Alright, my long overdue writeup.
Day 1: Jan 5
We arrived in Tanzania today. A 13.5-hour flight from Dulles to Ethiopia, then another quick dash from Ethiopia to Kilimanjaro Airport. The flights went fine, though the time change worked against us, and Mrs.Atlas and I are both feeling the fatigue.
After getting through customs, our driver took Mrs.Atlas and me to our hotel. The drive was… impactful. In all my travels, I’ve always been surprised at how much nicer most of the world is compared to the stereotypes one associates with it. I cannot say that about Tanzania. Our drive took us through the depths of abject poverty—entire towns and villages of shanty homes made from mere scraps. Children running around with livestock, men lounging in the middle of the day because there is no work to occupy them. I was surprised to see the conditions, and I realize this may be my first real introduction to the developing world. Despite my travels, even to Africa, everything had been more developed than this. The difference is shocking.
After our hour-long drive, Mrs.Atlas and I made it to the Ngare Sero Mountain Lodge. Vishalini outdid herself with the travel planning. This place was stunning: a small resort tucked away with beautiful scenery. We stayed in the “Kilimanjaro Summit Suite,” which was easily twice the size of some apartments I’ve lived in, and it occupied the penthouse of the main lodge.
We met with Ben and Luhi in the afternoon to make introductions and go over the plan. Ben, a Brit, owns the outfit, while Luhi will be our guide for the trip. We realized that Ben had also managed my Uncle Bryce’s summit back in 2019—a crazy coincidence. After meeting and going through the gear, we said our farewells for the day.
In the evening, Mrs.Atlas and I were treated to a private romantic dinner: seated on a balcony overlooking the lake, candlelight, three amazing courses of traditional Tanzanian food. It was far more than we were expecting, but it was fantastic. And now, we retire for some rest before the start of our first great adventure as husband and wife.
Day 2
Mrs.Atlas and I began our Kilimanjaro climb today. After a light breakfast, we met Luhi and our driver, Wilson, then drove for about three hours until we got to the Lemosho Gate. Along the way we saw zebras, black-and-white monkeys, and much more poverty.
At the gate, we met “Simba,” our camp manager. He seems a jovial man; he gave himself the nickname with what seems like a tongue-in-cheek demeanor. We all ate lunch at the base, then set off for the first day of our climb.
The hike today was moderate—temperate, really. We hiked from Lemosho Gate to Lemosho Forest Camp, a trek that only took us about 2 1/4 hours. The terrain was temperate rainforest: thick forests full of dense vegetation and undergrowth. We saw many monkeys, including the blue-faced monkey, and a variety of birds that I was unable to place. The elevation is still low, our 3,000-foot gain only taking us to around 9,000, so no real struggles today.
We made it to camp by 3:15 and met the crew. Our porters had made camp ahead of us, and our tent was waiting.
I must admit, I am slightly uncomfortable with this entire system: 17 crew members to support the two of us. We have a private toilet, a private tent, hot food prepared for us. I feel on uneven footing with the porters, and while I understand that this is part of the service, I don’t love it. I’d prefer a little less pampering on my end and a little more shared environment. I want this to be a journey with teammates, not one with servants.
Regardless, at 1830 we sat down with Luhi for our first dinner on the trail: soup with bread, boiled potatoes, fried fish, even a dessert. It was delicious and far more than I would generally eat while camping, but Luhi and Ben both insisted we try to eat and drink as much as possible to counter the effects of altitude sickness, and I took that to heart. At this rate, I may be the only fool who gains weight while summiting a mountain.
Day 3
Our day began with the camp manager waking us up at 0600. After a breakfast of porridge, sausage, and eggs, along with a few cups of coffee, we began our trek for the day. Today’s hike lasted from 0700 until a quarter past noon. The distance was only four or so miles, but the elevation changes were drastic, with fairly uneven terrain that had us frequently ascending and descending at angles close to 45 degrees.
Fortunately, the weather was fantastic: a brisk 60 or so, perfect for not being hot while still being warm enough to avoid layers. We hiked out of the Tanzanian rainforest and into the “heath” climate of Kilimanjaro. That change in climate zone came with a drop in tree cover, which allowed us to see truly spectacular sights—views for miles and miles of various ridge lines and false summits.
Finally, we arrived at our destination for the day, descending into a large valley where Shira 1 Base Camp is located, elevation 11,800.
Mrs.Atlas and I are both holding up exceedingly well. The hike was not too challenging today—tedious with the constant up and down, but we never felt out of breath or overly exerted. No blisters, no muscle aches; it felt like a lovely day outside. If we have any physical complaints, they’re tied to the insane amount of food and water we’ve been consuming under pressure from our guides. I’m beginning to suspect they push this so hard because people generally underfuel and underhydrate. For a couple who knows how to do both, being told we need to do more feels comical. We’re consuming a near absurd amount of water, resulting in restroom trips every 45 minutes. At least I have no concerns about dehydration.
We finished the afternoon and evening just sitting around and talking with our head guide, Luhi, over many cups of tea—solving the world’s problems one glass at a time. He is a good man, passionate about his wife and three children. He seems to have dreams of running his own expedition company someday. I sincerely hope he succeeds.
Day 4
I read Hemingway’s The Snows of Kilimanjaro last night. I must say, it was not exactly what I was expecting—though certainly very classic Hemingway. I thought it would be a fitting read given the occasion. Notably less actual talk of the mountain than I expected, but a good read nonetheless. I’m glad I brought the Kindle on this trip; having a library at my disposal without the weight is perfect for a hike with lots of downtime.
Today we hiked from Shira 1 Camp to the Moir Huts. I was glad when our guide told us that was the path. The initial plan was to hike to either Shira 2 Camp or the Moir Huts, with the Shira 2 option chosen if we needed more rest, and the Moir Huts if we were doing well. It gives me some confidence that the guide isn’t just gaslighting Mrs.Atlas and me when he says we’re doing well so far.
My expectation was that every day would be more difficult than the last. That has proven not to be the case. Today’s hike was the easiest yet, most of it feeling like a leisurely stroll until the very end, where we hit a steeper incline. Despite the elevation gain, it was so gradual that you never truly felt the struggle until the last half mile or so, where there were some rock scrambles.
The hike itself was absolutely stunning. Crossing the Shira Plateau, we moved from heath into alpine desert, and the elevation changes allowed for spectacular views of the region. You could look back and see the ridge we crested yesterday, seeming shockingly far away. The scale and scope of the mountain is breathtaking.
We hiked from 0730 until just after noon, reaching the Moir Huts camp, elevation 13,700. The Moir Huts seemed less populated than any camp we’ve been to yet; I appreciate the relative privacy.
From there, we ate lunch and took a brief rest until 1530. At 1530, we met back up with Luhi and our assistant guide, Elli, to start a quick acclimation climb. We did a slow trudge up a relatively steep incline, but the path was smooth and it proved pretty easy—despite a sudden rain squall making an unwelcome appearance. We made our way somewhere north of 14,000 feet, took a brief respite at the top to spend additional time at altitude, then made our way back down into camp.
Afterward, we ran through the now-nightly routine: tea, dinner, long hours talking and laughing with Luhi, then retiring to our tent for the night. It is colder right now than it has been yet—certainly below freezing. Mrs.Atlas and I are both wearing our thermals to sleep, and we’re fortunate for the thick sleeping bags.
Day 5
I am impressed with the sleeping bags they’ve supplied us for this trip. I slept fine in just my thermals, getting warm enough that I actually shed my socks and beanie for comfort. Around 0430, I awoke in need of the restroom. The moment I opened the sleeping bag, I realized just how cold it truly was outside. Mountain Hardwear, -30 rated—I’ll have to remember that.
Stepping outside the tent in the midnight hours, I was struck by the majesty of the sky. The stars numbered in the thousands, constellations twinkling with a brilliance simply not seen in the modern world. The Rockies are beautiful, but they can’t compare. Only when on deployment, in the middle of the Pacific or Atlantic, have I witnessed such a night sky.
We are a mere few days past the full moon, meaning the night sky is bright, and we had an amazing view of the summit from the valley—the first time the clouds parted enough that we could see our final destination. The size is awe-inspiring, but also achievable. High, but not higher than we can handle.
Our hike was split in two today. First, a several-hour trek to Lava Tower Camp, elevation 15,088 feet. The hike was fairly moderate, despite the elevation gain. We went up a fair amount, but again much more gradually than on Day 3, and overall it was an easier experience. The views were stunning the entire time, with the summit dominating our left-hand side throughout the trek as we traversed the alpine desert.
Once at Lava Tower, we paused for a brief tea time, with the ultimate goal simply being to spend time at altitude as part of the acclimatization process. Neither Mrs.Atlas nor I felt any ill effects of the altitude: no headache, fatigue, or nausea. Our blood oxygen levels are maintaining steady, with only the slightest rise in heart rate. All good signs that we’re quickly getting used to the higher altitudes.
We are both taking medication for the altitude. We were warned beforehand of certain side effects, including a tingling feeling in the extremities. Truthfully, I think calling said tingling a side effect is mislabeling; it should be listed as a benefit. The tingling is invigorating, like nicotine or caffeine, and adds a bit of jive to your step.
From Lava Tower, it was a swift and steep descent to Barranco Camp, elevation 12,792 feet, where we set up for the evening. The weather at this camp was completely erratic due to its positioning right on a cliff overhanging the rainforest, resulting in clouds rolling in and completely enveloping camp. When the clouds were absent, the sun shone with such intensity that the camp cooked, turning the tents into little saunas. When the clouds came in, all heat was immediately lost, and the temperature would swing 30 degrees—normally with accompanying rainfall.
We then had our normal dinner and night routine, eating with Luhi and going over the plans for tomorrow. Luhi asked us tonight about marriage customs, including whether we did a dowry. I said no, then asked about his. Apparently, he had to give his wife’s father three cattle, three sheep, and two goats in exchange for her hand in marriage. Interesting how strongly our customs differ.
Day 6
We began the day by climbing the Barranco Wall. A famous route on Kilimanjaro, it offers the closest thing to “technical” climbing on the mountain—or at least that’s how it’s marketed. Mrs.Atlas and I actually found it wildly enjoyable, though not at all technical; if anything, it could be described at certain points as a scramble. Still, having to hold onto “the Kissing Wall” while navigating a narrow edge was rather thrilling, and overall we found it the highlight of the day, if not the trip so far.
We did see our first signs of failure on the trip. As we got to the top of the wall, we saw a helicopter fly in and land at Barranco Camp: medical evacuation. A few hours later, we heard another flight. Luhi later told us that the latter bird was actually for another group from this company, who had looked at the steepness of the wall and decided they couldn’t do it.
From there, it was a brief several-hour hike to Karanga Camp, elevation 13,103 feet. We ate plentifully at both lunch and dinner, preparing ourselves for tomorrow’s challenges. Tonight will be our last full night of sleep before the summit attempt.
Day 7
Waking at Karanga Camp, we began with a hike to Barafu Base Camp, elevation 15330 ft. For most travelers, this is the final stop before a summit attempt. We carried on to Kosovo Camp, so named because the wind whipping against the tent sounds like bombs going off. It’s about an hour or so farther up the mountain, along the same path you take from Barafu to the summit. It makes for a harder previous day, but it cuts that hour off your summit time, which is always helpful.
We lost a porter today. Really two, as another had to accompany her down the mountain. Altitude sickness took a toll on her, and she just wasn’t able to keep going. A pity—she was the only woman among the crew, and I had begun to root for her success.
It was fascinating to watch people coming down the mountain from their attempts. Some were bright and chipper, looking for all the world as if they were just on a Sunday stroll. Others carried signs of fatigue: a soft step, a wince here and there, wind-blistered face—yet they walked down with their shoulders back and heads held high. The third group looked defeated, walking head down, shoulders drooped, as if the mountain had stolen all sense of pride. Finally, the last group were those who could not make it down without assistance. Some had porters carrying their packs, others had porters supporting them under the shoulders, while still others were being carried down themselves—riding piggyback as some poor sod was forced to haul their weight down the already steep path. Come what may, I have no intention of being one who walks back head down, and I’ll be damned if I’m one who doesn’t walk back at all.
It’s a quick lunch at Kosovo. Now we are going to sleep, then we’ll arise again for dinner, then back to sleep until we wake at midnight for the summit bid.
I am excited—for so many reasons, but most of all for the challenge. That’s the difference for me between this hike and others. Sure, it’s the highest I’ve ever been, and one of the world’s Seven Summits. And while I find that amazing, and have been awestruck at the mountain’s beauty this entire trip, that’s not what drives me. It’s the difficulty, the uncertainty, the chance of failure that gives that much more excitement to the chance of success. I feel good. We feel good. The hike so far has consistently been easier than expected, and Mrs.Atlas and I have objectively been moving faster and with less effort than most on the mountain. Our odds are good… and now we’ll see how we rise to the occasion.
Day 8
What a day.
We arose at 0100, already wearing our first several layers of gear, and quickly scrambled to don the rest. After a quick bite of porridge, we went outside to put on our packs and make final preparations. As we did, we could see the trail of headlamps heading up the mountain—dozens and dozens of people, already far ahead of us along our same path. It was exciting to join the pack, which we did promptly at 0200.
Little did we know the trouble the pack would bring. There were many groups hiking today, many of them large. We began our slow ascent up the mountain and ran into another group almost immediately. That was when we realized the slow pace of these groups. There’s a line between moving to conserve energy and just being slow, and they were solidly on the wrong side of it. But the path was too narrow to pass, and no one seemed interested in stepping aside to allow us through. So we went off-trail, cutting along the sides where the path wasn’t clear, moving fast to get ahead of these groups. Not the easiest thing to do in the dark—much less at 16,000 feet in below-freezing temperatures.
This pattern continued all the way up the mountain. We hiked “pole pole” by our standards when no one was in our way, and went off-trail at considerable speed whenever we had to pass a group. In our first three hours of hiking, we must have passed at least 75 people, perhaps more.
The wind was savage. We could hear it howling when we woke up, but didn’t quite expect it to be as bad as it was: strong gales whipping any loose clothing or straps every which way. Our guide had his rain cover blown off his pack, which miraculously our assistant guide was able to find pressed against a boulder. Combined with the cold, it made for a bitter ascent.
Still, we trudged along at a pace just fast enough to keep the heart pumping hard. Breaks were short—no more than 3–4 minutes to chug some half-frozen water and try to eat the now-solid energy gels.
Sometime after 0500, we stopped finding groups to pass. Those ahead of us were so far ahead we could not see them. Luhi said we were about 15 minutes from Stella Point. By now, we were over 19,000 feet. The air is thin, the cold biting, but we were moving well.
We arrived at Stella Point and took a brief respite. The view of the volcanic crater was stunning. We drank some juice and ate some sugars, trying to keep fast-acting carbs in our system in order not to burn out. Mrs.Atlas was feeling the effects of altitude a bit by this point, but only enough to need a slightly slower pace due to the difficulty breathing the cold air. Others were not faring as well. Multiple climbers were crying at Stella Point, many saying they could not go on. It made for a somewhat maudlin scene, especially considering they had already done the hardest part of the journey by getting to that point.
The hike from Stella Point to Uhuru was actually the easiest part of the day. The incline was so shallow, the path so defined it was almost a sidewalk. The view into the volcanic crater was stunning, and we were able to see the sun rise from atop the mountain. We passed only three hikers on their way down, having already made it to the summit and begun their return.
At 0625, we arrived at Uhuru Point, the highest point in Africa. It had taken us exactly 4 hours and 25 minutes—a far cry from the 6–7 hours our guide had estimated. There were 13 hikers at Uhuru Point when we arrived. Of the dozens we had seen ahead of us on the mountain, only a total of 16—guides included—had beaten us to the top. Mrs.Atlas and I were both somewhat shocked by our early arrival, and Luhi was ecstatic over the time we made.
The top was simultaneously overwhelmingly beautiful and completely underwhelming. The sense of accomplishment was incredible: seeing the sun rise over the mountain glacier, burnt orange reflecting like fire off the icy snow; the sheer magnitude of the volcanic crater; realizing how utterly massive and powerful this mountain must have been when it was still active. And yet, at the top, it was just a big hill—a chunk of stone that for months we have been preparing to pit ourselves against. I do not feel as if we have conquered the mountain. The mountain is resolute. It is neither victor nor vanquished; it simply is.
But we conquered something else: some primal urge to throw ourselves against a worthy challenge and see how we measure. In this case, Mrs.Atlas and I can both find peace with the result.
Then, and only then, did we begin the descent. It took us about 20 minutes to get back to Stella Point, where we ran into several of the large groups we had passed on the way up. We were easily 75 minutes ahead of them, and all of these groups had started significantly earlier than we did. Via radio, Luhi later found out that almost none of those groups actually made it to the summit. The large groups slowing down the collective pace of climbers, combined with harsher-than-usual winds, made for a rougher ascent than usual. As difficult as it may have been to speed through and pass those groups, doing so may have been the only reason we were successful. We have Luhi to thank for recognizing the risks of following the pack and pushing us to skirt around.
The descent from Stella Point back to Kosovo Camp was laborious. It was not “hard” in the same way the ascent was, but it was a 3,000-foot descent on fairly unstable scree. The knees bore the brunt of the effort. Here, we saw all the others who had already finished, or those who had turned back early. Many had porters carrying their packs, with a near equal number being physically supported by porters.
Here is where Mrs.Atlas was an absolute champion. Despite certainly feeling the effects of altitude, she refused to accept any aid. She would ask for a break when she needed it and spoke little, saving her efforts for the descent, but she never relinquished her pack nor leaned on porters for support. As she so eloquently phrased it, “Momma ain’t raise no bitch,” and I could not be prouder of her.
We made it back to Kosovo Camp to cheers from our crew and a brief snack. We then laid down in our tent for a 45-minute rest before rising again and continuing our trek down.
It took us about two hours to make our way to Millennium Camp. Along the way, we passed two individuals being carried down by porters, looking for a medical evacuation. The fog was too thick for the helicopter to come up to Barafu, so they had to send the sick down lower in order to get them assistance. We actually pulled aside to give our oxygen bottle to one man; he had burned through his crew’s supply and was struggling to breathe at altitude. Forever grateful Mrs.Atlas and I fared better.
While we originally planned to rest for the night at Millennium Camp, we felt good enough when we got there that we decided to keep pushing, and we made it to Mweka Camp by around 1600, elevation around 10,000 feet. Breathing that air felt glorious. From there, we had dinner and laid down for a much, much needed rest.
Day 9
We finished our Kilimanjaro adventure today. Waking around 0600, we had breakfast and then said our goodbyes to the porters before heading out on our final hike. It was about 10 km to the Mweka Gate—fairly routine stuff. More downhill. Cranky knees, not too much effort, a few irritating blisters but nothing worth crying home about.
When we got to Mweka Gate, we were greeted by the camp crew with a bottle of champagne and our summit certificates. The champagne was unexpected, but certainly not unwelcome.
And here is where by writeup ends. This is part of a longer journal i did for the entire trip, but the rest is safari and resort stuff, which I will keep to myself for the semblance of privacy and because i think this place mainly cares about the more physical side of things.
I have so much more to say, but im dead tired, so this is enough for tonight
