Summer 2010 - The Alpine Club of Canada

My last great mountain
by Jo Ann Creore
Okay, it’s not a Himalayan giant.
In fact, it barely qualifies as a
scramble. But when you are
72, your knees are shot, and your VO2
max is edging toward VO2 zilch, Mount
Kilimanjaro (5895 metres) can be a personal
Everest.
For me, climbing Kili was an afterthought.
I had booked a 12-day safari in
Tanzania. When I learned how much
time would be spent just getting there
and back, I looked for a way to extend
my stay. And there it was: the highest
free-standing mountain in the world,
rising in snow-capped splendour not far
from where I would land at Kilimanjaro
airport. Maybe I wanted to prove that I
wasn’t over the hill yet by climbing the
biggest hill in Africa.
Some of the tour companies I
contacted wouldn’t take anyone my age.
Most offered only group climbs with
fixed schedules. The website of Tusker
Trail revealed an attention to safety and
detail that spoke to the mountaineer in
me. They also offered solo climbs, enough
luxury for an old lady (private biffy!), and
a willingness to meet my demands: a rest
day on the way up and three full days for
the descent, 11 days in total.
On the morning of December 10,
2009, a truck crammed with 11 porters,
6 Alpine Club of Canada Gazette Summer 2010
Jo Ann Creore stands on the 5895-metre summit of Africa’s highest mountain, Kilimanjaro, holding the
banner of a society that trains service dogs for which she raised money with her climb. Frank, a porter
charged with carrying her daypack above 4600 metres, holds the left corner. photo by Thobias Meella.
my guide and me, plus seemingly tons
of gear, wallowed through muck to the
Lemosho trailhead. We had box lunches
before hiking and as I looked for a
dry hummock to sit on, two armchairs
materialized, one for me, one for my
guide, Thobias Meella. The protocol for
the trip was set. I would do nothing but
Jo Ann Creore and one of her porters, Frank, make their way along the trail through one of Kilimanjaro’s
unique climate zones. photo by Thobias Meella.
climb and Thobias would do nothing but
guide. The porters saw to everything else,
cheerfully and skillfully. I have never been
so well cared for, as this experienced crew
anticipated my needs before I was even
aware of them.
Our daily routine varied little. After
breakfast Thobias did a medical check
using a questionnaire, pulse oximeter
and stethoscope. I would carry a light
daypack. Thobias had the medical kit, a
tank of oxygen and some of his own gear,
while Ernest, a trusted porter, followed
close behind me with a hyperbaric bag,
stretcher, other emergency gear and all
of his own equipment. Not long after we
hit the trail the camp porters would rush
by us, carrying enormous loads. Most
days they served us a hot lunch on the
trail. The first time I topped a ridge at
noon and saw the mess tent, cook tent
and my biffy, I could scarcely believe it.
After lunch it usually rained. Camp was
always fully set up when we arrived, wet
and cold. Porters would race to relieve
Thobias and me of our packs and show us
to our tents, while Ernest had to fend for
himself. Tea, rest, dinner, another medical
check, and then bed.
It should have been easy. The trail is
good and there is only one section, the
Barranco Wall, where you have to take