Day 5, The decision at Karanga valley
February 28, 2010
It was six in the morning and Zed had to literally shake us out of our sleeping bags on day five, as we were exhausted from the previous day’s hike and wanted to take advantage of every last wink of sleep. He was keen to make a head start because he knew that there wouldn’t be much time to rest after we had climbed up to Barafu camp. Our briefing began in an hour and we soon learnt that our first challenge for the day would be to cross the great Barranco wall before we could join the route to Barafu camp, our last target before the summit. The wall was quite an imposing sight and much steeper than Lava Tower, yet we only had our hands and feet to rely on, with no special equipment to our aid.
We began our climb at half past seven and the sheer challenge of the wall soon became apparent. Although there were no glaciers in visible sight, cold streams of glacial water constantly trickled down the wall, making the already steep climb even more perilous. Our surrounding landscape, including Barranco itself, was made of igneous rock in all sorts of shapes and sizes. Most people don’t know of this, but Mt Kilimanjaro is actually an inactive volcano with two extinct cones and one dormant. In fact, it is said that molten magma lies just a few hundred meters beneath, Kibo, the dormant cone on whose rim lies the mountain’s summit, Uhuru peak.
It was ten by the time we had reached the top of the wall. There was little time to spare for rest today, let alone for lunch, so we took a short break for an energy bar and continued down the wall. Our knees were sore from the previous day’s descent and began to hurt even more today as we jumped down from rock to rock. Zed explained that the 12 kilometer track ahead would take us just below the Heim glacier and on through Karanga valley before we reached Barafu camp. Karanga would not only be our last water stop of the day, but would also be the last chance for anyone who had second thoughts to change their mind. A turn to the left would lead up the ridge to Barafu camp and a turn to the right would lead down to the Mweka descent camp. We were weary and our hearts were racing from the climb, but there wasn’t a doubt in our minds about which turn we were going to take.
We found ourselves climbing up the ridge to Barafu camp shortly after lunch. At 4,550 meters, the camp itself was higher than most mountains and we soon learnt that it had been named Barafu for a reason: the word meant ice in Swahili, which is about all there was to see. It was four in the afternoon by the time we had reached the camp, and with gusty winds at seven degrees below freezing, it was inhospitable to say the least. We were exhausted, but the porters diligently went on to pitch our tents for the evening. There was only room for us on a narrow ridge and the area was prone to being engulfed in clouds even under a clear moonlit sky. Zed reminded us to familiarize ourselves with the area while there was still sunlight, because one step in the wrong direction at night could mean a fall to certain death.
We had an early dinner and prepared our equipment for the climb to the summit. I checked my flashlight one last time and made sure that we had enough water in our flasks. It felt strange to retire to our sleeping bags while the sun was still up, but the 16 hour journey which lay ahead at midnight was going to be grueling and the thought itself put us to sleep.