Or listen to this story – 6:07

Before the snows of Kilimanjaro melt, we must reach the top of Africa. After all, it is a magic place.  

Yet we started small, or a bit smaller at least, with 4,566 metre (14,980 feet) Mount Meru, Kilimanjaro’s little brother.

Mount Meru would allow us to test the heights, to fuel our blood with oxygen. Best of all, a day after arriving we were walking with giraffes and waltzing amongst the WartHogs, getting both a bonus safari and a bonus peak before we headed for the true heights of Africa.

And Mount Meru had huts and dining halls and terraces over the jungle; to eat well, sleep well and look out over the plains of Africa. As the sun set our first night, the birds, weary from an enthusiastic day of welcoming us with trills and rhapsodies amongst the thick jungle trees, kindly faded away and we lay back on our mats in the mountain huts and slept the night away.

We climbed higher the next day, leaving the thick jungle and moving into the forest, then on to loosely clad trees streaming with Tarzan vines. As the day faded, three members opted for the added climb of nearby Little Meru, with Ian, Jasper and Phoebe enthusiastically scaling the heights, 300 metres (984 feet) above us. Their photos made us jealous and the rest of us wanted the heights to be ours as well. 

Yet as my friend Paul Teare was often heard to say when we climbed on the Kangshung Face of Everest together and was certainly applied here: “This ain’t just another poncy California climbing holiday.” 

Oh no.

So setting off at 2 a.m. on day 2.5, we stomped up into the heights of Mount Meru, with the summit somewhere in the cold and dark 1,000 metres (3,280 feet) above us. 

As the darkness turned to grayness, we entered a land of sloping slabs and dangling chains to guide our way, long before the equatorial sun rose in blazing deep orange behind the looming Kilimanjaro. The sun shot light and fire across the earth, while the jungle was still black below, and our ridge cut into the blue sky above. 

With a final fun scramble up the volcanic cragginess we topped out on our first objective, Mount Meru. As most of  us had gone from sea level to the heights in 3 days, it both opened our lungs and heightened our confidence for the snows of Kilimanjaro.

We retreated rapidly, wading again past the WartHogs, the Water Buffalo and perhaps the ever shy Leopard we never quite saw. We headed for the Keys Hotel, where showers, clean sheets, and an evening dip in the pool surrounded by palms and a few cold beverages more than refreshed our spirits. 

Our acclimatization up into the heights on Mount Meru now allowed us to ascend the Umbwe route, described as the steepest and the most elegant route to the Top of Africa. It is undoubtably has some of the most exquisite days of walking on any of the Seven Summits of the World.

A first day in the jungle immersed us at Cave Camp, walking in through mist and clouds, shaded moss and dripping vines leading to our tents perched on terraces amongst the dark forest. The dining tent held fresh leek soup, bar-b-qued chicken and boiled potatoes with a platter of watermelon, mango and something African and melonish like to remind us we were far away. And always a banana or two, recently picked from the trees below us on our approach.

The trail up to the Barranco, under the ice pillars of the Breach Wall, started abruptly the next day, before rapidly climbing up onto the ridge, volcanic valleys falling away steeply below. Kilimanjaro was now, as our guide described it, a shy mountain, hiding in the mist and clouds far above us. 

Our team of 11, ranging from 16 to 70 in age, were quickly adapting to the heights. With a range of experience from the streets of Manhattan to the steeper mountains of the world, we scrambled forth through the Barranco Wall the following day. The mountain dropped precipitously away below our feet, while the trail traversed terraces and climbed through volcanic rifts, leading us easily but spectacularly upward.

At Karanga Camp the temperature dipped, the warm jackets came out. At dawn, just to remind us of our move into the heights, rivulets of frost dotted the tents.

A short day then led us up through stones and scree, the glaciers towering just overhead, to the heights of Barafu Camp (4,673 metres, 15,331 feet), our final summit sleep for the night.

We were off again at 2 a.m. headlamps leading us up the rocky trail. Fueled by porridge and coffee, we trundled upwards, through the sleepy hours of 4 a.m. and 5 a.m. before the first, slim band of orange touched the horizon, curving away into darkness on the fringes of the sky. 

We turned towards the sun, deep orange in a sliver of the horizon, building to deep orange in a line, to deep orange in a blaze, that soon had the sun exploding out on the far horizon to greet us – a burning orange bowl lighting up the sky. 

When the sun hit we were awake, we were sipping hot coffee and tea brought up by our guides, we were munching on Chia bars and eating fresh apples.

Yet our first goal, the rim of the crater and Stella point still rose above us, the altitude awakening our breath, while steps slowed as we weaved through the scree and up to the crater. 

The view expanded across to the snowfields, the ice cliffs and the immense crater scooped out in front of us. Only the wander — the long wander — along the rim was left. 

With lungs now working overtime, we curved over and around a rock band, then past the sculpted towers of ice draped along the rim of the crater, the last remaining snows of Kilimanjaro.

The view south was expansive, never ending, superlatives dotted our exclamations . The ice pillars we walked amongst extended into brown and black stubbled volcanic rock  Then forest extended black underneath the clouds, hovering in a gray and white rolling sheet across the earth far below us.  

Then finally, finally, the summit.

With a final dash, in slow motion. A cheer or more, finishing the tea, chomping down another apple. There were smiles all around, there were worthy congrats, there were high fives and there was fun fatigue, the kind you feel at the top of a superb climb where everyone is successful, everyone reaches the top.

By nightfall we were already touching the forest, nestled amongst the trees of Millennium Camp, 2,000 metres below the summit. 11 of our team with our 5 African guides had set off for the roof of Africa and all 16 of us stood atop Kilimanjaro.

Now 16 weary and happy bodies settled into their tents, happy to be back to the horizontal. 

Just after dawn the the next morning, the trail led us down, and down and down (how had we climbed so high), back through the forest, to the jungle to the final track of a 1,000 big steps, back to civilization.

Yet in just 10 days we’d touched a mountain that had taken us from the equatorial jungle to the equivalent of ice at the North Pole. 

We had climbed through an immense part of all the earth offers us, going from the bottom to the top of Africa, now condensed into such a short part of our life, leaving footsteps in the final melting snows of Kilimanjaro.  

From an ascent of Little Meru, Big Meru and the Umbwe Route to the summit of Kilimanjaro by all 11 members and 5 guides of the Jagged Globe team, led by Robert Anderson. September 2024.