Wednesday, July 5, 2023; Day 6

I slept okay last night with long periods awake, turning a story over in my mind, the details of which I’ve since forgotten. At 5:50am I sat up when I heard the coffee crew preparing their hot water, and Jason broke the night’s silence with a joke: “You’re like a dog waiting for his treat.” I laughed out loud.

It’s cold out. The thermometer says the tent is around 35F, but my bathroom trip at midnight wasn’t too bad. I should’ve worn my glasses to better see the constellations, but the bright full moon would’ve spoiled it somewhat anyway. It was so bright I didn’t even need my flashlight for the walk to the toilet tent.

Respicius left early to hike ahead and find out if anything can be done about our unsuccessful reservation at the Kosovo/Respicius camp. I assume that some sort of bribe is involved. If we can’t stay at Kosovo, we’ll have to base camp at Barafu instead. The advantage of continuing past Barafu to Kosovo that base camping at the latter results in an easier summit day with 700 feet less climb. Kosovo is a smaller specialty camp; in our initial briefing, Respicius told us that he’d helped establish the site in the 90s. It was apparently contentious among the different factions of tour companies on the mountain and was nicknamed “Kosovo” in light of the ongoing Kosovo war in Europe. Now, more than 20 years later, that conflict is long over and Respicius said he’d petitioned that they rename the camp after him. As with many of his stories, we can’t really tell if he’s pulling our leg. I’m resigned to either and not getting my hopes up for a last minute save… we’ve come this far, and we can handle either.

Sunrise at Karanga is beautiful, and my brother is fixated on a strange visual phenomenon where there’s a giant triangle in the sky. I’m convinced that it’s somehow a shadow of the mountain, although I can’t really figure out the mechanics of it.

Breakfast was uneventful and the first two hours of slow and steep hiking passed in a blink as I zoned out and just let the rhythm guide me. One step after another, pole pole. “Pole Pole” is perhaps the most common mantra on Kili, meaning “slowly, slowly”, and while our pace has always been slow, it’s getting slower, and our pace tomorrow to the summit will be so slow as to seem like a parody of movement.

At hour three, on a mostly featureless uphill plain, a radio call reveals that not only have we been cleared all the way to Kosovo, but also the last three of our trekmate’s luggage had arrived and was on its way up the mountain. There was much rejoicing.

Along the way, we watched two helicopters fly by — one for a medical evac and one allegedly for the son of some government minister or something, who’d summitted but didn’t want to hike out.

We arrive at Barafu just after 11 and are led in a song at the sign:

After a short water break in the Barafu camp (where I peed in the outhouse/pit latrine, tl;dr: pretty gross), we continued on up a steep rock wall where our hands were as important as our poles. This would’ve been a brutal climb to try to do in the dark at 3am had we been forced to base camp at Barafu.

Along the way, we encountered our first two finishers (Canadians) who were on their way back down to their base camp at Barafu, looking tired but happy after a 12 hour day.

The lunchtime hike was a relatively short one (around an hour) and we soon arrived at our makeshift camp just outside the official Kosovo camp entrance. Our position along the trail lets us watch as other groups pass by.

As I write in my journal, the sing-song call of “Washy washy” summons us trekkers to lunch. It has long annoyed me (when entering the dining room on cruise ships) as it seems vaguely racist, but that’s probably mostly due to one of my dumb floormates in my freshman year of college.

Lunch is a pair of yummy corn fritters with guacamole, pineapple slices, and salad. We exchange real-world contact information (emails, addresses, and Instagram handles) so we can share pictures after we land back home.

Kosovo Camp is just shy of 16000 feet, and my lunchtime check of my oxygen saturation measures at 88%.

The Doc was curious to see what medical gear the team carried, so they pulled it all out and inflated the pressure bag.

I send a text or two before a solo pre-dinner walking photoshoot.

From here, we’re finally close enough to see how we might get up the mountain.

It gets cold fast when the sun moves behind Kili, which casts a long shadow over our tents and a rough helipad. Mawenzi Peak is visible from one side of the camp

…while Mount Meru is visible from the other.

The pre-dinner excitement is the arrival of our trekmates’ luggage; Sherri and Jason H are very excited that they’ll have their carefully selected (and warmer) gear for the summit.

I’m bundled up for dinner at 6 and I think my daypack is all set for the ascent.

We have our final briefing before summit day and now it’s time to repack my day pack, removing everything I don’t need to carry to the summit. I decide to bring my big camera, but leave its bag and the long lens behind at camp. We’ll be returning here, so we don’t need to pack up our tents before the hike, as the vast majority of our porters will remain behind with our camp. Our briefing says there will be no tent coffee service tomorrow, a 3am wakeup for a 4am departure. With two hours of hiking in the dark before sunup, it’s expected to be super cold.

I’m excited, but eager to get to sleep. 3am is really early, and tomorrow will be a very long day.

At dinner, Jason H mentioned that our best chance of great views of the stars will be not long after sundown, but I figure I’ll see them if I wake to go to the bathroom. An expert at stellar photography, he captures some insanely amazing images, but I won’t see them until weeks after returning to the US. I’m a bit sad that I didn’t see anything nearly as amazing as this with my own eyes, but I’m delighted to have them anyway.

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