Last summer, a group of 10 individuals joined forces to make the trek to the summit of the world’s highest freestanding mountain – Mt. Kilimanjaro. What began as a group of strangers soon became a group of very close friends, cheering each other on to reach our greatest height. St. Augustine locals RJ and Trish Larizza, Scott and Erin Smith, my sister, Emily, and yours truly ( joined also by four amazing others from around the U.S.) all separately stumbled upon the idea to climb, and through a hidden gem of this community, found our way together.
Kilibound Adventures is a travel company born and bred in St. Augustine. Owner James McCune made his first trip to Tanzania in 2007, and for him, the rest is history. Having now been there myself, I can absolutely understand the obsession. From day one, the people of Tanzania welcomed us into their hearts. Just ask State Attorney, RJ Larizza! He made a new best friend every time we stepped out of the hotel during our first few days in Africa, and to say he was the star of the show on the mountain would be a massive understatement.
Upon arrival to Arusha – the capital of Tanzania – we were greeted by our head guide and Kilibound co-founder, Gideon. He talked us all off of the proverbial ledge and put us right on the real ones. Within days of arriving (and adjusting to the seven-hour time difference!), we were headed to the slopes, and ahead of us, a seven-day trek to the top.
The fifty-five-mile trail was broken up strategically from day to day. Day one was short; only a few miles from the trailhead to our camp for the night (in an effort to keep the intimidation at bay, I presume). Each night, while we gathered in the mess tent for dinner and conversation, Gideon and our four additional guides would give us the run-down for the following day – how many hours to expect from the time we set out in the morning until we reached our next campsite, what terrain we would encounter, and a detailed description of what to wear. Little did we know at the time that we would be facing extreme changes in weather, sometimes hourly.
The days that followed were filled with adventure, changes in perspective, and huge life lessons. We found ourselves in the classic literary conflict of man versus nature. To be in an environment where you are so physically uncomfortable, yet knowing that the only way out is to continue putting one foot in front of the other… we were all stripped of who we are back home. All of the comforts that are a part of everyday life, and all of the external, intangible ways in which we define ourselves no longer mattered. The mountain doesn’t care if you are educated or adored or beautiful – it is the greatest equalizer. By the end of it all, our team catchphrase had become, “Welcome to Kilimanjaro. Sorry about your face,” laughing together as our bodies adapted to the cold.
We were bettering ourselves and loving every minute of it. As Erin puts it, “It’s all in those micro-moments. It’s a perspective that you then carry with you for the rest of your life.” For her, the “ah ha” moment was stopping at Lava Tower for lunch and realizing we had broken the cloud line. Looking down off the ledge, we could have been looking at an ocean, only about 12,000 feet higher and perfectly white.
But the experience wasn’t all about just us climbers. I think every one of us would agree with Emily, “The Kilibound crew are some of the most amazing people I’ve met and I am still in awe of everything they do, and they do it all while singing and dancing!” From spending time in the kitchen tent with our chef, Emmanuel (voted best chef on the mountain, by the way!), to hearing stories of our camp manager Kanini getting lost and accidentally wandering into Kenya, to singing along with Chaji Boy to “Jambo Bwana” to get us all pumped up before hitting the trail each day, we were growing as individuals, and we were growing as a team.
The Barranco Wall (or as the cheeky porters like to call it, the Breakfast Wall due to all of the climbers that get a second showing of their first meal of the day) became less daunting knowing we had genuine friends in our guides, porters, and fellow climbers. The 257-meter vertical climb felt less like a life-threatening feat and more like just another adventure that we would absolutely make it through. And the same became true for every challenge we would come to face.
We were no longer defining days. There was no legitimate way to keep track of time in large quantities. So it became about the hours, down to the miles, the steps, and eventually the breaths. Before any of us knew it, we were actively present in every moment of every day. What a way to learn! Appreciating the Dr. Seuss-looking foliage in the valleys, and spotting the ravens flying up and down, learning from the guides about flowers unique to the mountain, and the way its mass creates its own weather patterns, we were THERE. We listened to RJ play his harmonica while we rested on the trail; we ate about as much as we could of Emmanuel’s veggie grilled cheese; we stuffed warm water bottles down our sleeping bags for warmth; we laughed in our tents until we absolutely had to go to sleep.
Then came summit day. It was four in the morning, four miles from Uhuru Peak, ten hours of climbing, and negative five degrees, but it was now or never for this crew of newly-experienced mountain climbers. Adding layers and layers until we felt like Ralphie’s younger brother in A Christmas Story, we set out for the top. Headlamps and additional porters got us over our early morning rock scramble, but nothing could prepare us for the ice we would soon be navigating our way across. Gideon had shared back in the comfort of the hotel in Arusha that there was more ice and snow at the peak than they had seen in fifteen years, but the deep trenches we found ourselves in, paired with the climbers we passed being carried down, and the piles of sick every ten or so feet really drove the point home.
By the time we reached Stella Point (the last stop before the peak), there were fleeting thoughts of turning back. But the end was in sight, and we hadn’t gone that far just to go that far! So we cranked the tunes (if you’re thinking “Ain’t No Mountain High Enough,” you are spot on) and in another hour or so, we were flying high at 19,341 feet. Some of us in tears (no shame, I cried the whole way down), some of us gasping for breath, and some of us ready to hop into our sleeping bags and get rolled back to camp, we had all made it. The seven days of struggle were behind us; we were on top of the world, together.
Written by Bridey Masson. Photography by Scott S. Smith.
Leave a Reply