Climbing Mt.Cameroon: Day 1

I'm not really sure what possessed us to do it, but Valerie (the Canadian volunteer who arrived the same time as I did), Sophie and Berit (the two Danish girls who've been with UAC 1.5 months) decided that we wanted to climb Mt.Cameroon. Mt. Fako, as its known locally, is 13,500 ft high and known for its diverse terrain, largely due to the fact that the mountain is also a semi-active volcano. The mountain is also the site of the annual Mt. Cameroon Guiness Race for Hope, a 40km (i.e. marathon length) run up and down the mountain, which, unbelievably, the world's top runners can complete in 4 hours. (There is a woman from Cameroon who has won it seven times, largely because she can make it down in less than an hour.) We booked our trek through the Mt.Cameroon Ecotourism Office, the only licensed agency to lead climbs, and choose to do the 'classic' 3 day, 2 night route, along with a guide and 4 porters. (In what should of acted as a warning to us about the difficulty of the hike, the MCEO has a poilcy of one porter per person because a porter must be availble to carry a hiker down in the case of injury or sickness.) Only about 1,200 tourists choose to climb the mountain last year, and even though it isn't as technically-demanding as Mt.Kenya or Kilamanjaro, its very steep and rather arduous.

Because we choose to cook for ourselves, we bought LOTS of bread, pasta and sauce, non-refridgerated cheese, Spam, and fruit for the trip, along with 6 1.5 liter bottles of water each (the water constitutes the majority of the weight the porters have to carry). We got to the MCEO office early Saturday morning and met our guide Peter, a 35-year old local man who has competed in the Race for Hope (he came in 31st) and has been leading treks for about 10 years. Our four porters were fairly young men, and all, suprisingly, wearing green, taped-together Jellies, like the shoes little girls wore on the beach in the 1980s. Somehow they got all of our food, water, clothes, tent, four sleeping bags and sleeping mats, and their stuff into five old-fashioned army backpacks, and by 8:30am we were off to the base of the mountain, only a couple minutes drive away.

We started climbing through open farmland, and past a run-down but still functioning prison, and only made it 15 minutes before we had to stop because Valerie was feeling sick. Although she had been sick since arriving and taking Immodium without success, she had really wanted to climb the mountain. However, it was obvious that there was no way she was going to make it, even in the best of health. She decided to turn around and headed home and straight for the doctor. Then it was three (plus guides and porters).

After she left we continued on and the rolling hills of farmland morphed into dense forest. We had been warned about rains (its the start of the wet season) and cold (due to the altitude) and prepared for that, so we weren't ready for the extreme heat of the forest and by 30 mins in were soaked with sweat. Two hours later, we arrived at Hut 1, the first rest point, where we had lunch (strangely delicious Laughing Cow cheese and Spam sandwiches) and tried to swat off the swarms of bees which live in the hut. There we also met a Cameroonian girl (whose name I think was Maka) who was climbing with her mother, an extremely determined woman who wanted to make it to the top, despite having to walk with two canes.

At 11:30 we got back to the hike and took on the walk from Hut 1 to Hut 2, which is considered the most challenging part of the trail. We came out of the forest and into the vast, green, lush hills of the mountain, overlooking the city. I was ahead of the pack and had a few minutes to enjoy the sheer scope and beauty of the landscape- not another soul in sight, no signs of anything man-made, just unblemished nature. This setting could have been from anywhere: the hills of Scotland, the mountains in northeast Cambodia, the greenery of New England, and thus produced a feeling in all of us of wonderful displacement and isolation.

This beauty temporarily distracted us from the unbelievable steepness of the climb. Once we moved into the more barren savana, with its rocky soil and scattered plant life, the difficulty increased and we were breathing hard, trying to cope with the altitude and thinness of the air. Finally, across the huge savana I saw a hut, and jumped for joy. We arrived ecstatically, praising each other for finishing the most challening section in about half the time the guidebooks had quoted. Unfortunately our happiness was short-lived once Peter told us this was the Middle Hut, not Hut 2, our destination for the day. Grudingly we set out again.

The three of us began walking along but were quickly forced to climb on hands and knees as the steepness increased and the fertile soil turned into ground of loose rocks and pebbles, making it very unstable. We were above the clouds and wanted to enjoy the views of Buea, the beaches of Limbe, the huge sprawl of Douala, and the rest of the landscape, but we were so exhausted that we just wanted to get to the elusive Hut 3 and ignored the views behind us. The trail never seemed to end, for just as we would arrive at the top of a hill or crest, a whole other mountain would appear before us and we would curse and curse. One of the porters was by then climbing with us, encouraging us to keep going (probably because he didnt want to have to carry us to Hut 2), and telling us about landmarks, such as the Magic Tree, named because even as you walk towards it it doesnt seem to get any bigger. When we saw the flag indicating that Hut 2 was nearby, we did a short dance of joy and dragged ourselves the last 200meters. At over 2800m high, Hut 2 consists of a corrugated metal shack with three rooms with raised platforms inside for sleeping, a seperate wooden kitchen and two outhouses. It also has spectacular views of the coast and cities, and we watched the sunset change the sky below us brilliant colors.

By then it was only 4pm, but we were starving, so with our severely swollen hands (due to the altitude) we prepared a dinner of spagetti, tomato paste and Spam. As we ate we talked to the other hikers: a middle-aged Swedish business man, a German student doing a semester at the University of Buea, a French couple who were serious climbers, and the Cameroonian girl, who had been living in France for the past 9 years. At 5:30 it was getting dark and we crawled into our sleeping bags because not only because we were exhausted, but because it was extremely cold and we had nothing else to do. We spent a restless night listening to the wind howling and the mice crawling around our room, and when Francis, the guide of the Cameroonian girl who was sharing the room with us, came in he killed one with his bare hand, scaring us all awake.