Climbing Mt. Kenya
The Allure of Africa’s Second Highest Peak
By John Linsley
This article was printed in Abroad View magazine fall 2005
I caught my first glimpse of Mt. Kenya while traveling near Meru in the fall of 2002. The rocky summit seemed to tear out of the swaths of dense forests that surround the mountain on all sides. Several of us on the St. Lawrence University Kenya Semester Program had read about climbing the mountain, but none of 
us could have imagined its sheer size until we witnessed it for the first time.
Few people think of Kenya as a land of jagged peaks ideal for mountain climbing. Nevertheless, at 17,052 feet, Africa’s second highest peak towers over the countryside, hours north of Nairobi, the nation’s capital. The moment I saw Mt. Kenya’s snow-capped ridge disappearing into clouds, I knew I wanted to climb the mammoth summit.
As our semester of courses in Nairobi and field work in the country progressed, my classmates and I planned the trip. We chose the last week of class to climb Mt. Kenya, racing to finish our final papers the night before our departure.
The next morning we drove through the clogged streets of Nairobi. Breathing diesel exhaust and hearing the boarding cries of the matatu vans, it was hard to believe that by day’s end we would be camped out in the forests of Mt. Kenya National Park. Our journey took us northward into Kenya’s agricultural belt, through lush green hills dotted with tin-roofed huts and groups of women meticulously tending their crops.
When we arrived at the Naro Moro River Lodge, the six of us pulled our hefty bags out of the shuttle van and unloaded all of our gear onto a 20-foot section of bench for final examination. The water filters, pots, pans, stoves, headlamps, hats, gloves, and Gore-Tex outerwear appeared quite daunting, since we’d have to trudge up the mountain carrying the entire mess on our backs.
the lodge we met our guides, Simon and Christoph—both local men who come from Kenya’s largest ethnic group, the Kikuyu. Each carried one backpack, far smaller than ours; Christoph’s held a hiking staff and Simon’s a stove and a dangling jug full of kerosene. The rugged duo wore National Outdoor Leadership School (NOLS) pants that, judging from the number of patches sewn on them, had seen many long days in the backcountry. I’m sure they were amused by our pile of gear. We exchanged greetings and then quickly loaded up the Land Rover that would take us farther into the park.
As we left the paved road behind, the Land Rover kicked up clouds of dust on the rutted dirt road, covering the sides of the truck. Past the park gate, the forest became extremely thick with stands of old-growth bamboo. The ancient canopy created a cool, moist climate within the forest. Our driver masterfully navigated the jungle despite the steep, muddy sections of track. After many turns and countless piles of elephant and buffalo dung, we arrived at the 10,000-foot Met Station.
Simon and Christoph insisted that we take a short hike to accustom ourselves to the altitude. We felt so exhausted after the long ride that, coupled with the altitude, even a short walk wore us out. On the plus side, long days of travel along mountainsides certainly induce a good night’s sleep.
The next morning we awoke raring to go. With our bags tightly strapped, we took off in the direction of Mackinder’s (the base camp for summiting Mt. Kenya) via the Naro Moro Route. The early stretches of the route proved mentally and physically challenging. Only a short distance from the trailhead, we arrived at a steep section of muddy moorland called the “Vertical Bog.” Gaining ground here was difficult; with each step, we sank in the swampy grass. The added weight of the backpacks didn’t help. The “Vertical Bog” ended after a grueling several-hour march. We soon topped out on the lower rim of the Teleki Valley, which we quickly descended en route to Mackinder’s.
From Mackinder’s camp, climbers can set out to ascend any of Mt. Kenya’s three most prominent peaks. The two highest, Batian and Nelion, both require rock-climbing gear. Our goal was to reach Lenana, which at 16,361 feet is Mt. Kenya’s non-technical summit, requiring no specialized gear. Mt. Kenya’s camps have an international flavor because they attract climbers from all over the world. I found myself discussing our summit plans with Americans, Kenyans, South Africans, and New Zealanders.
We arrived at Mackinder’s in late afternoon, knowing we would need to eat quickly and sleep, as our summit bid was set to begin at 2 a.m. At around 14,000 feet, sleeping at Mackinder’s becomes difficult; I awoke many times during the night to the sound of fierce winds howling above the hut’s tin roof. As we left Mackinder’s early that morning, I was in a strange daze, almost as if I were walking outside of my body. Clouds obscured the stars, rock screes slid beneath our feet, and the cold wind chilled our faces as we trudged upward. In the darkness, we had no real concept of time. Minutes passed in what felt like hours.
During the twilight stage of our summit, our friend Sarah grew fainter and quieter with each struggling step, steadily losing ground on the group. As we approached more difficult terrain, Simon and Christoph stopped. Sarah was beginning to experience signs of acute mountain sickness (AMS), a condition experienced by many mountain climbers. Its severity ranges from a headache and mild fatigue to impaired motor function and vomiting. AMS appears when the body fails to cope with the decreased levels of oxygen found at higher altitudes. After a quick discussion, the group decided that Sarah would return to Mackinder’s with Simon while Christoph would continue with the rest of us.
Minus one companion, we approached the 15,000-foot Austrian Hut and began our final push to the summit across snow-covered ground. Our pace slowed as we neared the peak. On the last section of the climb, Christoph used an ice axe to chop footsteps in the frozen path.
After shimming up between the last two boulders, I saw an ice-encrusted placard of the Kenyan flag only a few feet away. The temperatures hung in the single digits and my hand grew numb after exposing it to take a summit photo. Snow blew in flurries, making visibility poor at the top. After savoring our ascent of the peak, we began our trek down hoping for better views.
A short distance from the Austrian Hut, the mountain rewarded us. Spectacular views of Batian, the summit glaciers and Mackinder’s camp graced our path along the trail and down the rock scree toward base camp. Temperatures rose as altitude dropped, and we soon shed down to t-shirts. Back at Mackinder’s, we found to our great delight that Sarah had recovered well.
This article was written in 2004, when JOHN LINSLEY had just graduated from St. Lawrence University with a major in Government and minors in African Studies and History. He participated in St. Lawrence’s Kenya Semester Program and returned to East Africa after graduation to study Kiswahili with the Group Project Abroad. John spent the summer of 2004 in Tanzania serving as a community service leader with Putney Student Travel. He then became the resident intern at the Lowell Whiteman School in Colorado.