Chasing first light on Mount Kilimanjaro, the highest mountain in Africa

KILIMANJARO NATIONAL PARK, TANZANIA — We still had a day of hiking, more than one vertical mile of elevation to climb, and the all-night summit push ahead of us when doubts crept in about reaching the highest point in Africa. 

The summit of Mount Kilimanjaro loomed overhead at 19,341 feet above sea level, but clouds obscured my view of the top half of the mountain and its famous, shrinking glacier.

I quickly zipped the tent closed in frustration, anxious to escape the cold and wiggle into the warmth of my sleeping bag. 

We had just hiked through cold rain for most of the previous two days and part of the day before that.

Much of it was at 12,000 feet in elevation — a height which only the nine highest mountains in Idaho reach — and above. 

That first day of rain was an inconvenience. 

As we trudged uphill through the clouds, mist turned to rain the closer we got to a landmark named Lava Tower. 

Just as we stopped for lunch, the rain picked up, and continued throughout the afternoon and into the night. 

The next day tricked us, starting off with clear, settled skies as we approached the nearly 850-foot-high Barranco Wall. 

Although the wall looks intimidating from below, the route up is mostly a slow walk. There are a few steep ledges and narrow pathways that require climbers to use their hands and arms for some easy scrambling. The ledge in front of ‘the kissing rock,’ for example, is so narrow that climbers press their hands and bodies up against the rock — close enough to kiss it — to navigate the ledge. 

Our group of 19 got a late start out of camp that morning and the rain caught up to us shortly after we crested the Barranco Wall. 

We had to hike for several hours before reaching Karanga Valley Camp soaking, cold and exhausted. 

The hike took almost two hours longer than the sign posted at our previous camp told us to expect.

Boots, socks, backpacks, hats, hair, jackets and gloves were all soaked. 

A couple climbers skipped dinner. Some climbers experienced nausea and headaches — symptoms of altitude sickness. 

I started to worry that the rain wouldn’t stop until it turned to snow, which could present another problem for us higher up the mountain if the route was covered in fresh snow. 

I found a faint signal and texted my three climbing partners back in Idaho.

“We have not seen the sun in three days and we’ve been rained on for almost 48 solid hours,” I wrote. 

“I’m feeling the strongest I’ve ever felt above 12,000 feet but I’m worried weather could affect our ability to summit.”

I climbed inside my tent, dimmed my headlamp and turned to my tentmate, Matt. We had met for the first time at the beginning of this trip, about a week before.

“I know it doesn’t work this way, but if there is any chance for clear skies and a dry summit day we deserve it,” I said. 

After Matt reassured me that things can always get worse, we renewed our commitment to climb to the summit together.

We could not control the weather. But there were important factors we could control: starting out early on the final two days of the ascent and bringing a positive mindset. 

We made arrangements to break into a smaller group of five or six climbers, join with two of the local guides and begin climbing early, even if the larger group wasn’t prepared to leave camp at that time.

I tried to focus on how the rain and cold temperatures saved us from the heat and dust that commonly hamper other climbing expeditions on Kilimanjaro.  

We wouldn’t come down, we told ourselves, until we reached the summit. 

Kilimanjaro: more than a mile higher than Idaho’s highest mountain

The Kilimanjaro climb seemed doomed from the start. 

I originally booked the trip in late 2019, scheduling the climb to begin in May 2020. 

I canceled it less than two months before the climb, after the outbreak of the COVID-19 pandemic.

I booked the trip again for May 2021. 

I had to cancel it again for my brother’s wedding. 

This was my third time booking the trip.

I paid for a guided trip organized by a childhood friend named Luke McLellan, a teacher who runs a small business called McLellan Adventure Travel in Kansas City, where we both grew up.

I’ve previously done the trek to Mount Everest base camp in Nepal with McLellan and met up with him and a group of his students for a guided climb of the Grand Teton in Wyoming. 

Ever since our first climb together in 2018, a chance to climb Kilimanjaro was always near the front of my mind. 

Located in Tanzania, Mount Kilimanjaro is considered the most accessible of the seven summits (the highest mountain on each of the seven continents). It can be climbed without a rope, harness or other technical climbing techniques and gear.

At 19,341 feet, the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro is nearly 5,000 feet higher than the summit of Mount Whitney (14,505 feet), the highest mountain in the Lower 48. 

Kilimanjaro is more than 6,600 feet higher than Mount Borah (12,662 feet), which is the highest mountain in Idaho.

There are several routes up Kilmanjaro, with most taking between five and seven days to complete. We took the seven-day Machame Route, which called for us to climb to the summit early on the sixth day and be finished walking off the mountain by the end of the seventh day.

Overall, the climb entailed more than 14,000 feet of elevation gain and more than 37 miles of distance. 

McLellan hired local guides, porters and cooks for the expedition, who helped lead us up the mountain, cooked fresh food for us each night and carried our gear plus all the gear used in our camps up the mountain. Because there was a large group of 23 climbers who initially started up the mountain, we had more than 100 guides, porters and cooks working on the expedition. Without their help, guidance and experience, none of the climb would have happened. 

Mount Kilimanjaro is the highest mountain in Africa

Back on Mount Kilimanjaro, our luck and the weather changed following the long rain.

We left camp early on the fifth day and moved efficiently as a small group to reach Barufu Camp, our final base camp before the summit push. 

As the porters set up base camp, I joined about eight other climbers to continue on an acclimatization hike up to 16,000 feet and back. 

One of the biggest challenges of climbing Mount Kilimanjaro is the high elevation and decreased pressure of oxygen. 

To help our bodies adjust, we focused on ascending slowly and trying to climb to higher points during the day before descending to a lower elevation to sleep in camp. 

Throughout the climb our guides reminded us of our mantra: 

Pole, pole.

Slowly, slowly. 

Back in base camp, I nervously ate an early dinner and settled into my tent for a few restless hours before making the final push. 

In preparation for the cold, I dressed in layers — a wool base layer, ski pants, a fleece jacket, an insulated down jacket, a waterproof and windproof shell jacket, hat, gloves, wool socks and my hiking boots. 

I broke into the smaller group, clicked my headlamp on and started uphill shortly before midnight with the intention of climbing throughout the night to gain 4,000 feet of elevation and reach the summit.

Luckily, the night was dry and partly cloudy with manageable winds. 

The first few hundred feet of ascent required us to move up slabs of rock and make a few steep steps up to ledges. Even though I covered the same ground the previous day on my acclimatization hike, I was winded and short of breath.

Thankfully, the terrain leveled out after a short distance before heading back uphill in a series of switchbacks that lead up to the edge of the crater rim. 

We climbed these sections in the dark, navigating the path by headlamp. 

Even as we moved above 17,000 feet, the mountain still seemed so big and it looked like there was still so much further to go. 

I put my head down and concentrated on my breathing and steps as we moved methodically up the switchbacks, climbing 45 minutes or an hour at a time before taking short breaks.

I reminded myself that at some point the mountain would stop going up, but I wouldn’t; I would keep going.

And little by little, pole pole, that’s how we climbed it.

After about 5.5 hours the sign for Stella Point and the edge of the crater at 18,855 feet came into view. 

I put my hand on the shoulder of the climber in front of me and told him that we were almost there, that we were going to make it. 

Although we still had about 500 vertical feet to climb, reaching Stella Point meant we had climbed to the edge of the crater rim and the hardest part was behind us. All that remained was traversing around to the other side of the crater to reach the true summit, Uhuru Peak.

We rested for three minutes at Stella Point before our guide, Raphael, encouraged us to slowly finish the climb. 

The first rays of light were breaking the horizon.

At the pace we were moving, we could reach the summit in 45 minutes, he said.

The other climbers and I encouraged each other and set off together.

After reaching the first modest knob along the rim, we clicked off our headlamps and spread out a little.

I found myself alone traversing the final couple hundred feet of the rim.

The light was starting to illuminate the glacier that I watched over my left shoulder as I hiked forward in awe. 

I pumped my fist.

“I’m going to make it,” I said aloud. “I can’t believe I’m going to make it.”

I dropped my trekking poles a few feet from the top and rushed over to touch the sign congratulating climbers. 

I hugged our guide, and Matt, and the other four climbers, and some strangers. I posed for summit photos, and the next 15 minutes seemed to pass in two minutes before it was time to go down again.

After six days of climbing, I reached the summit at 6:20 a.m. June 5 and watched the sun rise over all of Africa with tears in my eyes. 

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On safari in Tanzania

After the successful climb and safe descent, I wasn’t anywhere near ready to leave Tanzania. Thankfully, I booked a safari with most of the other climbers to take advantage of our proximity to Tanzania’s world–famous national parks and conservation areas.

Over parts of four days we traveled in four-wheel drive safari vehicles with pop-up roofs through Tarangire National Park, Serengeti National Park and the Ngorongoro Conservation Area.

Our local guides spent long hours each day driving us through the savannah in search of kopjes, rocky islands that jut out of the grass. The kopjes were important because they usually feature trees, water nooks to hide in and attract wildlife.

Our guides worked the radio in Swahili, speaking with other guides in the park and sharing information about wildlife sightings. 

First it was baboons, then elephants.

Lots of elephants. 

Then we saw the ostriches and impala.

There were zebras. 

Pools of bobbing hippopotamus.

More elephants.

Lions, leopards and cheetahs.

We spent two nights camping in tents in a campground inside Serengeti National Park.

That allowed us to head out on early morning and late afternoon game drives, rather than leaving the national park and driving to a hotel or lodge for the night. 

Within minutes of leaving camp one morning, when the morning air was cool and crisp just after first light, our guide spotted a cackle of hyenas with cubs under a tree near the road. 

It was just the beginning. 

Next we drove to a series of kopjes situated near a river.

Within 30 minutes of seeing hyenas we saw our first group of lions.

Each of the kopjes had attracted multiple lions.

On a couple of occasions, a lion moved down from a rocky mound to walk along the river and pass calmly within five feet of our parked safari vehicle. 

The guides drove us to a grassy knoll where a pride of more than a dozen lions was lounging — including adult male and female lions and several cubs. 

We were close enough to hear the cubs squeaking and meowing. 

As we slowly drove away from the lion cubs, excited calls came out on the radio.

Our driver turned a few corners and picked up speed. 

Just ahead, six safari vehicles were parked in a half circle formation.

Everyone was standing and staring into a darkened cluster of grass as our driver eased our vehicle over to join the others.

We stood and watched in silence for a couple of minutes.

All of a sudden, a cheetah stood up and walked out of the shadows of grass, passing directly in front of our safari vehicle.

It was so close — its beautiful spotted coat, the white tip at the end of its tail, the black stripes extending down from its eyes like tear stains.

It all happened within 90 minutes of spotting the hyenas that morning, and we still had a day and a half to go.  

As we drove away along the Serengeti’s gravel roads in search of more animals, I stood up with my head out of the roof in the open air.

I was covered in dust, didn’t have a care in the world, and I wish I could have stayed all summer.