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.