A preview of things to come

Just in case you think I've abandoned my blog, not so. I have been working as quickly as I can to get pictures edited and ready to upload. Between the three of us, we have literally thousands of images of the climb and the safari, and I am awaiting the arrival of still others from our climbing partners in other cities. They will be woven into the story of the climb, tales of our safari, and what has happened since we've been home. Trust me, it's a big story to tell, and it will be better with the visuals.

My African tan has begun to fade. I am now able to stay awake until 10 p.m., but not a minute beyond. Showers and running water have once again become the norm rather than a luxury, and my fingernails have finally given up all traces of Kilimanjaro dirt. A nagging cough still lingers as a secondary effect triggered by the HAPE.

The necklace in the photograph is an ebony elephant carving with an elephant tooth and is tangible proof that I did more than dream of Africa. (Don't worry, no elephant was harmed in the making of the necklace. The baby elephant loses the tooth at about one year.) It was given to me by one of our safari guides upon our departure from Kilimanjaro airport. Whether sporting tangible evidence or not, Africa is on my mind constantly. I can't wait to show you the people, the animals, the scenery.

In the meantime, I will share with you this personal treasure. Since you know the outcome, I'll just preface the video below with a few more details as follows:

After a routine acclimatization hike to 16,000', we returned to camp at 15,000' feeling strong and ready to push higher the next day. Sometime after midnight I was awakened by what sounded like a critter rummaging through plastic bags in my tent. I listened intently, trying to pinpoint the rustling noise, then realized, with each breath, the crackling sound was coming from me. My eyes shot wide open, staring up into the darkness of my 29 degree tent, trying to deny what was happening. I knew instinctively it was HAPE: High Altitude Pulmonary Edema. It meant the end of my climb, as the only cure is to get down to a lower elevation. I had been coughing up what I thought was a slight sinus infection that moved into my chest. In the light of day I would see the small pile of white tissues next to my sleeping bag, all stained pink. Before departing on my six-hour hike down to the evacuation point, a good number of our 76 porters gathered to give me a musical farewell that I will never forget. Though painfully disappointed at the time, back in town I ended up having a Tanzanian experience that I could not have purchased through a travel company. I will share that story later. As the porters expressed over and over again as I turned away from the mountain and a personal dream: "Kilimanjaro will be here when you come back."

Iwalani

I HAPE When That Happens

On February 11, at 6:10 a.m., Joe and Beth reached the roof of Africa at 19,340'. The skies were clear with a full moon, and the temperature was well below freezing. They conquered Kilimanjaro!

After an acclimatization hike to 16,000', I returned to camp at 15,000' and was struck with High Altitude Pulmonary Edema (HAPE) sometime after midnight on February 9. I was led down the mountain in the morning with my personal porter, a secondary porter and an assistant guide. Before departing camp, all 76 porters gathered before me and sang a send-off song before departing on my six-hour descent to the evacuation point. Many tears were shed as I bid my fellow hikers farewell and turned away from a personal dream that will have to remain just that.

Tomorrow we depart for our Serengeti safari. A full summary will follow when I get home. We all have quite a story to tell and lots of pictures to share.

The adventure continues.

Kilimanjaro Bound - Climb Itinerary

And so the day has arrived. We are so excited, it's doubtful that any of us slept more than a few hours last night. The packing, unpacking and repacking was an adventure of its own. With any luck, we will arrive in Tanzania with everything required to give Kilimanjaro our best shot.

If you care to follow along with us, I have outlined the climb itinerary below. I will try to post an update around February 12 or 13 when we get off the mountian. Until then, thank you for all of your good thoughts, prayers and support. There will be times when we will each face challenges on the mountain, and your positive thoughts will help pull us through.

I will have no phone or e-mail access for the next three weeks except to try to update this blog if possible. I will only be able to read blog comments posted here. If you are friends of Joe and Beth, feel free to leave them comments here as well.

See you on the other side of the mountain!

xoxox, Iwalani

January 29 - February 2, in Amsterdam

Monday, February 2 - Arrive in Arusha, Tanzania
We arrive in Arusha in the evening and will be met by our trip leader who will accompany us on a two-hour drive to a private camp at 6,000’ on the lower slopes of Mt. Meru (14,900’). Late dinner, shower, lights out.

Tuesday, February 3 - Mount Meru Camp
Today we get to sleep in and rest ourselves. A briefing and gear check will follow lunch, and then a short hike. A welcome dinner will be served.

Day 1 on Kilimanjaro
Wednesday, February 4 - Trailhead to Forest Camp - 7,500’ to 9,000’
A morning drive of about three hours gets us to the trailhead where we will meet our porters and guides. After signing onto the mountain, our climb begins.
Hike Time: 3-4 hours

Day 2 on Kilimanjaro
Thursday, February 5 - Forest Camp to Shira Ridge Camp - 9,000’ to 11,300’
Hike Time: 7-8 hours

Day 3 on Kilimanjaro
Friday, February 6 - Shira Ridge Camp to Moir Camp - 11,300’ to 13,100’
Hike Time: 5-6 hours

Day 4 on Kilimanjaro
Saturday, February 7 - Moir Camp to Sheffield Camp - 13,100 to 14,800
Hike Time: 4-5 hours

Day 5 on Kilimanjaro
Sunday, February 8 - Sheffield Camp, acclimatization day 14,800
Hike Time: 2-hour optional hike

Day 6 on Kilimanjaro
Monday, February 9 - Sheffield Camp to Arrow Glacier - 14,800 to 16,000
Hike Time: 2-3

Day 7 on Kilimanjaro
Tuesday, February 10 - Arrow Glacier to Upper Glacier 16,000 to 18,500
Hike Time: 10-12 hours, 4 a.m. start time
This is our toughest day of the ascent via the Western Breach route.

Day 8 on Kilimanjaro - SUMMIT DAY
Wednesday, February 11 - 18,500 to 19,340’
Hike Time: 1.5 hours to the top, then 8 hours descending a steep gravel trail
From the summit, we will descend 9,000’ to Mweka Camp at 10,000

Day 9 on Kilimanjaro - Mweka Camp to Trailhead
February 12, Thu. - sign off the mountain

Hike Time: 3-4 hours

Minor Details

The pile of gear started out as just a pack, then a few toiletries, sleeping pad, down jacket, glacier glasses, straps and whatever else happened to float through my mind at any given moment. I would stop whatever I was doing, grab the item, and add it to the pile. It has slowly grown into what you see above. I look at it and it scares me, mostly because I haven't even added clothes yet.

It happens every time. I have had a year to plan this trip, and with just three days remaining before our day of departure I find my life has become one chaotic hour that blends seamlessly into the next. I envisioned my world being so much more relaxed at this point, having had ample time to prepare myself, gather gear, read lists, read itineraries, make hotel reservations, get vaccines, and figure out how to use my new SLR camera in hopes of capturing the one shot National Geographic may have missed in their millions of images of Kilimanjaro.

Three days to go, and this is the state of my home:

Gore-Tex hangs drying in doorways, having been treated with Nikwax to amp up the waterproofing barrier so I don't start out soaked to the bone on Day 1 in the rain forest.

My relatively new Montrail boots are in front of the heater vent for the same reason.

The one architecturally interesting area in my living room has become the staging area for Africa. There is now a mini-Kili piled up in a heap that needs to be sorted between two bags: climb, safari.

I used to have a kitchen counter. If I move anything, though, it is likely that I will never find it again.

Until 12:00 this afternoon, two thirds of the dining table was covered with camera gear: Nikon D40, 18-55mm lens, 18-135mm lens, 28-300mm lens, polarizer, warming filter, rain cover, carbon fiber tripod, three spare batteries, camera bag, plastic container for spare lens, five memory cards of 2 gigs each, micro fiber lens cloth, lens cleaner, and the D40 Field Guide that I will study on the plane. (Are you laughing yet? And that’s just the camera gear.) I enlisted the help of the photography A-team (aka David) to organize everything for me and cull out anything that wasn't going. By the time he left, the dining table had been reclaimed as the place where meals might be had.

Every pair of underwear I own is either hanging to dry or on my butt. With no guarantees that we’ll have laundry facilities available, I'm going to need all of them. I can’t imagine the porters would find it amusing to see my rainbow collection of undergarments clipped to my backpack to dry as I climb. Also, there would be little glory in having my lingerie caught by the wind, only to be snagged on a rock just out of reach, and there displayed prominently on the Western Breach wall for all eternity.

This afternoon I removed the final vestige of Christmas from the fountain in my front yard so I don't look like a total Redneck when I get back to town on the latter side of February. The coils of lights are now drying on my garage floor, dangerously close to the front wheel of my car. If I forget about them and run them over the next time I return home, I can just throw them away and that project will be finished.

Despite watching most of what I've been eating and working out with a trainer between hikes, my hind end is still larger than the second pair of pants I would like to climb in (and into), so I foresee an eleventh-hour angst-fest at REI coming up.

My haircut was supposed to have taken place last week, but the salon rescheduled my appointment to this Tuesday. My friend Sandi offered to put that time back on my calendar by cutting my hair as she would her husband‘s. I have to admit that his haircut might be just the ticket for this 9-day, showerless adventure. The shower issue alone may become the real adventure.

I told Sandi that Wednesday would be packing day and housecleaning day. She told me to put crime scene tape everywhere and slam the door shut. That would be fine, except no one would actually be able to see the tape if I left things in their present state of disarray. Beth lamented on her own house Saturday morning at 7:30 before our hike as she stood at her kitchen sink wolfing down a fried egg between two pieces of toast. I’ll have to give her some crime scene tape, too. We can’t worry about things such as mopping floors or cleaning sinks right now. There are bigger things to consider, like how many rolls of toilet paper to pack.

The Montrail boots, by the way, are somewhat of gamble with less than 15 miles of break-in time on them. It’s a risky switch at this point in the game. The Lowas that have hugged my feet for hundreds of miles are becoming a bit tread-worn and not giving me the same sense of security on the descents as they used to. This switch to the Montrails may prove to be my undoing, but I was losing faith in my Lowas, suspecting they might not be up to the task of our summit day when we have to turn around and descend 9,000 feet after tagging the top. No matter how hard it might be to get to the top, the return trip to the base is the one we all dread. None of us has ever put our knees through that kind of elevation drop in one day.

For our final conditioning hike as a threesome, Joe, Beth and I enjoyed a snowshoe outing on Mt. Hood Saturday on a less crowded trail above Government Camp. As usual, David rounded out the group and put up with another day of our Africa obsession without complaint. Equally tolerant was Kipper (Beth's corgi), our trail mascot, who hikes and climbs three times the mileage and elevation we do. The snow fell quietly around us as we chatted about museum tickets for Amsterdam, baggage weight, snacks for the climb, spending money, donations for an orphanage or school in Tanzania, and swimsuits. The next time we lace up our boots together will be on Kilimanjaro. With just the minor details left to complete, we are as ready as we're going to be for our climb.

I will post once more to give you the actual details of the climb before we leave on Thursday, and then will post from Tanzania after the climb, probably on February 12 or 13. Thank you for joining our adventure to this point. I have appreciated the comments, e-mails and encouragement.

The Fear of Dog

Pharmaceutical companies must love American tourists visiting Africa. It’s easy to understand why the mosquitoes do. Take my recent diet, for example. I’ve been flavoring my red blood cells with broccoli and garlic and herbs. Following in my wake, a mosquito might think it's come upon the grand opening of the latest Chinese restaurant to open in town. Tonight's special: Oregon beef with broccoli.

Malarone seems to be the preferred weapon of mass destruction employed to fend off the malaria bombs dropped by the buzzing brigades of the anopheles mosquito with their built-in siphons. Joe and Beth and I have had various forms of sticker shock already, and now my friendly Costco pharmacist tells me the price for the Malarone prescription alone is $186.00. Holy cow. It’s not enough that the mosquitoes want to suck the blood out of us, but GlaxoSmithKline does, too! I know, I know, a small price to pay considering the alternative, but still. The clear-cutting of everything green in my bank account continues.

The photo above is a sampling of the material that works its way into and out of the revolving stack of light reading next to my bed. I read a lot at night. Sometimes the reading is fun, sometimes work, sometimes a manual on my latest gadget (like the altimeter/stopwatch/alarm clock/temperature gauge/barometer/rocket launcher/espresso maker that attaches to my harness strap). Mostly, though, in fact almost always now, I read about Kilimanjaro. I pull one of the dog-eared books or lists or pamphlets or newspaper articles off of my nightstand and retrace the steps I’ve taken through the pages over the last year, searching for that one paragraph or sentence that will make the difference on the trip if I don’t review it again.

Two nights ago I came across an entire description of our Western Breach Route that I had not seen before. How could I have missed that? Within the pages of Kilimanjaro - The trekking guide to Africa’s highest Mountain are comments like this describing our route:

“…you’re sharing the forest with colobus and blue monkeys and the rarely encountered buffalo, elephant, lion, leopard and porcupine. “

“…it wasn’t uncommon a few years back for trekkers to be accompanied by armed rangers to ward off buffalo attacks.”

“If you’re spending some time with animals or in the wilderness, it’s also worth considering having a course of rabies injections, though it isn’t pleasant, consisting of three injections spread over one month.”

Okay, hold it! (Insert sound of needle scratching across LP record here.) What exactly do they mean by “spending some time with animals”? I did not sign up for being taken out by a buffalo with PMS or a porcupine having a bad hair day. Furthermore, I don’t have a month left to start a course of rabies injections, and I can only imagine what GlaxoSmithKline or another of its ilk might think is a fair price to protect me in the event I sign up for the Ride-A-Wild-Buffalo excursion. This little eight-second ride a few years ago was plenty, thank you.

Conclusion: I need to stop reading. From rodents to elephants, every rustle heard in the bushes on the mountain will now quite literally put the fear of DOG in me! Good thing I had a dog. I am fluent when it comes to the animal kingdom: "Sit. Stay."

Stairway to...Hospital?

Welcome to our outdoor gym: The Terwilliger stairs leading up to the V.A. Hospital. Joe and Beth had been using this venue for their after-work training program and invited me to join them a couple months ago. We made it a standing date to meet here every Wednesday evening around 6:15. There are 148 steps to the top, and we climb them 10 times before rewarding ourselves with beer and food afterward.

Last week our schedules were blown apart by one thing or another, so I had to get my stair climb in on Thursday. My favorite adventure partner, Carole, joined me. She looked at the stairs and said, “So, we go up for one and come down for two, right?” Wrong. Ten times up, ten times down for a total of 1,480 each way. We climbed once and came back down, and as I was turning around to go back up again, I noticed Carole bending down to pick something up. A twig. She placed it down somewhat strategically on the dirt and then was ready to continue. I looked at her quizzically. She explained that when there were ten twigs there, she was stopping; I could not be trusted as the sole scorekeeper.

The thing I love about Carole is that we are similarly afflicted with suppressed competitive behavioral disorders. Nearing the middle of our count I let her know that one evening, after willingly putting something in my mouth that was sure to slam shut every artery in my body, I paid my repentance by climbing the stairs 12 times. That was all she needed to hear. The bar was set. We would do one more to make it 13. On about the 11th trudge to the top, I told her that I had been to the gym that morning and spent 20 minutes grinding away on the Stair Mill and 45 minutes on the treadmill at No. 15 incline. She came back with a casual, “Yeah, I ran six miles this morning.” That was what she vocalized, but her implication was, “So what.” Gotta love her.

The broccoli, ginkgo and garlic continue. Two weeks and we’re outta here!

Ground Blizzard

Saturday was a day to "get high"with my Kili buddies, Joe and Beth, and my eager trail companion, David. We arrived at Timberline Lodge at 9:15 and stepped out of the car into a chilly 30 degrees and light blue skies overhead. We could see our destination clearly: The top of the Palmer chairlift at 9,000'.

Wrenching the final straps into place on our snowshoes, we were soon joined on the snow by our Reach The Summit (RTS) friends who were on the mountain for a "train the trainers" hike. Coming down the mountain was a gentleman with Portland Mountain Rescue who reported that his group had to bail on a summit attempt because of a ground blizzard up above. A few of us tilted our heads up slope and squinted, trying to discern whatever it was he had just said. He asked how high we were going and seemed satisfied that we were going to stop at the top of the Palmer chair lift, a 3,000' elevation gain from where we were standing presently. With that, we assumed (or at least I did) that this blue-sky weather phenomenon he just mentioned must be higher than our target.

The RTS group pulled out ahead as we took turns taking photographs and making minor adjustments to our gear. Protected in the lee of a slope to our left, we were feeling lucky to have picked such a beautiful day to be on the mountain. Within 20 minutes the heat of our efforts required my three buddies to peel a layer of clothing before continuing. Another 15 minutes and we would begin to clear the kind slope that had been protecting us from the wind. Gradually the wind picked up strength as it curved around the slope to find us. With each step, the assail became more intense, and a glance to the left would provide complimentary micro-dermabrasion in the form of ice crystals pelting our faces. Our efforts were doubled by our packs acting as sail cloth, and the bullying gusts would take advantage of that and nearly knock us over. (Photo: Our RTS friends take the lead in 2-by-2 formation.)

In fear of bursting all the capillaries in my face if I didn't get some protection, I asked for help fetching the neoprene face Masque in the top pouch of my pack. The garment no sooner saw the light of day than the wind snagged it and we watched it dance merrily across the snow and down into a draw 50 yards away. Crap. I cinched my jacket hood a little tighter and pressed ahead.

After some time, we arrived at Silcox Hut to find the band of RTS hikers seeking shelter near the front blade of a Snowcat parked outside the hut. We joined them. In setting down my pack, I looked up at Joe, who was enjoying a bit of refueling in the form of a sandwich. We exchanged an appreciative glance and silent comprehension of this new term to add to our arsenal of weather descriptions: "ground blizzard." The RTS group decided they'd had enough of the wrath and were heading back down to friendlier conditions; we would be right on their heels.

Despite the limited dexterity in our white, numb fingers, the four of us extracted cameras from our respective cases and practiced our photographic skills in these inhospitable conditions. Beth informed us that her brand new Nikon had video capability. Cool. It wasn't long before our fingers were bordering on painfully uncomfortable and we needed to get going to generate some heat. As we slung our packs over our shoulders and headed down, I got close enough to shout at Beth, "Let's get down the slope a bit and see if we can capture this freaking ground blizzard with your video!" She nodded.

For your viewing enjoyment, I present below the first video production from Beth's camera: Ground Blizzard.

There is always a bright side to days spent in less-than-ideal conditions on the mountain. Gear issues become magnified, Velcro becomes a Satan incarnate, and weaknesses in layering systems are revealed. These are all good things to find out now, before the main event. The very next day, all of these problems were addressed and, I hope, corrected, with a simple trip to REI and another $239.20.

This morning, 10:15 a.m., Beth calls. She's at the Columbia Sportswear outlet, apparently on a similar retooling mission, and found some gloves with a zipper pouch into which a hand warmer packet can be inserted. She asks if I'd like her to pick up a pair for me. Sure. What's another $25 in this several-thousand-dollar scheme of things.

(To hear the video, you can mute the music by clicking on the volume icon in the right corner of Iwa's Musical Notes near the bottom of the blog. If the video Play button doesn't work, click the scroll bar just to the right of the play button.)

Everyman's Everest

That’s what Kilimanjaro has been called.

As one of the Seven Summits of the world, it claims the middle spot on the list, buffered by three higher peaks and three lower. Each continent offers up its top contender in the contest of glaciated giants, and this is how they place:

Carstensz Pyramid (Australia) 16,024’
Vinson (Antarctica) 16,050’
Elbrus (Europe) 18,510’
Kilimanjaro (Africa) 19,340’
Denali (North America) 20,320’
Aconcagua (South America) 22,841’
Everest (Asia) 29,029’

Kilimanjaro National Park was declared a UNESCO World Heritage Site in 1987. In 1991, park authorities made it compulsory for all summit seekers to arrange their trek through a licensed agency and be accompanied by a guide on the trek itself. While aiming to preserve the natural wonders of the mountain, this has also increased the cost significantly in the form of park entrance fees, guide and porter fees, rescue fee, camping fee, food, tips. And before you even entertain the thought of stepping onto that extortionate playground, you have airfare, vaccines, passport and visa, trip insurance, medical release…and GEAR! Even so, the mountain can support 400 people starting their trek (total of all trails, including guides/porters and clients) on any given day, and often during the peak season the treks are sold out months, if not a year, in advance.

The main reason so many hiking enthusiasts are lured to this summit is because no technical skill is required. It is the highest “walkable” mountain in the world. Because of this, Kili is also the most underestimated mountain of the Seven Summits. At least half a dozen times, someone has said something to me like, “Kilimanjaro, that’s just a walk, right?“ I can’t argue with that. I can only suggest to the person that they skip the elevator and take the stairs up to the next floor “on one breath of air, even when you stop between floors, and then keep doing that two or three hundred more times. Now do it with the worst hangover you‘ve ever had.” Some kind of walk, huh? According to statistics, the average success rate on the entire mountain (all trails) is less than 50%.

Success has largely to do with acclimatization, something that cannot be rushed and is earned by putting in time and paying your dues in the form of varying degrees of Acute Mountain Sickness (AMS). This is a very good description of AMS and the symptoms that go along with it. On our trek, we will spend our last night sleeping (more likely Cheyne-Stoking, or gasping) in the red zone of “extremely high” altitude at 18,500’ before making our summit bid the next morning. I must admit, I’ve had my share of bad mornings after, but most of those were at least a decade and a half ago. While it’s highly unlikely that any residual tolerance from my youthful overindulgence remains, I will at least be familiar with the symptoms of AMS if the vice grip of altitude starts to squeeze my temples and my brain starts knocking on my skull.

There are a few grocery store items that are said to help combat AMS, and I have been taking them semi-regularly for the last month. Interestingly, two of those things supposedly work in concert: ginkgo and garlic tablets. It’s not the combination that I find interesting, but the fact that I can’t remember to take them, and ginkgo is supposed to help your memory. Somewhere I read that broccoli and blackstrap molasses are dynamite for boosting red blood cell production (good for transporting oxygen from the lungs to the rest of the body). I have been working the red blood cell factory overtime with my increased consumption of broccoli. I have refrained from drizzling blackstrap molasses on the broccoli.

The best way to prepare for altitude is to get high - as in elevation, not chemical substances. So, if you’re trying to find me in the next few weeks, chances are I’ll be hanging out with my snowshoes somewhere above Timberline Lodge, getting high, hopefully with some friends.

I've Been Shot

Obviously, Africa isn't a place that you decide, on a moment's notice, to visit next month. Well, some people might, but I'm not in that league. This has been in the R & D (registering and depositing) stage for almost a year. By April of '08 our February '09 trip was sold out with the maximum number of 14 climbers and a waiting list. As 401(k)s turned into 101(a)s and paychecks became unemployment checks, that number would fluctuate over the summer and fall. Sadly, my sister Momi and her friend Nancy from San Francisco, and my friend Gary that I've known since Kwajalein days, who were so enthusiastic about going on this trip, bought all the gear, spent a day with me dragging them up a "real" trail, would all have to withdraw for various reasons. I will miss their bright smiles on the trip and think of them constantly, but mostly when I'm freezing in the tent by myself. Now that we're counting days instead of months, the good people at Wilderness Travel have told me our group will consist of 10 climbers. Excellent. That means I will likely have one of the greatest bonding experiences known to man (barfing together) with seven complete strangers.

In addition to rounding up the necessary gear and putting in time on the trails to get conditioned for this eight-day "hike," a visit to Africa includes a plethora of injections and prescriptions to boost your body armor to fend off wicked pathogens. This required asking Mom to try to recall which of the dreaded ailments I was vaccinated for as a child. Between the two of us, we couldn't be entirely sure, but my dog's vet record for distemper, parvovirus, rabies and giardia probably came close. I have kennel cough all the time.

The visits to my doc began in June, a good six months prior to departure. Four nurses (why?), two of my exposed arms, two shots in each arm: Hepatitis A, Hepatitis B, polio and tetanus booster. I felt like a homeless person at the free clinic, the new nurses wanting to get some practice in: "Ooh, let me do one." I would return one month later for the second Hep B, and again six months later for the final Hep A and B, and a flu shot (more practice for the nurses). Add to that a trip to the Travel Clinic with my traveling companions, Joe and Beth, where we filled out long forms with numerous boxes to check and then were drilled for an hour on every illness we've ever had, what vaccines we received and when, any allergies (especially to eggs or chicken), autoimmune disorders, current weight. What, no HIPAA?

Having completed this "getting to know you" session with my buddies, our Africa triad was dispatched back to the reception area where we were told to wait for the nurse to call us back individually. Joe asked, "So, are we really going to do this?" At that point our departure date was less than two months away and we were about to put live viruses in our bodies. There was still a large final payment to be made on the trip, and remodeling projects and Wall Street were messing with available funds with no chance for a Kilimanjaro bailout program. Our Rubicon moment had arrived. The nurse called my name.

So, add to the above list a shot for Yellow Fever (mandatory for Africa) and a course of four live virus capsules that I'd need to take for typhoid. Continuing, I have prescriptions for Acetazolamide (for altitude sickness), Malarone (for malaria), Albuterol inhaler (just in case), prednisone (this one is good: in case of a high-altitude dental issue - like the acute mountain sickness won't be brain numbing enough?), and an extra-strength bowel paralyzer in case of "severe intestinal distress." With this mobile pharmacy in my pack, clearly there will be no room for spare underwear, so I might start with the bowel paralyzer for breakfast on Day 1. My brother, Doug, was quick to point out that I can now enjoy three-day-old roasted goat bladder in a fermented gazelle milk reduction with desert rat jerky garnish. (Photo: Typhoid, the happy vaccine.)

If you think that's bad, check out this list. What the heck is this guy even doing on the mountain? Hunting elephant? Oh, wait. Botox, tea bags, sweet & low, tweezers. Okay, still, what is she doing on the mountain?

And Then Kilimanjaro

After the Mt. Hood climb, it was time to get back to work. Except for a 10-day trip to Alaska for some sightseeing and short day hikes in the Yukon with new friends, boots were not to be part of my wardrobe for the next several months. Work was given top priority, and my computer, sadly, even found its way into my backpack on the Alaska trip. As weak justification, the HP might have shielded my back from having a chunk of flesh ripped out of it by a mama bear protective of her cub. Fortunately, there was only a sighting, not an encounter.

I needed a new goal, and Kilimanjaro had been rattling around in the back of my mind for some time, planted there by my longtime friend Gary. I had used Mt. Hood as an introduction to mountaineering, and now turned my full attention to the summit of Kilimanjaro. While there is the obvious difference in elevation between the two mountains (Mt. Hood: 11,239' vs. Kilimanjaro: 19,340'), Mt. Hood is considered a technical climb (ice axe, crampons, rope) and Kilimanjaro is not. If a person is reasonably conditioned for eight days of hiking, Kilimanjaro's biggest challenge is altitude. That being said, there is some interesting reading on the Web about this. Too much information, if you ask me, such as this description which makes Kilimanjaro sound like something wagered on in Vegas:

How dangerous is Kilimanjaro?

Kilimanjaro is probably one of the most dangerous things you will ever to. It is certainly one of the most dangerous things that you can pay to do.

We estimate that during times of bad weather, climbers with cowboy operators run a risk of death higher than 1 in 300.

During normal weather conditions, climbers with cowboy operators run a risk of death higher than 1 in 3000.

On the other hand, during normal weather conditions, climbers with reliable operators run a risk of death less than 1 in 10000.

To date our climb operation guided more than 15000 people on Kilimanjaro and we have had only one death, which was a man of senior years who suffered a sudden heart attack near to the summit.

The main issue on the mountain is altitude sickness. Kilimanjaro is seriously high. No other trekking below 5000m altitude can prepare you for this.

Almost all climbers suffer some form of mild to medium altitude sickness. Approximately 15% suffer symptoms severe enough to warrant their immediate removal to lower altitudes. Up to 1 in 100 of all climbers require emergency evacuation.

If you do get severe symptoms and your climb leader is not fully competent in dealing with the onset of altitude sickness, then you will die.

I hate it when they sugar coat things. But, I digress.

After spending hours viewing tour operator websites and talking to people who have made the climb, I selected Wilderness Travel to handle my trip of a lifetime. If you have never seen their free coffee-table-quality catalog of adventures, call them and order one, then get ready to start hemorrhaging money, as my uncle would say.

I found my way back to the trail in early 2008 as a volunteer with the American Lung Association's Reach the Summit (RTS) program, the group I climbed Mt. Hood with. As an assistant hike leader, I helped out with weekend conditioning hikes for the new program participants. It was after one such hike that our group was at Edgefield in Gresham for a post-hike beverage, and two of my fellow hiking friends, Joe and Beth, started asking me questions about the Kilimanjaro trip. By their second Bloody Mary, their questions had turned into more than curiosity. This was encouraging. Beth and I were on the same rope when we climbed Mt. Hood, and Joe was one of the hike leaders that conditioned our team when Beth and I climbed. Fast forward: It will be Iwalani, Joe and Beth going to Africa. Yeah!

All three of us, together and separately, put in lots of time on the trail last year. When the RTS training season ended, we made additional hikes and climbs of our own. Joe had a successful climb on Mt. Shasta, and together he and Beth climbed Mt. Whitney. My big hikes were closer to home, seeing the summit of South Sister and Mount St. Helens crater rim, both times with my loyal hiking partner David.

And now we continue our conditioning hikes, getting out in rain, snow, sleet and shine for the few weeks we have left before Kilimanjaro. If only we could condition ourselves for the altitude.

First, Some Background

Crazy. That's what I thought, too, about people who would strap ferrous metal to their feet and carry ice axes in hand and then set out to be the highest point on a mountain. And what about all those crevasses in between the base and summit that we hear about? The accidents that claim lives every year? Climbers lost in whiteouts, taking bad falls or getting hit by ice chunks the size of watermelons? Yep, nuts.

And then on a January night in 2007, bored, I ventured out to my local REI store to attend a clinic that was somehow related to Stacy Allison, the first American woman to summit Mt. Everest. Cool, I thought; that would be a story worth hearing. But she wasn't there. It was a presentation put on by the American Lung Association for their Reach The Summit fundraising program, of which Stacy Allison is the event chairperson. Okay, maybe I should have read the clinic description a little closer, but I would have felt awkward leaving. Silly me. By the time they showed the "ooh" and "ahh" video, I was considering something "crazy." In a phone conversation with Mom just before I left home, I assured her I had no intention of climbing a mountain. Two hours and $150 later, I had registered to climb Mt. Hood. My training would start in late February for a June summit attempt. Could I really do that in four months? I wasn't sure, but the conditioning program sounded like something I could use to get away from the days, nights and weekends on end of deposition reporting and transcription.

I took Mom to the official kickoff party where I first got to see some of the other participants who must have attended similar REI presentations. I had no idea what to expect, but I was sure that I would be a) not the youngest one there, b) not in the best shape, and c) afraid to admit that I'd never seen a crampon, let alone strapped one to my foot. I was right on all three counts, but I wasn't alone. Fortunately, the program focused on hiking and clothing for several weeks before getting to technical equipment. My REI visits were about to become much more frequent, and my annual dividend would start to swell magnificently.

I religiously attended every conditioning hike, convinced that if I so much as missed a single soggy outing, it would cost me the summit. By the time we spent our first day at snow school with Timberline Mountain Guides in mid-May, I was feeling confident that my level of conditioning placed me in the middle of the pack. I felt good about that. Once I learned how to kick step my way up a slope in crampons and use my ice axe for self-arrest, I was ready for the big day.

June 21 was my summit date. Our team spent the night prior at Silcox Hut on Mt. Hood, sleeping restlessly for a few hours before rising at 11:00 to start gearing up for the climb. By 12:30 we were on the ice at the 9000' level, making our way with headlamp illumination to the Hogsback ridge at 10,500'. From there we would become rope teams of four, and the climb would become steeper, slower. By 5:15 we had kicked and ice-axed our way up the final headwall to arrive on the summit ridge trail just as the sun's glow was starting to show in the east. From there it was a short hike on the narrow ridge over to the true summit of Mt. Hood at 11,239', and we arrived there just as the sun broke the horizon. We spent about 20 minutes basking in our accomplishment and snapping pictures to share with our generous sponsors before it was time to head back down. Clearly the work was only half over. We arrived back at Silcox Hut at 9:15 physically exhausted but mentally charged, ready for a huge breakfast and gallons of hot coffee. Okay, what next?

Farewell 2008

In this, my first blog entry, I start by bidding farewell to the ending of a great year, and also to Dad.

The first song that plays from my "Musical Notes" list below is Isa Lei, a Fijian farewell song, and one of my father's favorites. I was apparently too young to know this as a child, but my sister and mother both recall my father singing the Fijian words of the song while playing his ukulele.

In so many things my father did, elements of adventure and wonder were present. That is a gift he left with me, and I cherish it as I continue to explore the world and my place within it. Wherever I go, I know I'll see things or have experiences that will remind me of Dad, and in those moments I'll feel his presence and know that his passion for life and laughter continues through me.

We will always miss you, Dad.

(To view full-size images of the slide show, double click on it and it will take you to my Picasa Web photo album.)