By late afternoon, we reached a blustery, frosty rest camp. The shelter
offered minimal protection from the escalating wind, rain and fog. Our fire
provided little in the way of warmth. Full-body rock/paper/scissors was
successfully invented to keep blood flowing and spirits high. We savoured
the now frozen Mars bar, anticipating a pathetic dinner. Thankfully, by
combining the hodgepodge of hiking food assembled by our team, we
were able to create sad jam and cheese pizzas on stale bread.
… I threw every bit of the sad pizzas up over the coming hours. Initially I
attributed it towards the perils of dairy in Africa – but with on the third or
fourth emergency escape from the tent, ideas of altitude sickness began to
sink in. I spent the rest of the night frozen, telepathically begging the
guides to wake us up.
The ascent began through a labyrinth of dense twisted jungle. Eric and
Chris scooted ahead, nimbly weaving limbs through tangled branches. Still
vomiting, a thoughtful guide hung back with me, coaxing (… dragging) me
up through the woods. A false sense of excitement began to build as the
jungle thinned and a grassy hill emerged from the fog.
“Il y a seulement un kilomètre que reste” encouraged my new best friend,
as he unwittingly killed my hopes of summiting. With a thick fog
surrounding the peak of the volcano, and no energy or heat left in my
body, it seemed unwise to carry on another kilometer.
Chris and Eric had avoided the altitude sickness and pushed on, stupidly
dressed in button-up shirts and khakis. The Swiss, wearing smart and warm
hiking clothes, rolled his eyes and carried on with them. The summit, I
understand, looked remarkably similar to where I stopped: grassy and
foggy, with a big cell phone tower. Google reports assure me that clear
days with spectacular views of the Virunga mountain range do occur on
Karisimbi – but that they are difficult to come by.
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