Mar 28, 08:56 AM
Trekking Up Mt Kenya
On Tuesday morning we were at the Mt. Kenya Hostel preparing for the trek up the mountain. The hostel is quite near the National Park gate, and we could see the jagged peaks in the distance from the window of the dining room where we had our breakfast.
Around 8:30, I was inside talking to Joseph, the hostel owner/concierge/waiter, and we could see Jerri outside chatting with the many extended family and community members who make up the hostel staff. She was holding a little cherub and laughing. Joseph said, “Your wife can stay here forever; she talks to everybody.”
The baby, it turned out, was named Ann, and she belonged to James, one of the porters who we’d hired to help us with the trek. Our guide’s name was also James (hereafter, James the porter and James guide) and there was a porter named Robert, and Jackson, a young man from the village who was just going along, Joseph said, because he’d never seen the mountain before. We exchanged hellos and handshakes, and it seemed like a good team.
We piled into Joseph’s ancient Land Cruiser and struck off down the bumpy dirt road. But we hadn’t made it far before we hit a roadblock: hundreds of cattle. I had learned the “day before”: http://marksbrain.com/blog/lake-baringo-and-mt-kenya that the hump above their shoulders meant they were Masai cattle. I pointed this out, and Robert, who was sitting next to me, seemed impressed with my knowledge.
Joseph had told us that the local communities had asked the Masai to leave two weeks ago, but they were apparently only doing so now. When the drought first struck, the Masai, with the help of the government, had asked the people around Mt. Kenya if they could move their cattle there. This was agreed, but no sooner had the cattle and herdsmen arrived than trouble started. The Masai were letting their cows and sheep mingle with those of the local farmers and getting hostile when people tried to separate them. They were slaughtering other people’s animals. Allegedly, they had killed one local person and roughed up another.
Anyway, now they were on their way off the mountain just as we were trying to get up to it. Somehow the beef sea parted, with cattle bounding, more dexterously than you’d imagine, onto the road banks and Joseph driving slowly but steadily and occasionally beeping. Joseph and our guides and porters seemed bemused by the Masai, annoyed but also chuckling a bit.
For their part, the Masai, with their distinctive long spears and red skirts, affected disinterest; their cattle appeared healthy (at least to my untrained eye) and neither human nor animal looked angry about being forced off this grazing land. In the the near north, at least, it seemed that maybe the drought was ending, and perhaps they’d go back there. No one in our vehicle knew.
We arrived at the park gate, signed in, and set off up the dirt trail. This was the first time I saw my backpack on another person’s back, and I was immediately a little uncomfortable. As we’d planned the trip, getting porters to help get our stuff to the base camp below the peak seemed smart because we’d never hiked at anything like this altitude and we only had one chance to make it to the top. But it felt weird having someone else do that work for me.
We hadn’t walked long when we saw three men walking pack toward us. They didn’t have big packs, and they said they were just in for a little bird watching but had encountered a few buffalo and didn’t know how to proceed. James, our guide, didn’t hesitate. About 150 feet from the buffalo he handed off his backpack to Robert and ran down the trail whistling, yelling, and throwing big rocks so that they landed in the grass just short of these huge beasts. Surprisingly (to us, anyway) the animals high-tailed it into the bush. Problem solved.
That day’s journey was a fairly easy 4 hour walk, and along the way we saw Colubus Monkeys swinging and crashing through the bamboo. We also saw the tiny little deer called dik-diks. And we chatted with James, James, Robert, and Jackson. James the guide, Jerri learned as they walked and chatted, has the same birthday as me, though he’s about 15 years older. He revealed that he could speak a little bit of several different languages (Italian, Spanish, Japanese) that he’d learned in bringing people up and down the mountain.
We talked about politics and public policy. Robert was surprised to learn what a big problem drug use was in the United States. James the guide couldn’t believe that Osama bin Laden couldn’t be found. We talked about Kenya’s recent constitutional referendum, and about Africa’s first female president, Ellen Sirleaf-Johnson of Liberia. They knew about Barack Obama, the Illinois Senator whose father was a Kenyan, and were very interested when I suggested he cold someday be the US president.
When the conversation turned to professions, and since we’d already gathered that guiding and portering was not their full time work, Jerri asked James what he did the rest of his time. “Subsistence farming,” said James, emphasizing the modifier.
They’d all been through a course with an organization called the National Outdoor Leadership School, an American outfit that had a school on Mt. Kenya but decided to close it after September 11, 2001. It became clear as we learned more about them that they were all farmers who supplemented their income with these trips organized by Joseph at the Hostel.
We soon arrived at the Met Station camp site, and found cozy little cabins we’d be staying in. James the guide warned us to keep the door latched because the monkeys in the area would steal our food if we weren’t careful. We didn’t want to lose any of the food we’d brought, but we were also disappointed that we didn’t see any monkeys that night.
Out for a short walk with James the porter and Jackson that night before dinner, we ran into two guys carrying huge amounts of gear, in backpacks and frontpacks (is that a word?) down the mountain. It was an American and a Canadian, and they were excited to tell us the story of how they’d just finished an 8-day adventure that began with carrying 70 pounds of gear each, all the way from the hostel to the highest camp, then doing technical climbing to reach Batian, the highest peak on the mountain. It was a great story, involving, a night lost on a ledge of the mountain with snow coming down, etc., but for me it was a bit of a blow to my fragile male ego. I was beginning to realize that we could have carried our own stuff, as we’ve done on several previous camping trips.
Were we just exploiting cheap labor? I knew that all the team were registered with a guides and porters association, and Joseph assured me he was paying the rate mandated. I could see that they had good boots and warm enough clothing, that their sleeping quarters were nice enough for camping. Also, though we carried much less, Jerri and I were clearly laboring at least as hard as they were. So I decided not to think about it too much and just enjoy the walk, the forest, the calls of the birds, and the conversation.
Up early the next morning, we trekked out above 3,000 meters, where the bamboo forest ends and the bulbous, other-worldy lobelia plants started. We hiked through the so-called vertical bog, which is, as the name implies, a swamp on a slant. But I have to say it wasn’t as treacherous as some people had told us.
We chatted more with the guides and porters, and any time we weren’t talking to them, they gabbed among themselves in Kikuyu, the language of their tribe. Sometimes I tried to imagine what they were discussing, and when I heard James the porter and Robert say something that sounded like “beer,” I imagined that they were playing that age-old travelling game of “what would you take if you could have anything at all in the world to eat or drink.” But then James said sometihing like “latte,” and I know that no self-respecting outdoorsman or subsistence farmer has ever dreamt of a fancy coffee while hard at work, so maybe I was just fooled by false cognates.
As we got nearer to 4,000 meters, the vegetation type changed to giant lobelia and ostrich lobelia, big tubes rising 8 feet in the air, the first with a little bunch of green leaves on the top, the second covered in feathery leaves along the entire length. Jerri and I agreed the landscape was “Dr. Seussian.”
We arrived at MacKinders Camp, a long, low-slung building in the beautiful Teliki Valley. No roads lead to it, of course, so it’s hard to imagine the work that went into building even such a simple place.
It’s literally crawling with Rock Hyraxes, which look like very large guinea pigs but are allegedly more closely related to elephants. Jerri immediately declared them her new favorite animal, casting off the prairie dogs she’d discovered when we hiked in western North Dakota.
When I commented to James the guide that there must not be very many predators in the area if these slow-moving fatties could walk about in the open without a care in the world, he reminded me that there were in fact leaopards about, but that one rarely saw them.
“The leopards have plenty to eat, so they are shy around humans.” Plenty to eat indeed; the hyraxes must be more convenient than drive through. James said that in 15 years of guiding he’d only seen leopards five times. Still, Jerri and I held out hope.
That night at MacKinders, as we made our dinner, we met two young ladies, one from Ireland the other from England. They’d recently been volunteering in Lake Baringo on a project that was designed to, “Help the people find plants that they can grow in the arid region,” the Irish one said, adding that, “It’s a really great program that’s been going on for 20 years.” The girls had just graduated from “Uni,” with history degrees and this had been their first effort in agriculture science.
I didn’t say anything, but I had to wonder if 20 years wasn’t enough time for the local people to evaluate the suggestion and then decide for themselves whether they were interested in a new form of agriculture. If they’d not adopted it yet, maybe it wasn’t such a great scheme after all, and the presence or absence of two young westerners with no relevant skills was not going to change that. Of course, though, there were other reasons for keeping it going, such as that this is the type of volunteering that one pays to do. (But what do I know?)
Back to the adventure: We went to bed very early that night because the plan of attack was to strike out for the summit at 3 in the morning. This meant that, if all went well, we’d arrive there at sunrise.
James the guide and Jackson were there ready to go as Jerri and I emerged from our room with full winter gear, though we were less then 10 kilometers from the equator.
The stars were beautiful, the moon was waning, and the air was crisp. I’ve always loved night hikes, and this was a beautiful one. Walking along one side of the valley, we could hear water gurgling in a stream below us. Our LED head lamps cast an eery glow on everything, and the plant life changed again as we crossed and then climbed out of the valley; it was now dominated by short little cabbage-like lobelia (I think that’s what they were), and for lack of a better description I have to say that it reminded me a bit of a Star Trek set.
We were climbing a rather steep section now, switchbacks leading up a trail of gravel and sand. James led the way, followed by Jerri, Jackson—who had to be in the middle because he had no flashlight—and then me. The temperature was right around freezing, but everyone was dressed for it, and since we were walking up hill, we didn’t get cold. James set a very slow but steady pace. Jerri and I agreed later that it helped that we couldn’t really see more than 30 to 40 feet ahead. Sometimes it’s easier not to have a clear idea what your facing.
Along the way, Jackson saw snow for the first time. He seemed intrigued
We reached the Austrian Hut, a very spartan little climbers’ cabin that’s about 40 minute’s walk below the Point Lenana summit, which was our goal. Since we were going to be too early for the sunrise, James led us inside, and we woke up a group of Kenyan park rangers who were sleeping there. They lit the lantern and turned on the radio and we sat around for a few minutes, an odd little break to the hike.
Now we could finally see Point Lenana itself, and were to the portion that involved scrambling over rocks and onto rocks and ledges. I’m normally afraid of heights, and this was very high, but somehow it didn’t bother me. Jerri also climbed and hiked and without and trouble. The sun was just beginning to peak out over the horizon when we got to the last ledge to climb over, and James turned to Jerri and said, “In five minutes, you will be the highest girl in Kenya.”
She was the first to walk over to the marker designating the top of Point Lenana, and we were all right behind her. The sun rose and it was beautiful. Too cloudy to see very far, but we didn’t let that get us down. It was beautiful. One can’t spend the whole day, there of course, but I do wish I’d lingered just five more minutes. Ah, well.
Back down the way we came. Jackson and I checked out the so-called curling pond and the glacier. James and Jerri chatted at the Austrian hut. Going down is easy, if a bit hard on the knees. We were resting in bed by 9 in the morning, and walking back down, through the lobelias and the Vertical Bog to Met Station by noon.
When we got there, we found the place over run with Blue Monkeys. We just sat and watched them for about an hour. We agreed it was probably the first time we’d ever seen monkeys without glass or bars between us and them.
In the morning, the monkeys woke us by running across our metal roof. We breakfasted and met the team by the trail. I told Robert I wanted to carry my big backpack for the last stretch. He objected at first and then agreed. It was the easiest part of the entire trek, but it felt good to have some weight on my shoulders.
We ran into lots of buffalo, and Robert assisted James the guide in scaring them off, with a routine similar to the first day. I talked to James the porter about music (he favors reggae and country, but also enjoys Tupac), and they were all interested to hear about lakes in my home state that freeze so solidly people can drive cars and build little houses on them.
We met Joseph at the gate, piled into his Land Cruiser, and bounced off down the road. There was a little boy of about five, Joseph’s nephew, whom Joseph had brought along for no other reason than he would enjoy the ride. I liked that.
The tailpipe fell off the big green machine when we were about 2 kilometers short of the hostel, but Joseph took it in stride. I got the impression this vehicle was much rebuilt and repaired. James the porter ran back down the road after it and had barely loaded it and himself back in the rear door before we were moving again.
In summation (finally!) I think the physical aspects of Mt. Kenya were perhaps a bit easier than we expected. Neither of us got altitude sickness, and I think we could have carried our own bags and found our own way with just a compass and a map. That might have led to more of that feeling of physical challenge and accomplishment. If you never have those moments of uncertainty about whether you can take one more step or if you’re even going in the right direction, the sense of excitement is maybe a little less.
But it was really nice to get know these residents of the Mt. Kenya region in this way, walking, and talking, laughing, learning. There are those benefits to paying someone to carry your backpack.
I have been to Aberdare in Elephant hill but MT. Kenya Lenana peak was expectional,i also had the same experience which i have never had in my life.For our group which constituted 19college students from KTTC in Nairobi,we started our voyage on a Friday evening right at Narumoro gate and reached Met station at11pm having encoutered a big herd of buffalos.
Then Climped down to the gate carring our luggages reaching at4pm on the same day. Currently am preparing to climb MT Kilimanjaro this year on August2006 will you guys join our club? Ours motto is LETS REACH WHERE MOST MEN AVOID AND THAT IS MOUNTAIN TOPS.then rose up on saturday morning went up to Makinders camp reached at 3pm,having rested at lunch site.Slept early to wake up at 2am to climp to catch the early sunrise at lenana peak on Sunday morning.
— Peter mwaniki Gateru Apr 5, 01:54 PM #