Day 5: Karanga to Kosovo Camp (Base Camp)

September 24, 2016: I woke up in Karanga Camp to an absolutely beautiful view of the clouds below.  Feeling a little bit of a bump in mood from having left Barranco in the dust, I turned my sights to the next big landmark:  Kosovo Camp, which would be our base camp for our summit bid at midnight.  {Insert deep breath here.}

This was to be a difficult day, as we would be leaving our 13,220′ perch and ascending to 16,000′.  Many trekkers who use the Machame Route actually stop at Barafu Camp at around 15,000′, but Jeff “arranged” for us to be able to stay at Kosovo, shaving off 1,000′ from summit night.  This, too, would prove to be a very helpful move to get my rear end to the top of this mountain.

We started out in cold sunshine, stopping momentarily to grab a shot of Team Alpha at the official Karanga Camp sign:

From there, we slogged our way slowly up the hill, eventually converging at Barafu.  Barafu means “ice” in Swahili, and all I can say is that the description is apt.  This was the first time that I really started to feel cold on the mountain.  There was no snow, but the terrain got very rocky and steep, and we started to be surrounded by cold fog and wind.  I didn’t much care for this, and my already-sour mood continued to disintegrate into a foulness rivaling Walter Matthau in Grumpy Old Men. But we just kept going pole pole until eventually we reached Kosovo.

Given my crabby state, I unfortunately didn’t get any pictures of base camp, but we got the following fun shots of me and RG3 on the way before the weather got bad:

I was simply too tired and too focused on getting from Point A to Point B to get pics at Kosovo, and besides, Kosovo was socked in with wind and fog. But I remember the fear and the bile building in my gut and chest as we ascended higher and higher to base camp.

It was at Kosovo that all Hell broke loose.

Until this point in the climb, everyone was generally tired and uncomfortable, but no one was “sick” per se.  Now, the significant ascent to 16,000′ caused several of my fellow climbers to develop varying degrees of actual altitude sickness.  Upon seeing my KiliSistas’ distress, I, too, became very distressed and frightened.  Fortunately for me, I did not get altitude sickness at any time on the climb, but rather I just felt tired, shitty, and out of breath.  So I sat in the mess tent, sipped tea, and watched my sisters suffer.  I started to cry.  It was so disturbing.

One of them described a headache of such proportions that it “felt like an ice pick had been rammed through her skull.”  She sat at the table with her dust mask and hands wrapped tightly around her face, unmoving and clearly in a lot of pain.  This was especially frightening to me, because this woman had extensive climbing experience and was very strong, yet here she was succumbing to altitude sickness.  How could I possibly think I could make it if she was having trouble?

Jeff, a physician’s assistant, attended to her, gave her Diamox, and waited.  She started to feel better, fortunately.  Others around us were vomiting, suffering from headaches, and generally fading.  But Jeff gave us a pep talk, our staff nourished and hydrated us, and we waited for acclimation to occur.

At about 2:00 pm, Jeff gave us “the speech” in preparation for the summit bid.  He said we would return to our tents now, put on the gear we expected to wear to the summit, and try to sleep until 6:00 pm, at which time we would eat dinner and get final instructions for summit night.

I went back to my tent and (nearly) lost it:  Video: Badger (almost) loses it at Kosovo

It was simply terrifying.  My thought process was something like this:  We’re at 16,000′.  We still have 3,400′ to go, on steep terrain.  It is going to take at least 8 hours to cover a little over 1-1/2 miles.  How on earth are we going to do this?  I can’t breathe as it is right now!  By time we reach summit, it will be 50 percent of what is normally available at sea level.  That’s going to hurt.  Everyone is getting sick.

I continued to pressure breathe as much as possible to increase my oxygen saturation, but I felt terrible.  Panic had taken over. My heart was racing.

I put on all my gear, including rain pants and jacket, two layers of gloves, and crawled into my sleeping bag with my boots and gaiters on.

I didn’t sleep a wink.  I just tossed and turned until dinner, frustrated and scared.

Dinner was hell, not because the food was bad, but because I had no appetite. I forced some food down, knowing I would need it for later.

Jeff then gave us our final instructions for summit night, and Marion Kaufer read us a very inspirational poem that she had written (I need to get a copy).  Jeff said that because we would be climbing in Arctic (freezing) temperatures, we could no longer use our water bladders/Camelbacks, because the tubes would freeze and we wouldn’t be able to drink.  Now was the time to locate our two Nalgene water bottles, which would be filled with boiling water.  One would be put into our day pack, and the other would be carried in our parka (to keep them from freezing).  Jeff said Alpha Team would be woken up at 11:00 pm, we would eat a light breakfast, and the summit bid would begin promptly at midnight.

I returned to my tent again and tried to sleep.  It didn’t happen.  My apprehension and frustration grew, because I knew I would be starting Summit night without the benefit of sleep. Geez Louise!!

Before I knew it, a porter was knocking at my tent door, telling me it was 11:00 pm.  It was time.

To be continued…

– Badger Out