Mount Kilimanjaro and Me

The long and the short of it is, I was petrified. Firstly, of the flight – planes and I go together about as well as ‘X factor’ and ‘talent’ – and that’s not to mention the matter of the more than slightly oversized hill waiting for us in Africa. Upon landing, we had then the unenviable mission of an eight-hour minibus journey from Kenya to the city of Moshi in neighbouring Tanzania. Now, I’m not one to exaggerate, but the road was kind of bumpy: and when I say bumpy, I mean it was like sitting on a pneumatic drill. Think of riding your bike down The Shambles...times a million.

Anyway, we eventually ended up in a lovely hotel in Moshi, and after an all-too-short night’s rest we set off the following morning for Kilimanjaro. The first day proved to be a rather non-event – we’d all spent months waiting to set foot on the mountain, and Day One merely provided us with a steady slog through copious amounts of rainforest. The highlight of the day was dinnertime, when impromptu entertainment was provided by our three wonderfully happy Tanzanian waiters, who sang a beautiful rendition of Enrique Iglesias’ ‘Hero’ - now there’s a group Simon Cowell should sign up – which made sure we went to bed in high spirits.

The next two days were a blur of rocks, stunning views, rocks, blisters, and – you guessed it – more rocks. But I have to profess that every break we took presented us with the most amazing panoramas of the surrounding landscape and the mountain’s peak looming above: ominous but beautiful. Lunch on Day Four was an unforgettable experience. Sitting on a plateau at 4,200m, gazing down at a pure white blanket of endlessly fluffy clouds, we felt like Zeus atop Mount Olympus, with walking poles instead of lightning bolts. We were soon snapped out of our comfort zone that night. After three hours sleep we set off at midnight from our camp at 4,600m for the summit attempt. The next 24 hours are still nearly impossible to fully comprehend, sat here, as I am, in Fulford.

It was cold. This wasn’t your average “brr, it’s a bit nippy!” Yorkshire-winter’s-day cold, this was full-on, water-freezing-in-bottles, if-you-aren’t-wearing-seven-layers-you’ll-die cold. I for one never thought I’d be so grateful to be wearing my mum’s tights. The first three hours were, well, hell – trudging along slopes guided only by a headtorch and looking continually upwards in vain, only to see a Christmas tree-esque zigzag of twinkling lights stretching up into what seemed like eternity. At one point I thought I was certainly going to give up: my face was freezing, my body was overheating, I was epically thirsty and hungry, and I really really really needed a toilet. Unfortunately, at 5,000m, your ‘toilet’ is the shadow behind the nearest body-sized boulder, with the rest of your group waiting for you just five yards away...we moved on pretty quickly after that!

Strangely enough, I was saved by the unlikely voice of Darius Danesh. I’d decided to resort to my iPod for inspiration, and combined with a few (five) cheeky packs of jelly tots, ‘Colourblind’ inspired me to keep climbing. The sun rose majestically over the mountain at around 6am, a thrilling sight which spurred us on to finally stumble on to the summit of Kilimanjaro at 8.30am. Some people cried, others fell to the ground, and a few really didn’t know quite who they were; but I was awash with both elation and exhaustion. It was nearly three months ago now that I was standing on top of the world (‘s tallest freestanding mountain) both literally and figuratively. It was the most incredible feeling of euphoria, relief, nausea, surprise, awe...you get the picture, but it really is impossible to truly describe. The experience and the feeling it gave me were without equal in anything I’ve done previously, or probably will ever do.

This is all not to mention the following fortnight when we sampled the delights of East Africa by spending a week on the island paradise of Zanzibar and went on safari in the Ngorongoro National Park; but I can save stories of wannabe Maasai warriors and pregnant cheetahs for another time.

Basically, if this tale has inspired the inner-explorer in you, then you can take up the chance to participate in next year’s Climb Kili for Kids expedition – the information meeting is on Friday 20th November, at 6.30pm in L/037. Or, you can contact the expedition leader, Soph Felton, on Facebook. Whilst I may have joked about the climb, I’ll end on a serious note: I really could not recommend this experience more. Whether you’re a thrill-seeker at heart, or you just fancy a bit of a challenge, this trip is for you. And the charity it supports is an amazing cause.

So why not Climb Kili for Kids in 2010? If Chris Moyles can do it, then so can you.

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