MANTALK: Climbing a mountain is not for the faint of heart

It takes more than physical fitness, brawn or skill to summit a cold peak. It takes a quality many men don’t have. PHOTO| FILE

What you need to know:

  • In 2008 I climbed Mt. Kenya on an assignment. I thought it would be romantic but it turned out to be one of the most harrowing experiences I have ever undertaken.
  • First, the cold was insane. My eyes felt like small ice cubes.
  • We would sleep in a dome tent and at night, if you listened closely, you could hear the vindictive wind whistle the James Bond theme song.

Someone sent me an email asking me to accompany a group of men going up Mt. Kenya, and perhaps thereafter write a story about going on a ‘male adventure’. They added that they would facilitate my trip – gear, food, porter fees, etc, and pay me a ‘small fee’ on top of that. I didn’t even have to think twice about it. I said no right away.

I have done these “extreme” sports before, but purely for the stories I would write after, not for the love of these sports. I have gone deep-sea diving off the coast of Watamu in a frog costume with a massive oxygen tank strapped to my back. It’s gloomy and dark inside the ocean, and sea creatures are so proud they don’t even bother to give you any eye contact. Then I went bungee jumping, first at The Nile in Jinja, Uganda, and then in Sagana where I remained suspended upside down over a brown, murky river like a fish on a line.

Last year I jumped off a small plane in Diani with an Australian skydiving instructor who had a penchant for dirty jokes. It was the most terrifying thing I have ever done in my life, (outside being in delivery room, twice). When my bum touched the beach (you land on your bum unless you want your legs broken) I was so sick and nauseated, I wondered why the hell I even bothered with these “white man sports.”

In 2008 I climbed Mt. Kenya on an assignment. I thought it would be romantic but it turned out to be one of the most harrowing experiences I have ever undertaken. First, the cold was insane. My eyes felt like small ice cubes. We would sleep in a dome tent and at night, if you listened closely, you could hear the vindictive wind whistle the James Bond theme song.

My body protested. I lost my sense of taste. I developed massive, constant headaches due to altitude sickness. “Drink your water, hydrate, hydrate, hydrate,” our guide kept telling us – but how do you hydrate when water tastes like piss?

WALKED DAILY FOR TEN KILOMETRES

We had to walk daily for tens of kilometres, small bags strapped to our backs. There are days we would walk in the rain, in one long file, like refugees fleeing their homes. I was miserable. By the second day I was ready to quit. My legs hurt, my head hurt, my ego hurt. Plus, I was constantly sleepy. If I didn’t know better I would have thought I was in my first trimester of pregnancy.

After day three, I stopped pretending before the ladies in the group. I told John, our guide, that I had had it. “I want to go back home,” I sulked. He said we had come too far to turn back. The girls in the group stared at me with sympathy. I didn’t care. You stop caring at some point because the mountain strips you off any dignity you have.

We finally summited on a cold, windy afternoon. All I wanted to do was curl up on the ground like a foetus and sleep, but John wouldn’t let me. “Just for five minutes, please!” I begged. “If you close your eyes, you might never open them again,” he said. All around me, the rest celebrated and cheered and took pictures. I wanted to throw up on their shoes.

And so I told the gentleman on email that not even a ‘big fee’ would entice me to go up that wretched mountain a second time. Not even if you offered to pay me in 35 camels and a lifetime supply of roasted fish with chilli. It’s a wonderful mountain, but only when I view it from the balcony of one of those nearby luxury resorts, preferably with a glass of scotch in my hands.

I learnt something about women during that trip, though. There was a petite girl climbing with us. I felt sorry for her because she didn’t look like she would make it. As it turned out, she did better than myself and most men in the group because she just kept going, even when we couldn’t. Just goes to show that climbing that mountain isn’t about gender or size or how fit you are. It’s not some ‘male adventure’. It’s about the mind; the weak in the mind fall off fast. Like I did.