A photographic retrospective on Mount Kilimanjaro’s Marangu Route
The truth about climbing Mount Kilimanjaro is that it’s readily attainable for most people who are reasonably fit and properly prepared. The climb is neither technical nor dangerous; as recently as 2019, an 89-year-old climbed it. The biggest risk is the high altitude, and for those who don’t make it to the top, this is usually the main reason.
I knew all of these things going in to the experience, but it didn’t stop me from worrying. At any rate, if I can do it, probably so can most. There are a couple of extremely straightforward keys to success: hike at a much slower pace than you normally would, and drink water constantly to stay well hydrated.
If you follow those two rules, you’ll most likely be fine. If you transgress either of them—go too fast or get dehydrated—you’re likely to fail. It really is that simple.
I took the Marangu Route, which is among the most popular routes on the mountain. It’s nicknamed the “Coca-Cola Route,” apparently because it has a history of vendors selling snacks and soft drinks at the various camps along the route (though I saw nothing of the sort). It’s roughly 50 miles roundtrip with an elevation gain of about 13,300 feet from trailhead to summit.
Marangu also has the distinction of being the only route on Kilimanjaro with huts at the camps, meaning you can sleep under a roof. This may sound posh; however, as I discovered, the huts are primarily useful if you’re hiking the mountain during rainy season (which I wasn’t). They’re neither heated nor insulated, so at night they probably are only marginally warmer than the inside of a tent, if at all.
Indeed, when the sun sets on the mountain, the temperatures plummet, and even inside my thermal sleeping bag inside the huts, I found myself quite cold unless I wore several extra layers. Nevertheless, the conditions were near impeccable during the week of my climb in late July. Save for one day during which we were ensconced by fog while hiking through the clouds (which actually was quite pleasant), the weather was clear with temperatures in the 50s and 60s during daylight hours. After dark, the opportunities for stargazing were among the best I’ve ever seen—you’re high up, and there’s no light pollution.
The Marangu Route traces the southeast flank of the mountain, starting with an initial hike through rainforest between about 6,000 and 9,000 feet above sea level. There are a few steep stretches during this portion, but for the most part it’s a nice, gradual introduction under the shade of the forest canopy, during which time you’ll catch periodic glimpses of monkeys in the trees and the occasional waterfall alongside the trail. Surprisingly, we encountered no bugs during this segment, probably because even here the altitude is too high. But give it a few years and I’m sure that climate change will take care of that.
After you pass the first overnight stop at Mandara Huts (elevation 8,925 feet), you’ll begin to notice the forest thinning out and the first unobstructed vistas of the trek ahead. This is known as the Kilimanjaro moorlands, a transitional zone between the rainforests at the base of the mountain and the alpine desert at its higher reaches. Here you’ll see vast expanses of grasslands, shrubs, and low trees, some of which are found only at this very particular elevation.
If the weather is clear, you’ll also catch your first direct views of two of Kilimanjaro’s summits that dominate the skyline along this route—Mawenzi (16,893 feet) and Kibo (19,341 feet), the latter of which is the highest point, where you are ultimately headed.
By the time you reach your second overnight stop at Horombo Huts, you’ll be above 12,000 feet in elevation; the air will be noticeably thinner and the landscape, more austere. This is generally the busiest of the camps along the Marangu, as most groups stop here for at least one night both on the ascent and descent of the mountain.
Incidentally, this is also where most climbers make a choice that dictates whether or not they’re likely to reach the summit: The Marangu Route has the lowest success rate of any of the routes on Mount Kilimanjaro, and that’s because some groups make the mistake of spending only one night at Horombo, which simply does not allow enough time to acclimate to the altitude. In fact, the success rate for those who take this risk is reportedly as low as 27%.
A far better option is to spend an additional acclimation day at Horombo, as we did, during which time you can take it easy and prepare your body for the strenuous journey to come. If you do this, you’ll want to take the opportunity for a day hike up to Zebra Rocks. Located about 1,000 feet above Horombo, it’s a series of boulders and cliffs named for obvious reasons, whose unique black and white stripes are the result of past volcanic activity in this area.
One benefit of this excursion is the tried-and-true method of altitude acclimation, “climb high and sleep low.” What’s more, since you’ll be climbing to an elevated spot above the camp where you’re staying, you’ll have a chance to see some outstanding long-distance views of the trail and mountain ahead.
A day later, past Horombo Huts, the landscape becomes veritably stark. This is the alpine desert of Kilimanjaro, which features no trees, little vegetation, and certainly no shade. It’s essential to wear protection here against the elements—obviously the sun but also the wind, which, at this altitude, can burn your skin and lips just as readily as UV rays. As someone who has already faced a bout of basal cell carcinoma in my life, I opted to don a balaclava, which is useful if you’re trekking or skiing at high elevations, or perhaps if you intend to rob a bank.
Perhaps surprisingly, the grade moderates a bit during your hike through this portion of the route. Only in the last couple of miles before you reach Kilimanjaro’s base camp at Kibo Huts does the trail steepen substantially again. Otherwise, it’s just a slow, steady slog with a relatively gentle, gradual incline over an extended distance from Horombo Huts.
The terrain is quite similar to what you would encounter walking through the deserts of Nevada, only at a much higher altitude. You’ll pass over a section called the Saddle, so named because this is the open, exposed area of the mountain that spans west to east between the two summits of Kibo and Mawenzi. That exposure is largely responsible for the stiff winds you’re likely to come up against here.
Kibo Huts is perched at an elevation of about 15,485 feet. There is no running water here and it is a fundamentally inhospitable place where you’ll spend only a short time before embarking on what’s by far the hardest and most depleting part of the climb. Directly outside the door of the hut where you’ll sleep for far too few hours is an imposing and intimidating view of what’s up next: the final ascent up the slopes of Kibo.
This excruciating penultimate portion of the ascent, which takes you to the rim of the crater on Kibo, begins with a rude awakening at 11 p.m. and a commencement of the climb at midnight, under ink black skies where your only point of reference will be the ground right in front of you, illuminated by the sterile glow of the headlamps worn by you and your fellow climbers.
Initially, I thought the darkness would add to the inherently daunting nature of the experience. Instead, it turned out to be a blessing in disguise; if we had been able to look up at any point and see how much farther we still had yet to go, it might have turned a deeply grueling psychological undertaking into a potentially insurmountable one.
Indeed, there’s no way to downplay how brutal the final ascent is; Kilimanjaro’s upper slopes are nothing but incredibly steep sections of loose volcanic scree and boulders. You have to climb it via an endless series of switchbacks, and the loose gravel underfoot means you’re constantly sliding. The altitude is such that you will almost certainly feel winded for the duration of the climb; it becomes a mental battle as much as it is a physical one, where your commitment and focus can’t be any broader than simply putting one foot in front of the other. Forget about how far you’ve come, or how much farther you have to go.
Even if your group has been spared the effects of altitude sickness up until this point, it’s quite likely that you’ll see it here in some fashion. An hour into our final ascent, one member of our party described herself as “shattered”; another complained he felt the constant urge to vomit. In fact, when we finally got to the top, a woman (not in our group) stepped off the trail and did just that, in full view.
If there’s any consolation to be had in this seemingly insufferable, interminable endeavor, it’s the knowledge that once you finally reach the rim of the crater at Gilman’s Point, elevation 18,652 feet, the grade moderates substantially as you hike the last hour and a half or so along the crater’s edge to the true summit. Moreover, around that point the sun begins to rise over the horizon, and there are few experiences I’ve had in life as magical as watching the sun rise over Africa from its highest point.
Mount Kilimanjaro is a long-dormant volcano, so its summit area features a huge, deep ash pit. Sadly, it’s also a case study on destructive climate change: The top of the mountain is still adorned with the remnants of once-massive glaciers, but these are projected to be gone by 2050.
By far the most surprising aspect of the experience was the utter lack of wind at the top. Not only is Kilimanjaro the highest point between the Andes in South America and the Himalayas in Asia, but it’s also the world’s highest standalone mountain, meaning there are no comparably lofty peaks nearby to obstruct wind currents. Accordingly, I had visions of hurricane-like gusts; instead, it was as calm up there as it might have been at the trailhead below when we started.
And the sky? As deep a shade of blue as I’ve ever seen.
Still, as one might imagine, the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro is really not a place where you can stick around for too long. We made time for pictures and taking in the view—maybe 20 minutes, tops—and then promptly turned around and made our way back. Such a short-lived culmination to such a long, taxing trek might seem a wasted effort to some; but this is surely a case study on the notion that sometimes the journey, and the memories made from it, is every bit as important as the destination (which itself is magnificent for the short time you’re there).
Somewhat relatedly, in recounting this trip to people who ask about it, I’m always met with surprise when I mention that it took five full days to summit the mountain but only about a day and a half to get back down. Particularly at such a high altitude, having gravity on your side really does make an enormous difference.
This phenomenon is something of an apt description for the entirety of the experience scaling Mount Kilimanjaro: You invest your blood, sweat, and tears up front—metaphorically, if not literally—for a very precise moment in time that is fundamentally fleeting yet deeply formative, followed by a comparably easy return trip that offers ample opportunity to reflect, such that by the time you arrive back at the trailhead, you are overwhelmed with gratitude, satisfaction, and memories that will last forever.
