We’d set out for the summit of Kilimanjaro, highest point in Africa, at one o’clock in the morning, an hour later than planned. Kili, as it was known among climbers, was one of the Seven Summits, the highest point on each continent. At 19,341 feet Kili was nearly two miles lower than Everest.
It was a peculiar climbing party. The President of the United States was with us, flanked by Secret Service agents and supported by a small but very high tech medical team. With us also were friends and family. Out there in the darkness were Tanzanian army patrols making certain no one interfered, especially that no hostile force approached the president. Not far away was a temporary U.S. Army Ranger base for such an emergency while off shore, aboard the USS Ronald Reagan, were Navy Seal teams for the same reason.
The climb up from High Camp to Stella Point on the mountain rim had been in the dark and cold. I understood that the president was not feeling well and that his medical team had advised he turn back. But this climb had been well publicized, occurring as it did just as his re-election campaign was launched. Turning back would make him look weak.
Though Kili is not among the highest of the Seven Summit and is in fact considered a relatively unchallenging climb, it is still high enough and demanding enough not to be taken lightly. Every year a dozen of more climbers died on its slopes—from high altitude sickness, heart attacks and strokes, injuries. Not surprisingly, half of all climbers who set out to reach Uhuru Peak, the very highest point, turned back. Summit day was extremely demanding and many climbers were simply unprepared for the exertion it required.
We were rising 6,200 feet between High Camp at Barafu and Uhuru Peak—a not inconsiderable ascent. I’d had a persistent headache and as we moved up to the rim at Stella Point it became even more pronounced. I was dehydrated as is typical on such climbs and had lost my appetite, a sure sign of the altitude we were climbing at. And it had been cold, colder than I’d expected. With the plodding pace I’d not been able to use my body heat to keep warm and found myself often shivering during our frequent stops.
But despite all the delays we arrived at Stella Point almost on schedule, just at sunrise. For many this was the turnaround spot on the climb as it is on the rim and a mere 600 feet or so below Uhuru Peak. That ascent often took no more than half an hour, often as little as 20 minutes, as the route was not challenging and the grade was gradual, but by the time climbers reached Stella Point they were sick with one of the intestinal illnesses that plagued such climbs or with a version of high altitude sickness or were suffering from a multitude of minor injuries sustained during the climb. For many it was a no mas moment. Enough was enough. Stella Point was good enough.
As we stepped onto Stella Point the climbers and guides congregated in a large mass. We climbers were all but gasping for air and were very grateful for the opportunity to rest. The guides broke out portable heaters and began brewing tea. Small snacks were distributed to recharge our diminished energy. A few minutes later a glorious sunrise burst across the expanse of Africa spread beneath us. The Serengeti Plain was a magnificent canvass painted in muted browns, greens and blue.
A mug of sweet hot tea was thrust into my grip and I sipped, then gulped it, with gusto. There was no opportunity for a refill as the rest was far too short. A front was descending on us from off the Indian Ocean. At this elevation that meant snow, more cold and strong winds. But Uhuru Point was just there, not far at all so we pressed on.
The storm struck with a vengeance. The wind bit into my face bringing with it sharp pellets of snow that beat at me as if shot from a high powered air gun. Within minutes the cloud cover and heavy snow masked the sunlight and we were thrust into night again. Flashlights and headlamps were turned on but to little positive effect. My own lamp cast the area around me in a glaring glow that prevented me from seeing beyond its radiance. I could make out the climber in front of me and see my footing so it was better with the light than without it.
And so we continued, plodding along into the wind, stopping far too often. I shut my mind off from all thought and concentrated on placing each foot in front of the other, moving steadily toward the summit. I’ve had worst ascents, been in and survived far worse storms, but this was very, very unpleasant and not at all what I’d expected from Kili. I moved steadily, like a robot, sucking thin air, wishing I’d drunk more tea, wishing this was over.
Several times the line stopped and I thought we’d arrived. But within a minute or two we’d press on. And so it went, interminably until finally, after what seemed in inordinate passage of time, we arrived at Uhuru Point, the highest place on the continent of Africa.
Our guides immediately mingled among us with grins and happy patter, shaking hands vigorously, congratulating us each in turn. The president was ahead in a tight cluster, the Secret Service agents forming a wall around him. A few of those most trusted were admitted to congratulate him and have their photograph taken.
In fact, cameras had broken out everywhere. Guides joined me to have their pictures taken, as did others. Tired as we were, exhausted as were many of us, we’d made it and for a few minutes we savored the joy of accomplishment. Camera flashes formed round, silent bursts of light.
The snowfall was very heavy, whipping down on us in a violent wind. I turned to find Diana, to savor this moment with her when I heard the sounds of rapid gunfire coming from the president’s group. It was answered almost at once by other weapons. Instinctively I threw myself to the ground, crawled toward Diana, as more shots pierced the howling wind amid anguished calls of pain.