stepping over the fallen bodies, I trudged to the top and I was astonished by how crowded it was. Our group was postponed at the top by many rude and racist South Africans (one pushed our Tanzanian guide after he politely asked if they could hurry up).
I numbly held the sign in front of me that said 'Highest Point in Africa' and then moved on.
I walked down the mountain, growing stronger and smarter with each step. Sliding down the scree, the feeling of elation struck me. It was over, and I'm never going up there again.