Mount Kenya: Days 1 & 2 (led by chickens)

In Seattle, I was always careful not to tell anyone that I liked "camping," lest they strap a pack to my back and make me walk for days.  Rather, I was always very specific in my enthusiasm for "car camping."  The kind of camping where you drive into the woods, pop the trunk and pull out your full-sized pillow and the smore's materials.  Which I suppose is to say that I'm not much of a mountaineer.  I'm very fond of the outdoors... tempered with comforts of home.  

Yet somehow my proclivity to say Yes to adventures without a comprehensive evaluation of the situation has somehow landed me here, a triumphant veteran of a 5-day trek up and over Mt. Kenya.  

DAY 1

Due to what could easily be referred to as the clusterfrick of Nairobi traffic, we don't get to the mountain until late afternoon.  The drive up is foreboding, rainy, and makes me question my judgement in agreeing to this trip.  

Driving to the gate, behind stoic porters

No bribes?

But the rain stops and the air is cool and crisp as we start the trek up up and up the mountain.

Within the first hour, it becomes very clear that we will not be able to sustain any kind of quality conversational material for 5 days straight.  We discuss the most desirable method of transportation a la Harry Potter.  The winners are portkey or broom, depending on your distance and hurry.  Everybody hates flu powder.  

Our trusty guide, Paul, leading the way

The sky begins to clear, and the scenery takes on the feeling of Irish or Scottish highlands.  Only day 1, and we are already above the tree line.  A couple of wild mountain game hens (chickens) cross our path and lead the way for about 1/4 mile.  Yes, we are going slow enough to be led by chickens.  

Kenyan highlands

It's a leisurely walk (what was I so worried about?), and before I know it we are at the camp, which is a basic hostel on the mountain with bunk beds and a long string of glorified picnic tables.  It reminds me both of an army mess hall and an old English drinking pub below ground during winter, neither of which I've experienced, but either of which could be easily populated by the Brits and military men that share our quarters.   The camp is cold!  As it's going to be every night for the next four.  We eat in puffy jackets and hats, and we sleep in them too.

Mountain mess hall

DAY 2

Up at 6am, and we're still the last group to leave camp.  Someone clearly knew something we don't.

Our longest day of hiking, we go up and over several steep hills, the completion of each begetting the beginning of the next (mountains beyond mountains).  In our semi-single-file line I feel a bit like we're the fellowship of the ring, embarking the long journey to Mount Doom.  I am very, very cool.  But there are babbling brooks, funky flora, and wildflowers.  Hiking is a delight!  

Paul the guide: "This is the plant that looks like ostrich feathers."  Because, clearly, that's a common frame of reference.

Blooms of the valley

I realize before long that, trapped without any internet connection, my stories tend to taper off unverified.  "Giraffes can't put their head down for more than 10-15 minutes, otherwise.... um... they'll explode!"  Or "Stephen Colbert's sister just won the democratic primary for... um... senator or governor or something.  In... um... one of the Carolinas... or maybe Georgia?"  I should really start reading more than the first half of news articles.

And I'm so distracted with my lack of story endings that I hardly notice the sheet of rain we're walking towards.

This.

And these rains down in Africa are rains.  We try hiding under a leaning cliff, but it's too late- I'm soaked through my waterproof pants, my waterproof jacket, and my waterproof shoes.  

Hiding from weather

This is definitely one of the more miserable experiences I've had in a while, and it's only day 2.  I don't think I can stand three more days of this.  Thinking about the money I spent on this trip makes me feel worse.  Why oh why do people pay good money to torture themselves in this way.  Now it really feels like the trek into Mordor and I can't wait for this to be over.  

That's rain obscuring those peaks, folks

Actually, it looked like Mordor 20 years after Sauron was banished... new buds growing up through the charred branches.

And finally, just in time for the rain to end, we arrive at Shipmans Camp, nestled at the foot of the peaks.  With just enough time to change into dry clothes, drink a few rounds of tea, play Pass the Pigs, eat dinner, and head for an early bedtime to prepare for the 2am wake-up on summit day tomorrow.  

Shipman's