"Don't Think; Just Walk"

By Dolph Tillotson
The Daily News

Published February 3, 2002

MT. KILIMANJAR0, Northern Tanzania – My clearest memory of our last restless evening on Kilimanjaro was the sound of falling rocks, avalanches, one after another.

	Eligius Mark Minja, 25, guiding his 153rd trip to the top of Kilimanjaro.

It began late in the afternoon. We heard the sound of rocks cascading down the Western Breach, beginning as a low rumble and growing louder as the rocks skittered and crashed off the face of the mountain.

We noticed it at tea that afternoon. As we discussed the coming night’s climb with our guide, 25-year-old Eligius Mark Minja, we became aware of the rumbling sound. Though only 25, Eligius was on his 153rd trip to the summit. He began climbing at 16.

“Shhh,” someone said. “What’s that sound?”

“That is rocks falling,” Eligius said with a smile.

“Do they ever fall on climbers?” someone asks.

“No. We climb after midnight. By then, it will be cold, and the rocks will not fall.”

It had been sunny for a short time that afternoon, and the warmth melted the snow and ice above us, setting off many small slides.

We are at Arrow Glacier Camp on the western slopes of Mt. Kilimanjaro in Tanzania. It is Thursday, Jan. 17, 2002. The altitude where we are camped is just under 16,000 feet – higher than any peak in the lower 48 states of the U.S. We are approximately 3,500 feet below Uhuru Peak.

At 16,000 feet, there is so little oxygen in the air that the smallest exertion – rolling over in your sleeping bag, for example – leaves one gasping for breath.

Most of our party has experienced one or more minor symptoms of altitude sickness – headaches, coughing, dizziness and insomnia. However, no one has suffered severely, and we count ourselves lucky in that.

In the hours before midnight, the clouds have blown away, and the sky in the Southern Hemisphere is a bright blanket of stars, hard and clear in the black, cold sky. Far away to the south, we see the lights of Moshi Town. There is no sound but the wind and the falling rock.

Eligius has given us final instructions. We are to dress warmly, in layers, because it will become much colder as we near the summit, cold enough sometimes to freeze fingers and toes, he warns us solemnly.

We are to carry plenty of drinking water, and we are to rest from about 5 until 11 p.m. The climb starts at midnight, sharp.

I wonder now if any of us slept at all that night. We had spent a year getting ready for the climb, and it all came down to this – a long, last sleepless evening, each of us alone with our thoughts.

I thought about the ascent and wondered if I would have the strength to make it. I thought of home, and I listened to the rocks falling around me in the night. We had spent the previous five days walking steadily up the face of the mountain, nearly breathless, in rain, sleet and snow, and we knew the last climb would be far more difficult than we had imagined.

Try to sleep, I told myself. Don’t think. Just walk.

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