Mt Kenya, teaching mountain schooled me

Daniela and I pulled into Nanyuki in the late afternoon last Wednesday. Ominous rain clouds surrounded the peak. it rained large pellets of water over the tarmac and muddied the town. we both fretted that the weather would make climbing impossible. Our fears were put aside by a few reassuring words from local guides saying "no don't worry it only rains below 3500 meters and it never snows for more than a few minutes above 4000 meters". ahhh rest assured and so we did. slumbered happily that night at the equator hotel and set off in the morning for the forest gate of mt kenya national park.

Mr Peter Wa, Daniela's friend and former colleague from the Baraka School picked us up at 8:30 sharp and drove us up the 20 km of deeply rutted road to the park gate. we paid the seemingly exorbitant quantities of $US and hauled our 60 and 70 pound packs onto our shoulders. here we began asking some crucial questions. first why did we choose to haul in all our own food, cook stove and fuel when guides, porters, and cooks are readily available for as little as 15 dollars per day. yes we began asking the obvious; was it pride or a just a desire for accomplishment that kept us from paying someone else to carry these ridiculous loads. the questions gradually faded as we slogged and slogged.

instead of starting the hike at the 8000 foot park gate, we decided to have Mr. Wa drive us the additional 9km to the beginning of the hiking route. This means our first day began at 5ooo feet in Nanyuki town and would theoretically end at nearly 14,000 feet, Shipton's Camp base for the north face standard route. Only at 5pm that afternoon after we had been lost for two hours and finally back on route for the five-hour mud soaked climb up to base camp did I actually consider this to be an extremely poor plan for acclimatization. In a nutshell, I got sick, very sick.

It was 8PM and we were still 2 km out from Shipton's camp. I informed Daniela that I could go no more and would have to pitch the tent in the middle of the trail. This we did. The exhaustion of the ten hour day and the splitting pain in my shoulders and sacrum from the poorly distributed 70 pound pack was overwhelming. I gave up and could barely muster enough energy to pitch the tent let alone fire up the stove and cook dinner. Somehow, Daniela was feeling great and with her encouragement we managed to do both. In the tent, my headache destroyed me and kept me up all night. Or maybe it was my hyper resting heart rate or the fact that I had to pee every 30 minutes from the diamox. but then I would have still been happy in my mind about the prospects of climbing if it hadn't been pouring rain all night, everywhere but especially above 3500 meters.

In the morning the mountain had a fresh 6-12 inches of snow from 4000 meters right on up to the summit. Turns out, the guides had either been telling us what we wanted to hear or indeed winter had begun on Mt Kenya (both were later confirmed as true). I woke with the worst groggy heart pounding head aching depressed demoralized kind of lethargy, needless to say not too optimistic about the prospects of getting on the route and climbing. Then the sun came out, which along with Daniela's chipperness managed to encourage me to pack up and hike the remaining 2 kms to Shipton's camp.

Shipton's was a scene. We ended up staying for four nights and saw many groups come and go. For two straight days it rained and snowed at a steady clip until finally on Saturday afternoon, the mountain massif consisting of gorgeous orange pillars of volcanic rock came bursting through the mist and remained pitted against stark blue sky until we knew for sure that the system had moved.

We spent Saturday afternoon reconning the approach and first two pitches of the climb. A party of three Spaniards and two Kenyan guides was also preparing for the north face route. We spoke with them in the evening and confirmed that we would all go together. 6 people total on route. We woke up at 3am and hiked the hour long approach to the base of the climb. The Spaniards, Paco and Raul, and their Kenyan guides Dickson and Vincent were right behind us. As the first light shone from behind the east peaks, we stacked the ropes and prepared to set forth.

The route followed a series of gullies, chimneys, and hand cracks, all of which had been filled the previous day with freshly fallen rain water. Today, liquid water was no more and in its place was yes lots of solid ice. On the lower half of the route, pitches 1-7 were climbable because they were mostly low angle and scrambling, but starting with Firmin's tower, the rock steepened and snow got deeper. What would have been 5.8 and 5.9 cracks and chimneys became sketchy grade VI mixed climbs. By the time we came to terms with this reality, we were 8 pitches up and exhausted. Temperatures never made it above 35 Fahrenheit but it was sunny so I could go until my hands were numb. After a long traversing pitch of foot deep snow and chaucy low angle rock I was fed up. I made the final lead up to the base of the crux pitch of the tower, then made the call.

I hollered down to Daniela who was more than happy to agree that the summit dream was dead. We were both exhausted but quite reluctant because it was only 2:00pm (still 2 more hours of climbing remained plus 3 hours of rappel even if we moved quickly). The decision to turn back and "quit" the climb was clearly the only one. The Kenyan guides had averted the normal route and attempted to bypass Firmin's Tower but even so could not in good judgment lead their clients through the sketchy mixed terrain. When I saw them throw their ropes down from across the amphitheater, I knew we had no choice but to follow suit.

After 8 stomach churning raps, mostly full length 60 meters, we were back to the base of the route and it was only 4:30PM. I felt entirely defeated and cheated. The worst part of the scenario was that I felt somehow I had not tried hard enough. If only I had at least attempted the crux pitch, I could have always backed off and lowered myself. There were many factors telling me that it was impossible to make the summit, but if only I had pushed a little more. There many factors telling me that I couldn't have pushed any more, yet somehow the calls of self deprecation grew louder.

As we headed back down to Shipton's, Daniela and I talked it through. I tried in vain to process the whole mess of my thoughts, but no matter what I said, the shitty feeling grew increasingly intense. Negative thoughts about my abilities and hers reverberated endlessly. Back at camp, dinner was an inedible pot of undercooked rice and vacuum sealed indian lentils, needless to say not the most refreshing of meals for a soar body and sour mind. Curses is all I could think. I went to bed with that pounding message of defeat and again the headache was back.