I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I just knew that my work permit will be expiring in March, and there has been a delay on many people’s renewals for the last few years-my batch was pretty much the last batch that passed through without over a years’ delay on processing. Why is this an important fact? Well, the trip over doubles in cost if you don’t have a valid residency.

I’ve heard titters for years of people doing this trip, and it sounded like a blast! Climb Mount Kenya, the second highest peak on the continent? Count me in. What I heard was, “An exciting adventure awaits!” What I should have heard was, “Torture to the nth degree that you willingly subject yourself to.” So when I saw an invitation open to anyone interested in joining, I inquired, “Are you letting ladies join?” I was told I was welcome, but asked around to find other ladies anyhow. About six were on the hook and exactly zero were reeled in, either because they’d be out of the country for the extended holiday break, or the very work permit situation described above was working against them. As it turned out, it was little old me with a neurosurgeon and his son (L, whom I taught last year), the deputy superintendent (M) and his son (J, whom I also taught last year) and the principal of an orphanage/school operated in the valley (S). A very motley crew, but kind, welcoming, and accommodating to me every step of the way!

The morning we left began with a short walk, my overnight pack, sleeping bag and day pack stacked on top of one another as I passed under a flock of red-breasted parrots, out the lower gate and to a home just on the other side of the fence. I shook hands with one of my fellow hikers as an official introduction having not met before, then we loaded up the vehicle and began the six hour drive to the gate where our journey began.

After a delicious last supper at a restaurant in a treehouse, we checked into the office at the Sirimon Gate altitude 2650 M (8700 ft- about 1500 feet higher than the altitude I live), tiptoed around a troop of baboons, selected items for our day packs, and met our guides that would be hiking along with us every step of the way. We were given a gentile older man (I think he said he was 67) whose quiet patience meant never feeling rushed to make it to our next stop. Talking to him about his time as a guide, a quick calculation showed he has likely been up and down the mountain over four thousand, yes thousand, times. At the back of our group was the son of our organizing leader (P) who was being groomed to take over his father’s business. It was quite the contrast to be bookended by these two men, the first who knew the mountain like the back of his hand, the second barely even earning the title man as his trip with us marked his 18th birthday and was only his second time up the mountain.

The path was wide and meandering, paved even, as we embarked on foot. Strolling along on this easy day, I enjoying seeing some cool Turacos flying across the path, learned about Mountain Chats (another bird) and discovered my hip flexor muscles as each rounded corner brought us to another incline. When I stopped off in a bush to relieve myself, I found a lovely patch of stinging nettle and later rolled my eyes at J and L, as the teens on our trip blared their music on the speaker they brought with them, walking barefooted and shirtless for this first bit of hike. A couple of hillcrests caught my breath as I glimpsed our impending summit, silhouetted crystal clear ahead as the cloud cover was light.

Five miles and 650M (2100 ft) increase in elevation, we arrived in the dark to a shack on a hill called “Camp Old Moses.” The building was in four parts, a small kitchen packed full of Kenyans working to host the many hikers that pass through camp each night, a mess hall about 12 feet wide and 40 feet long, three or four bunkhouse style rooms attached to the mess hall each housing 10-15 bunkbeds, and a 3-stall bathroom at the end opposite the kitchen. We were given a table and warm grub was brought to fill our rumbling stomachs. Kenyan black tea bags, instant coffee, and hot cocoa powder were provided in abundance with powdered milk, sugar, and hot water to bring feeling back into chilled arms, fingers and toes that dropped ten degrees in temperature as soon as a weary hiker’s body stopped moving. Chattering teeth, I found my rucksack that had been portered to camp for me and changed into dry clothes, double layering pants, socks and shirts as the setting equatorial sun took with it any warmth. Food settled into our bellies, and power banks were found as one last communication was being sent with the single bar of 4G data that could be picked up if one stood in exactly this spot in the restroom. We were assigned a bunkroom with another group or two of hikers and rolled out our sleeping bags, touching base with the kitchen for a little more water to fill our hot water bottles to keep us warm as we curled up to sleep, er, toss and turn on well-worn bunks.

We awoke the next morning to more unlimited hot beverages, and repacked our rucksacks and day packs. We divvyed out sack-lunches of PP&J, hard boiled eggs, fruit, juice and salt & vinegar potato chips, just what one needs to refill those electrolytes sweated out through the constant moving of the legs. After a breakfast of porridge and peanut butter we departed for a long trek to the next camp. Up, up and more up we went, the landscape and plants changing every hour or so with the elevation increase. The higher up we went, the more Dr. Seuss-like they became in appearance! Another hillcrest, and we were met with another incredible view of the summit, clear blue skies giving us warmth to keep us toasty, baseball caps and shades on to shield our eyes from the glaring bright sun.

Almost instantaneously after we moved on from the view, fog began to settle and the landscape took an earie turn, from bright and cheerful to mystical and unsettling. It was about here I felt like I was walking into a movie set for the Lord of the Rings. This feeling never really went away as we changed which leg of the journey to Mordor we were on as we summited then descended the next day.

About five miles in, we stopped by a stream for lunch, taking off our boots to stretch our toes. J, one of the teens hiking in our clan, began tossing pieces of breadcrumbs to the birds, and they began to collect in hoards, pecking here and there at the crumbs. It was magical munching on our lunch with a bubbling brook beside us, the mist swirling in the shadows and birds perching on various seussical plants around. W, one of the dads lay down and closed his eyes for a spell. Not a huge fan of PP&J, and full from all the other goodies, I goaded the teens to put my sandwich on W’s ballcap, summoning birds to land on his face. Unfortunately, W accidentally shook off the sandwich as he readjusted his hat, and the birds simply pecked at the bread by his ear, disappointing a hilarious endeavor.

We’d been told that morning that we had a ten mile hike ahead of us for the day, but as we geared up to leave our lunch site, my legs were already done in from the few brutal mountain climbs that had been broken up by some of the more gradual pathways in between. I wasn’t sure how the rest of the day would unfold, so I began to run through my head the Psalm I had intended to memorize as we walked. (Fun fact: when you are focusing on breathing and walking, there isn’t much brain power left to memorize anything!).

Since I’d written out the Psalm on notecards, I’d started in the long car ride to the gate getting through the first five verses or so, but really only the first two sticking in my head,

“I love you O LORD my strength. The LORD is my rock, my fortress, my deliverer.
My God is my rock in whom I take refuge, my shield, the horn of my salvation, my stronghold.” Psalm 18:1-2

As I passed by rocks big and small, and needed a source of strength on which to pull to continue on, these verses rolled around in my mind again and again. When I tired of these verses, I moved onto song,

“Strength will rise as we wait upon the Lord…
Our God, our strong defender, our hope, our strong deliverer.
You are an everlasting God, you do not faint you won’t grow weary.
You’re the defender of the weak, you comfort those in need, you lift us up on wings like eagles…”

Somehow, I found both the resolve, and the strength in my bones to keep continuing on. Our gradual path disappeared and much of the greenery with it. The bare rock faces stared from heights above, taunting us to climb, daring us to stop. As we trudged even further up, we began to catch other hiking groups, passing them as they stopped for breaks or pictures, our slow yet steady pace sustaining us beyond that of our peers outbursts of strength followed by long breaks in their ascent. When I was sure we were only three quarters done with our days hike, but ready to have been done for an hour, P, our rear guard pointed to the top of a ridge. “Camp is just there…” he said. Cautiously optimistic, we arrived at the next picturesque summit, valleys and summits surrounding us, and yes- there- in the distance was the green roof of our next overnight camp.

We meandered through rock formations as the green roofs grew in size. A scuttle just ahead caught my attention as rock hyraxes ducked in and out of crevices. My heart rose in joy as we reached Camp Shipton reaching 4200M of elevation (13,800ft), but also tightened in anticipation when M pointed, “That is the way to the summit.”

Straight up a rocky path, almost no end in sight. I collapsed onto a nearby rock, soaking up sun and allowing my legs respite as I watched L and J (the teens) harass a rock hyrax. Maybe twenty minutes later I went inside in search of my pack to find dry clothes to change into. Shivering as I stripped, I soon found warmth in dry layers and fresh socks even as the sun once more began to take the warmth with it as it dropped below first the mountainside casting us into shadow in the still daylight hours, then below the horizon plummeting the temperature of the air. We’d arrived earlier in the day to Camp Shipton, so we had time to chat with other travelers. We befriended four cousins from America playing cards nearby, a Swiss-French couple from who work at the embassy in Nairobi, and a lone Australian adventurer on a holiday break. The unlucky school group we’d overtaken early in the day arrived within an hour after us and brought dozens of teens to the camp, all to stay in tents as there wasn’t enough room for them in the bunks.

A delectable homemade fried chicken and butternut squash soup served us an early dinner and by 7pm we’d all turned in for the night. Our bodies achy and exhausted were happy for the rest, but my mind struggled to slow down as I knew the alarm would come all too soon at 2am… (to be continued!)