Stage 5b

I was also aware that during the operation there was nothing I could do to prevent myself from sliding very slowly down hill again. I didn't slide too far but far enough to put me almost at the back of the group. All done and fastened up again I rejoined the group. It was here that I joined up with Roger. Roger had started the climb with his brother David who, unfortunately was one of the few who never made it out of the huts at the start of this climb. Roger was [is] 65 years old - not that his age mattered right now. All that mattered was that he and I would spend the next hour with our own porter climbing to Gilmans Peak. There was a small group just behind us. I recognised Mark by his 'unique' headgear [you don't want to know!] I recall thinking that there was something quite comforting about not being the only one who was suffering at this point. "If they could make it so could I!" and Roger is 65 years old for God's sake. What an inspiration he turned out to be!

Our porter was magnificent. Walk four steps and rest was his lead. He obviously knew that we were now all struggling for breath and that the climb was becoming more difficult with every step. I had devised a plan that I recall sharing with someone, I'm not sure who, but it made a lot of sense.

I would use the path we were taking as my driver. All I had to do was make it to the end of this 'zig.' Then all I had to do was make it to the end of the next 'zag.' How would I feel if I gave up at the end of this zig and the next zag was the last one? For all we knew it could well have been - we didn't know how far was left.

I was using every type of motivation I could think of now. Sometimes I was moving 'towards' the picture that I had firmly planted in my unconscious mind a few days earlier of me stood at the top underneath the sign declaring that I had made it.

Other moments would have me moving 'away from' having to tell certain people back home that I hadn't made the top. No one would ridicule me but they would know that I had finally met my match. When I REALLY needed a push that is the picture I would bring up on my screen. I even used 'fear' as a motivation. Knowing the sort of person that I have become, I knew for a fact that if I didn't make it to the top of this damn mountain tonight I would have to come back and do it all again. And that thought put the fear of God into me!

So whichever way you looked at it the decision had been made. I simply had to make it to Uhuru Peak - and I had to do it tonight.

Something to thinkabout...

I am predominantly a 'towards' motivated person which means that to this point I was happy to work towards the picture of success that I had previously placed I my head. However, it was becoming more apparent that this alone would not be strong enough. I consciously made a list of all of those people at home that I would not want to go back to and say, "I didn't make it" to. This ensured that I now had something to work towards, my picture, and something to work away from, my fear of telling people I had 'failed'. Some people refer to this as the pain and pleasure principle. In my case I was ensuring that the pleasure of success was far greater than the pain of perceived failure.

You can use exactly the same principle to any goal you might have set for yourself. Imagine how powerful it would be if, for instance, it was used by someone wishing to stop smoking. The pleasure of giving up, in this case that might be living longer and saving a great deal of money, or the pain of continuing which could include premature death or loss of something valuable such as a holiday through lack of funds. Using both types of motivation together will give you the support you need when you need it.

And then it happened. Less than an hour after the last one, I needed yet another dump. I couldn't believe it. "There can't be anything left can there?" How wrong I was. The Doc told me later that this is just another way that the altitude tries to get you to give up. On completion of the second one, I recall being completely drained so my first energy bar came out of my bag. It was frozen solid as was the rest of my water, but some tenacious nibbling and strong sucking on the ice was good enough to feed me for now. "Surely there can't be far to go now?" Then we heard it. "HOOOO HAAAA" A cry of achievement from someone ahead. Looking up we could see two small lights. These turned out to be the head torches of two porters who were sat on Gilmans Point and had been all night. We were there. Except we weren't...

Light and sound travel a long way at night and especially when it is coming down hill. At least we were at the end of the scree stuff. The journey of one step forward, half a slide back was over. But now, as if the mountain had saved one last act of cruelty until the end, we were faced with rocks. Great big boulders all mixed together to form their own obstacle course strategically placed between the 'minor' prize of Gilmans Peak and us.

We hit the rocks at about 5.45 am. I can be so precise because I remember looking at my watch and telling Roger that we had about half an hour to reach Gilmans Point before sunrise. For some reason I had made up my mind that the sun would rise at 06.20am! [Perhaps we had been told so at the bottom. I'm not too sure]

Roger and I set about the rocks with a vengeance. We could see the lights and we could hear voices. For all intents and purpose we were there - we just had to GET there. Roger and I reached Gilmans Point at 5685 metres above sea level, at exactly 06.25, Wednesday 23rd June, 2004.

I recall two things about Gilmans Point. Firstly if was VERY cold [we were later informed that it had been 21 degrees below freezing]. Secondly I recall how very small it was. I think I expected a great platform affording fantastic vantage points and viewing decks. What we got was a small ledge barely big enough for the two of us and our porter. Anna from SCOPE was already there with a few others, I don't recall exactly who, but I do recall Moses being there. They were just setting off on the final climb of 210 metres to Uhuru Peak.

Who knows what decision I would have made had I been alone. I was freezing cold, though sweating profusely, and I was physically exhausted. My legs were not my own and we had been told that the final stretch to Uhuru Peak would be around a three-hour round trip. However, because they were just leaving, it seemed natural to join them on the final stretch.

There were about six or seven of us in the party for the final climb to Uhuru Peak; Anna, Moses, a few others and me. After a short while I realised, with a great deal of sadness, that Roger was not with us. At first I felt a little selfish. I know he reached Gilmans Point with me because he took my picture for me on my camera [one of the few that was still working up there] but had he taken a conscious decision to go back down or had I not made it clear to him that I was going on. He told me later that it was the former, but I still missed him for a while. Not for long though. It soon became apparent that this final short stretch was going to be as difficult as the whole night had been so far.

The walk was barely a walk. I was now taking four half steps and then resting on my stick for a few seconds. I even tried the dancing thing for a while but to no avail. Heck, I can't even dance at home let alone up a mountain! Breathing was something of a challenge but nothing compared to the challenge of picking my feet up one at a time. My legs were spent and I was spent. So much so that my porter saw my predicament and relieved me of my rucksack, an act that earned him $20 dollars at Uhuru Peak [$20 dollars was the equivalent of four days wages for him]. It was around about now that I became aware that I had the makings of a fantastic hangover but I hadn't touched a drop since the flight five days ago. This was just the altitude trying to tell me something again and again I wasn't listening

For a while every small peak brought another disappointment. "I thought that was it." I would say to my guide. "Soon, pole - pole," he would say to me. Where do these guys get their patience from I wonder?

Through all of this though, I did take time to marvel at the scenery. I recall making a note to myself to take pictures before I came down again. The snow that we had seen since our first glimpse of the mountain last Sunday turned out to be a glacier about one hundred feet thick. It was as spectacular a sight as I have ever seen, and what a privilege it was to see it. To the right, I could see inside the crater that had once been a volcano. Again I saw ice and rock that, although I could see perfectly well in colour, looked like a black and white picture.

One more small peak and finally, there it was. A sign stuck in the rock that simply said "Congratulations! You are now at Uhuru Peak, Tanzania. 5895m AMSL." I was there.

It was 07.55, Wednesday 23rd June, 2004 and I was standing on the highest peak in Africa on top of the highest mountain in the world that it is possible to walk up. With the help of numerous other people, I had taken seven hours and thirty-five minutes to climb just 1192 metres, or two-thirds of a mile. That works out at just 159 metres an hour or, for the really boring ones, 2.6 metres a minute. In 1994 it took me exactly two-hours longer than that to complete an Ironman triathlon and given the choice, I would repeat the latter rather than climb Kilimanjaro again.