dunxd.com

Not wanting to miss the sunrise which was imminent, we headed on, although I wasn’t sure whether a growling volcano was something you want to turn your back on. The east side of the mountain was almost completely shrouded with clouds, apart from to top – we saw a view usually seen from airoplanes, the sun rising up through a sea of white clouds. As we stood there watching it rise in the sky the clouds began to shift and we could see the valley floor below us, laced with meandering river beds. Still nothing man made was visible. I felt like I was looking down from the moon.

As we cruched across the crater, Mtui shushed us and told us to stop. A low growling noise was coming from one of the hornitos. A deep powerful vibration came from beneath our feet, as the volcano groaned and it resonated through everything. I wasn’t sure whether to stay where I was, continue walking or retreat to the rim. Then we saw for the first time a small eruption, what looked like a spade full of soil jumping from the top of one of the hornitos.

As we mounted the crater wall we found ourselves in a different world. Standing on the crater rim I looked down to see a small steaming hole in the ground. I crouched down to feel the heat – it was like a boiling pot. We could have popped an egg in the hole and three minutes later enjoyed a tasty snack. The crater floor was almost completely level apart from the sharp hornitos that protruded here and there, smoke or steam streaming from their tops. I assumed we would stop here at the rim, but other groups had already proceeded to walk across the crater floor, which was white almost like snow, and crunchy under foot like the lake bed of Natron many metres below us.

We camped at the nearby Kamakea Campsite, getting some food and an early night. We set off for the foot of the mountain at 11:30 pm – in the distance was a chain of lights – other vehicles with more wazungu attempting to climb the mountain. I felt slightly dismayed that there were five groups that we could see trying to negotiate the treacherous lava flows on the way. We reached the foot of the mountain at about 12:15 am, met our Masaai guide, who smelt quite a lot like Konyagi, and had such a weak handshake I found myself checking to see if he had more than two fingers on his hand, which he did. He presented us with some recently hewn branches for climbing sticks and we set off on the moonlit path which headed more or less directly straight up to the top of the mountain. Masaai tend to walk in single file, and the path was designed thus. We rapidly found ourselves bunched up with one of the other groups – this may have been a sign that we had set off too quickly, but the first stretch of the walk was not steep.

The setting was fantastic – dark mountain silhoutted against the sky lit by a just rising moon that lit up the steep rift valley walls behind us. There was no sound but the wind, not even insects, as we proceeded along the gravelly path. Either side of us were deep gulleys that had formed from lava flows. A step to each side of the narrow path were numerous opportunities to break an ankle or neck. I surveyed the mountain profile to each side and watched as our path took us to a steeper and steeper incline. The path never desisted from its direct route, not winding at all, just heading boldly on to the top. After the first section, which was like a walk in the Lake District we got to a section where the path was heavily eroded or formed mainly from loose ash and gravel. Each step forward included a slide backwards half the distance progressed, and we slowed down significantly. Looking across to the escarpment at one point I saw that we appeared to be about level with the edge – surely we must be near the top now – it didn’t look far. But our guide shattered my enthusiasm – not even half way he giggled. We slipped and slid our way further up the mountain path, cursing at each fall. The path changed from the slippery gravel to larger rocks and eventually rock face, with a thin coating of small stones which skittered away under foot. Looking down and around I was amazed not to see a single source of light other than the starts. I felt truly priveliged to find myself in such a wild and remote location.

As we inched our way up we ended up on all fours, trying to decide whether to discard our sticks so as to free a hand, or try and walk upright like our guide. We would stop briefly every ten minutes. Stella started to worry about altitude sickness. Mtui started speculating about how long it would take to reach the top. It was four in the morning and none of us where really in the mood anymore. But we were definitely gaining on the summit now. We reached a level where the ground was coated by a layer of white powder – sulphur, ash? In the dark we couldn’t tell, but it was coating our hands, and getting in our mouths – I could smell and taste the mountain, both sulfurous fumes and this fine dust filling my nose and mouth. As we really did approach the top, the first glow of the sun rise began – it was 6 am. It took us 5 and a half hours to climb up, and we were knackered.

Lake Natron is a soda lake. It is the only breeding ground for Lesser Flamingos (the pink ones) in East Africa. They are attracted to the large quantity of algae that grows in the sodium carbonate rich waters. The lake changes size over the seasons. We walked out across the dry bed to where there was still water to spy on the Flamingos. They make odd grunting noises. We didn’t get close enough to see any babies – they often get a build up of sodium carbonate around their ankles which makes them too heavy to fly, and they perish.

Shortly after lunch we got our first view of the Mountain of God. I had been having repeats of the nightmares I had as a child, brought on by a 1950 kids encyclopedia, and a picture of Mt St Helens blowing her top at the Open University Earth Sciences department, where a volcano formed underneath our house, and the whole family was obliterated in an instant by a geyser of incandescant lava. In a similar way to fears of terrorist attack that formed in my mind at the start of the invasion of Iraq I started to see an inevitability of our lives being wiped out senselessly by an unstoppable force. Clouds forming around the top of the mountain became smoke, warning of the cataclysmic eruption that would begin the moment we stepped over the crater rim. Yuki and Stella played along with this fantasy which must surely be closely related to hypochondria. Somehow it is both terrifying and comforting to think of spectacular death, but go ahead and do stuff anyway.

There really were some convincing looking plumes of smoke appearing from behind the volcano. We didn’t stop to take pictures of them, so I guess I’ll never know.

After this brief breath taking stop we continued. We reached a toll gate run by Engaraku Council where we each paid $5 to continue. Of course, this was the point where the road got really bad – at times we seemed to be driving across ploughed fields rather than on a road. Of course, that would explain the stone throwing children. We saw a number of the creatures that roam the rift valley, Lesser Zebra as pictured here, Thomson’s Gazelles lots of birds. The escarpment still dominated the landscape for a few hours. We stopped to eat our lunch under an Acacia tree, stealing its shade from a small group of gazelles. Isaac made sure there were no lions about before we left the vehicle. Under the tree was a large amount of droppings – the animals pay the tree well for the relief it provides from the sun. “Ah, one of those gazelles was in oestrus.” exclaimed Isaac, pointing down at some spots of blood on the floor as we tucked into the sausage we had each been provided by Mtui.