01/25/10
Dr Ryan's Report on Climbing Kilimanjaro
In November of 2008, Dr Ryan joined the Arthritis Society of Canada’s “Joints in Motion” team. Joints in Motion is a division of the Arthritis Society that fundraises through participation in destination events on behalf of a "hero" – someone who has a form of arthritis and is not able to complete the event due to their condition. Dr Ryan signed up for the daunting trek to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro (19,341feet), the highest point in Africa and the highest free standing mountain on the planet. Here is his story:
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“Ok, so then we a-startie then, okay?” said our African guide Richard.
The moon was full at midnight on October 3, 2009. I had slept for only three tumultuous hours that night, but I was ready to complete my journey to the top of Africa. I was tired yet excited, full of nervous energy that had been building slowly for the last five days. If all went well I would be on the summit in a mere seven hours.I was so close to the finish, yet my journey had started nearly a year
ago…..
In November of 2008, I joined the Arthritis Society of Canada’s “Joints in Motion” team. Joints in Motion is a division of the Arthritis Society that fundraises through participation in destination events on behalf of a “hero” – someone who has a form of arthritis and is not able to complete the event due to their condition. Having diagnosed my father with severe osteoarthritis several years ago, I had my hero. He had been my teacher when it came to backcountry travel in the Canadian Rockies, so I thought it fitting that I should summit a mountain on his behalf and, so, I signed up for the daunting trek to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro (19,341ft.), the highest point in Africa and the highest free standing mountain on the planet.
My sponsor list surprised me, in the end – many patients, friends and family donated to the cause, and I ended up raising $11,000 for the Arthritis Society, $1500 more than their target sum, to participate.
With my fundraising goals exceeded, my gear packed, and three good luck charms hanging from my necklace I boarded the plane in Vancouver on September 25, 2009, bound first for London where I would meet the rest of my 12 person team, and then on to Nairobi, where we would take a final flight to Arusha, Tanzania where the trek would begin. With the time change, I arrived in Arusha on September 27. Adventure on the flight to Nairobi The adventure started on the flight to Nairobi. I had volunteered to act as the medical resource for our group, and, as such, I had packed a detailed medical kit which I would keep in my carry-on bag. Six hours into our nine hour flight, as I was restlessly moving about in my seat in a desperate attempt to get some sleep, I heard a voice over the public address system requesting any passengers with healthcare experience to report to the back of the plane. I responded and for the next three hours, I monitored a 60-year-old female’s vital signs while she rode out the symptoms of nausea, lightheadedness, stomach ache, chills, and anxiety. I felt badly for her plight which kept me occupied, and out of my seat, for the remainder of the flight.
After two days of recovering from jetlag at a country hotel near Arusha, we met our guides on the morning of September 29, and drove to Machame Gate where our trek would begin. Sorting out the porters and ourselves was a task in itself. We would need 40 porters to carry our gear, food, and camping supplies for the week long journey.
Starting from 6,000feet, Day 1 took us through the jungle and up to Machame camp at 10,000 feet – 2,000 feet above the summit of Whistler – where we experienced what our campsites would be like for the next week. Instead of the rocks and grass I’d been accustomed to camping on in the coastal mountains, our tents were set up in about three inches of cocoa-powder-like dirt. The campsites were garbage-free, but the camping was some of the dirtiest I’ve done. Setting down your pack or bag would result in a puff of dirt that engulfed anything in the vicinity. Little did I know it would take me over a week to get my hands clean after the trip! Up and Away
We set out on Day 2 for the Shira Plateau – a wide, flat expanse of land with heather-like plants and other scrub brush all around the tents. Our first views of the summit cone were here, as we were now completely free of the jungle and no vegetation exceeds two feet at 12,000ft elevation. It was here that sleeping became a problem, not only because the ground was less than flat, but also because the diminishing atmospheric pressure at that elevation meant less oxygen was circulating to our brains. Many of our team - myself included - began to experience varying degrees of sleep apnea and restlessness through the night.
Day 3 was our first and only scheduled acclimatization day. We would purposely ascend to over 15,000ft and then descend back down to camp at 12,000ft. This would help our bodies get used the higher altitudes that lay ahead. As I began the descent to camp through a desert-like terrain, a raging headache took hold of my temporal regions and threatened not to let go. Having no one to deliver a C0/C1 adjustment on the team, I opted for a double dose of Ibuprofen. Four hundred mg later, and Vitamin I, had me headache free at Barranco Camp (12,960feet).
It should be noted that the African cooks provided extremely good meals considering the circumstances. They were cooking over what were essentially 20kg propane tanks with a single burner affixed to a valve on the top. With a few pots, pans and aluminum foil they routinely cranked out perfect rice, spaghetti, eggs, toast, and chicken.
Don’t ask me how they kept the chicken safe for a week – we didn’t ask either. The porters themselves were also incredible. Many of them carried massive loads of gear, crates and folding chairs while wearing gear most of us would consider unsafe for such a trek. They did so without complaint, leaving each camp after us and arriving at each camp before us.
On the morning of Day 4, we awoke to clear skies and saw that our camp was in the shadow of the cinder cone that now loomed 6,000ft directly above us. The day’s first task would be ascending the Barranco Wall – a steep, unforgiving maze of switchbacks and thigh-high steps that rises 800 ft at a very aggressive angle. Some team members had difficulty with the trail’s close proximity to scary drop offs that would surely put an end to one’s trekking for the day, if not for a lifetime! At the summit of the wall we found a number of porters encouraging us with singing and clapping. It was
a feel-good moment that brought the porters and trekkers together in celebration of a job well done.
With the Barranco Wall behind us a rather bizarre, relatively level moonscape lay before us. The flat terrain made for an easy 4 km traverse to the edge of an 800feet gorge that we needed to descend and then immediately ascend to reach Karanga Camp (13,500feet). The gorge left many of us asking, “Where’s the suspension bridge?” and dreaming of a zipline that would spare our weary legs.
Bedtime at Karanga Camp brought with it a fair amount of anxiety with the thought that the next day would be the start of our bid for the summit. Sleep apnea and general restlessness were now beginning to make me not look forward to “going to sleep.” The night was a frustrating experience of repeatedly glancing at my watch only to realize that mere minutes had past since the last time I had glanced at my watch. An agonizing feeling given my level of general fatigue at that time!
Morning came, on Day 5, and a certain level of excitement was palpable throughout the group. Our four hour trek to the final camp started at 9am and took us through fields of large lava rock boulders on yet another dusty trail. The temperature was hovering around zero Celcius, the sky was overcast, and I stayed busy continually checking in on members of our group to monitor them for signs of altitude sickness. (One member was not doing well, despite – doubling his dose of Diamox 0, an altitude sickness medication – and slowing his pace significantly.
Snow greeted us at the Barafu Camp, and I suddenly had a feeling that it was “game on” from here. While most of our group rested for the afternoon, my tentmate and I opted for a two hour acclimatization hike to 16,100feet with one of the assistant guides. This gave us confidence, and killed what would have otherwise been a period of trying to pass the time by sleeping in our
tent.
Dinner time came soon enough and, although no one was hungry, we all knew that eating was a necessity if we were going to fuel our bodies for the long ascent that would start in a few hours. By 8pm we were resting again in our tents, anxiously trying to sleep before an 11:30 pm wake-up call that would signify the beginning of our climb to the top.
The night was eerily calm under the full moon as we left our tents to assemble with the six guides who would go with us to the top. As Richard, our guide, turned to start, I slipped in immediately behind him. My years of endurance sports had taught me that controlling the pace of a group was done at the front of the pack, not the rear.
Eight inch step after eight inch step we trudged upward for seven long hours with breaks only for ingesting food and water – or excreting it! I was using every mental trick I had learned during 13 years of triathlon activity to convince myself to keep going, all the while rationalizing why I had gotten myself into this situation, and praying that the time estimates for the ascent made by our guides were either exact or exaggerated.
We conquered false summit after false summit, wondering if there really was a top to this mountain.
As dawn approached, I glanced up to see that the crater rim was only 100feet away, then glanced back to see that our group had splintered and was now strung out for several 100feet down the pumice slope. The lead guide and I embraced briefly and congratulated each other on making it to the crater rim, just as the sun burst over the horizon. It was a truly awe-inspiring site on what was, incredibly, a perfectly clear, blue sky morning. Within minutes, several others had joined us on the rim and many hugs were being exchanged.
I was quick to point out, however, that the true summit of Uhuru Peak was still a 45 minute trek away. We needed to stifle the celebrations until we were at the top! I left the group in the dust and continued alone to the peak.
With the ice giving way to expansion in the warmth of the day, huge ice serracs could be heard creaking and cracking, as I passed by the massive summit glacier on my way to Uhuru Peak. I felt surprisingly good - no headache, no nausea, only a racing heart rate that I found difficult to control as my pace picked up in the excitement of knowing I was almost at the top.
And then I was there - Uhuru Peak – the summit sign, the view, the amazing feeling that my goal had been accomplished on behalf of my father and millions of arthritis sufferers.
My team soon joined me and the real celebration began with hugs, tears, and many pictures. But our trek wasn’t over – we still had another eight hour descent to Mweka Camp, almost 10,000feet below us! By the time we reached Mweka we had hiked for 19 hours out of the past 36. It didn’t seem to matter though – we were all riding the high of success.
Our final day took us back into the jungle for a four hour trek to Mweka Gate. We were all very relieved when we rounded the final corner and the trail yawned open to reveal the trucks that would take us back to civilization.
I relaxed. I smiled. I laughed. I silently thanked the mountain for allowing me safe passage to her summit and back down.
Dr. Ryan Iverach - Vancouver, BC
http://www.ironguides.net
* * * Your best is our business.™ * * *
The moon was full at midnight on October 3, 2009. I had slept for only three tumultuous hours that night, but I was ready to complete my journey to the top of Africa. I was tired yet excited, full of nervous energy that had been building slowly for the last five days. If all went well I would be on the summit in a mere seven hours.I was so close to the finish, yet my journey had started nearly a year
ago…..
In November of 2008, I joined the Arthritis Society of Canada’s “Joints in Motion” team. Joints in Motion is a division of the Arthritis Society that fundraises through participation in destination events on behalf of a “hero” – someone who has a form of arthritis and is not able to complete the event due to their condition. Having diagnosed my father with severe osteoarthritis several years ago, I had my hero. He had been my teacher when it came to backcountry travel in the Canadian Rockies, so I thought it fitting that I should summit a mountain on his behalf and, so, I signed up for the daunting trek to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro (19,341ft.), the highest point in Africa and the highest free standing mountain on the planet.
My sponsor list surprised me, in the end – many patients, friends and family donated to the cause, and I ended up raising $11,000 for the Arthritis Society, $1500 more than their target sum, to participate.
With my fundraising goals exceeded, my gear packed, and three good luck charms hanging from my necklace I boarded the plane in Vancouver on September 25, 2009, bound first for London where I would meet the rest of my 12 person team, and then on to Nairobi, where we would take a final flight to Arusha, Tanzania where the trek would begin. With the time change, I arrived in Arusha on September 27. Adventure on the flight to Nairobi The adventure started on the flight to Nairobi. I had volunteered to act as the medical resource for our group, and, as such, I had packed a detailed medical kit which I would keep in my carry-on bag. Six hours into our nine hour flight, as I was restlessly moving about in my seat in a desperate attempt to get some sleep, I heard a voice over the public address system requesting any passengers with healthcare experience to report to the back of the plane. I responded and for the next three hours, I monitored a 60-year-old female’s vital signs while she rode out the symptoms of nausea, lightheadedness, stomach ache, chills, and anxiety. I felt badly for her plight which kept me occupied, and out of my seat, for the remainder of the flight.
After two days of recovering from jetlag at a country hotel near Arusha, we met our guides on the morning of September 29, and drove to Machame Gate where our trek would begin. Sorting out the porters and ourselves was a task in itself. We would need 40 porters to carry our gear, food, and camping supplies for the week long journey.
Starting from 6,000feet, Day 1 took us through the jungle and up to Machame camp at 10,000 feet – 2,000 feet above the summit of Whistler – where we experienced what our campsites would be like for the next week. Instead of the rocks and grass I’d been accustomed to camping on in the coastal mountains, our tents were set up in about three inches of cocoa-powder-like dirt. The campsites were garbage-free, but the camping was some of the dirtiest I’ve done. Setting down your pack or bag would result in a puff of dirt that engulfed anything in the vicinity. Little did I know it would take me over a week to get my hands clean after the trip! Up and Away
We set out on Day 2 for the Shira Plateau – a wide, flat expanse of land with heather-like plants and other scrub brush all around the tents. Our first views of the summit cone were here, as we were now completely free of the jungle and no vegetation exceeds two feet at 12,000ft elevation. It was here that sleeping became a problem, not only because the ground was less than flat, but also because the diminishing atmospheric pressure at that elevation meant less oxygen was circulating to our brains. Many of our team - myself included - began to experience varying degrees of sleep apnea and restlessness through the night.
Day 3 was our first and only scheduled acclimatization day. We would purposely ascend to over 15,000ft and then descend back down to camp at 12,000ft. This would help our bodies get used the higher altitudes that lay ahead. As I began the descent to camp through a desert-like terrain, a raging headache took hold of my temporal regions and threatened not to let go. Having no one to deliver a C0/C1 adjustment on the team, I opted for a double dose of Ibuprofen. Four hundred mg later, and Vitamin I, had me headache free at Barranco Camp (12,960feet).
It should be noted that the African cooks provided extremely good meals considering the circumstances. They were cooking over what were essentially 20kg propane tanks with a single burner affixed to a valve on the top. With a few pots, pans and aluminum foil they routinely cranked out perfect rice, spaghetti, eggs, toast, and chicken.
Don’t ask me how they kept the chicken safe for a week – we didn’t ask either. The porters themselves were also incredible. Many of them carried massive loads of gear, crates and folding chairs while wearing gear most of us would consider unsafe for such a trek. They did so without complaint, leaving each camp after us and arriving at each camp before us.
On the morning of Day 4, we awoke to clear skies and saw that our camp was in the shadow of the cinder cone that now loomed 6,000ft directly above us. The day’s first task would be ascending the Barranco Wall – a steep, unforgiving maze of switchbacks and thigh-high steps that rises 800 ft at a very aggressive angle. Some team members had difficulty with the trail’s close proximity to scary drop offs that would surely put an end to one’s trekking for the day, if not for a lifetime! At the summit of the wall we found a number of porters encouraging us with singing and clapping. It was
a feel-good moment that brought the porters and trekkers together in celebration of a job well done.
With the Barranco Wall behind us a rather bizarre, relatively level moonscape lay before us. The flat terrain made for an easy 4 km traverse to the edge of an 800feet gorge that we needed to descend and then immediately ascend to reach Karanga Camp (13,500feet). The gorge left many of us asking, “Where’s the suspension bridge?” and dreaming of a zipline that would spare our weary legs.
Bedtime at Karanga Camp brought with it a fair amount of anxiety with the thought that the next day would be the start of our bid for the summit. Sleep apnea and general restlessness were now beginning to make me not look forward to “going to sleep.” The night was a frustrating experience of repeatedly glancing at my watch only to realize that mere minutes had past since the last time I had glanced at my watch. An agonizing feeling given my level of general fatigue at that time!
Morning came, on Day 5, and a certain level of excitement was palpable throughout the group. Our four hour trek to the final camp started at 9am and took us through fields of large lava rock boulders on yet another dusty trail. The temperature was hovering around zero Celcius, the sky was overcast, and I stayed busy continually checking in on members of our group to monitor them for signs of altitude sickness. (One member was not doing well, despite – doubling his dose of Diamox 0, an altitude sickness medication – and slowing his pace significantly.
Snow greeted us at the Barafu Camp, and I suddenly had a feeling that it was “game on” from here. While most of our group rested for the afternoon, my tentmate and I opted for a two hour acclimatization hike to 16,100feet with one of the assistant guides. This gave us confidence, and killed what would have otherwise been a period of trying to pass the time by sleeping in our
tent.
Dinner time came soon enough and, although no one was hungry, we all knew that eating was a necessity if we were going to fuel our bodies for the long ascent that would start in a few hours. By 8pm we were resting again in our tents, anxiously trying to sleep before an 11:30 pm wake-up call that would signify the beginning of our climb to the top.
The night was eerily calm under the full moon as we left our tents to assemble with the six guides who would go with us to the top. As Richard, our guide, turned to start, I slipped in immediately behind him. My years of endurance sports had taught me that controlling the pace of a group was done at the front of the pack, not the rear.
Eight inch step after eight inch step we trudged upward for seven long hours with breaks only for ingesting food and water – or excreting it! I was using every mental trick I had learned during 13 years of triathlon activity to convince myself to keep going, all the while rationalizing why I had gotten myself into this situation, and praying that the time estimates for the ascent made by our guides were either exact or exaggerated.
We conquered false summit after false summit, wondering if there really was a top to this mountain.
As dawn approached, I glanced up to see that the crater rim was only 100feet away, then glanced back to see that our group had splintered and was now strung out for several 100feet down the pumice slope. The lead guide and I embraced briefly and congratulated each other on making it to the crater rim, just as the sun burst over the horizon. It was a truly awe-inspiring site on what was, incredibly, a perfectly clear, blue sky morning. Within minutes, several others had joined us on the rim and many hugs were being exchanged.
I was quick to point out, however, that the true summit of Uhuru Peak was still a 45 minute trek away. We needed to stifle the celebrations until we were at the top! I left the group in the dust and continued alone to the peak.
With the ice giving way to expansion in the warmth of the day, huge ice serracs could be heard creaking and cracking, as I passed by the massive summit glacier on my way to Uhuru Peak. I felt surprisingly good - no headache, no nausea, only a racing heart rate that I found difficult to control as my pace picked up in the excitement of knowing I was almost at the top.
And then I was there - Uhuru Peak – the summit sign, the view, the amazing feeling that my goal had been accomplished on behalf of my father and millions of arthritis sufferers.
My team soon joined me and the real celebration began with hugs, tears, and many pictures. But our trek wasn’t over – we still had another eight hour descent to Mweka Camp, almost 10,000feet below us! By the time we reached Mweka we had hiked for 19 hours out of the past 36. It didn’t seem to matter though – we were all riding the high of success.
Our final day took us back into the jungle for a four hour trek to Mweka Gate. We were all very relieved when we rounded the final corner and the trail yawned open to reveal the trucks that would take us back to civilization.
I relaxed. I smiled. I laughed. I silently thanked the mountain for allowing me safe passage to her summit and back down.
Dr. Ryan Iverach - Vancouver, BChttp://www.ironguides.net
* * * Your best is our business.™ * * *