Climbing Kilimanjaro (Part III)

Day 6 and 7

 

8/24 – Day 6: Summiting Day

Barafu Camp (4640m) to Uhuru Peak (5895m) and down to Millennium Camp (3790m)
Part 1: Barafu to Uhuru Peak and back – 13.44 km, 11 hrs, Ascent 1367m, Descent 1368m
Part 2: Barafu to Millennium Camp – 4 km, 1 hr 20 mins, Descent 709m

Long Way Up

We woke at 2 a.m. and dressed in layers—five or six on top, three on the bottom. Everyone fussed with last-minute adjustments after breakfast, adding or removing clothing to strike a balance between comfort and warmth. Finally, with packs on shoulders, hats and gloves on, we stepped outside. Alongside our seven guides, a few English-speaking porters joined us for extra support. We gathered in a circle for a ceremonial chant. The moment had finally arrived—and to my surprise, I didn’t feel nervous or anxious.

 

It was nearly 3:30 a.m. by the time we set off in single file, with the slowest member placed at the front to set the pace. Since our camp was pitched below the main Barafu site, we first had to climb uphill just to reach it. Tents lined both sides of the trail, crammed together—no wonder we had been placed farther down.

 

Not long into the climb, we were informed that the group would split into two teams: one fast and one slow, with the possibility of a “middle” team forming later. Not wanting to risk altitude sickness, I chose the slower group, assuming I could move to the middle team once it formed. But the pace was too slow for me. When a few of us asked about creating a middle team, we were told there would only be two. So four of us pushed ahead to catch the fast team, led by a guide named Eric. Even that group eventually split—three of us managed to keep up with Eric, while one fell back with a porter. At this altitude, it became clear that each person had to find their own sustainable rhythm.

 

Every so often, we met people descending the mountain. Judging by how early it was, they probably hadn’t made the summit. I couldn’t help but feel grateful that we hadn’t insisted on leaving at midnight—it might have been us turning back in the freezing darkness.

 

It’s nearly impossible to catch anyone ahead at altitude, so we settled into a steady pace. During breaks, we switched off our headlamps and gazed up at the stars, with the Milky Way clearly visible overhead. I had expected the night to drag endlessly, but before I knew it, the sky was beginning to lighten. Soon, we no longer needed our lamps, and the rocky volcanic ground came into view. Behind us, thick clouds stretched low across the horizon, and I worried they might cover the sunrise entirely—but the sun rose brilliantly above them. It was a magical moment. In the distance, Mawenzi Peak was draped in clouds like a wizard’s hat, while far below, small clusters of camps dotted the slopes. 

 

We paused to take photos before moving on, and after reaching the ledge above, we caught up with the “fast team” and the two groups merged back into one.

(Video Courtesy of Tiffany)

The trail steepened again, and progress became grueling. I panted with effort, though the feeling was familiar. Ten days in Peru’s Huayhuash and two weeks in Nepal’s Khumbu Valley had taught me that slow and steady would carry me through. Everyone was tired, but the frequent breaks offered welcome relief. The guides and porters, accustomed to the altitude, moved with ease—and even sang as they climbed. Sometimes it was call-and-response, sometimes harmony, mostly in Swahili but occasionally in English. To my surprise, nearly all of them could sing, not just our “music man,” Pumbaa. Their voices echoed across the slopes, lifting our spirits and urging us onward. It was both lively and beautiful, unlike anything I had experienced on other treks.

Looking up, we saw figures silhouetted along the ridge. Before long, we too reached Stella Point (5,756m), perched on the crater rim. For most of us, this was the highest altitude we had ever reached, and arriving here earned us a silver summit certificate. I yearned for a long break, but after just five to ten minutes we were urged onward. Thankfully, the path ahead was gentler, and my legs felt light again.

Silver to Gold

Stella Point sits on the rim of Kibo’s outer crater. From here, it’s about an hour’s fairly gentle walk along the rim to Uhuru Peak. I walked side by side with Pumbaa, asking about his life and guiding experiences, while he asked about my life and past hikes. I found myself torn between wanting to learn more about his story and wanting to remain silent to conserve my energy.

 

The scenery along the rim was surreal. Clouds blanketed the earth far below, and we were above them. To the left, an immense ice wall—remnant of Kilimanjaro’s shrinking glaciers—stood like a frozen fortress, as if suspended in midair.

 

Crossing a small icefield in single file, we finally spotted the iconic wooden sign of Uhuru Peak. Uhuru means “freedom” in Swahili, symbolizing the freedom and independence of Tanzania and many other African nations. After almost eight hours, the eleven of us reached the summit one by one, each grinning despite our exhaustion. The sun was shining, the wind had calmed, and spirits were high. Standing at 5,895 meters—the highest point in Africa—was both exhilarating and humbling. We posed for photos at the sign, individually and as a group.

Time at the summit always seemed to pass too quickly. As at Stella Point, our time was brief. After less than half an hour, we were called to begin our descent.

Going Down is Harder

We retraced our steps to Stella Point, where we crossed paths with one teammate still pressing on toward the summit with her porter—she would have the peak almost to herself. On the steep slope below Stella Point, we met three others grinding upward. We cheered them on, then continued down.

The descent took us onto a different path—a steep scree slope that was dusty, slippery, and more direct. These shortcuts save time and reduce exposure to altitude, but they demand intense focus. I walked close behind a porter, trying to follow his steps to land safely. Some teammates were more timid, so porters and guides grabbed their arms and half-dragged them down—fast, ungraceful, but effective.

It took me just over three hours to return to our tents at Barafu Camp. However, the day wasn’t over yet. After lunch, we were told we had to continue descending to a lower camp. Many protested; more than half the group wanted to stay and rest. But our guides explained that Barafu has no water source and isn’t suitable for extended stays. More importantly, spending another night at nearly 4,700 meters would increase the risk of altitude sickness. That was reason enough to convince everyone.

 

As we prepared to leave, news came through the walkie-talkie that two slower teammates had summited and were on their way back. One made it to Stella Point but had to turn back due to falling oxygen levels. In the end, fourteen out of our 16-member team have reached Uhuru Peak, which one stopped at Stella Point. 

 

Fortunately, the final leg was gentler. Perhaps because of our slower pace, I felt tired but not exhausted. In just one hour and twenty minutes we reached Millennium Camp (3,790m), where the thick, moist air was a welcome relief after the dry, windy nights of the past three days. At last, after the longest day of the trek, we could rest.

 

8/25 – Day 7: A triumphant return

Route: Millennium Camp (3790m) to Mweka Gate (1630m)
Weather: Sunny and warm
Distance: 12.68 km | Time: 5 hrs 48 mins | Descent: 2033m

 

We woke to brilliant sunshine and perfect weather. Our campsite felt like a platform perched on the edge of the world, overlooking forests and distant towns. Once again, we seemed to be floating above the clouds.

 

 Last view of Kilimanjaro at Millennium Camp

We had ascended via the Machame Route, but the descent was planned along the Mweka Route. This is because descending on Machame is too steep, more difficult, and less practical, while the Mweka Route offers a safer, more gradual, and faster way down. That being said, the descent didn’t feel easy at all. The trail began dry and rocky, but quickly turned steep, muddy, and slippery as we dropped back into the rainforest zone. It was hard to admire the scenery—we had to pay close attention to every step. Slips and falls were constant; nearly everyone had one or at least a close call. At one point, Jenny’s water bottle fell, the clattering distracted me for just a second, and the next thing I knew, I slipped on the muddy ground.

 

As we struggled to descend, we encountered porters steadily climbing upward, balancing heavy loads on their heads. We were told these porters carry essential supplies to the camps, which is why we can enjoy fresh food every two days. Watching their hard labor was truly humbling. Together with our supporting crew, these porters are the unsung heroes who make our summit possible.

The rainforest here was even more beautiful than what we saw on the first day. Though I had to keep my head down for much of the walk, on flatter stretches I paused to admire the flowers. Monkeys leapt from treetop to treetop, birds sang all around us, and towering trees with broad leaves stood draped in moss.

Aptly named flower - "Elephant Trunk"

Eventually, we reached the point where the trail widened into a dirt road passable by 4x4 jeeps. From there, it was only a few more kilometers to Mweka Gate. Waiting for us at the gate were Abu, Aubu, and Elias—the same servers who had taken such good care of us throughout the trek—now welcoming us with celebratory drinks. We were given a choice between a beer and a Coca-Cola. Naturally, I chose the Kilimanjaro beer!

With beers in hand, we gathered around a table and waited for the park staff to prepare our certificates. After a long wait, we finally received them. Our climb was officially complete. Soon after, we climbed into the vehicles and drove back toward Moshi, stopping along the way for a well‑earned lunch before returning to the hotel.

As the jeep wound its way back toward civilization, I reflected on the past seven days. Climbing Kilimanjaro may not carry the same weight as summiting Everest, nor is it the most beautiful mountain. Yet, I felt deeply grateful—to have come here, faced the climb’s struggles, and experienced its unique beauty. I stood briefly on its peak and witnessed the sunrise, glaciers, and sea of clouds. Along the way, I came to know the kindness and strength of the local people, whose support made the journey possible. I also cherished the friendships formed with my teammates—the shared stories, struggles, and moments of awe. For me, Kilimanjaro is no longer just a name or a mountain from other people’s videos; it is now part of my memory—a journey I will always carry with me.

Climbing Kilimanjaro (Part II)

 

 Day 3, 4 and 5

 

8/21 – Day 3: A Suspenseful and Struggling Day

Route: Shira Cave (3845m) via Lava Tower (4600m) to Barranco Camp (3960m)
Weather: Cloudy and cold
Distance: 12.5 km | Time: 6 hrs 20 mins | Ascent: 862m | Descent: 840m

Last night, I had to get up frequently to use the bathroom. The over-the-counter anti-diarrhea medicine I took hadn’t worked, and the problem persisted into the morning. I worried about becoming dehydrated and the possibility that this might jeopardize the rest of my trek, but I tried not to dwell on worst-case scenarios and chose to focus on taking one day at a time. Thankfully, Cindy, my tent mate, gave me some prescription-strength pills.

 

To aid our acclimatization, today's plan was to ascend to Lava Tower at 4,600 meters and spend time there before descending to camp just below 4,000 meters. I was concerned about tackling an 860-meter climb in my compromised condition.

It was overcast and bitterly cold from the moment I stepped outside the mess tent. Normally, I warm up quickly once I start walking, but not today—the sun remained hidden, and my hands and feet stayed cold throughout the ascent—perhaps an early sign of altitude sickness. Combined with poor sleep, my energy was low, but I forced myself to keep moving, one step at a time, hoping the climb would come to an end.

 

Partway along the trail, our route merged with the Lemosho route. It was our third day, but theirs was the fourth, clearly giving them a better acclimatization schedule.

After a long, steady climb, we finally reached Lava Tower. To my relief, our porters had already set up the mess tent along with portable toilet tents. As we ate lunch, the sun broke through the clouds. My stomach was still unsettled, but I managed to hold out until I reached a proper toilet. Despite how I felt, my blood oxygen level registered above 90, which was surprisingly good.

After lunch, we began a steep descent, and I kept reminding myself to be extra careful not to slip. As we made our way down, the landscape gradually changed. Tom, our guide, pointed out some strange-looking plants called giant groundsels (Dendrosenecio kilimanjari), found only on Kilimanjaro. These unusual plants have thick, upright stems topped with big, green leaves. Tom explained that the leaves protect the plant’s core from freezing mountain nights, while the dead leaves wrapped around the trunk provide additional insulation against the cold. They flower and produce seeds just once in their lifetime before dying. Even the plants here must be remarkably tough to survive such harsh conditions!

Eventually, after a long series of winding descents, we reached Barranco Camp. The wind was already strong when we arrived, and after nightfall, it became ferocious. Our tents flapped loudly through the darkness, and by morning I learned that the porters had to reinforce the tent pegs during the night to keep everything secure. It would have been miserable to get up in that cold, windy night to use the bathroom. Thankfully, the prescription pills did their job, and by the second dose, my diarrhea had stopped. Relieved that the medicine worked, I felt a renewed sense of hope for the days ahead.

 

8/22 – Day 4: Back in the game

Route: Barranco Camp (3960m) to Karanga Camp (3963m)
Weather: Sunny
Distance: 6.5 km | Time: 5 hrs | Ascent: 404m | Descent: 400m
 

I finally got a decent night’s sleep and woke up feeling much better. While I felt like I had dodged a bullet, one of our teammates, who had been struggling with altitude sickness, made the decision to call for a helicopter evacuation. We waved goodbye to the helicopter as we head off in a different direction. 

Today was completely different from yesterday, with the sun shining and the wind subsiding a little. Our trek covered “only” about six kilometers but required us to scale the Great Barranco Wall, which looks nearly vertical and intimidating from camp. The climb involved a lot of rock scrambling. While not technically difficult, the long stretches quickly became tiring. Still, I felt much more like myself and was relieved to have bounced back from the previous day’s low point—just in time for our summit push the following night.

 

(Video courtesy of Kai)

Because everyone on the route had to climb the wall, the trail was crowded. Our group of fifteen, including guides, along with other hikers and porters, often hit bottlenecks at narrow sections. I felt especially bad for the porters, who had to wait patiently while balancing heavy loads on their heads. 

(Video courtesy of Kai)

After several false summits and plenty of breaks, we finally reached the top. There, our crew had set up tables with tea and instant coffee—it felt like such a royal treat. Spirits were high as we took photos beneath the glaciers.

 

Afterward, we continued down into the Karanga Valley and then up to Karanga Camp. As we arrived, fog rolled in. Our tents were pitched on the slopes, with Kilimanjaro looming in the background, appearing and disappearing through the clouds.

By dusk, the wind had intensified dramatically, with gusts reaching 30 to 40 mph. During dinner inside the mess tent, several of the poles supporting the walls came loose, and we scrambled to secure them and close the door. Returning to our tents was a struggle. Even with the vestibules fully zipped, dust blew inside, covering our duffel bags and sleeping bags until everything felt gritty to the touch. I had never experienced such a harsh combination of wind and dust while camping before.

Calm and clear moment under the foot of the peak

 

8/23 – Day 5:  A day of Anticipation

Route: Karanga Camp (3963m) to Barafu Camp (4640m)
Weather: Sunny
Distance: 3.4 km | Time: 3 hrs 20 mins | Ascent: 511m

 

Today we had only a short walk to reach our base camp, Barafu, at 4,640 meters. The trail crossed barren scree slopes with no vegetation—a stark reminder that Kilimanjaro is a volcanic mountain. The sun was bright, and we walked unhurriedly, single file across the desolate terrain. 

Porters and other expeditions were scattered across the open slopes. Here, porters prefer to balance their loads on their heads, walking tall and straight—sometimes even with their hands tucked into their pockets to keep warm, since they don’t usually wear gloves. In Nepal, by contrast, porters carry loads with a strap looped around their heads, resting against their backs.

Along the way, people greeted one another with cheerful “Jambo!” On one side of the trail, a tour guide strummed a guitar while his group sang along, their voices carrying across the open slopes. By now, the mountain’s melodies had become familiar to us all.

 

We reached camp before noon. Because our group was large and required more space, our tents were set up farther down the slope, away from the main campsite. Normally, the schedule here is straightforward: hikers eat, rest through the afternoon, have an early dinner, then begin the summit push around 11 p.m. or midnight. But today, things were different.

After lunch, Ravi, our lead guide, gathered us for a briefing. He explained that the weather had been unfriendly, with strong winds making the summit route bitterly cold and exposed. Instead of the usual midnight start, he suggested leaving at 4 a.m. This proposal drew immediate pushback. A few of the stronger hikers wanted to stick to tradition, determined to reach the summit in time for sunrise. Even for the rest of us, 4 a.m. felt uncomfortably late.

 

Ravi patiently explained that the coldest hours on the mountain are between 3 a.m. and 6 a.m. If we left at 4 a.m., we’d still be climbing during those hours but below 5,000 meters, where the temperatures are slightly warmer and the terrain less exposed. Those who start at midnight, however, would find themselves above 5,000 meters during those frigid, windy hours, fully exposed- a combination that makes many climbers turn back. After hearing this, and following much debate and a few back-and-forth changes of mind, the group finally reached a compromise. Instead of Ravi’s 4 a.m. plan or the traditional midnight start, we decided to leave at 3 a.m.—a middle ground that felt both safe and early enough to give us time to return at a reasonable hour.