Kilimanjaro Do-Over: An Internal Journey

What matters in life is not what happens to you, but what you remember and how you remember it.

-Gabriel Garcia Marquez

All of us wish we could go back and fix something that we didn’t quite get right in life.  Perhaps take back a misspoken word that hurt someone; or summon more courage and face a bully again; or see more clearly cunning plots around you and get the conniving bastards before they do you in; or worry less about your selfish needs and go back to give more generously at a moment when you could have made a difference.

Well, I was fortunate enough to return to get something right, something that felt worse than death the first time.   And this is an attempt to share with you what went through my mind.

In July 2009, my son Sairam and I went to climb Mt. Kilimanjaro.  He was 15 at the time.  At 19,340 ft., Kilimanjaro, we knew, was a difficult undertaking.  But we had hiked to the Everest Base Camp, 17,600 ft., the previous year when my son was 14.  We loved our time together, enjoyed meeting new and adventurous people, and got some experience with high altitudes.  So we felt we could do Kilimanjaro and wanted to do it.

When we did the Everest Base Camp trek, Sairam had to miss classes but his school was very cooperative as they regarded it as a great learning experience.  They insisted, however, that he submit a proper report on the trip .  In the fall of 2008, when I visited my family in India I read Sairam’s report to my father.  An Alzheimer’s patient, my father had me read the report to him several times.  He then told me, in a moment of clarity, that he wanted to go on such adventures himself, but was glad that we did it as his representatives. The next day, he spoke to me for twenty minutes about his second son in the U.S., without realizing that he was speaking to his second son.

The fact is that Sairam and I were not conscious of ourselves as my father’s representatives when we did the EBC trek.  But when we set out to climb Kilimanjaro, I resolved to do it in my father’s name. 

Sairam and I were grouped with Jeremy and Jessica, a couple from Minnesota.  Jeremy had been a Marine who was deployed in Iraq several times, and Jessica was a high school teacher back in Minnesota.  Our guides were Godlisten, the main guide, Christopher, a tall and strong man with a baby face, a cheerful guy called Maremè,  and young Winston. 

 

The guides and the support crew.  Sairam and Godlisten are on the left, and Christopher has his arm on my shoulder on the right.

We took the Machame route, also called the Whiskey Route (as opposed to the supposedly easier Marangu or Coca Cola route).  On the first day, you climb 4000 ft from Machame gate to Machame camp over 11 km.  The next day, another 4000 ft over 7 km to reach Shira camp.  On the third day, you climb to Lava Tower which is at about15,000 ft, and descend down to Barranco camp which is at 14,000 ft.  This day is a built-in acclimatization day as you “climb high and sleep low”.  On the fourth day, you climb the 200 m  Barranco wall,  the only time you need to use your hands for climbing during the entire Kilimanjaro climb, and continue to Karanga camp.  On the fifth day, you continue on to Barafu which is the base camp for the summit attempt.  You set out for the summit that night and, if you are lucky, reach the summit on the morning of the sixth day.  After a few minutes at the summit, you go back down to the base camp for a quick lunch and a little rest, and then continue down to Mweka camp.  On the seventh morning, you finish the remainder of the trek in a couple of hours and celebrate at Mweka gate.

 

Different routes to the Kibo peak of Mount Kilimanjaro.  Machame Route, which is the one we took, is colored red.  The numbers indicate altitude in meters.

The two main ingredients for a successful climb of Kilimanjaro are walking polé polé, “slowly, slowly” in Swahili, and drinking a lot of water.  The body goes through many changes as it acclimatizes and adapts to lower levels of oxygen at high altitudes: it produces more red blood cells and breathing becomes faster and deeper, and the metabolism generally goes up.  Walking slowly gives more time for the body to adapt.  Keeping the body hydrated in a low humidity environment and supporting increased levels of metabolism require plenty of water.  You typically drink about a liter an hour while walking, and another liter or two overnight.  We had porters to carry our gear.  Water and some power bars were the main things we had to carry in our daypacks.  I had a 3 litre Camelback pouch and two one-liter Nalgene bottles to sustain me through the daily climb.

The terrain of Kilimanjaro is absolutely fascinating.  You start the climb at about 6000 ft above sea level, in the rain forest. At about 10000 ft, the vegetation changes to heather.  A little further up, you have alpine trees and then high desert with giant cacti.  After about 15000 ft, there is just moraine and volcanic scree (gravel, dirt and some rocks) and no vegetation. 

Before my son and I went on the EBC trek, my mother and sister-in-law taught me the Maha Mrutyunjaya Mantra (or the Great Victory-Over-Death mantra) which I recite every day on my treks:

Om tryambakam yajamahe sugandhim pushti vardhanam urvarukamiva bandhanat mrutyor mukshiya mamrutat

(A shloka from the Rig Veda, it is a prayer to Lord Shiva to help overcome death.)

Who knows if it helps?  In a world full of uncertainty, reciting this mantra reminds me of my mother’s benediction and gives me strength.

And so our trek started and everything went to plan until Barranco.  After we reached Machamé  camp, Sairam  and Jeremy played catch with an American football that Sairam brought with him.  I was nursing a sore shoulder and didn’t participate, but the guides did and learned how to throw a spiral.  The climb to Shira was fine, but I felt a little strain during the acclimatization climb at Shira.  The climb to Lava Tower was not too bad, and the descent to Barranco made me feel a little stronger.  The next day, Sairam and I climbed Barranco Wall without too much difficulty, but I must have drunk a lot of water, and mistakenly thought that it was all downhill from the top of Barranco Wall to Karanga. 

You do indeed go downhill from the top of Barranco wall at first, but then there is a steady uphill trek to Karanga.  I kept drawing on the hose from my Camelback pouch but it was empty.  Soon I was walking like a zombie, disoriented but still placing one foot in front of the other.  All of a sudden Sairam appeared next to me, offered me his hose to drink water from, and let me lean on him as we kept walking.  My son crossed the line from having me take care of him to taking care of me.  After a while I felt better, and reached Karanga on my own strength. 

I was beginning to have breathing trouble and started wheezing.  I had with me a prescription of Augmentin, a fairly powerful antibiotic, and started taking it.  What was needed in addition was a steroid like prednisone to reduce the inflammation that was causing the wheeze.  But I had none.

Karanga to Barafu is a fairly short hike.  You reach Barafu by lunch time, and are advised to stay inside your tent and avoid direct sun.  You rest for the entire afternoon, have a light dinner, and sleep again until about 11 pm before starting the climb to the summit.  During the dinner, we decided to split up into two groups for the summit climb.  Sairam would go with Jeremy and Jessica, accompanied by Godlisten, Mareme and Winston.  I would leave an hour early, since I was slowing down, led by the big man Christopher. 

The summit night is brutally cold.  The temperature is usually in the range of 15 degrees F, accompanied by highly gusty winds.  I wore thermals and two layers of pants, and five layers on the top – thermals, a Sherpa pull-over and three more pullovers.  The last one was a Texas Longhorns hoodie.  (Throughout 2009 I wore the Longhorn colors on my treks as I thought they were cheated out of the opportunity to challenge Florida for the NCAA football national championship.)  Two layers of caps and then a balaclava..  Glove liners and ski gloves.  I saved a few hand-warmers for later.

Christopher and I set out at 11 pm.  Within a few minutes, I was out of breath.  Christopher stopped and said, “Catch breath!”  He would do this frequently throughout the night. 

I was among the earliest climbers to start that night.  After an hour or so, when I looked back down the mountain, I would find caravans of headlamps, swaying gently, getting closer to me.  As they passed me, there was a crunching sound under their boots, with the guides singing “polé , polé” in encouraging, soothing voices. 

It was a struggle right from the start for me.  My breathing became more labored as we kept going.  We took a few breaks to have a bite of a power bar and get a sip of water.  The power bars were getting really hard, and the water ice cold.  I packed away my trekking poles so that I could put my hands in my pockets.  I put the handwarmers in my gloves as well, but they weren’t much help for the fingers.  I had to periodically squeeze my fingers into the middle of my palms to get some of the warmth. 

Sairam and his gang eventually passed me.  I put up a brave front and said I was doing fine, and gave my camera to Sairam to get pictures at the summit.  They moved on.

My breaks became more frequent.  Christopher would peer into my eyes to see if they were glazing over.   He didn’t let me stop for more than a minute or two. 

Walking over the scree became a pain.  Every step I took I would slide back half a step, it seemed.  Christopher took a little detour, he told me, to avoid the scree and walk on firmer ground.   It was still a struggle for me.

When I looked down the mountain, there were no more caravans of headlamps.  I couldn’t find any one further up the mountain either.  I became alarmed and asked Christopher if we lost our way.  Christopher held me by my shoulders, looked into my eyes, and said, “ VJ, listen to me.  I am your guide.  I will get you to the top.”

Eventually, Christopher started grabbing my arm below the elbow and pulling me up the mountain.  Somewhere in a corner of my heart I felt this was not climbing.  But I was feeling weaker and weaker, my breathing became harder, my wheezing louder, and I just grabbed his forearm and let him pull me up the mountain. 

My Camelback pouch was below a few layers of clothing and close to my body, so the water in it did not freeze.  But the hose and the mouthpiece were not insulated, and despite my trying to blow into the hose after every sip of water, eventually the hose froze and I could not access the water in the Camelback.  I had a Nalgene bottle in the front pouch of my hoodie.  That froze too, but horizontally.  So when I turned it vertical, thankfully I could still get water out from the unfrozen half.

During the breaks, I had an unbelievable urge to close my eyes.  Just slip into sleep…  such a sweet, inviting feeling.  The ever-watchful Christopher would get me up and make me walk again.  Falling asleep is fatal: If the lack of oxygen doesn’t kill you, the cold will.   I remember thinking that whenever death comes it’s going to be a sweet, sweet feeling.

Christopher saved my life that night.  Perhaps he was sent by Mrutyunjaya Mantra.

As the day broke, we were still quite a ways from the summit.  There is a particularly steep section before reaching Stella Point, where our trail hits the rim of the crater and the mountain levels off a little with a moderately difficult 1 km left for the summit.  While climbing this steep section, I waved off Christopher’s offer to pull me up the mountain.  I felt that this was my last chance to go up the mountain with my own effort.  My brain was numb, and my climb was a crawl.  But I kept moving.

Jeremy, Jessica, Godlisten and Sairam at the summit of Mt. Kilimanjaro, with pictures of Ava, Jeremy and Jessica’s two-year old daughter.

 

From the corner of my eye, on my left, I saw Jeremy and Jessica walking down the mountain.  Apparently, they had already reached the summit and were on their way down. 

After an eternity, I reached Stella Point.  Sairam and Godlisten who were watching me from there grabbed me and pulled me up the last foot or two.  I could barely stand up on my legs.   It felt as though I did not have any bone structure to support me. 

Reaching Stella Point is considered a successful climb of Kilimanjaro, and you get a certificate saying so.  Godlisten said that as far as he was concerned, my climb was successful and that I should now go down.

Sairam urged me to keep going.  He said, “Dad, you can do it.  I’ll go back to the summit with you.”   Godlisten had sage words: “Just listen to your breathing.  You should be thinking about going down, not climbing further up.  You can do a lot of things if you are alive.”

I never want to experience again the feelings I had at that moment.  My commitment to climb the mountain in the name of my father, and the urging of my son to keep going – I wanted to do it for the generation above me and below me.  But my weak legs were telling me that Godlisten was right.  Giving up after this much effort, so close to the summit, was a devastating feeling.  Contrast this feeling with the sweet, seductive invitation of death just a few hours ago – is there any doubt that giving up was worse than death?

But I had no pride left.  I did not even have the energy to slide down the scree to go downhill.  Christopher and Mareme held my arms from either side and slid down the mountain with tears drying on my cheeks.

We continued downhill after lunch, me with the support of Mareme.   We ran into a doctor from New York City who listened to my lungs and confirmed that there was no pneumonia, just bronchitis.   As we kept losing altitude, and the amount of oxygen in the air increased, I felt more energy and started walking by myself, with Sairam by my side.   It was quite dark by the time Sairam and I reached Mweka camp. 

The next morning, we finished the remainder of the trek in a couple of hours and reached Mweka gate.  The park official who handed us our certificates said that Sairam , at 15, was one of the youngest foreigners to summit Mt. Kilimanjaro that year. 

Sairam and I cancelled the safari part of our trip, and decided to head back to the U.S. that night to take care of my condition.  At the airport, we ran into an adorable British couple.  They reached the summit one day before our group, on the wife’s 60^th birthday.  She said she had an unsuccessful attempt the previous year, so she came back again and succeeded.  I told myself that I too could do it next year.  I quickly corrected myself:  I had until I turn 60 to do it again!

****

For 2010, I decided to go back to the Himalayas and do the Markha Valley trek in Ladakh followed by a climb of Stok Kangri, which is a little over 20,000 ft high.  I have been wanting to go to Ladakh for many years now.  Everyone I know who has been there sings its praises, the pictures show surreal landscapes, and the Buddhist people of the region are known for their kindness and hospitality. 

This time around, I did not want any disappointments and trained really hard.  Sairam became my trainer and put me on a weight-lifting routine.  I took cycling classes at the gym, some times two a day.  I added yoga and swimming to my regimen.  And I started climbing up and down the steepest hill in Holmdel Park 10-15 times, which took about an hour.  I counted each of these activities as a unit, and would do two units in the morning and two in the evening.  Say weights and cycling in the morning, and hill-climbing and yoga in the evening.  I did at least 15 minutes of Pranayam everyday – the next best thing to replicating the low oxygen environment of high altitudes for my training.  By the end of April 2010, I lost a lot of weight, looked fit and felt great. 

The Ladakh trek was scheduled for August, and I continued with my training.  Sairam wouldn’t be able to go with me this time because of football practice at school. 

For the Fourth of July, we went to visit my wife Gretchen’s folks in Iowa.  I went out cycling every day, and did a 70 mile ride from Oelwein to Elkader and back over the rolling hills of northeastern Iowa.  I did it in 7 hours, including lunch and other breaks, and felt I could go farther.  As I did yoga that evening, I wished I were climbing Stok Kangri the next day.

Oh, how I wish the climb were the next day.  As August rolled in, two days before my planned date of departure to India, I got word that there were devastating flash floods in beautiful Ladakh.  Hundreds died, the airport was taken over for relief activities, and my trek was cancelled. 

I started looking for an alternative climb.  I contacted the tour company with whom I did the Kilimanjaro climb the previous year.  Could they accommodate me with any group going up the mountain soon?  Yes, a group was leaving 10 days later, on August 18, and so I signed up.  Fate gave me a second chance to take care of some unfinished business.

But there was some drama left yet before going on the trek. 

Two days before leaving for Tanzania, I went for a light workout at the gym and ended up hurting myself.  As I was putting away some weights on the rack, I leaned a little bit to the left to avoid a guy who was in front of the rack.  In a fraction of a second, my lower back and hip went “click,” my legs gave in and I just had to sit down.  Everyone around me could tell that I was hurt. I pulled myself together, did some stretching, and hoped it would go away.  I even drove up to North Jersey to get some gear I needed for the trek.  But my back only got worse.  It was a Saturday and I couldn’t find a doctor or my chiropractor. 

I sent mail to my yoga teachers Jamie and Dina asking if they can help.  Dina recommended some exercises but I found it difficult to do them.

Sairam has a friend at school whose father is a retired chiropractor.  I went to see him that night.  He told me that I had a pinched nerve, and that the next 48 hours would tell how serious it was.  He asked me to ice the back and stretch every half hour, which I did.

When I woke up on Sunday morning, I got off the bed as usual to go to the bathroom.  My legs gave in instantly and I could not even stand up.  And I thought, how the hell am I going to take that 18-hour flight to Tanzania, much less climb Kilimanjaro?  However, a little more ice and stretching seemed to improve my back that morning. 

That day, with the help of my brother-in-law Balu, I was able to reach Chinna Jeeyar Swamy, the revered Hindu religious leader from South India, who happened to be touring the U.S. at that time.  He took my call while on the road to Washington, D.C.,  and spoke to me for seven full minutes about my trek, my previous experience, whether the climb was technical or not, the number of days I would be on the mountain, and so on, and then gave me his blessings.  That gave me spiritual strength that I believe was of immense help over the next few days.

On Monday morning, I felt well enough to do the exercises for my back and hip that Dina gave me.  I went to my chiropractor for an adjustment.  Whatever happens, I was going to get on that plane in the evening.

I kept stretching my back throughout the flight, and moved around the plane a lot.  By the end of the flight, I actually felt better than when I got on it.

I reached Tanzania on Tuesday evening, and the trek started Wednesday morning.  I was pleasantly surprised that my lead guide was again Godlisten!  However, Christopher was not on his team this time.  Joseph, a sage man older than Godlisten took his place.  Joseph was the only guy on the team who would advise Godlisten from time to time instead of just taking orders.  Mareme and Winston remembered Sairam and playing catch with the football.

The rest of my group consisted of four young women.  Three of them – Stephanie, Kris and Rachel -- were from Los Angeles, and were in the television industry.  The fourth person, Heather, was from Montana, an electrical engineering graduate from Duke University who made a career change and became a physical therapist.  I thought, Great, if something should happen to my back on the trek!

As we started our trek, I recited Mrutyunjaya Mantra as is my habit.  However, this time I defined for myself “death” not only as it pertains to my physical body, but also to my goal of reaching the summit.  For failure to reach the summit would certainly kill some part of me.

On the first day, we climbed the 4000 ft. to Machame camp without any difficulty.  I felt a pinch in my back every once in a while, just to remind me that I had a problem there, but it wasn’t bad.  I did my stretches that evening and the next morning.  The second day we made it to Shira camp, climbing another 4000 feet.  I didn’t even feel that pinch, and my back didn’t bother me for the rest of the trek.

These four girls were great to have for company.  They were witty, brave, supported each other very well, and became known among the other climbers as “the Four American Girls.”  Stephanie had an upset stomach and stomach cramps on the first day, which got worse on the second and third day.  She kept going and eventually got better.  Rachel had a bad knee and would wrap it with a towel and pour ice water on it every evening – her version of torture by water boarding!  Heather had a terrific sense of humor and was amazingly flexible.  Kris got interested in a hot Spanish guy who was in a different group but on the same route, and her stalking provided for a lot of entertainment for the rest of us. 

With the Four American Girls, Heather, Kris, Stephanie and Rachel atop Barranco Wall.  Kibo peak in the backdrop.

All my training helped.  No problems all the way past Barranco, Karanga and on to Barafu.    I tried to identify the spot between Barranco wall and Karanga where I got into trouble and my son rescued me, but I couldn’t.  I must have been completely dazed and confused when it happened. 

This time around, the moon was in the waxing phase, very close to full moon.  I got some nice pictures of Kibo peak by moonlight from Barranco camp and Karanga camp.  (I bit the bullet and bought a nice camera for this trek, a Pentax K-7 which has a solid, magnesium alloy construction and is dust proof -- perfect for notoriously dusty Kilimanjaro.)

 

I woke up around 2 am at Karanga Camp, and found this spectacular view outside my tent (on the left).

 

I was better prepared this time because of my previous experience.  I brought with me heavy weight thermals, and a proper winter jacket.  In addition to the  antibiotic prescription, I brought some prednisone tablets.  And I used Advair spray daily as a prophylactic to prevent breathing problems.  I made sure that I got a hose with thermal insulation for my Camelback pouch.  I packed plenty of handwarmers and footwarmers in case my fellow trekkers didn’t have any. 

On the summit night, we all started together at midnight.  I did not feel the breathlessness that I felt on the previous attempt.  The wind was quiet at first but picked up later. I took a few breaks to take pictures of Kili by moonlight.  Godlisten was very attentive to me, the oldest person in the group, and wanted to make sure that I succeeded this time. Whenever I needed to take a break, he would provide me cover by announcing to everyone, “Water break!” 

I loved climbing by my own strength this time.  The definitive memory from that night is my heart going “boom, boom,” as though it wanted to explode out of my chest, and my breathing pattern: In, in, through the nose and out, out, through the mouth.  The climb that night was unquestionably the most difficult thing that I ever did, physically, in my life. 

This time around, Mrutyunjaya Mantra did not need to send me a savior like Christopher, but helped me keep my focus.  I recited it in my mind each time the going got really tough.  When I was tired and out of breath, gathering the mantra from my memory was slow, but I persisted.  One particular time, all of a sudden, instead of Mrityunjaya Mantra, I found myself reciting the Gayathri Mantra:

Om bhur bhuvah svah tat savitur varenyam bhargo devasya dhimahi dhiyo yonah prachodayat

(Also from Rig Veda, this is a meditation on the glory of the Creator so he may enlighten our intellect.)

I then summoned my memory to recite the correct mantra.  This periodic mental exercise that night prevented my mind from drifting and getting disoriented. 

Daybreak near Stella Point

We were slightly below Stella Point at day-break, and I got some nice shots of the sun rising above the clouds. As we passed Stella Point, we did not even pause, and I did not want to think about what happened here last year.  All I remember is that it was a little breezy there this time.  The climb to the summit from Stella Point was not too difficult.  This is where you see the glaciers, which they say are receding and may disappear in 15-20 years.

What would I feel when I reach the summit, I wondered.  Sairam and Jessica told me the previous year that people got pretty emotional when they got up there.  When I got there myself, I felt nothing.  Just an empty feeling.  Knowing that there is no more left to climb.  And yes, relief that it was over.  It was about 9 am.  There were hugs and congratulations and thanks all around, and plenty of pictures.

Believe it or not, there is cell phone coverage, albeit spotty, on Kilimanjaro.  When we found signal on the way back, I borrowed Godlisten’s phone and called Sairam.  He just listened to me as I told him to tell mom that I made it to the top, and responded, “Dad, can I go back to bed?”  Merely hearing his voice did something to me.  My emotions were now unlocked and tears just flowed uncontrollably, and I walked ahead of everyone else so no one could see.

Godlisten congratulated me, and said that if he were guiding me the previous year, and I had gone pole pole, I could probably have reached the summit.  He was criticizing Christopher for not guiding me properly.  Whereas I think Christopher is the reason I am alive.  Was it my training or Godlisten’s expertise that helped me get to the top?  Who knows?  I said nothing.

On the way back, the girls were elated and discussing whether they thought they could make it.  When they asked me, I said I had no doubt.  I was going to keep climbing even if it was going to kill me.  And I meant it.  I’d rather that they dragged my dead body down the mountain, than experience that horrible feeling of giving up again.

If you reach the summit at daybreak, you can get back to the high camp at Barafu by 9 am or so.  But we got to the summit at 9 am.  It was close to 1 pm by the time we returned to the camp.  We all ran out of water on the way back.  Godlisten had the good sense to send someone ahead of us and bring back some pineapple juice drink from Barafu.  The sun and the intense radiation heat were bearing down on us.  Since we left at night, I did not pack sunscreen lotion or chapstick and my lips were really chapped .  That pineapple juice in the shade of a rock was the best drink I ever had in my life. 

While climbing, as in any major undertaking in life, there are innumerable opportunities for one to give up.   When does the willpower to doggedly go forward become foolhardiness?  Obviously, training makes a difference and pushes that line out.  The will to climb is nothing without the will to train.  But there is also an intangible inside each of us that is a driver.  In my case, it was the loathing for the weakness I felt on my previous attempt on one side, and the spiritual strength I felt imparted to me on the other side. 

Kilimanjaro is not the only way to test one’s limits, but it was to me.  Now I have a fuller appreciation for Teddy Roosevelt’s quote:

“It is not the critic who counts: not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles or where the doer of deeds could have done better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood, who strives valiantly, who errs and comes up short again and again, because there is no effort without error or shortcoming, but who knows the great enthusiasms, the great devotions, who spends himself for a worthy cause; who, at the best, knows, in the end, the triumph of high achievement, and who, at the worst, fails while daring greatly, so that his place shall never be with those cold and timid souls who knew neither victory nor defeat. “

I am grateful that I experienced both defeat and victory, in that order.

Post Script

Let’s not forget that Ladakh helped me.  It was my desire to go there that motivated me to train hard.  My heart sinks when I think of what happened to the Ladakhi people in the floods.  I plan to go there in the summer of 2011.  I will organize a fund-raising bicycle ride from Manali to Leh, which will take us over several Himalayan passes.  Once in Leh, we will work with Habitat for Humanity and its partners to donate labor and take part in rebuilding houses which were destroyed in the floods.  And then perhaps climb Stok Kangri.  Anyone interested?


Photo Credits

First three photos:  Jessica Miller
Rest of the photos: Vijay Kumar