Three days previous, in the pink glow of morning, with well-gloved hands, muffed ears, a bright red nose and a silly grin of achievement, I had touched the wooden sign that marks the summit.

Now, the mighty ice-covered cone of Mount Kilimanjaro, jutting alone through the clouds took on an entirely different perspective as I gazed down, nose pressed to the Perspex (Plexiglas), cocooned in the cabin on my homeward flight. "I've been there," I thought, with warm satisfaction, and I leant back and reclined my seat. I ordered a whisky and watched as the cloud broke, revealing the lower slopes of Africa's highest mountain rolling into the warm, flat, game-filled plains of Kenya's Tsavo National Park.

At almost 6,000 meters (19,000 feet), Kilimanjaro is the highest freestanding peak in the world. It is an extinct volcano and has more than its share of lore and legend. The Chagga people who inhabit its fertile foothills recount legendary stories of early expeditions to the mountaintop to harvest the silver they could see glinting in the sunlight, but it mysteriously turned to water on the return journey. . . .

And they tell tales of climbers returning without fingers and toes, nicely justifying my pre-trip, last- minute rushed purchases of thermal gloves and socks! But it’s climbable, and you don’t need to be a scraggly-bearded, leather-faced, crampon-bound rope expert. The Guerba pre-departure information states that “…any normally fit, healthy person should be able to make the ascent.” I must fit that description, because I’d made it to the top – albeit briefly – with the hood on my balaclava doing a poor job of hiding the grin that had forced it’s way onto my face.

When I say briefly, I mean briefly. Although it wasn’t even below freezing, the wind and the altitude prevented any thoughts of naked dance celebrations manifesting themselves in my euphoric mind!

The anticipation began early as I saw Kili for the first time from lonely Kilimanjaro International Airport. We drove about an hour to our hotel and climbing base for our first night “on the mountain.” I use the word “hotel” loosely because the family owned and run Marangu Hotel is more a home from home than a hotel. It was built in the early 1900’s as a farm and retains the rustic charm of the era, with fruit trees and vegetable gardens providing the bulk of the menu, and fine wines complementing the home produce. I realized I’d never tasted a real cheesecake before, as I followed my home-made soup, vol au vents and then roast pork main course with this “dessert of kings.” At this stage, I’d have happily manned base camp for a week!

That same evening, Seamus Bryce-Bennett led the pre-climb briefing. His experience and love of the mountain was obvious, and he filled us with not only great respect for Kili but confidence in our own ability to conquer it… as long as we did one thing – walk slowly.

How slowly? You shouldn’t have to open your mouth to breathe, at least not on the lower slopes. Why? To give your body as much time as possible to acclimatize to the altitude. The result? Not only did I reach the summit with relative ease, but en route I had time to spot two black and white colobus monkeys, a blue monkey and a bushbuck, plus countless baboons and a dazzling array of different birds. Next time (and there just might be a next time) I’ll take a bird book and binoculars! 

Day one began with a fine cooked breakfast, after which our kit was thoroughly checked (you can borrow or hire from the hotel what you don’t have or forget) and we were introduced to Bryson – our  head guide – and our porters. This was Bryson’s 22^nd summit climb, so I felt sure he knew the route! Everything was counted and double-counted, food was packed and our gear thrown onto heads in a clamor of Swahili banter and jokes. I felt a bit guilty at having my provisions carried for me, but was relieved to hear that the Marangu porters are some of the best paid on the mountain, and all have guaranteed wages and medical cover.  

We began to climb. There are three hutted stops on the way to the top, Mandara, Horombo and Kibo. Mandara is in the lush forested lower slopes – a beautiful first-night stopover after an invigorating forest walk from Marangu. Day two saw us climb to 3,700 meters (12,000 feet), where Horombo hut nestles in a valley in the scrubby moorland above the treeline; it was from here that I got my first “up-close” sight of the jagged Mawenzi peak and daunting ice cap of Uruhu.  

The third night of the trek saw us in the high altitude desert around Kibo hut. It’s at Kibo that altitude affects most people; I lost my appetite – not even the soup and vegetable curry prepared by the guides could tempt me. I couldn’t sleep, and anyway, there wasn’t much point trying because at 1:06 a.m. precisely (I remember, because I checked my watch in momentary disbelief), we left Kibo. In single file in the eerie moonlight we trudged up the zigzag path through the scree slope to Gillman’s point, where we were greeted by the most spectacular sunrise imaginable. The blanket of cloud circling “our” lonely mountain top turned through every shade of pink and orange, and my legs were charged with the last surge of energy needed to walk to Uhuru. 

The Boeing 737 cruised high above the low hills of southern Kenya. My glass empty, I closed my eyes and relived my adventure. I felt I knew the mountain, maybe next year I’ll come back, and get to know it better. . . .I’ve heard that the Machame and Rongai routes are also wonderful. . . .