SNOW ON THE EQUATOR
by W.H. Tilman
Kilimanjaro: Kibo and Mawenzi
'So, and no otherwise hillmen desire their hills.' - Kipling
AT first sight few places would appear to offer
less scope for mountaineering
than tropical Africa - mountaineering, that is,
in the full sense of the word; by
which I mean climbing on ice, snow, and glaciers,
as well as rock. But in fact
there are three widely separated regions where
such climbing is to be had; in
two of them on isolated peaks, and in the third
on a range of snow peaks. In
the course of the next few years, by taking full
advantage of the working
agreement reached at the end of Chapter One,
and by meeting someone of a
like mind to myself, who had as yet also escaped
being 'shut up', I was able to
visit all three.
Kilimanjaro, 19,710 feet,
is an extinct volcano lying about 180 miles south-
east of Nairobi, just inside the Tanganyika border.
The boundary between
Kenya and Tanganyika, which is elsewhere a straight
line, bulges out to the
north to include Kilimanjaro in Tanganyika Territory,
or German East
Africa, as it was when the boundary was delineated.
The story is commonly
related (and, whether true or not, it has too
firm a hold now to be given up)
that when the boundary was fixed according to
the Treaty of 1890,
Kilimanjaro was specifically included in Germany
territory, at the cost of an
unstraight line, so that the German Emperor might
have the gratification of
possessing the highest mountain in Africa.
It was first seen in 1848
by the two missionaries Rebmann and Krapf, and
was climbed for the first time by Hans Mayer
and Ludwig Purtscheller in
1889. High though it is and capped with ice and
snow descending as low as
16,000 feet on the south-west and to 18,500 feet
on the north side, the great
bulk of the mountain is more impressive than
its height, for to travel round
the base would involve a journey on foot of several
days. The enormous base
detracts from the apparent height, and this detraction
is accentuated by the
squat, pudding-like dome of Kibo, the highest
summit. In fine weather Kibo
can be seen from Nairobi, when the haze rising
from the hot intervening
plains blots out the lower slopes, leaving the
white dome suspended in mid-air
like a cloud. The Masai, who inhabit the plains
between Nairobi and the
mountain, call Kibo 'Ngaje Ngai' - the House
of God.
On the last day of February
1930, S. and I forgathered at Nairobi, whence
we left by car for the mountain. S. who, like
myself, was a coffee planter, had
a farm north of the railway about 160 miles from
mine. In the middle of it was
a great tooth of granite, which soared up for
about 200 feet - an eyesore to a
planter, but to those of the Faith better than
water in a thirsty land. S. had
worked out several routes up it to which I was
later introduced.
From Nairobi the road runs
south through the Southern Game Reserve -
vast plains, sparsely dotted with thorn-trees
a few feet high, and at this season
of the year, towards the end of the dry weather,
burnt almost bare of grass.
Nevertheless, these plains support great quantities
of game, together with two
or three hundred thousand head of Masai cattle.
These Masai are pastoral
nomads, who in former days overran the whole
of East Africa, but are now
confined to their Reserve, which includes part
of the Game Reserve. They
number only about 22,000 and, since they have
at their disposal over 200 acres
per head, there is room for them, their cattle,
and the game. All the land, of
course, is not equally good, but they follow
the best grazing according to the
season. They live in low huts of hides plastered
with cow-dung, built
contiguously in the form of a circle, inside
of which the cattle are put at night
for safety from lions, and, in former days, hostile
tribes. The Masai village, or
manyatta, inevitably becomes in a short time
a quagmire of trampled mud and
cow-dung, infested with myriads of flies. The
diet of the Masai consists almost
exclusively of blood and milk, the blood being
obtained by bleeding their
cattle. They do not work except tend their herds
and flocks, and they have the
frank manner and independent bearing that befit
such a life. Although clean
in person, they live in the utmost squalor, have
no morals as understood by
us, and are complete savages; but their bravery
is proverbial, and they are
savages of a rather glorious type.
The road across the plains was at that
time more or less as nature had made
it. Little improvement had been attempted except
to put 'Irish' bridges across
the sandy beds of the water-courses. These take
the form of a concrete
causeway across the beds of the numerous dongas,
which for most of the year
are dry, but which on occasion can become formidable
rivers within a matter
of minutes. For crossing the sand beds of these
dongas when dry the 'Irish'
bridge is most useful, but the way into and out
of these river-beds was always
a strain on the car and one's nerves; I remember
one, where the front wheels
started climbing out before the back wheels had
finished going down.
The road between these fearsome
places was seamed and scored with
parallel ruts and transverse cracks, sometimes
a foot wide; the pace was
therefore circumspect, so that the man who was
not driving had leisure to
admire the game which was to be seen on either
hand. There a rhino would be
grazing peacefully two hundred yards from the
road; here the head of a giraffe
might stare at us superciliously from over the
top of a thoru-tree not twenty
yards away, before the owner of it glided away
in his strange, undulating
gallop; and once we stopped the car to inspect
through field-glasses a lion lying
under a bush a quarter of a mile from the road.
When we got out in order to
go closer, he got up and walked away with his
tail twitching contemptuously.
We reached Longido (130 miles)
after dark, and stopped there for the
night. There was a rest house, and hard by is
Mount Longido, a conical scrub-
covered hill rising straight from the plain to
a height of 8,500 feet. It was the
scene of heavy fighting at the commencement of
the War in East Africa in 1914.
Next day a run of 120 miles
over a better road took us to Marungu, a little
place on the south-east slopes of the mountain
at an elevation of about 5,000
feet above the sea. We had driven round two sides
of the mountain - the west
and south sides - on which there is a considerable
area devoted to coffee-
growing by both natives and Europeans. The volcanic
soil is deep and rich,
the climate warm, while water furrows can be
led everywhere~ from the
innumerable streams descending from the forested
slopes of the mountain
above. At Marungu there is a small hotel where
we put up, dumped our
surplus kit, and arranged for twelve porters
and a donkey to accompany us
next day.
When the Germans were in occupation
here they built two huts on the
mountain; one at 8,500 feet, which is called
Bismarck, and another at 11,500
feet, called Peter's Hut, after Dr. Karl Peters,
the notorious German
explorer, whose efforts to extend the German
sphere of influence to Uganda,
when matters there were still undecided, did
not stop at opening the private
correspondence of his British rivals. These huts,
particularly the lower ones,
are in fairly frequent use by visitors to Marungu,
which is popular as a health
resort for people condemned to live in hot, unlikely
places like Tanga, on the
neighbouring coast. Apart from the great altitude,
there is nothing to stop the
more energetic from going to the top, because
on Kibo there are no climbing
difficulties whatsoever. Perhaps that is putting
it too strongly, for on any
mountain much depends on the weather, and on
Kibo in thick weather the
finding of the summit presents more difficulties
than usual. The reason for this
will be apparent later, but, I suppose, up to
1930 at least twenty people had
made genuine ascents, and a few others, like
ourselves, ascents which were
only technically invalid.
Leaving Marungu, the track to Bismarck
follows a broad spur at an easy
gradient. On every hand are the huts, banana
groves, maize and coffee fields
of the natives, the lower slopes at this point
being thickly populated and well
cultivated by the Wachagga, who seem to have
a good working knowledge of
the art of irrigation. At about 7,000 feet the
cultivation comes to an end on
the fringes of the forest zone. Inside the forest
it is dark and gloomy; the
undergrowth is thick; streams abound, and the
trees are typical of those found
in 'rain forest'. These are evergreen, the species
numerous, trees of all sizes
and shapes struggling together for space and
light. Elephants abound, but are
protected, and near the Bismarck hut their tracks
lie everywhere, making the
finding of the path to the hut difficult.
This is a substantial structure of stone
situated near the upper limit of the
forest zone. Little more than four hours were
needed to reach it, and that
evening, after we had settled in, we climbed
to a point clear of the forest to
enjoy a good view of Mawenzi, a fantastically
weathered peak of red volcanic
rock, 17,000 feet high, separated from the higher
but less interesting Kibo by
a wide, flat saddie of shale. It looked difficult,
and if the climbing of Kibo
was a duty, that of Mawenzi promised to be a
pleasure.
Rain fell heavily in the night,
but we got away soon after seven to a fine
morning, and reached Peter's Hut in four hours,
just in time to avoid a sharp
hailstorm. The path lay over bare and boggy moors,
where we saw for the first
the curious plants peculiar to the Alpine zone
in the tropics. This zone
lies between 10,000 and 14,000 feet, and the
most remarkable plants found
there are the giant groundsel and the giant lobelia.
The first is like an
enormous cabbage stuck on top of a thick stem
six to eight feet high, while the
lobelia is a long, columnar, feathery, green
stalk, very unlike an ordinary
lobelia. Besides these there are Alpines, balsams,
heather-like bushes, and
withal many lmore birds than are seen in the
rather lifeless forest.
The hut was a small wooden building with
a tin roof and a very efficient
stove, for which we had brought a supply ofwood.
Not unreasonably, the
porters, whose quarters were distinctly airy,
complained bitterly of the cold,
while the little white donkey voiced the sentiments
of all with a series of
discordant brays, and looked very much out of
place. The walls of the hut
were sadly disfigured by the names of the many
parties who had penetrated
thus far, and who were not willing to have it
forgotten.
In the night there was a heavy
thunderstorm, and, judging from the solid
banks of cloud below and to the south, we feared
that the 'long rains' were
about to break. The rainy season generally sets
in towards the end of March -
slightly earlier, perhaps, in Tanganyika than
in Kenya, because the rain
spreads up from the south with the advance of
the south-west monsoon. This
unusually early onset of the rains foreboded
for us not only unpleasant
conditions on ,the mountain, but the possibility
of getting stranded on the way
home by rivers in flood.
Nearing the 16,000-foot saddle,
and within a mile of the hut, we came upon
snow. Our head porter and guide, one Solomon,
who had been very near to
the top of Kibo, if not on it, pointed out our
destination, the Hans Mayer
Caves, across the saddle. It looked about half
a mile distant, but it took us an
hour to get there, and we realised the height
was beginning to tell. The
porters, who were anxious to dump their loads
and get back from these
inhospitable wastes to the comparative comfort
of Peter's Hut, went well, and
we did our best, but our little white dapple
had the legs and lungs of us all.
The cave, like most caves,
still seemed to be the home of many winds
unreleased by /Eolus, but we made ourselves fairly
comfortable, and
prepared for an early start next day. I had a
slight headache, due to the
altitude, but S. was fit enough. The donkey and
all the porters had gone down
except Solomon and one companion, who suffered
together silently. There is
nothing, I think, except cold which will reduce
an African native to
speechlessness, and that unusual state of affairs
is perhaps accounted for by
the impossibility of talking intelligibly with
chattering teeth.
We started at 4.30 a.m. in
thick weather and falling snow. The route at first
lay up snow lying thinly on scree at an easy
angle. The climb is devoid of
interest from a mountaineering point of view,
so the reader is, for the
moment, spared the arduous mental exertion of
following the party up the
perilous knife-edge ridges, stone-swept gullies,
and precipitous faces which
abound so plentifully in descriptions of a climb.
On top of Kilimanjaro is a
great flat-bottomed crater, possibly a mile across
at its longest diameter, filled
with ice and snow - what the Germans called on
their map the Credner
Glacier. On the rim of the crater is the summit,
or summits, for on this great
circumference there are numerous snow hillocks
or bumps of varying height.
The rim is gained by a notch at its lowest point,
which is close on 19,000 feet,
and then the climber turns left-handed to follow
the crater-wall round to the
south and west, passing over several of these
bumps, until the highest of all,
Kaiser Wilhelm Spitze, is reached.
At half past ten we gained
the first of these points, Gillman Point, in a mist,
where, digging in the snow, we found a cairn
and a visitors' book. Solomon,
with the wisdom of his namesake, now declared
he had had enough, so we
parked him there to await our return, and pushed
on, well knowing that the
official summit was still far off, though very
little higher. I was not feeling very
well myself; in fact I was being sick at frequent
intervals; but we ploughed
slowly on through waist-deep snow, presently
reaching the top of another
bump, which later we judged must have been Stella
Point. Yet another top
loomed vaguely through the mists some distance
ahead, but I am obliged to
confess that its challenge aroused little interest
in us, and, after debate, we
turned in our tracks. We picked up the patient
Solomon, now the colour of a
mottled and overripe Victoria plum, and at twelve
o'clock started down.
When a party fails to get
to the top of a mountain, it is usual and convenient
to have some picturesque excuse - preferably
some objective reason for
turning back, such as the dangerous state of
the snow, the approach of bad
weather, or falling stones, so that a story of
failure makes better reading than
one of success, while a chorus of praise resounds
to the party's display of
sound judgement and its unselfish renunciation
of a victory easily within its
grasp. If the story of our failure has lost something
in the telling, it is owing to
an unfortunate propensity, perhaps only temporary,
for truth, and the reason
for our retreat was the more prosaic and not
uncommon one - inability to go
any further.
During our flounderings in
the vicinity of the summit the weather was so
thick and the sun so effectually hidden that
we had both discarded our snow-
glasses, the better to see where we were going.
When we got back to the cave
about two o'clock our eyes began to smart, then
to hurt, until by evening they
were firmly closed and exceedingly painful. We
were completely snow-blind.
The pain made the night a wretched one, but by
morning our eyes were on the
mend. It snowed all that day, during which we
slept, pottered about near the
cave, and discussed our next move... A stern
sense of duty prompted some
half-hearted talk of finishing what we now suspected
was the uncompleted
task of climbing Kibo, but the fresh snow which
had fallen, and the bad
weather, gave us a good excuse for going down
to the warmth and comfort of
Peter's Hut. No one was more delighted at this
decision than the faithful
Solomon, though it would be idle to pretend that
we ourselves acted upon it
with any great show of reluctance.
It was raining hard when we
arrived there at noon next day, which so
disgusted us that we almost abandoned hope of
Mawenzi, and talked of
retreat from the mountain. However, that evening
the weather appeared
more promising, so we decided to wait. March
8th, however, was another day
of mist and rain. At night there was another
violent thunderstorm, but,
rendered desperate by inactivity, we resolved
to attempt Mawenzi next day,
be the weather what it might.
The two of us left the hut
at 3.15 a.m. and reached the saddle between Kibo
and Mawenzi soon after dawn... At least, we assumed
the slight lessening of
the gloom was the dawn, for a dense mist shrouded
everything, and we sat
there waiting for a clearing to disclose the
whereabouts of our peak. This was
presently vouchsafed us, and at eight o'clock
we were sitting at the foot of the
north-west face of Mawenzi waiting impatiently
for another clearing to give us
some hint as to where to start. No clearing came
so we roped up and began
poking about tentatively at the foot of the rocks.
The peak had been climbed
twice before, and we were looking for a couloir
which was the key to the
ascent. We entered a chimney which looked invitingly
simple, but were soon
brought to a stand and an ignominious retreat
by the ice and snow with which
the rocks were plastered.
This check seemed to rouse
us from our defeatist attitude, just as an insult
may goad the most placid into determined activity.
We dumped our rucksacks
at the foot and started again, and at nine o'clock
we reached the foot of a
promising-looking gully. The whole mountain was
iced, the rock rotten, snow
falling, and it was still misty, but in defiance
of these bad conditions we
continued the climb. Four short rock pitches
divided by stretches of steep
snow landed us at the foot of a subsidiary gully
coming down from the left.
This seemed to be the line of least resistance,
so we turned up it, and, after a
severe struggle, reached the top of one of the
several jagged teeth which
decorate the summit ridge. The time was about
two o'clock. We could now
see that it was not the highest of them, for
this lay at the head of the main
gully. It is called Wissmann Spitze on the German
map. Descending rapidly
into the main gully, we climbed a steep snow
slope, and gained the summit at
four o'clock.
No view but the half-seen
snows of Kibo greeted us, but now, as ever, the
joy of difficulties overcome was ample reward.
We had no time to waste, and
hastily began the descent, where, in the course
of climbing down one of the
rock pitches via S.'s shoulders, I lost both
hat and snow-glasses, which went
spinning down the gully. We reached the foot
of the rocks before dark, and,
not stopping to look for my property, raced down
the 3,000 feet to Peter's in
the gathering gloom, fearful lest we should miss
the hut.
Breakfast at Bismarck, lunch
at Marungu, marks the rapidity of our retreat
next day. We paid off and dismissed the porters;
Solomon, wise as ever,
forgetting to return a heavy overcoat which S.
had lent him. Our fears about
the effect of the early rains upon the road were
fully confirmed, and we learnt
that the direct road to Nairobi was now impassable.
The only alternative was
to follow the old Mombasa road east via Taveta
to Voi on the railway, 200
miles the wrong side of Nairobi and only 100
miles from Mombasa. From
there we could try the new road which follows
roughly the alignment of the
railway, or, if the worst came, go back by train.
All went well as far as Voi,
which was reached in one day without incident.
Trouble began next morning at a river, where
the bridge, only an 'Irish' one,
had been washed away. Luckily there were a gang
of natives at work on the
road, who pushed us across the fifty yards of
flooded river while the water
swirled over the floorboards of the car. We bowled
merrily along a road on
which lay many pools. These we took as they came
at full speed, careful trials
having assured us that the bottoms were hard.
At midday we had the
misfortune to encounter one that refused to be
rushed. It was deep and soft,
and the car settled down with the back axle sitting
firmly on the ridge between
the ruts, while the wheels revolved helplessly
in a liquid mud bath of nauseous
colour and smell. All the usual expedients of
jacking up, digging out, and
strewing branches were tried, without any result
but to plaster us in mud from
head to foot. There was nothing to be done but
wait upon the event, and
presently a lorry came along and pulled us out
of the slough. Proceeding with
more caution, we reached that night Makindu,
a station on the railway, where
we heard that ahead of us there were a dozen
cars and lorries waiting for a
flooded river to subside. At that time the Mombasa-Nairobi
road was very
popular with transport agents, the Government
having been foolishly
persuaded to spend some money on making it passable.
This resulted in a
serious loss of traffic to the railway (a familiar
story), but the status quo ante
was speedily restored when the Government withheld
funds for the road's
upkeep, allowing it to revert to its former state.
S. was in a hurry to get home,
so boarded the train next morning, while I arranged
for an open truck to
receive the much-enduring car - a necessary arrangement,
but one that
seriously upset the expedition's balance-sheet.
I ran the car on to the truck,
but we did not get hitched on to a goods train
until evening. We chugged away
through the night, myself sitting in the car,
too cold to sleep, and imagining I
was back in the draughty cave in Kibo. When dawn
came we were running
across the Plains we had traversed a short fortnight
ago: then, bare brown
veldt, now a fresh green carpet on which the
drifting herds of game grazed
contentedly, hardly deigning to watch our dragon-like
progress.