31 December 2008 – Shira 2 to Lava Tower to Barranco

Best night’s sleep yet. The usual stirrings but no prolonged restlessness. Read both of my little spiritual books at one point however. Slight headache on wake up but cured by water and breakfast. Usual morning routine and away by 0850. Jason still looks terrible but starts 5 mins ahead of us only to be overtaken very quickly. We could still see him behind us for the first couple of hours then we lost sight of him – no news since. Saw a couple of other people coming down the mountain prematurely. Long day!! A plod, a few of us began with that slight hangover again, requiring an ibuprofen. Sam barely slept at all and John carried all her kit. Just a slog really, brief chats with Thomas and James about life, work etc, a bit of info from Limo about plants. An insufficient lunch again, I was definitely feeling the lack of calories by the end of the day. Will now save all my drinks and gels for summit day. Maybe drink something every 15 mins, warm water. Went from warm and clear to mist and hail, to hot again. 8hrs walk up to 4600m. slight headaches and fatigue but we’re all healthy so far for our first night at nearly 4000m. Some very deep and intellectual conversations with Kristina. We share some opinions on life.
More good food and tea, much revived now, two short days preceding summit day. The sky is clear again and we are right under the summit. Can see the town lights below (remember to try and paint from memory) Too cold and weary to go out and photograph (paint with glowing tent in foreground, hills coming in from both sides and towns in the V below)
Today was a good long day to boost confidence for summit day which will be twice as long! So now I’m about to read Le Monde and try to get some sleep. More fun around the table as talk flits between the summit and turds?!  More ‘guess who’. Goodnight

1 January 2009
Happy New Year! – Barranco to Karanga

Heri Yumwoka Mpiay!
Pretty good sleep, woken only by the midnight festivities (too cold and tired to get out of our sleeping bags!), appreciated from the inside of our sleeping bags.
Late start due to a shorter day. Had a case of the runs (not that I’ve deposited anything completely solid since I’ve been here) Was aware of this for most of the day but it wasn’t a problem. Barranco wall was fun (if a little crowded, despite having left later to avoid the crowds) and again today, the scenery was stunning. We passed through seneca and scrub with waterfalls and green valleys into moon like landscapes. From warmth to cool mist. It almost snowed. Oh yes, and whilst packing up this morning, heard the roar of an avalanche (sounded like a heavy truck arriving) ducked out of the tent in time to see the clouds of ‘smoke’ billowing from one of the summit glaciers. Cool to watch from a distance at least!
Today was tough. Acclimatisation no longer appears to be a problem for most, however the day was too long without food. I must bring snacks next time I do something like this. The group has gelled well, plenty of banter and intelligent conversation. It’s amazing how much I’ve missed that and how little opportunity I get for that at home/work.

Very undulating today , the guides usually underestimate the time it will take us on short days but we should be used to that by now!
Some steep ascents and descents, but I was pleased to find out I’m no less comfortable on the rock than I was ages ago. Also pleased that the weight of a rucksack isn’t giving me trouble. Eventually into camp, two rapid trips to the toilet! But some immodium and food later I feel much better. More ‘guess who’ and summit talk around the table. I think we’re all excited/nervous about it now. Will be a very long day and I am slightly concerned about the limited water/food availability. Stunning view tonight out to the WSW of a silhouetted Meru. Some storms on the horizon, and a large town that I assume is Arusha. The summit of Kili looms large and clear over the campsite. Looking forward to a good night sleep and feeling fit tomorrow. Onto the summit tomorrow night!! Lala somala bwana.

For longer than I can remember, I’ve been a swimmer. Not to any great competition standard, but a strong and confident swimmer, as at home in the water as on dry land. Legend has it that at 2 years old with bright orange armbands, likely as big as my (not insignificant) head, I paddled my way towards the deep end of the local swimming pool, terrifying my parents in the process, and giving the lifeguard some cause for concern. My parents, then in their mid-thirties, couldn’t swim, I can only hope the same cannot be said for the lifeguard.

From that day, we began our aquatic journey together as a family.

I began formal lessons which comprised I imagine, of little more than supervised play in very shallow water, whilst my parents, hugely disadvantaged by 30 plus years of not-swimming, learned to master the art of floating in water not much deeper.

I don’t remember too much more about the specifics of learning to swim, but I do remember it always being a part of my life. Lessons, distance challenges, some races as a child. On one occasion I even won a book as a prize, The Wombles at Work, by Elisabeth Beresford. I was 6 or 7 years old, and until recently, I was reading that very same book to my own children.

At around about the same time, I was developing a reckless streak to my personality. Whilst on holiday somewhere in Spain, I managed to persuade my dad (who could now swim) to allow me to leap from the top of a cliff into the sea. In the interests of ‘not passing his own fears on to me’, he considered the proposition, watched a few, significantly older children and adults jumping (and then resurfacing) before dutifully pedalling me across the bay to the foot of a rough, narrow scar pretending to be a path up the 50-foot (or so my father tells me) cliff. I do have a memory of the people at the top being very courteous and allowing me to jump the queue, which was probably for the best. The sooner I jumped off the cliff, the less likely I was to change my mind. The fear of the fall was now competing with the fear of disappointing the audience queuing behind me.

I watched as a girl mounted the shoulders of a boy in front of me before they leapt into the void, separating in mid-air, entering the water gracefully and swimming back to the cliff to climb once more for another go.

A pallet, cemented in place and slightly overhanging, served as a diving platform. As my parents watched from the beach, my mother incredulous at my father’s acquiescence to her 6-year-old-baby boy’s completely unreasonable wish, I approached the edge, somehow composed my myself and stepped out into thin air.

My stomach rushed up to meet my pounding heart, chasing the breath from my lungs as the wind in my ears roared its approval of the adventure. I like to think that I too entered the water gracefully, perhaps like a sea bird fishing, or a dolphin returning to the depths after turning a somersault in the air for the sheer joy of it. I probably more closely resembled a pink and somewhat gelatinous rock hurled blindly and without ceremony into the unknown, to land with a larger than average splash, and a noise to frighten all but the most immobile of sea creatures within a 100m radius. I don’t remember if I screamed or not.

However it looked, I emerged unscathed and swam proudly to the beach, a big man, having left the boy behind on top of the cliff. At least that’s how it must have felt.

Now I’m the father, and I can’t imagine (yet) allowing either of my children to jump off a cliff at 6 years old. That was a brave decision my own father took, and I’m sure it played a big role in my development, and not only as a swimmer. I hope that when the time comes, I’ll be able to ‘let go’ (following a comprehensive risk-assessment of course) of my ‘babies’ and watch them fly (perhaps more gracefully than I did) from a great height into deep blue water.

As I write this, they’re only 3 and 5 years old, and for now we’ve enjoyed a summer in the ‘pee-pee pool’ as we’ve affectionately named it. With no formal teaching, it’s been great to watch them develop their own confidence through play. As with learning languages, they’ve learned to float, dive and submerge themselves without realising it. My 5-year-old son is also addicted to the springboard and jumping off the harbour wall even with a 2 or 3 metre drop to the water.

I can feel that cliff looming larger by the day…

29 Dec 2008 – Big Tree Camp to Shira 1

Beautiful morning, clear skies but one hell of a crowded campsite! Bucket toilet full to overflowing. Didn’t sleep too badly and didn’t wake up with any aches and pains. Slight dizziness as I sat up too quickly but nothing untoward. Loads of noise around the camp so glad of the earplugs. Missed a lot of birdsong (dawn chorus) however. Great breakfast of toast, porridge, eggs and then off we go. Rattled off an unbelievable number of photos and got some good video footage (I think!) For want of stating the bleeding obvious, the forest is soooooooooo green. Not so many flowers (sedoviola Kilimanjaro) Occasional clearing was really pretty. Undergrowth very dense, temps quite cool under the trees, perfect for walking and the sounds were great. Wish I had a sound recorder. More chat with the guides and group today. Limo is good with local info and I had some interesting conversations with the rest of the team. The pace is a lot slower than I would probably walk if I was on my own but I can be as trigger happy as I like with the camera and it’s not wearing me out. Loving it. There are a lot of us on this mountain and the ‘purist’ in me would like to be more isolated but then it’s so worthwhile for the locals to guide/porter that it feels good to put something into their economy (pockets) whilst we have our ‘jolly’ up the mountain. The guides pay US$500 to get their license, so it’s evidently worthwhile. They’re all part of a larger company that hire out guides and porters, operating a kind of taxi-rank queuing system to allocate porters etc to trips. With 5+ of them for every one of us, it’s hard to imagine doing it without their help.
And on this occasion I’m glad I’m doing a trip where we’re looked after and I can just amble along and enjoy the view. Good group, great summit views as cloud clears, but not as good as the white-necked raven or my 30” exposure night shot from last night! Dinner, curried chicken and rice and soup. Liking the Milo, the interesting travel/history/natural conversations with everyone. Well, early night – it’s only 2045 but feels right. It’s good to align your body clock with the sun. It definitely feels healthier. I have the blackest fingernails right now but I’m enjoying the grime. It’s dusty here and is like this the rest of the way apparently. This is great and I’m tired so will continue tomorrow.
Shame we can’t see any big game, too many people disturbing the peace I guess

30 December 2008 – Shira 1 to Shira 2

Rubbish night’s sleep. 1st 3 hrs ok but in bed too early, awake again at midnight. Garry snoring again so after 2 hrs of frustration, got up to see the stars. Stunning. The plough on the horizon and bigger than I’ve ever seen it. Shooting stars too. Eventually back to bed for another 3 hrs sleep. Woke up feeling like I had a hangover. Re-hydrated but headache/tired all the way to the next camp.
Another great breakfast, this time with sausages. Off from camp almost on time for a short hike to Shira 2. Sunny clear morning but the clouds followed us to camp. Very slow pace, felt ropey all the way. Some more good chats , less photos due to headache. Head down and plod. Apparently eland and other animals from the Kenyan side come up here to find mineral salts (good with honey for colds apparently)

TWENDE – let’s go
HARRAKA – hurry up
CHOKA – tired

Arrive to a cold and misty campsite, most of us feeling the effects of altitude. Late but amazing lunch of soup and cheese toasties followed by ibuprofen and a siesta – amazing transformation, feel full of energy!
Early dinner of beef stew and potatoes followed by birthday cake for Andy. Visit to a CLEAN toilet, amazing sunset over Meru, Kili summit cleared too, stunning evening. Really funny game of ‘guess who’, some more experimentation with night photography and then to bed to write.
Jason (a lone American with his own porters who’s shadowed our group all the way so far) stumbled into camp after having tried to bypass this one and go too high too quick. He’s in a very rough state. Luckily I’d moved in with Bob (to avoid the snoring!) as Jason is now sharing with Garry (his guide didn’t want him sleeping alone)
So, a rough morning but a good evening

My search for meaning and personal fulfilment continues quietly, almost in the background, alongside my daily habits and commitments. I have at least changed my routine, now beginning my days with stretching, breathing exercises and / or meditation, and every work shift is preceded by swimming at least 1km. I really should (and would very much like to) make more of the opportunity I have in being married to a yoga teacher too, but that’s coming. Slowly, slowly.

As I re-tune my internal radio and allow myself to be drawn towards the strongest signals, the themes that repeat themselves are not new. Some go back as far as my earliest memories, others have developed over the last few years, but none are a surprise. All have been consistently pushed aside however, in favour of earning a salary, procrastination, a lack of belief in myself or in the possibility of supporting a life and dreams in their pursuit.

I remember a car journey back when my age numbered in single digits. I can’t remember where we were going, but we were going up a hill close to home, past a DIY store with a family friend in the car. My mum asked me to tell this friend what I wanted to be when I grow up. An ecologist, I replied.

I don’t think I really knew what an ecologist was, but I knew that I wanted to save the animals, to protect nature. And to this desire, following many detours en route, is where I keep returning. It has however, thus far remained a wish, a thought, an intellectual exercise. Neither my life nor any work I’ve done has contributed anything meaningful to this childhood ambition. On the contrary, I’m fairly certain that most… probably all of my professional and personal pursuits have had an adverse effect on the planet that my younger self so wanted to improve. And it bothers me.

On the one hand I don’t have many regrets, on the other I feel a sense of sadness that I’ve strayed so far from the singularity of purpose expressed in that car all those years ago. No, I haven’t completely wasted my time, and yes, my journey has of course been educational and enjoyable in many other ways, but the yearning for a purpose, and a stronger connection to myself and the non-human world, is rearing its head much more strongly than it has done for a long time.

Where will I start? What can I do? The state of the planet was bad enough in the 1980s when I was growing up, and in the 30 plus years since it has only worsened, despite greater awareness. I’m no longer the naïve child I once was, nor the under-informed adult I grew to be. I not only despair at the obvious destruction of wilderness and wildlife, but also at the ineffectiveness of the so-called environmental movement that was born in the 1960s and has since turned previously ignored issues in to mainstream news. Whilst awareness has grown dramatically, denial, apathy, misinformation, and greed have continued to expand exponentially, and the small progresses that have been made in certain localised cases, have been eclipsed by continued global-scale destruction that continues unabated.

Where do we go from here, and what part will I play? I have made many small choices along the way that I thought were useful in reducing my impact, but now I’m not so sure. What I do believe, is that it’s going to take more and better changes than I have ever considered, and perhaps even the rejection of false ‘solutions’ that I have taken for granted. Whatever we’ve been doing so far, has not helped. And as difficult a pill to swallow as it has been, I’m questioning my own convictions and choices. And mostly my distraction from something that has felt like a deep ache inside me, supressed, and desperate for expression.

I have allowed myself to become disconnected, to live my life without enough recognition of my connection to the other beings with whom we share this planet. It’s time to re-connect, and go forward from here with purpose, passion, and informed action.

I’m digging up old memories for inspiration, so here follows the unedited diary I kept whilst climbing Mt Kilimanjaro in 2008. It will be a four part series released over the next four Fridays…

The highest point in Africa and one of the seven continental summits, this was my first foray to altitude, and the furthest I’ve been into Africa so far. It won’t be my last mountain, nor will it be my last adventure on this enigmatic continent.

TRIP DIARY

27 Dec 2008 – Arrival

Smells like wood smoke and wild animals. Can hear crickets through the dark.
Big sky, but full and bright. Must check out southern hemisphere stars.
Roads not bad and the people are friendly. My group seems a good bunch.
LOVE the smell here!

So far I only have my imagination to go on for the scenery but the odour is intoxicating and the temperature wonderful. Easy to romanticise I know, but I’m excited for what tomorrow may bring. The road is very straight and I’m thirsty! (and as ever, hungry of course) Back was a bit stiff on the plane but there’s plenty of time to loosen it up! I’m so glad I came here. The memory of my flu (no, not just the ‘man’ variety) is beginning to fade, despite it’s severity leading me to conclude that I’d probably never had flu before.

The only clue to our being in the right vicinity is the ‘Kili-view’ pub, lit by yellowed light bulbs and populated by only a handful. In the absence of the real thing, a large billboard advertises the imposing mass of rock with it’s white cap and green skirt.

A short night’s sleep followed a late dinner of pasta and a somewhat dour briefing, from our expedition leader, but everyone was good humoured through the fatigue and excitement/nerves. Repack bags, leave unnecessary stuff behind.

28 Dec 2008 – Trail head to Big Tree Camp

My earplugs turned out to be a good idea as my room mate Garry is a little noisy in his sleep! Breakfast-brief slow, and following a reorganisation of bags, we made a late start to our 3 hour drive to the trail head. Waited at a road side shop, allegedly for a ‘man with a gun’ (!?) who never appeared (and thankfully we never needed) We soon became the focus of attention for some local kids, exuberant in their ability to count in English and incredulous at our inability to count in Swahili. Cameras are always a fascination, or an object of trepidation to kids, and this lot were definitely not shy of the spot light! Our porters caught up to us in a big truck and we all headed off again towards the mountain. Rumour was that we waited there because it was safer from bandits than at the gate…

Massive registration/bag weighing queue, used my first ‘hole in the floor’ toilet of the trip and coped admirably. Eventually set out very late, after 1430, then piled out and started the trek an hour early due to a muddy crater in road. Steady-steady, ‘pole-pole’. Winding, fragrant, hilly, green, green, green. Bird sounds, frogs, cicadas, green, perfect temperatures (for walking – 20ish, bit less perhaps), slow pace, very slippery, steady, progression of porters going past loaded to the max, one with a radio, 40 in all, just for our group (9). Good banter between us, our guides Limo, James and Thomas are great. Quiet, but very friendly when you get them going. I took a load of photos and some video but would like to have done more. Physically knackered but feeling much better than I was and fit for the rest.

Arrived at camp just as darkness fell. Wow, bustling metropolis! Must be a good 200 people here. Will be interesting to see it in the light. Stars are amazing, would like to do some time-lapse photography framed through the trees but too knackered! Also not sure how that would turn out with all the people milling around with head torches.
Dinner very civilised, copious – tea, biscuits, popcorn, leek soup, bread, spaghetti, bolognese, veg sauce, banana, all candle-lit, Good chat. Our British guide seems to have to have relaxed a bit, she’s not hugely knowledgeable about the mountain, and is very quiet but is a genuinely nice person if quite a passive leader, but we’re fine with that – we’re not a high maintenance group! Anyway, first night under canvas and the chance for a full night’s sleep. Looking forward to tomorrow.
Elephant dung – but no elephants.

My name is Stuart and I’m an addict.

Books. I can’t get enough of reading. I have them downloaded on to my phone, on the towel-shelf in the bathroom next to the toilet, in the bedroom. At work I take my meal breaks alone so I can read. I love reading. Fact, fiction, biography. Journal, blog, magazine. Prose and poetry, English, French or Spanish. I’ve got books queued up. Just last month I had three on the go at once until I finally forced myself to finish them one by one. One factual and scientific, another, a fictional yet heavily philosophical story, and the third, one of the original Sherlock Holmes books.

They expand my knowledge, stretch my imagination and widen my vocabulary, and I love it. I’ll choose a book over a film or a documentary any day. I haven’t owned a TV for years. 

I pride myself on not wasting time on social media or addictive TV series, and I have no idea about new release films. I never watch the news. 

I’m convinced that I’m climbing my way up the knowledge tree on my way to a pinnacle of wisdom from which I can look down on the world and smile benevolently. Well, that last sentence isn’t true, but the rest of it is. 

I’m addicted to reading. 

I am learning; some of it goes in and sticks, and I’m sure that the fiction gives my imagination a good workout. However, I have also come to realise, and subsequently admit, that there is a not-insignificant element of escapism at work here. How much of this newly assimilated knowledge and creativity have I actually put to use? Not a fat lot. And a lot of it, particularly that pertaining to nutrition, motivation, productivity, and fulfilment of my dreams, I really do need. Knowledge is not power after all. Only knowledge that is acted upon has any value. Otherwise it remains nothing more than an interesting theory.

Not taking advantage of the value of a book’s content is one thing, another is that it simply takes up time. I will of course argue that reading is always time well spent, but it pays to know when to put the book the down and give that time to something else. Which is, in my case, amongst other things, writing. Reading may help to improve my writing, but not as much as writing will. All of these other authors lend inspiration, technique and ideas, but at some point I have to put the book down and pick up the pen. Or my stories remain untold, gathering dust on the shelves of my fading memory banks. 

I need to set goals and timescales in order to accomplish them. Put myself under a little pressure. It’s no good waiting for inspiration or the right time. You can’t force creativity ´they´ say. Well, I say it’s a bit like luck. When it comes, you have to be ready to take advantage of it. And that means practice. Trial, error and trial again. Hone your skills every day, rain or shine, inspired or not, so that when creativity strikes (if indeed it is a thing which hits you rather than a thing you strive for) you’re ready to take advantage of it and throw all of your best tools and abilities into the work.

That’s the new me. That’s what I’m trying to do. Write, write and write some more. Explore my interests, topics and styles, knowing that if I put out a huge volume of stuff (not necessary all of it out in public) then there’s a decent chance that some of it will be legible, enjoyable, or maybe even useful!

As with writing, so with the rest of my life. More focus on what motivates me. More attention to that which fascinates me. More dedication to what makes sense and to what might help, and help not only my own cause.

I’ve been inspired this week, by the honesty and vulnerability of an acquaintance from my school years, who has shared her deepest personal troubles on social media over the last couple of years. As is evident in my lack of consistency, my commitment to writing wavers. Short periods of activity followed by long periods of silence. In part it is due to the fullness of my life, but I also wonder if my confidence has played its part. I wonder how prepared I am to bare my soul to the internet.

Reading posts by someone going through such a major upheaval, I’m drawn to the intensity of the experience; the details, the emotions, the glimpse of a life that is not my own, a view through someone else’s eyes. 

What is so compelling about that kind of openness? The fearlessness of it, perhaps. Knowing that whilst it may bring support, it may also bring criticism and judgment, and writing it anyway.

On my own lesser level (I’m not going through any traumatic upheavals), committing my thoughts to paper (or in this case, a screen) is a catharsis. Expressing my thoughts and less frequently, my emotions, somehow lightens the load and helps me to re-focus. Reading someone else’s story gives me perspective. A reminder that mine is not the only experience, and whilst important in its own right, it is just one of many. We all have our trials and tribulations, our joyful times and our periods of suffering.

In sharing in the public domain, we are reaching out to connect to a community. One we already know, one we’ve lost, or maybe even one we’ve yet to be a part of. An outstretched hand from an individual, momentarily in need of support. I don’t think I’m even conscious of it, but that may be why I do it too. I’m not writing because I think someone else needs to read it, but because I need to write it. I have no tangible way of measuring any benefit I obtain from doing it, but I do it anyway. I’m not even convinced that anybody reads my occasional ramblings. Yet, I continue. And I continue to desire more consistency and to dedicate more of my time to writing, and sharing. 

Finally! It’s as finished as it’s going to get, for now. I may patch up a few holes, waterproof the roof before winter (less of a season, more of a minor inconvenience) arrives and make a few cosmetic adjustments, but the kids have already moved in. Success!

.

I have been waiting to become a writer, before starting to write.

Up to now, I wasn’t sure that my life has been extraordinary enough to write about. I don’t think it matters what I think, anymore. Who am I after all, to make such a judgement? Judge not lest thee be judged, is that how it goes? What if I judge myself? Does that lead to more onerous judgement by other or some greater power? What good does self-judgement do? Is it not better to accept what has been, and what is, as the culmination of all our thoughts and choices up to this point? Thoughts and choices that are in our past, and that therefore cannot be changed?

All that is left then, is the choice to ignore, to learn from or to be entertained by the consequences of those thoughts and choices that have carried us this far on our journey.

So, who am I to judge the validity of my own story? It’s not an extreme story. It doesn’t involve an harrowing, life threatening experiences or great sorrows. Neither fame nor fortune have yet to play any role, and yet I feel the need to commit pen to paper, finger to keyboard, and to share my experiences.

If I am the only reader, then it will have served the valuable purpose of… well, some level of personal satisfaction and perhaps be of some therapeutic benefit. Maybe someone else will find my anecdotes amusing or my experiences, educational or interesting. Maybe they will identify with certain moments, places, decisions, dilemmas, and realise that they’re not the only ones. Maybe they won’t.

Whatever the reaction, I’m going to do it anyway. Write every day. Finally, write every day. I shall work on a book or two, to be released when finished, but a part of my process must be out there in the public domain. Visible, if sought after. To keep myself in check, accountable. I’ve talked myself in to and out of this for too long now.

To become a writer, I must first write.

I managed another couple of hours on my days off and again before work this morning…