The idea of going to Africa with a challenge appealed to us. So in addition to a safari in the Tanzanian Serengeti and a visit to exotic Zanzibar, we vowed to make it to the top of Mount Kilimanjaro, the African continent’s highest mountain.

And so six family members headed for Africa: my wife Sarah; our son Rev. Zachary, who was doing missionary work in Kenya; son Samuel and his wife Susanna, from Athens, Ga.; and Susanna’s mother Donna Staples. Five of us met at Schipol Airport in Amsterdam. Samuel had been in sporadic communication with Zachary in Kenya, which had broken out in civil war at the end of December. “Safe In Uganda,” had been Zachary’s text message to Samuel.

After 24 hours of travel we arrived at Kilimanjaro Airport in Moishi, Tanzania.  Then, at the Springlands Hotel we had a joyful reunion with Zach, a light dinner, and a mosquito-netted night’s sleep.

The blue mass of Mount Kilimanjaro was visible the next morning from our balcony.  After breakfast we were introduced to our guides. They, a cook, a waiter, and 24 porters were all we needed for our six-day trek around and up the mountain, followed by a two-day descent.

We boarded a bus and drove to Londorossi Gate to sign into the park.  After driving around the mountain, the lurching bus disgorged us to a pick-up truck, which dropped us a little further up the muddy road. We were on foot from there.

Each day’s trek would end at a “hut,” a sort of a permanent base on the mountain with a latrine or “long drop.” The first day’s hike was through verdant growth to an elevation of 2,650 meters. Our porters had set up camp, so we washed, ate dinner, and learned how to bed down in a tent.
Day two we walked out of the jungle onto the Shira Plateau, the lava flow out of the western side of Kilimanjaro.  It is a bleak and beautiful landscape. Day three we hiked about seven hours across the plateau to an exposed and bitterly cold camp at 3,840 meters.

The next day Donna was stricken by altitude sickness. With her heart racing, she was escorted back to camp. From there she got a ride back down to the hotel in Moishi. By cell phone we confirmed that she was okay.

On day four we hiked up and around Lava Tower, a mini-peak at 4,600 meters.  We then scrambled back down a rocky defile to camp at Barranco Hut at 3,950 meters.  Fatigue and sparse oxygen began to have an effect on the way we felt, walked, and thought. The next day we awoke to the challenge of the Barranco Wall, a vertical ascent of nearly 350 meters that looked more fearsome than it actually was.  The trail then turned down again to the last water camp, Karanga at 4,200 meters.

The last day of preparation, day five on the mountain, we climbed up and up and up to Barafu Camp at 4,600 meters.  We had already been that high at the Lava Tower, but the up and down was meant to acclimatize our lungs, hearts, and brains to the lack of oxygen, in preparation for the agonies of an eight-hour, 3,000-meter climb to the top.

Our guides and porters celebrated our progress with a feast of chicken, soup, and cookies. No matter how much we ate, no one was gaining weight. It was glorious. The porters were putting on a real show, too, carrying close to 60 pounds each, running up Kilimanjaro in tennis shoes.

Day six began at midnight. After a short snack we began a wiggly trail up the slippery last path. With great care we zigzagged from one rock outcropping to the next amid the “skree,” the loose volcanic rock that made up the outside of Kilimanjaro’s crater. At one point I looked up the mountain to see a trail of headlamps blended into star constellations. The path seemed to go on forever.

The going was even tougher than it might have been because the hoses of our water-packs had frozen overnight, depriving us of the water’s oxygen boost, which can help ward off altitude sickness.

The sun came up blazing. We reached the lip of the crater about 7am. Samuel and Susanna were suffering, and did not want to continue. Zachary urged them on. The morning sun had thawed their water lines, and Zach was able to persuade them to get water into their dehydrated bodies.

And so five of us completed the ascent—Uruhu Peak, elevation 5,895 meters. At 19,340 feet, we were higher than anyone else in Africa.

After a pause, we jumped off the crater rim and made our way south through the loose skree. It took less than two hours to get back to camp, but my body paid the price for not respecting the hardest part of any ascent—the descent. My knees still hurt from that day in January 2008, as I skied down the slopes of Kilimanjaro without snow.Speaking of snow: For now there is still some snow atop Kilimanjaro, and it had been our dream to see the mountain before the last of it has melted for the first time in recorded history—which is happening rapidly. It is our fervent hope that Kilimanjaro will be covered in its famous snows once again some day.