After dinner last night, I spent a long time looking at the stars. The Milky Way spills out over where we are tenting more than I’ve ever seen before—including the Badlands this summer. None of the constellations looked familiar early in the evening, and I tried to find the Southern Cross. I went to bed filled with anticipation for Day 3 which includes a gentler hike across the Shira Plateau.
Group of 7 near Moir Camp. (c) Julianne Walker, 2007.
Noah woke feeling much, much better. He had a huge smile, and we joked around as we prepared for the day. Trekking clothes on, day packs filled, sleeping bags put away, duffles closed up, and then off to breakfast.
We had a long warm day. Lots of PUDs — pointless up and downs — on the trail as we came out of the shade of the rain forest and into the short vegetation. Sun very intense. We’d gain 400 feet of elevation and give back half of it.
Noah on the trail. Phil LaBelle, 2017.
Noah got quite ill on the trail. Upset stomach and getting quite overheated from the sun. I had to stop and pour water on him a few times along the way. The rest of our group was fantastic, encouraging him and telling him not to worry about the stops.
Excitement. There’s really no other way to describe the first day of our trek to Mt. Kilimanjaro. We had to be out the door of our hotel and ready by 8am, so we spent the night before separating and packing our things—items we needed on the mountain and those we could leave behind at the hotel—weighing our trekking duffle to make sure it wasn’t too heavy for porters, and dreaming what it would all be like.
Getting ready to leave Bristol Cottages in Moshi for our Kilimanjaro Trek. Phil LaBelle, 2017.
After breakfast, we put water in our Nalgene bottles, loaded up our day packs with rain gear, snacks and the like, and finally hopped on small bus that would take us to the gate. Most of that first day was driving. Three hours along the roads to get us to the gate at Mt. Kilimanjaro National Park to check in officially with passport numbers and all our info. All the gear had to be weighed again for the porters—this is a wonderful thing to make sure those carrying gear aren’t being overloaded—and we had a box lunch.
God moves in mysterious ways. Some might call it serendipity or perhaps coincidence. Others might go so far as to call it divine intervention. I’ll just leave it at the realm of heavenly mystery.
Noah with teammates from Amani. Phil LaBelle, 2017.
Upon our arrival at Kilimanjaro International Airport (JRO, for those who want to know), Noah and I dealt with customs, collected our bags and headed out into the night. Our tour company informed us we’d be met by a driver holding up a sign with their logo and our name. I quickly found him and he came to help us with our bags.
We’ve been back in Boston for less than a day. Most of our clothes from the trek have been washed and dried already—the dirt from our trek lingering now only on our boots and hiking poles and under my fingernails (not sure how many times I have to clean them before it all comes out). Both Noah and I fell asleep early last night and woke up while it was still dark thanks to the jet lag.
View of Mt. Kilimanjaro from Millennium Camp. Phil LaBelle, 2017.
For those who watched our route on the Garmin site or who follow me on Instagram know that we summited Africa’s highest peak on Monday, but there’s much more to the story. The summit occupies only one part of the past fourteen days; the experience was made in the journey.
Unlike my son Noah, I’ve never been a Boy Scout. I’ve got five years as a den leader for Cub Scouts under my belt, and I’ve camped out with Noah’s Scout troop a few times. Even the uninitiated know the Scout motto: Be prepared.
Phil LaBelle, 2017.
I’m pretty fastidious when it comes to planning and thinking through things that I may need along the way, especially as I head out into the wilderness, but even so that doesn’t mean I’ve thought of everything. I try to imagine what could happen and then fill my pack—bringing extra batteries, having something for blisters, carrying an emergency bivy sack. It makes for a heavier bag, of course, but I’m fine with that.
We leave for Africa in a few days. Eighteen hours of travel time via Amsterdam to get to Kilimanjaro. Our trek begins this Tuesday (8/8) with a summit push on Monday, August 14.
Screen capture of the Garmin tracking site.
I know some of you have expressed an interest in following us. I won’t be blogging for the next couple of weeks—that lack of wifi on the mountain thing—but I do have a satellite gps device from Garmin that sends out tracking information every 10 minutes or so for you to follow along.
To do so, go to: https://share.garmin.com/PhilLaBelle/. A map will show up, and you’ll be able to see the waypoints of our hikes along the way. I used it today on my last training hike—a little under 2 miles at nearby Mt. Wachusett—so you should see that one right now. Tanzania is 7 hours ahead of Eastern Time. Additionally, on most days our hiking will take 4-6 hours. If you check the site by 9am here in East, we’ll likely be done for the day. On our summit push, we’re slated to leave in the darkness at 3am (8pm Eastern) and hike 10-12 hours or so.
I’ll blog once more before I head out, but wanted to get this information out there. Thanks for your support!
Last night after a long day of driving, we pulled into home. It’s been five weeks of living on the road, visiting parks, waking up in a tent or in a hotel room, and then wondering what grand adventure waits before us.
Phil LaBelle, 2017.
But those adventures now lie behind. We’ve explored and hiked and saw family and friends and did so many other things it’s too much to account for in a blog post.
And perhaps the best adventure of all is coming home.
The other day my tent pole snapped and so did I.
Phil LaBelle, 2017.
It had been a windy day. I had seen the forecast the day before—a red flag fire warning had been given for the entire area surrounding Theodore Roosevelt National Park in North Dakota—winds coming in with gusts between 25-35 miles an hour. No campfires or grilling allowed. When we set up the tent the day before, we placed it head on to the winds having learned earlier in our trip that the massive eight person tent we had acts like a sail. With the tent facing the winds, we could leave the windows open allowing the strong breeze to blow through.
Or so I thought.
I’m sitting in a low chair in the business center of a Best Western Plus (I have no idea what makes it a “Plus”– perhaps the water slide at the pool?) in Havre, Montana as I near the halfway mark of my sabbatical. Officially it happens Saturday when I’ll be tenting in Teddy Roosevelt National Park and away from cyberspace yet again (but will be feeling much closer to outer space in this great stargazing part of the country), so I wanted to get some thoughts down now.
Phil LaBelle, 2017.
To think it’s only been half of my sabbatical feels odd. I’ve been away ages it seems and visited so many places. I’ve had a week in New Mexico and then Vancouver. I’ve been in the White Mountains and the Green Mountains of Vermont. We’ve explored 8 National Parks, a National Monument and a variety of other sites, from the strange — I’m looking at you, Green Giant–to the breath-taking–everyone should spend time at the Crazy Horse Memorial. We’ve seen elk, bison, prairie dogs, moose, black bears, eagles, beaver, mountain goats, big horn sheep and more. We’ve visited waterfalls, and hiked mountains. We’ve seen old friends and visited with family. We’ve endured wind gusts pushing 40-50 miles an hour, hail, lightning, rain and the presence of smoke from wildfires at our campsites. We’ve soaked in hot springs, floated on a river, and eaten more peanut butter and jelly sandwiches than I ever though possible.