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CAMP LIFE -
That first
evening at Machame Hut set a routine for daily camp life. We
marched through part of the day and arrived at our daily camp.
Then our cook, Eugene, prepared tea, served deferentially by
Dominique.
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Tillotson
and Galbraith pause on rocky terrain below Lava Tower
camp.
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Tea consisted
of hot water for tea or coffee and, most often, cookies, popcorn
and sometimes parched peanuts.
On the mountain,
we slept three men to a tent Jimmy, Brent and me in one
tent, and Tom, Harry and Richard in another. For the first three
nights on the trail, we had many other campers near us, all
on the same trek up the mountain. The last two nights, our party
camped alone for reasons we did not at first understand.
The tents,
jammed with our sleeping bags, mats, packs and gear were crowded
but comfortable, dry and clean.
Our porters
carried most of the gear up the mountain. We carried only small
daypacks, including our cameras, daily water ration, compass,
snacks and other light gear.
We generally
ate supper between 6:30 and 7 p.m., and wed turn in for
sleep as it was getting dark, around 8 or 8:30 p.m.
Food was
simple soup, fried chicken and potatoes, toast, with
sliced fruit for dessert. Someone read an account of another
climb, and the writer said food began to taste like ground glass
after several days on the trail. We did not find that to be
true.
The food
wasnt gourmet quality, but it was sufficient. We were
tired and hungry at the end of each day; none of us had any
complaints.
As we turned
in to sleep that first night, we listened to our porters going
about the business of cleaning up camp and preparing for the
next days hike. Before turning in, I wrote in my journal:
I
can hear the porters outside our tent, talking and laughing.
Swahili seems to me a beautiful, lilting language. It bubbles
up from the throat, the Rs roll as in Spanish.
The porters laugh a great deal, and at least one of them must
be a great story teller. I can hear his very distinct voice,
telling long tales, using odd inflections and different voices
a womans voice, a menacing male growl always
followed by laughter.
It had been
about four nights since Id slept well, so that night the
laughter frankly bugged me.
Toilet facilities
on the mountain were crude to non-existent. Often, rather than
face the filthy, stinking privies no more than four walls
with a hole in the floor we wandered off in the bushes
to answer natures call. Park rangers dont like that,
but it happens.
There was
no running water in any camp. The only wash water came to us
in heated pans from our porters. On Kilimanjaro, one does not
bathe or shave. If youre meticulous about hygiene, stay
home.
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