THE VANISHING SNOWS OF KILIMANJARO

By Bob Culbert

“Poli Polindio mwendo, Mr. Bob” - ‘Slow and steady wins the race.’ Late in the afternoon of April 3, Joseph, my Tanzanian guide, urged me along the top of Kilimanjaro’s snowcap. The sun fades towards the Serengeti plains three miles below. In a few minutes we will reach the top of Africa!

Climbing Kilimanjaro has been on my mind since the late seventies when I lived in Nigeria. Now, after a safari in northern Tanzania, my opportunity was at hand. While my wife Margot went to explore the island of Zanzibar, I set off for the village of Merangu at the base of ‘Kili.’

Seamus Bennett-Jones, a long-time Tanzanian resident, made me welcome at the Merangu Hotel. I brought my boots, warm clothes and sleeping bag from home. Seamus supplied the food, camping gear, guide and porters. In the morning I awoke to an African rainstorm pounding on the hotel’s roof. The wet season had begun in spectacular fashion - would this prevent us from making the climb? An hour later, the sun appeared and the wet ground shimmered brilliantly.

After a briefing by Seamus on the perils of altitude sickness, I met Joseph and my two porters, a mandatory support complement in Kilimanjaro National Park. An ancient Land Rover carried us up three steep miles to the park gate where fees are collected to maintain the trails, huts and mountain rescue teams.

Kilimanjaro has two peaks - ‘Kibo’ and “Mawenzi’. Our goal is Uruhu peak on Kibo, the highest point at 19,480 feet above sea level. Five miles across a saddle from Kibo, Mawenzi is lower but no less spectacular with volcanic slopes thrusting upwards from an alpine desert. While there are many climbs on Kilimanjaro, we chose the popular Merangu route via Gilman’s Point and the snow-capped ridge.

We left the park reception at mid-day for an easy eight-mile stroll through lush vegetation to the Madura huts at 9,000 feet elevation. The next morning, the sun rose over Mawenzi as we left for the second huts. Tropical vegetation soon gave way to open parklands above 10,000 feet. The trail continued at a gradual slope for twelve miles to the Horombo huts at 13,000 feet. I was pleasantly surprised to arrive at noon, leaving the remainder of the day for rest and altitude adjustment.

On the third day we left with the sunrise - almost precisely at six o’clock this close to the equator. Joseph maintained a steady pace for three hours to the alpine desert. There before us, stood snow-capped Kibo framed by a radiant, cloudless sky (photo). By noon we had crossed the desert and ascended to the Kibo hut at 17,000 feet.

Climbers normally rest at Kibo hut until midnight before ascending a steep, rocky slope to the snows by sunrise. But with Kibo in perfect condition and enough time remaining to reach Uruhu Peak before dark, we decided to leave immediately. A change of weather might jeopardize our chances the next day. Joseph and I shouldered light packs with emergency gear leaving the porters and supplies at the hut.

Joseph plodded slowly up the slope watching me carefully for signs of altitude sickness. My pace slowed to ten steps followed by ten deep breaths bent over my climbing stick. After four hours we reached the snow at Gilman’s Point at 19,000 feet. Another 500 vertical feet remained to reach Uhuru Peak.

Two more hours dragged by as we traversed the snowcap. On one side we could see the alpine desert and Mawenzi; on the other side a steep slope dropped into Kibo’s crater. Finally, Joseph and I joined hands for the final steps to the peak twelve hours after leaving the Horombo huts. The clouds had suddenly arisen from below prompting our retreat in the fading light.

Luckily, a full moon illuminated the rocks below Gilman’s Point. Decreasing altitude helped to steady my wobbly legs as I stumbled and slid down the slope. By nine we ravenously devoured our dinner in the Kibo hut before falling into a deep sleep. The next morning we descended rapidly, enjoying the sunrise and increasing oxygen supply. We reached the park gate by late afternoon to find the ancient Land Rover waiting for our return to the Merangu Hotel.

In the morning as I sat on the hotel veranda, Kibo appeared momentarily above the clouds. Looking up I reflected on the realization that the snows are rapidly vanishing – three-quarters of the snowcap have disappeared over the past century. While this may be a part of a natural climactic cycle, it is likely that global warming has hastened the melting of these unique snows.

In Swahili, the word kwaheri means ‘farewell’ while the word godai means ‘see you later.’ As the mountain disappeared in to the clouds, I bid godai to Kilmanjaro. I hope I will see its snows again.

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