Helen Farmer tells us about her incredibly challenging and rewarding ascent of Africa’s highest peak
Let’s get one thing clear: I’m not an especially fit or adventurous person. Ask me to run 2 kilometres and I’ll be panting in minutes and red in the face. Before October 2021, the highest peaks I’d conquered were in the Lake District as a child.
And yet, here I am. A 39-year-old mum of two, who can forever say that she summited Kilimanjaro, the highest freestanding mountain in Africa. If I didn’t have the photos (or missing toenail) I wouldn’t believe it myself.
The question I’ve been asked time and time again is… why? Why put yourself through a week in the wild, freezing temperatures, hours of hiking, no phone coverage, dubious food and time away from my kids? I’m still trying to make sense of that myself, but let’s start at the beginning.
I grew up a bit sporty (school netball team, a bit of hockey, frequent moaner of cross country in the rain) but as I got older, my weight increased and for the last 20 years I was used to being the biggest in the room, the slowest in bootcamp, the weakest at the gym. Then I decided to make some big changes: I lost 40kg, started exercising and (shock!) enjoying it, and generally became more active. This included hiking in the UAE, at Fossil Rock, Showka, Jebel Jais and beyond.
So when my rehab specialist and friend Keith announced that his business, The Physical Training Company, was teaming up with Gulf 4 Good for a trek to the top of Kilimanjaro to raise funds for a school in Tanzania, he pretty much signed me up.
Ahh, it’s a year away! It’s during a pandemic! This will never actually happen! These thoughts kept my panic at bay.
Until it WAS happening. We were a team of 18, led by elite mountaineer Caroline Leon, who held a kit session in the gym, explaining that our hygiene levels were going to be very questionable, telling us to enjoy Africa’s nature every second, and checking that everything we had bought for the trip would keep us warm.
In the run up to leaving in October there was a lot of chat about keeping warm. The layers we’d be hiking in, sleeping in, summiting in. On Kilimanjaro you summit at night and it gets bitterly cold. Did we have a hot water bottle? A flask? Enough socks? A sleeping bag that isn’t just designed for camping in the Dubai dunes? Snacks that would cheer us up when the going got tough at 3am? She asked and fielded endless questions to make sure our kit was complete. There are no shops at 5,895 metres.
In terms of other pre-trip prep, as a group we climbed Ski Dubai on Friday mornings and hit Showka when the weather cooled, endured ice baths, practiced conscious breathing to help with oxygen levels, swapped shopping links and memes on a WhatsApp group, did strength classes at The Training Room, and shared YouTube videos of people who had summited before.
To me, it still didn’t feel like it was happening. I packed, had my vaccinations and an iron infusion, debated and decided to take anti-sickness medication, tried to talk to my daughters about it (they didn’t seem particularly bothered), spoke to doctors, angling for a note to get me out of the trip based on having the knees of a 90-year-old. It was happening.
We flew from Dubai to Ethiopia, then onto Kilimanjaro, eyeing up other climbers in the queue. Which route would they take? Who would make it?
Our accommodation for the first night was the Marangu Hotel, a two-hour minibus ride from the airport. Basic but in beautiful grounds full of purple trees and lush green lawns, the bungalows were our last taste of life as we knew it – bye bye beds and flushing toilets. The hotel has been taking people up the mountain since the 1930s, and are expert at putting together teams of guides and porters, but nothing could have prepared me for the size of the crew that was going up with us. We were a total of 92 people and it felt like an army.
Our lead guide was Charlie and he had 10 assistant guides, plus cooks, porters and more. The pandemic hit Tanzania hard, with tourism a significant source of income. This was only their second trip in two years, and the mood was merry – these men were excited to be working again, and it was infectious. We were in safe hands, we had the gear, they had more than an idea and we were ready.
Gear weighed, water bladders full, we set off. We took the Rongai route, which started in the rainforest, a pretty gentle first day of spotting monkeys, weaving through trees and getting to know the guides. We arrived at the camp to find a dining tent erected, our own tents up and our duffel bags waiting. It was incredible. And then it got cold. Even on the first night we were wrapped up, hats on for dinner, hands wrapped around endless cups of hot tea. We woke up above the clouds.
Over the next few days we fell into a rhythm. Sometimes we were quiet, others chatty. We covered significant distances, stopping for a packed lunch and a lie down, putting layers on, taking layers off, early to bed, sharing our highlights of the day around the dinner table.
When you live in a busy city like Dubai, it’s amazing to disconnect. No phones, nothing to do that day but walk and climb and be together.
We slept in the shadows of neighbouring mountains, some felt sick, others woke up to take photos of the sunrise, some people retreated into themselves, contemplating what lay ahead, others found comfort in company. Everywhere we looked there was beauty.
The phrase ‘summit night’ had been used countless times. But nothing could have prepared us.
After a long, tough hike to Kibo Hut (4,750 metres above sea level) we had an early dinner before going to bed at 6pm. We were woken at 11pm to set off.
You sleep in your clothes because it’s too cold to get dressed. We huddled in the dining tent for a final briefing session and kit check. All the layers. Water. Walking poles. Your favourite snacks.
We walked single file, the guides checking on everyone as we trekked. Look up and you’ll see groups who left before you, their head torches blinking like stars in the blackness. Impossibly high. Surely we’re not going… there?
The group split naturally into two. Some people went back down to camp, too tired, or vomiting, in pain. Sunrise was a turning point for me; we were so high you could see the curve of the earth, and I knew the coldest hours were behind us. I went from looking down at the boots in front of me, to marvelling at how far we had come.
The first summit on Kilimanjaro is Gilman’s Peak and just over half of our group made it there. Then it was time to make a decision: who felt like they could reach Uhuru? Another two hours uphill, around a freezing crater, it’s the highest point on the mountain.
It was very hard to see people in the team who wanted to continue but didn’t feel they could, and in the end five of us summited.
Two months later I still haven’t quite processed it. I started smiling as I read the writing on the sign “Congratulations, you are now at Uhuru Peak, Tanzania, 5895m AMSL”. I wept as I sat at the base of it, a photo of my daughters in my hands that my husband had sneaked into my backpack.
And then? It’s time to get down. The longer you stay at altitude, the more dangerous it is, so it’s important to get off the mountain. Ten hours to get up, and four to come down, a rest at Kibo, then a further four hours’ hike to meet the group.
I cannot describe how good the shower was back at the hotel! After nearly a week of sleeping in the same clothes and washing with wet wipes, it was a joy like no other. And a cheese toastie! Bliss. A true highlight was a ceremony when we gave the team their tips, a morning full of song and tears. These guys were just incredible.
We were lucky enough to have a couple of days in Tanzania to enjoy, which included a visit to Enjoro School where the funds we had raised had been enough to build two classrooms and we were welcome by the whole village (I might have cried again…) and a trip to nearby waterfalls, plus some shopping of course, coming back with coffee, art and T-shirts. Yes, I bought one that says “Kilimanjaro: just done it”. No regrets.
To anyone reading this who is weighing up a challenge. Just do it. It will change your life, the way you think about yourself and the world and give you memories for life. Now I just need to decide what’s next…
DON'T MISS
Gulf for Good (gulf4good.org) runs regular trips, and The Training Room (ttr.ae) is organising a return trip to Kilimanjaro in October 2022.
