Murder on Kilimanjaro by Charles G. Irion

Author:Charles G. Irion
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Murder on Kilimanjaro
Publisher: Irion Books LLC

It was another 20 minutes before we finally set out. Diana was a bit better by then but was foolishly insisting on continuing. I tried to get her to use her improved strength to make the descent, but she refused to listen. Summit fever had spread through the climbers like a communicable disease.

The wind was picking up a bit and I could feel it through my clothing. We were to be on the summit for sunrise. Usually you beheld a magnificent spectacle backed by the vast sweep of Africa below.

The route did not improve for some time. We continued sliding and struggling up scree, then scrambled over boulders slick with ice. The guides used ropes to assist us up, pushed us from behind when necessary, and, in general, did all the heavy lifting. Guides on all of the Seven Summits except Antarctica’s Vinson Masiff—where there were no indigenous guides—made these climbs possible. Very few climbers would ever have conquered Everest without a Sherpa.

Diana seemed to gain a second wind, as she struggled less now. The allure of the nearby summit often had that effect. I could not make out Hooker ahead but kept looking to pass him, as I was certain he’d have to drop out soon. Our route began to zigzag frequently. The climbing became repetitious, as it often does in these conditions. We climbed one leg, switched back, then climbed another, only to repeat the process. It was tedious and boring, lacking any sense of adventure.

We made what proved our last stop before reaching the rim. Again I moved along the line of climbers in our group and saw how much their condition had deteriorated. They looked like zombies, moving by sheer will power alone. Diana’s look frightened me for an instant, but she managed a fleeting smile that returned life to her features.

Hooker looked as miserable as I’d hoped. I’d concluded some time earlier that, from the looks of him, he worked out in a gym.

He’d likely practiced for this on a climbing wall somewhere and with runs around the reservoir in Central Park. But none of that had prepared him for the reality of nature. He was dog tired and needed to turn back. I didn’t suggest it, though. I was still looking forward to passing him along the way at some point, after he’d given up.

We next moved across a steep field littered with boulders, then reached an expanse of ice. It wasn’t far now. I knew we were nearly there when we reached a final, steep ascent. The wind eased, which I took to be a good omen. Maybe this was just a front, a precursor of the monsoon soon to come. We only needed a respite for the rest of today and for tomorrow. We’d be home free by then.

Once at Stella Point the steep pitch ends. All that remains after that to reach the true summit of Kilimanjaro is a relatively gentle slope ascending just 600 feet along the rim of the crater.

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