Kilimanjaro Quest

Robin Boyd for the Sunday Gazette-Mail

IT is 9 at night on New Year's Eve, and everyone is asleep but me. It is the first night of our climb up Mount Kilimanjaro.

Already at 8,000 feet, I can feel the effects of the altitude. My head hurts, my ears are plugged and I have the urge to urinate every 20 minutes.

As I creep out of our sleeping hut and head toward the outhouse, monkeys screech in the trees above me. As I look around in the moonlight, nothing seems familiar.

I am the only woman on an eight-person film crew, in the middle of an East African rain forest, a third of the way up the world's tallest freestanding mountain.

I look up to see a man in a military uniform holding an AK-47. Sensing my fear, he says calmly: "Feel safe, feel comfortable."

A guide tells me that the guard is there to protect us from lions and other predators. I ask myself out loud: "What am I doing here?"

Dec. 28, 2003

Our six American crew members begin our journey to Tanzania, East Africa, to shoot a film titled "Makutano," which will combine Appalachian and African oral traditions.

The film is to be directed by West Virginia State College professor and filmmaker Daniel Boyd and produced by me. It's to be shot partly on Mount Kilimanjaro, the tallest point in Africa at almost 20,000 feet.

Other crew members include Steve Boyd, the production manager; Curtis Baskerville, a WVSC student and assistant director; actor Cody Tusing and Kevin Carpenter, a WVSC graduate student who will shoot his own film about the "making of 'Makutano'"). After months of preparation and training for the climb, we all meet at Dulles Airport, just outside Washington, D.C.

Dec. 29

We arrive in Moshi to spend the night. We meet up with our two Tanzanian crew members from the University of Dar es Salaam - Richard Ndunguru, the director of photography, and actor Moses Gasana.

Already, I am experiencing some culture shock. The roads in Moshi are like West Virginia four-wheeler trails - rutted dirt roads with deep trenches and large boulders.

There are no toilets, no toilet paper. The restrooms consist of holes in concrete with a hose attached to the wall for "spraying off" afterward.

Most of the people live in extreme poverty, yet everywhere we are met with smiling faces and greetings of "Jambo!" ("Hello!").

Dec. 30

In the morning, we explore Moshi.

Massai warriors with painted faces and multiple piercings sell sandals made of tires. African women carry baskets of fruit atop their heads as barefoot children chase each other through the village. The only cars are safari vehicles.

We spend the afternoon hours doing equipment checks and repacking cameras, batteries, a tripod and other equipment for the expedition. We must take extra precautions to keep our equipment from freezing.

We also make a back-up plan in case a crew member suffers altitude sickness and can't complete the climb. After all, statistics show that only one in three who attempt the climb of Kilimanjaro will be successful.

We spend the evening in a beer garden, ironically called Hollywood Bar, where we thrill the waitresses by taking pictures of them with a digital camera then showing them the images.

Dec. 31

We begin the climb up Mount Kilimanjaro, sporting our West Virginia Tourism caps.

We have been running and biking for months in preparation for the climb, so we are all in excellent shape. But we are shocked at just how difficult the first day's trek is.

It is straight up narrow, rocky trails with virtually no flat stretches. The rain forest is breathtaking, though. Lush green trees and thick vegetation peek out majestically through thick mist and clouds.

We are told this will be the easiest day, so we are wondering what lies ahead.

I watch in amazement as our porters make the trek seemingly without effort, multiple packs perched on top of their heads. Though the first day is fatiguing and we are feeling the effects of altitude, we manage to shoot some beautiful scenes along the way.

Jan. 1, 2004

We start our new year trekking out of the rain forest and into the moorland. We leave the bright green jungle and almost magically enter a sandy, desertlike region with giant succulents and colorful flowers dotting the landscape.

While eating a lunch prepared by our guide company, a white-necked raven swoops down and steals a trekker's lunch.

Temperatures already are dropping, and we have much of our winter gear on by the end of the day.

Once back at our sleeping hut, we shoot one of our most magnificent scenes - the first to include both our Tanzanian and American actors - set amid 18-foot succulents and clumps of bright red, daisylike flowers.

As we lie in our sleeping bags that night, I listen as various crew members stop breathing for a minute or so and then gasp and begin breathing again. It is quite scary, although I had been warned that this happens at altitude.

Afraid to fall asleep myself, my body eventually gives in to fatigue.

Jan. 2

The next morning we enter the high desert region. Danny and I feel a burst of energy and trek ahead of the rest of the group. It has become quite windy and cold, but our spirits are good.

Just as we start bragging about how great we feel, we hit a wall. We are within half a mile of Kibo Hut, but the altitude has just reached a critical level. It is as if we can barely put one foot in front of the other as we try to make our way up the path to the hut.

We are having difficulty breathing, and stop every five feet for a break. In the distance, we can see the peak of Kilimanjaro, mocking us as we stumble onward.

Once we reach our hut, we collapse with exhaustion. There are other groups of trekkers around from Japan, Germany and Finland.

Trekkers pass our hut windows on their way to the outhouse. Time and time again, we watch as they stop and vomit in front of our windows, in the throes of mountain sickness.

Two of our crew members also are vomiting; the rest of us wonder around the hut in a zombielike state. None of us has an appetite though the guides talk us in to eating some pasta.

Jan. 3

After just four hours of restless sleep, we wake at midnight to begin the final trek to the summit. Although it's freezing cold and we are still out of our heads, we are assured that the reward will be a beautiful sunrise at the summit.

We begin a slow, seven-hour march of drudgery up steep, frozen switchback trails. We have lights strapped to our heads, but the batteries die after just two hours.

Each step requires so much effort. Danny says he feels like removing his cap because it is too much weight on his head.

At times it seems as if the summit isn't getting any closer. At about 17,000 feet, a member of our group becomes seriously ill. He is pale, talking crazy and vomiting profusely.

His life is in danger. Once someone develops "severe flulike symptoms," it is imperative that the person descend from altitude immediately.

After heartfelt goodbyes and hugs from the group, a guide escorts him back down.

At about 18,500 feet, which is about an hour from the summit, another member of our group begins to have difficulty breathing. He is wheezing, gasping for air and feeling pressure in his chest.

Again, we know that if he does not descend immediately, his life will be in jeopardy. Amazingly, he apologizes for not being able to complete his work on the film.

Though, worried about our other crew members, Danny and I push on ahead. We knew from the start that chances were not all of us would make it to the top. We trade looks of exasperation; it's as if the peak keeps moving farther away.

Our guide known as "Big" shows us a shortcut - but it requires us to climb over some serious boulders and go straight up the last part rather than following the switchback trail. "Big" pulls me up over the boulders.

I can hear Danny behind us, moaning with each painful step, but managing to keep up.

Jan. 3, 7 a.m.

Danny and I reach the top together. The view is something I will always remember - the sun low in the sky and our faces glowing in its glory. The ice glaciers on the crater rim are from a world I've never seen nor ever thought I'd see in my lifetime.

We are freezing cold; our coats and packs are encased in frost. We have long passed total exhaustion.

We speak very little because that would take too much effort. Honestly, I don't think we could have found the right words if we had tried.

We are able to take one photograph before our camera freezes.

One last look around, and we begin our journey back down the mountain.

Jan. 3, noon

We try to make our way off the mountain back to Kibo Hut. I am so tired that I keep having the urge just to lie down and sleep.

On the loose scree sections, we ski with our boots for hundreds of feet at a time. It is still difficult to breathe, and we find ourselves taking lots of breaks.

Finally, we reach Kibo Hut and are able to check in on our "rescued" crew members. Both seem to be in fine shape. One even gets his camera out and begins filming shortly after we get there.

Jan. 3, 5 p.m.

After just a few hours of rest, we make the four-hour trek to the next sleeping hut. Everyone seems to be in good shape. We're all tired but enthusiastic to begin the last leg of the journey off the mountain. Unfortunately they tell us we must begin this part of the trek in the very early morning hours.

Jan. 4, 5 a.m.

We set out in the dark with flashlights. One of our crew members, who made it to the top with no problems the day before, is becoming sicker by the minute. His face is pale, he is disoriented, and he is vomiting with every 10 steps.

Our guide tells us that some people get altitude sickness on the descent. It soon becomes obvious to us that, although he made it up the mountain, he was not going to make it back down.

The guide sends word down the mountain that we need an emergency rescue. Danny and I hike ahead of the group so we can shoot some footage.

Jan. 4, 8 a.m.

Danny and I sit alongside the trail in the rain forest, searching for monkeys in the thick, green trees. The moisture is as thick as if it were raining, but it is not.

We hear noises and look up, expecting to see the group accompanying our sick colleague. Instead, we see one of our guides running with yet another one of our crew members on his shoulders.

It takes us a minute to realize just how serious this situation has become. Our comrade who had trouble breathing near the summit - and who had appeared to recover - was now critically ill. He was having difficulty breathing - and the guides were taking turns transporting this 170-pound man on their shoulders while running with him.

Danny has an asthma inhaler in his pack, and he quickly gives him a dose. His breathing becomes stable, but he also begins to get sick at his stomach.

Jan. 4, 9 a.m.

Danny accompanies both ill crew members on an all-terrain rescue vehicle to the bottom of the mountain. Eight crew members and four rescues! We never would have dreamed we'd have rescues on the way back down.

Altitude sickness can be very serious - unfortunately, there's really no good way to prepare for it. No matter how good of shape you are in, "mountain sickness" can get the best of you. The only treatment for serious cases is an immediate and rapid descent.

Jan. 4, noon

We reach the bottom and are greeted with good news. Both ill crew members are doing fine.

At the park office we buy Coca-Colas (no drink has ever tasted so good) and receive certificates verifying we climbed Mount Kilimanjaro.

Jan. 6, 9 a.m.

After a much-needed day of rest, we travel by bus to Dar es Salaam, where we will spend the next week before heading to the tropical island of Zanzibar.

As we look out the window we get excited as we see the peak of Mount Kilimanjaro appear through the clouds. I think to myself how different everything looked at 20,000 feet.

At least Danny and I have one photograph of what it looks like from the top of the world - as if the image could ever be erased from our minds.

It is a climb I will never make again, but a place I will go many times in the future.

Robin Boyd is an associate professor of communications at West Virginia State College.