Onward! The mountain must come to an end somewhere.
Hans Meyer (First ascent of Kilimanjaro)

The guides chant pole-pole (pronounced polay), Swahili for "go slow", which at 17,000 feet is not a hard sell. A second mantra is kula-chakula, exhorting us to eat and drink, which requires a bit more coaxing. It is day 5 and the funereal march is underway, the crux of the climb, up the Great Western Breach wall of Kilimanjaro, into the clouds. It is a genuine frost-in-the-beard, 2000 foot ascent, to the muffled drumbeat of boots jabbing the gravelly mountain.

We trudge cautiously ever upward, marching in the shadow of our guide. Our eyes seldom lift from our boot tops. Not a word is spoken. There's not enough oxygen to walk and talk. Which means it's a great time to spring clean the mind and say howdy to the inner self. Occasionally I force myself to look outward and soak up the scenery, usually adorned with climbers fertilizing the rocks. Thus the nickname "mountain of many pukers."

Yet there is an undeniable allure. The feeling is Hemingwayesque. I am proud to be a man of heights!