Kili Revisted

One question, seemingly out of nowhere, penetrated my consciousness, while my faraway feet spacewalked the crunchy black volcanic gravel of Kilimanjaro. At the same time, I had an answer to impressions that Kilimanjaro might prove to be the beginning of the climb to even higher altitudes, and perhaps even the world's highest mountain. But walking as we were, no plodding, on that lunar landscape, there was time to be aware of something else besides breathing and eating difficulties (everything freezes solid).

Up here it is hard to recognise people under all that Goretex, your body is going to hell, and you can't think straight because although you are walking the Earth, your body is functioning in a sort of submerged state, as though you were underwater, with your lungs slowly filling with water. hardly anyone talks to anyone else, and a profound quietness, and loneliness unfolds.

If being at 6000m is so miserable, then it's easy to see how it can be far worse, and deadly, at 8000m, and then there is Everest, at almost 9000m. It was easy for me to see the logic of abandoning what seemed like a silly fantasy (of pursuing even higher mountains)that day on the roof of Africa. The question was simply, what are you doing here? And the implication, equally subtle and simple: you don't belong here.

My fascination with mountains probably began in the Drakensberg, hiking the likes of Mount Aux Sources and Cathedral Peak (half as high as Kilimanjaro, but South Africa's highest mountains). The cold clear rarefied air, the vast views, the exhilaration, the burning smell in my nose, all collaborated to bring about a marvellous feeling of being alive.

As a teenager I read Hertzog's book on Annapurna, and was so enthralled, started writing my own fictional accounts of mountain heroism, always set in the Himalayas, especially around the toughest 8000m peaks like Dhaulaghiri, Nanga Parbat, and Annapurna. I love the names of the mountains, the mysticism, the tribes and peoples who visited their rocky towers and chasms. Even then, I suspected that Hertzog's account was not complete, that it portrayed him (the writer) in a selfserving way, and this irked me to an extent. I realised early on that mountains draw out a certain madness in people, and most of the people who are attracted to the toil on slopes are (I decided) difficult individuals, often selfish, excessively egotistical or depressed. I wondered whether this was an indictment of myself?

The true spirit of it is quite elusive. In the same way, there only seem to be a handful of people in the world who really have any business wandering at high altitude. Ed Viesturs has the attitude that it is not whether you reach the summit of a peak, but how well you climb it that is important. This seems to be one of the better views I have seen. Given the enormous risks climbers face, it is still difficult to see whether people should be allowed to entertain fantasies about crawling to these extreme elevations. I am not suggesting we abandon courage, and ambition, and a sense of adventure. I am suggesting that there are plenty of areas where these passions are better spent, and where they will benefit others, connect others.

It seems obvious that the lethal nature of life so far above the average altitude at which most humans function, and the reaction of the human body to exposure - reduced ability to reason, High Altitude Mountain Sickness, Cerebral and Pulmonary Edema - seems like a particularly sick game of Russian Roulette, only the bullet is a host of incidentals that can cause death, from losing track of time, to a change in the weather, to goggles fogging up, to losing a glove. In particular, Edema is basically a natural reaction of the body to the dryness of the air, where fluid begins to leak into the lungs or brain, resulting often in haemorage and sudden death. Edema can happen to anyone.

Perhaps the best reason to find oneself at death's door, at 8km in the sky, unable to move, and courting death and sleep as the exhaustion of one's own strange desires eventually run out at this attitude...is to find that the answer to the question, what am I doing here?, is simply: to see if I can. For my part, I am curious as to how I will handle the conditions on Everest, for example. But it seems silly to even consider the idea.

One person may be totally unsuited to climbing (people like Sandy Hill Pittman), unfit, prone to mental instability (Beck Weathers) , even be sick, but have a perfect day, in terms of weather, the luck of the draw, the allocation of oxygen or assistance and be successful. Another might be the strongest and fittest, the greatest strength of character, but then develop a stomach bug or some other malady on the day of the bid for the summit, or running up to it (as possibly happened with Scott Fischer).

A mountain is possibly the worst place to learn the lessons of life, it certainly is the strictest school on the planet, and the penalty is death.

The question is: what are you doing here? If you're here to see if you can do something,maybe that's not an innocent ambition, but a need to prove something. An ego-driven thing, and should be discouraged. Because if the full answer is no, it is not necessarily talent or skill, though these count, but luck and incidental events, random events, that bring one person off a mountain alive, and leave a stronger, more heroic figure, mysteriously incapacitated and lost. Given this reality, the sport of Mountain climbing becomes more the most obscene form of gambling, and no less addictive in its worst form, than the heroic search for beauty and glory in the Outdoors.

On Kilimajaro, the afternoon and night we spent at about 5000m, I remember the wind, and the gnawing cold. It was at this point that the misery begins and then intensifies, simply because all bodily functions become compromised. One thing that you're trying to avoid is urinating or worse, simply because it means leaving your sleeping bag, and your tent, and removing clothing and getting cold again. Another challenge is eating. I developed mild diarhea, and a cough which intensified very quickly through the corse of the summit attempt. Also, given these discomforts, is the insomnia. The insomnia, to a large degree ruins the visual and mental absorption of the experience. I found it difficult to be positive...no, not positive...enthusiastic, in these conditions. Food loses its taste, is hard and cold and often sweet, but it also has to be said, meals and comforts are enjoyed for those rare occasions when they present themselves.

The extremely slow progress, and this is true of all high altitude climbers, is a test of both determination, and resilience to boredom and mental retardation. I know within a few steps of leaving the Arrow Hut, a young lady turned round. Literally, after walking for less than a minute, she quit.

My brother and I walked together, and despite being asked to 'hold the line' and not move through other groups to the front, found the pace tediously slow, and began to advance. We had not advanced far when he suddenly got off the part and sat down, dejectedly beside a rock. Our problem was that we had no water, that we were climbing up a gravel dune, and would be for about 7 hours, without water. I didn't have enough either, but I reasoned, I would be able to get sips from people around me as the need arose. As it turned out, very few people had water, and if they did it was often frozen. My first replennishment, was actually on the summit - a little orange juice from a flask that someone kindly offered me.

I also remember what Krakauer refers to as 'stupendous sights' around me. I remember a powerful sense of appreciating that my world was actually a planet. The sheer thrust of Kilimanjaro (the highest freestanding mountain on the planet), and its desolate heights, really brought home the elementary power of this rotating body. I reached the rim of Kili's crater with the moon setting ahead of me, and the sun rising behind my back. There were these sights, that were beautifl and compelling, but almost completely lost or overlooked in terms of the icy surroundings, the insomnia and headaches.

I suppose I am here for the experience of it. To see how I will respond to the sight and slope of this place.
Even so, photos were attempted (the camera itself actually froze, and somehow rubbing it, and shaking it, brought the battery flickering to life long enough for a photo).
There have been cameras found on dead climbers with self portraits of themselves on the summit, as if this, a photo on the top of a mountain, represented a worthy price for a life.
I'm guessing that the truest expression of mountaineering is a need to walk and explore these wild places, without needing an audience to represent these experiences too. The trouble is, there is a certain payoff, an external reward, in the accomplishment, which attracts then a certain kind of person who has, probably, some useful qualities on a mountain.

But if I am honest, yes, there's also some aggrandisement. I know when my picture appeared on the front page of our local newspaper, there was some groaning and griping about it. Since it was 1996, I felt a powerful sense of symbolism in that here I was, on the top of Africa, a white guy, basically holding the hand of the black man, our guide, above the Altitude Sign. It was triumphant, and a useful symbol, I thought, for the community. I did get a kick out of it, but not enough to make me want to seek out mountains for the sake of publicity.

Part of the joy of the climb is the return to civilisation, and in that seems to lie the answer. If you are unhappy in your present circumstance, and find the perils of high mountains attractive, then meaning has probably leached out of your life. Then the purpose of the mountain is to scare you half to death, trouble you, torture you, so you return to society renewed and appreciative.

Viesturs has recently summited his 14th 8000m peak. It would be a pity if a talented climber such as Ed Viesturs succumbs to the ever present danger his 'sport' presents. Hubris seems to be the heart and soul of climbing. It seems the person we should most admire is the one who is quietly content with the simple things, and achieves a long life, and a measure of happiness, in the acceptance, the interaction, the joyfilled experience of simple communion - picnics, siestas, conversations over a cup of tea, integrating with the places and people closest to themselves.

It's a question we should probably ask ourselves from time to time, whatever we may be doing: what are you doing here?