What is it about turning fifty that makes someone want to do something completely crazy? It never occurred to me to hike the Inca Trail, scuba dive with sharks or climb Mount Kilimanjaro when I was in my thirties. Maybe fifty is a wake up call…as if to say “you better do something special because you may be running out of time”. With that in mind the trip to take on Mount Kilimanjaro was booked and in a few short months we would be off to Tanzania.

My much younger wife, Julie, ran a marathon seven years ago and it never ceases to amaze me how she manages to work this accomplishment into everyday conversation. Say we are at a cocktail party and someone mentions having read a good book. She might say something like “Oh…I read that book back in ’99 while I was training for my marathon”. To her credit, Julie has religiously maintained her fitness level. I, on the other hand, had not done any serious exercising for over a year so ninety days before the trip, I started a crash course, jogging three to four miles every afternoon; rain or shine.

While we tried to cram in as much cardio training in as possible, there was not much we could do to prepare for the altitude. “To prepare for Kilimanjaro, try to do as many day hikes as possible between 6,000 and 9,000 feet” the travel agency advised. Very difficult to do when you live in Birmingham, Alabama (elevation 800 feet) so it looks like we would have to rely on diamox.

At 19,340 feet, Kilimanjaro is the world’s highest freestanding mountain and one of the coveted Seven Summits. Although it is higher than three of the others; Mount Vinson (Antarctica), Mount Elbrus (Europe) and Mount Kosciuszko (Australia) it is one of the most accessible peaks because it does not require crampons, ice picks or technical climbing experience. Still, it is a mountain that must be taken seriously and, depending on what guide book you read, only one-third to one-half of the people that attempt Kilimanjaro make it to the summit.

Base Camp for Kilimanjaro is the Marangu Hotel, a one hundred year old former coffee plantation situated on twelve acres of beautifully maintained grounds on the southern slope of the mountain. There are several routes to the summit and we had chosen the Rongai which originates close to the Kenyan border. The Rongai Route is more remote and less crowded than the more common Marangu Route and promised majestic views as it traverses through five distinct vegetation zones.

Prior to setting out for the Rongai Gate we met with owners of the hotel, Desmond (a former Canadian attorney) and his brother Shamus (a former London cop) for our pre-climb briefing. Shamus started the meeting saying that by attempting this climb in seven days we would be “breaking all of the rules of mountaineering” and went on to describe morbid details of pulmonary and cerebral edema, both of which can be fatal. “You will most likely experience some form of altitude sickness” Shamus warned. “Severe headaches, nosebleeds, shortness of breath, loss of appetite and uncontrolled vomiting are common.” “But don’t fear this” Shamus said. “Embrace it…it is normal”. And we paid for this, I thought? Shamus ended his presentation on a high note when he said “25,000 attempt Kili each year and while less than half make it, only about twenty-five die trying.” So much for the pep talk.

Following the briefing, it was time to meet our guide, our assistant guide and our thirteen porters. Our chief guide, Honest Minja, one of the best known guides on Kili, was featured in the IMAX film, Kilimanjaro and is also credited with taking the youngest person ever to the summit, an eleven year old American boy. This would be the sixty-third summit attempt for Honest. Our assistant guide, Charlie would be making his seventieth trip. Samson, a young porter training to be a guide, would also accompany us to the summit.

Tanzania is one of the poorest countries in the world and while porters earn far more that the average per capita income of $40 per month, their mortality rate is alarmingly high. Many do not own adequate cold weather clothing as it is expensive and difficult to find at the equator. Forced to sleep in cold and wet open conditions, several die each year of exposure. I was relieved that our team all had tents to sleep in and plenty to eat.

The three hour drive from the hotel to the Rongai Gate passed quickly as we traveled through several small villages. The bumpy and dusty road was filled with hundreds of women walking to market with huge banana bunches balanced on their heads. Small children would waive to us and call out “pepe” the Swahili word for candy. Fortunately, we had anticipated this and loaded up on several hundred Pixie Sticks at the Birmingham Wal-Mart to hand out. Once we arrived at the gate (elevation 6,000 feet) we signed the official Kilimanjaro log book and set out. A very leisurely four hours later, we arrived at our first camp (elevation 8,500 feet) and saw the tent that would be our home for the next six nights.

Spirits were high that evening as the first leg seemed rather easy. The next day’s trek to Kikelewa Caves (elevation 11,300 feet), however, would slap us back to reality. Throughout the nine hour hike, the terrain changed several times from plowed corn fields to rain forest to desert moorlands. Honest was constantly encouraging us to drink as much water as we could for acclimation and to take it “pole pole” which means “slowly” in Swahili. “You can not reach the top if you climb too quickly.” After about five hours, the boredom set in and Julie and I came up with word games to help pass the time. “Rock bands in alphabetical order” I suggested and immediately threw out ABBA. “ABBA?” Julie taunted. “Is that the best you can do?” “You couldn’t think of Aerosmith?” She was clearly trying to get in my head but I was not about to let it happen. “Beatles” she countered which I have to admit trumped the Beastie Boys that I had come up with. “The Cars” “Devo” “The Eagles” “Foghat” she said. “Foghat?” I said laughing. “And you gave me hell for ABBA?” Now I had her on the defensive. And so it went until we reached the dreaded “X” and “Z” letters. “Is Frank Zappa a rock Band?” World capitals followed rock bands. Julie had finally had enough when I suggested sports teams and we trudged the final two hours in silence.

Kilimanjaro rises in two volcanic peaks. Kibo, the giant glacier capped volcano and Mawenzi, a jagged and fierce looking peak. Day three took us another five hours to Mawenzi Tarn (elevation 14,200 feet) located adjacent to a crystal clear pond and a 1,000 foot sheer rock wall at the base of Mawenzi. Here we would spend the next two nights in an attempt to acclimate as much as possible. “Make sure you keep you water bottles inside the tent at night or they will freeze” Honest advised.

On the fourth day, we took a day hike up the little traveled west side of Mawenzi. With the cold fog blocking the view of our tents below, it seemed as though we were in the most remote place on earth. If a film studio went searching for a location to shoot a science fiction movie depicting life in another galaxy, this would be the place. When we reached 15,000 feet (higher than Everest Base Camp) Honest showed us the climber’s tradition of arranging softball sized rocks to spell out names on the mountain. While Julie arranged rocks to form “T.S.”, the initials shared by our two children, Tanner and Taylor, I spelled out the name “Papa Jack”, in tribute to my father who passed away five years ago. It was comforting to know that very few, if any, people would ever see our handiwork in this remote place and therefore it was likely that the rocks would stay undisturbed for decades.

At about 2:00 am back at the camp, I reluctantly left the tent for a bathroom break and was treated to a pitch black sky filled with millions of stars beaming from horizon to horizon; one so thick that it had to be the Milky Way. I woke Julie and tried my best to get her to go out and look but the freezing temperature won out causing her to let me know that it would be a cold day in Kibo before she left the relative warmth of her sleeping bag.

We were happy to see the sun come up on day five as we had grown tired of Mawenzi and were anxious to get to Kibo Hut. About thirty minutes into the hike, Honest and Charlie slowed down and allowed us to take the lead. Having hiked this route many times, they knew the scene that awaited us just over a mound of boulders. After climbing over the rocks, there, under a perfect blue sky, was Kibo. For the first time, we actually saw the summit and the huge glaciers that framed the flat top peak. Kilimanjaro is so large that it makes its own weather and we were very fortunate to catch this view at a cloudless time. Fifteen minutes after we snapped a picture, the entire peak was covered in clouds.

The hike from Mawenzi to Kibo Hut was supposed to take seven to eight hours but we must have caught our second wind as we made the journey in just under five. The hike is over what is referred to as the saddle, and resembles what the moon must be like with dark gray scree, huge scattered boulders and no vegetation.

Upon our arrival at Kibo Hut (altitude 15,850 feet) the first thing we witnessed was a climber being strapped to a one-wheeled gurney for transport back down the mountain. Kibo is where acute altitude sickness kicks in for many climbers and can result in severe headaches, lack of appetite and nausea. We felt bad for the unfortunate climber who looked young and fit and wondered how we were adapting to the altitude so well. After an early, bland spaghetti and bean dinner, we retired to the tent about 4:30 to try to go to sleep as Honest would be coming to wake us at 11:00 pm for our summit attempt.

Nights are cold at Kibo Hut forcing us to sleep in several layers of clothing. At 11:00 pm the call came and we turned on our headlamps in the dark tent and starting getting prepared. Two pairs of long underwear, a pair of hiking pants, topped with waterproof ski pants. Three pair of thermal socks and heavy boots. Two long underwear tops, a ski shirt, a fleece jacket and ski jacket. Two pairs of gloves with chemical hand warmers tucked inside. A neck and ear warmer and a wool hat topped with our headlamp.

After a quick biscuit and a cup of hot tea, we nervously set out. Using only the light of our headlamps, it was impossible to see anything but the few feet in front of us. Charlie led the way with Honest and Samson following behind me and Julie.

I had read numerous blogs and diaries from other climbers about what was ahead of us and I thought I was mentally prepared for the agony. Several writers described summit day as “excruciating” so I knew going in that this was not going to be a walk in the park.

As time dragged on we continued to put one foot in front of the other. Your mind can play tricks on you at this altitude and hundreds of random thoughts fought for my attention as we moved silently up the steep face of the mountain. I found myself writing new lyrics to old songs. To keep me going I tried to think happy thoughts and pictured a celebration dinner with my family at our favorite white tablecloth restaurant sipping on a nice glass of Bordeaux and toasting our success. I came back to this image time and time again and it helped get me through the first few hours.

On two occasions, we were passed by climbers that seemed to be racing up the mountain. “Don’t worry”, Honest said. “You will make it to the top before they will.” Sure enough, an hour later the same poor souls that looked so indestructible on the way up had abandoned their attempt and passed us on the way back to camp; one with a severe nosebleed and the other holding his head and vomiting. “Tortoises two…hares zero” said Julie. Even in my misery, I had to laugh at that one.

As it got steeper and colder our next goal was to make it to Gilman’s Point, the top of the crater rim at 18,650 feet. As a fiftieth birthday present, Julie had bought me an altimeter and I was constantly checking it to gauge our progress. After what seemed like an eternity, I looked down to see we were at 18,100 feet. Sensing we were close to Gilman’s asked a German guide, who had apparently joined up with us, how much further it was to Gilman’s. Expecting to hear twenty to thirty minutes, my heart sank when he said “just over two hours”.

For the first time in five days, serious doubt hit me and I sank into a deep depression. The next two hours are a blur but I just kept putting one foot in front of the other. At some point, the scree was replaced by bus-sized boulders and the walking turned to climbing. Finally, as I slowly crawled over yet another boulder a strong wind slapped me square in the face. We had arrived at Gilman’s Point on the rim of the crater. Honest handed me a cup of tea and wanted to get a picture of me and Julie at the Gilman sign. I stumbled over with Julie and my new German friend and tried to smile as the camera flashed in the darkness. I could not eat anything or even drink a drop of the tea. I needed to drink some water but was too weak to even attempt to get the bottle out of my backpack.

While Uhuru Peak, the true summit, is only 690 feet higher than Gilman’s Point, it is another two and a half hours further, following the narrow crater rim. Thirty percent of the people that make it to Gilman’s Point turn back here and never reach the true summit. When told this at our briefing, I found it hard to understand how someone could come this far and turn back so close to the top but now I understood. The thought of getting down the mountain was overwhelming.

Before the trip, Julie and I had a pact that if one of us became sick or had to turn back, the other would continue alone. The thought of her making it and having her picture taken without me was all the motivation I needed to continue. “Did I ever tell you about the time I ran a marathon and summited Kilimanjaro while my husband passed out in the tent?” So, after a few miserable minutes at Gilman’s, we started out for the final push to Uhuru Peak.

Soon after leaving Gilman’s Point, Julie saw a shooting star blaze across the black sky. “That is a sign that we are going to make it” she said. Unfortunately I missed it as I was busy staring at my boots and concentrating on staying upright.

An hour later, the sun came up giving us a much needed boost. This had to be one of the most spectacular sunrises in the world but we were too exhausted and too sick to even attempt to get our camera out and capture it. At over 18,000 feet each step is a battle and several times I had to lean up against a boulder to rest. To our right was the huge dormant volcano crater bottom and to our left, a field of white glacier. Each year, a couple of climbers, most likely due to fatigue, lose their footing here and slide to their death down into the glacier.

Just when I thought I could not take another step, Julie grabbed my arm and pointed to the sign at the summit. I had seen pictures of the rather non-descript sign many times and dreamed of having our picture taken in front of it. It was only about ¼ mile away but it seems like it took forever to reach it.

At 7:30 am, we finally reached the Rooftop of Africa. From out of nowhere came tears of relief and an overpowering sense of accomplishment surged through me. We still had a long day ahead…we had to get down… but at least we had made it to the top and no one could take that away.

After hugging first Honest, then Charlie, then Samson and finally Julie, I stood and looked down at the plains of Tanzania and Kenya. Honest was anxious to get a picture with us at the sign and Charlie took camera duty. After thirty minutes of rest, we started the eight hour hike down to our next camp.

While the final ascent took eight hours, the decent back down to Kibo Hut only took three. On the way up, it is necessary to climb in a zig zag pattern and to go slow but coming down, we were free to take a more direct line, basically skiing down the scree on the heels of our boots using two ski poles.

Arriving back at Kibo, the temptation to climb back in the tent was powerful but Honest warned us not to. “Once you lay down…its over and we will never make it to our next camp”. So, after a light lunch, we took off for our final camp five hours away down the less scenic but easier Marangu Route.

There was definitely a bounce in our step treking downhill and passing climbers coming up the mountain. We knew that we had survived the ordeal they were getting ready to face. Some would stop us and ask what it was like. “Its not so bad…just go slow and you can make it” we would say in our most encouraging voice. But looking into the hollow faces we knew that some had a zero chance. Julie stopped and gave our remaining diamox pills to two American boys who at 13,000 feet were already suffering from mountain sickness.

After arriving at our final camp at about 4:00 pm, we nibbled at our dinner and crashed in the tent. By 4:30 we were both asleep and did not wake up until 6:30 the next morning…fourteen straight hours.

While getting ready for our last hike, I asked Julie about the German guide that joined us on the mountain. “What are you talking about?” she asked. “There was no German guide…it was just you, me, Charlie, Honest and Samson”. “Are you completely crazy?” I asked. “He was with us for two hours all the way to Gilman’s Point”. “I can prove it…he is in the picture”. Grabbing the camera, I searched the disk and came to the picture Honest made at Gillman’s. Only Julie and me with a blank stare on my face.

After breakfast, we hiked the final six hours to the Marangu Gate. Charlie led us to the ranger station to sign the “Uhuru” book signifying that we had reached the summit. Then we loaded in the back of a pick-up truck for the short twenty minute ride back to the hotel. “How much would someone have to pay you to turn around and go back up?” Julie asked. My immediate response was that Bill Gates could not afford it. “Would you climb this again or run another marathon?” I asked. “I would rather run a marathon every week for a year than do this again” she said. We both agreed that the climb was physically and mentally the most difficult thing we had ever done, multiplied by a hundred.

The porters and guides have a tradition of toasting the climbers that make it to the summit so back at the hotel we ordered rounds of Kilimanjaro Beer and Safari Lager for our team. A happy climber is a bigger tipper so everyone was in a celebratory mood. Honest told us that the porters wager on whether or not clients will make it. The early betting line had me as a favorite over Julie. Because she is a vegetarian, they did not think she would be able to eat enough. Their nickname for her was “mtoto” which in Swahili means “baby”. Julie, of course, proved them wrong.

After the beers were served, Honest, Charlie and the porters surprised us by breaking into their Kilimanjaro song. Watching these hard working men and boys laugh and sing after carrying all of our food and equipment up and down the mountain was amazing. In gratitude, we decided to leave most of our cold weather clothing and gear for them to divide, figuring they could get more use out of it than we could.

After a couple more beers and hugs all around, we left the hotel for Arusha and our first shower in seven days. I told Honest and Charlie that I would never forget them and not a day goes by that I do not think of them and of the mountain.

Three days later, after a stay at one of Tanzania’s famous safari lodges, we were on a twelve passenger plane from Kilimanjaro airport back to Nairobi. Julie and I, along with a couple from Cincinnati, were the only passengers so we took the first row. A few minutes after takeoff the pilot turned around and announced “If you will look to your right, you will see Mount Kilimanjaro, the tallest freestanding mountain in the world”. The plane was at 9,000 feet and it was surreal looking out of the window up to the ice covered summit, over 10,000 feet higher. Julie looked at me and said “can you believe we climbed that?” Put this down as one of the best moments of my life.

When we first came off the mountain I said that my short mountain climbing career was over and I meant it. I had made it to the top, lived to tell about it, got the picture and the T-shirt. But as time went on, I found that I could not get the mountain out of my mind. The cold, the pain and the miserable memories were erased and all that was left was joy. So much so than less than a month later, plans for a trip to Russia and an attempt of Mount Elbrus have been made…we leave in July. Now all I have to do is start jogging and work on my word game skills. Does anyone know a rock band that starts with “X”?