Mt. Kili Trek via Lemosho Route Day Two

"Ain't nothin' gonna to break my stride
Nobody's gonna slow me down, oh-no
I got to keep on movin'
Ain't nothin' gonna break my stride
I'm running and I won't touch ground
Oh-no, I got to keep on movin' go"
Break my stride lyrics by Matthew Wilder

It is 6 am. I'm wide awake and full of energy, thanks to an early night's sleep. I can't say my entire night was undisturbed. I did wake a few times from weird dreams which are all too familiar at elevations above 8000feet. The dawn was cold. I was cocooned in my sleeping bag like a young obedient caterpillar. In a few minutes, I hear footsteps outside of my tent and a gentle greeting.

"Jumbo. tea or coffee?" inquired our trek porter.

"I'd love some tea with no sugar, please. Asanti Sana (Swahili: thank you)" I replied

I slowly rest the steamy mug on my lips and draw my first long sip. Ahh, that was good, I thought to myself. I relished the sensation of the hot tea flooding my mouth and cascading down my throat into my flat belly. Taking hot tea in bed? Hmm, I can get used to this sort of service.

I snap myself out of my wistful reverie of daydreams and retrieve from my daypack the day's itinerary. On the agenda is a 5mile trek over 6hours amidst a 2000ft elevation gain to Shira Camp 1 (11500ft) The trail would traverse through the remaining rainforest and then open onto the health landscape. My mindset shifted back to execution mode. Entirely doable, I thought to myself. I finished my tea, got dressed, and headed to the mess tent to eat and meet with the rest of our trekking team. At 8 am, our team was off to the trails.

The rainforest receives an annual rainfall of up to 80inches, and the air is humid and saturated.Kilometer after kilometer of lush, dense foliage; tall camphor and eucalyptus trees shading plants and insects from threatening equatorial rays; and bearded moss hugging tree trunks. Everywhere I looked, tree ferns littered the clearings some even growing to a height of 30ft. Walking through the rainforest reminded me of scenes straight out of the movie Jurassic Park. The rainforest was ageless and magnificent in its awe-inspiring natural beauty, and I was fortunate to be a visitor for that time.

As I walked along the trek, I had an opportunity to talk and become better acquainted with members of our group. We were an eclectic bunch of trekkers from all over the western world bringing diverse backgrounds and experiences on this journey. We talked and shared our past trekking experiences. Out of the eight, I clocked the most altitude alpine experience, whether it was the total number of days spent backpacking or altitude. At first, I didn't think much of this as I freely shared backpacking insights and thoughts on my past experiences. On the Mt Whitney trek undertaken the previous year, I was the most junior trekker on the team. My teammates and trek leaders showered me with best practices and advice. I was a sponge and did my best to take in and apply their experienced counsel as I most appreciated it. Not so on this trip. Sharing my best practices and experiences had the unintended impact of creating distance between myself and my fellow trekkers.

 Being different is not a new experience for me. As a proud American, traveling abroad to third world countries naturally brands you with life experiences, perspectives, and skill sets that are unique. Thankfully, age is the soothing balm- for with time comes the salve of growing comfortable in your skin, accepting your uniqueness and making fewer apologies for it. Being on the mountain with a team is a unique experience. You are responsible for yourself and others, as everyone's safety and well being become acutely interdependent. I instinctively liked this group of trekkers, and we appeared to all want to summit as a team. The guide on our trek was highly expert and well suited to sharing best practices and leading us. So I knew I could take a backseat and if the situation called for my skills and I was needed, I would step up to the task. So, I focused on enjoying the trek, the team, and refrained from discussing my past hiking experiences or discussing topics related to backpacking that would highlight my knowledge or expertise, unless otherwise asked.

It was a little past noon when we arrived at our rest stop for lunch. The clouds were rolling in, and the temperature was beginning to cool. We piled into our mess tent and hungrily started chowing down on our lunch and tea.  We spent an hour and a half eating, talking and laughing with one another before we hitched our packs onto our backs. The fog began to descend upon the camp, and I was growing concerned that perhaps it might rain.  The good news was that I prepared and packed all the necessary rain gear. The bad news was that all of my rain gear was wrapped in my duffel bag, on the back of my porter who already left to Shira Camp I.  I was shit out of luck and with no other recourse but hope. I quietly prayed a brief prayer to the Heavens-

"Dear God; please don't let it rain until I get to camp" yours, Yolla

Our team took off trekking. I plugged my earphones into my ears, turned on my iPod and blasted 80s jams with the intention of distracting me from the ever-increasing ominous weather signs. Pit Patter Pit Patter...light drops of rain fell from the sky. Oh, a little drizzle- no big deal I thought to myself. But minute by minute, the rain began to fall more steadily and faster as we ascended the trail. It was as if the heavens decided to piss on us and we were caught in a full torrential downpour.

"Great work Ms. Experience, all that so-called planning and my rain gear is in my duffel bag. Brilliant. Ok. I can do this." I thought to myself

I stuffed my iPod in the internal pockets of my weather-resistant jacket (not weatherproof) hoping to shield my electronics from the rain. The rain was pouring fiercely, and as we gained in elevation, streams of water came rushing down the trails, flooding the trails with muddy waters, and making the terrain treacherously slippery.

To be continued...