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Five Things I Wish I'd Known Before I Climbed Kilimanjaro

VERTICAL SKY JOURNAL


Climbing Kilimanjaro was the best thing I have ever done, and also the thing I was least prepared for in all the ways that actually mattered. Not the kit or the training, I had read about all that. The things that caught me out were quieter and bigger. So here are the five things I genuinely wish someone had sat me down and told me before I set off: how breathtaking Tanzania and the mountain really are, how hard and how skilled the porters are, how much altitude messes with your mood and not just your legs, how emotional the summit would be, and how deeply the people and the culture would get under my skin. I learned all five the hard way. You do not have to.


1. Just how beautiful Tanzania and the mountain really are

I thought I was going to climb a very big hill. Tick a box, get the photo, come home. What I was not ready for was the sheer beauty of the place, and how much of it has nothing to do with the summit at all.


You walk up through five completely different worlds. Steamy rainforest alive with monkeys and birdsong. Open moorland dotted with those strange giant plants that look like something off another planet. High alpine desert. And then the frozen, silent, almost lunar world near the top. In a single trip you go from jungle to arctic. I have never seen anything like it, before or since.


And that is before you have even left the mountain. Tanzania itself is extraordinary, with the Serengeti, the Ngorongoro Crater and Zanzibar all within reach.


What I wish I'd known: look up. It is so easy to spend the whole climb staring at the boots in front of you, grinding out the miles. Some of the best moments of my life came when I stopped, lifted my head and actually looked. Build that time in. And if you can, do not fly all that way just for the mountain. Give yourself a few days either side to see the rest of the country.


2. How hard the porters work, and how much they know

This one humbled me, and it is the thing I end up talking about most.


While you are walking up with a light daypack and a pair of poles, feeling quietly heroic, the porters are carrying tents, food, water and equipment, sometimes balanced on their heads, and they are doing it faster than you, in worse footwear, often singing as they go. They overtake you on the trail, then somehow have camp built and a hot drink waiting by the time you stagger in.


And they are not just carriers. These are some of the most knowledgeable people I have ever met. They read the weather off the sky. They know the plants, the routes and the safe lines. And the good ones watch you like a hawk, your colour, your breathing, how you are eating, because they can spot altitude sickness creeping in long before you can.


What I wish I'd known: who carries your bag matters more than almost any other decision you make. The mountain has a long and ugly history of porters being underpaid, overloaded and badly equipped. Ask your operator the awkward questions before you book. How much do the porters earn. How heavy are the loads. Are they properly fed and kitted out. If the answers are vague, walk away. It is the whole reason we built Vertical Sky the way we did.


3. Just how much altitude affects your mood and your stamina

Here is the thing nobody quite spells out. Kilimanjaro is not really a fitness test. It is an altitude test. And altitude does not just take your legs, it takes your head too.


I am reasonably fit and I still spent days feeling like I was wading through treacle, heart pounding like a light jog while I was barely shuffling. That part I half expected. What I did not expect was the effect on my mood. The flatness. The irritability over nothing. The odd wobble of emotion that arrives from nowhere when your brain is short of oxygen and your body is running on empty.


I have been pretty open about my own struggles with my head over the years, so I thought I knew myself fairly well. The mountain still caught me out.


What I wish I'd known: pole pole. Slowly, slowly. It is the most important phrase on the mountain. Go slower than feels natural, drink far more water than you want to, and choose a longer route with proper acclimatisation days rather than rushing to save a few pounds. And if your mood dips on day four and you feel inexplicably low, do not panic and do not read too much into it. A lot of that is the altitude talking, and it lifts.


4. How emotional the summit would be

I am a grown man who spent the best part of thirty years in financial services. I did not expect to cry on a mountain. I cried on the mountain.


Summit morning is brutal and beautiful in equal measure. You set off in the dark and the cold, head down, putting one foot in front of the other for hours, and then the sun comes up over Africa and you are standing on the roof of the continent at Uhuru Peak. Everything it took to get there, the training, the doubt, the sheer bloody-mindedness, arrives all at once.

It is not really about the view, although the view is unforgettable. It is about what it cost you, and about who you were thinking of on the way up.


What I wish I'd known: let it come. Do not fight it and do not rush it for the sake of the descent. You will not be the only one up there with wet eyes, I promise. Take the moment. You earned it, and you will carry it for the rest of your life.


5. How much the people and the culture would stay with me

I went for the mountain. I came home talking about the people.


The guides and the porters, the songs around camp, the now-famous Kilimanjaro song you will be humming for weeks, the warmth and the humour and the generosity of everyone we met. Tanzanian culture got hold of me in a way I never saw coming. These are people who have far less than most of us and carry themselves with more grace and more joy than just about anyone I know.


It rearranges what you think you need in order to be happy.


What I wish I'd known: this is not a backdrop, it is half the experience. Learn a few words of Swahili, jambo and asante go a long way. Learn the crew's names. Sit with them, laugh with them, ask about their lives. The summit is the headline. The people are the story you will actually tell.


So, would I do it again?

In a heartbeat. And next time I will look up more, walk slower, ask more questions and pack more tissues.


The mountain gives you the summit. Tanzania and its people give you everything else. If any of this has stirred something in you, that is usually the feeling worth listening to.



Frequently asked questions

Do you need to be really fit to climb Kilimanjaro?

Fitness helps, but Kilimanjaro is far more about altitude and acclimatisation than raw fitness. Plenty of very fit people struggle because they go too fast, and plenty of ordinary fit people summit because they go slowly on a longer route. Choosing enough acclimatisation days matters more than your gym numbers.


How emotional is reaching the summit?

For most people, very. After days of effort, an early start in the dark and the sheer significance of standing on the highest point in Africa, strong emotion at the top is completely normal. Tears at Uhuru Peak are common, and nothing to be embarrassed about.


Why do the porters matter when choosing an operator?

Two reasons. First, ethics: porters have historically been underpaid and overloaded, so fair pay, sensible loads and proper kit are a basic measure of a responsible operator. Second, safety: experienced, well-treated crews are often the first to spot altitude sickness in climbers, which can be the difference between summiting safely and not.


What is the best time of year to climb Kilimanjaro?

The two dry seasons are the most popular and reliable: roughly January to early March, and June to October. These months tend to offer clearer skies and better trail conditions, though the mountain can be climbed year round.

Come and find out for yourself

Ethical, expertly guided Kilimanjaro climbs, built around the people who make the mountain possible.




Vertical Sky. Ethical Kilimanjaro climbs. Written by Graham Noble.

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