Kilimanjaro Lemosho Route: Day 7 (Summit Night)

I don’t think I really slept, but when I heard Emmanuel’s familiar “Hellooo” outside the tent, I jumped. The snow had stopped, but the whole camp was coated in a thin crust of ice.

In the mess tent we had popcorn and tea biscuits, which felt strange—not exactly the power breakfast you’d expect before the hardest climb of your life. Erick felt like our dad, tugging mittens onto our hands and tightening backpack straps.

At 12:15 a.m., we stepped into the darkness.

The Climb Begins

Almost immediately, I felt the altitude in my lungs—shallow breaths, never enough oxygen. The hours blurred together. Around 2 a.m., Mom sat down and said she couldn’t go on. Erick and Seraphin tried encouragement, but she was weak and insisted she’d never make it down. We reshuffled our bags, and Erick escorted her back down.

Suddenly it was just me, Sue and Seraphin. Without Mom, he quickened the pace and though I was sad to be without Mom, within 30 minutes I knew she had made the right call. The trail turned into endless “big rock steps,” exactly what he had assured us we wouldn’t face. Classic mountain guide strategy!

Blood, Ice, and Exhaustion

I turned my music on and trudged, miserable. Then I felt it: warm liquid under my nose. A bloody nose. My thoughts started to race. “What if they turned me around? I made it this far. To stop now for a bloody nose? I got bloody noses in the Tetons, too. Maybe it’s just the dry air. I don’t feel bad otherwise. Don’t be stupid, though. Don’t get summit fever.” On and on… I tucked my nose back into my balaclava, but every inhale reeked of blood. Thankfully it stopped quickly, replaced by the constant stream of snot freezing to my face.

By 4 a.m., my hydration tube froze solid despite blowing the water back each time I took a drink. My legs burned, my eyes drooped, and I genuinely could have fallen asleep right on my poles.

At one break, I managed to eat a snack and felt briefly revived—until I stood up. Just strapping my backpack back on stole every ounce of energy I’d gained. I silently begged Seraphin to carry it for me. He didn’t. Maybe he believed in me, or maybe he was too weighed down himself.

The Long March to Stella Point

Just as I was ready to quit, Seraphin said: “One hour to Stella Point.” Relieved, I thought, “Okay. I can do one more hour.” But that hour stretched into 90 minutes. I was crawling, guilt gnawing at me for holding them back.

The sunrise cracked over the horizon, the most beautiful I’d ever seen. But I couldn’t bring myself to take off my mittens to capture it. Every tiny movement felt like it would lead to hyperventilating.

At Stella Point, the summit sign finally came into view, way up the ridge. People say Stella means the hard part is over. Maybe—but it looked impossibly far.

Sue asked if I wanted to go on. I nodded. I don’t know why. Guilt, maybe—guilt that Mom turned back, guilt that we’d come this far. Or maybe something else, some kind of spirit, was pushing me forward.

The Final Push

Each hill was agony. “Do you want to stop?” Sue asked. Tears welled. I told Seraphin I didn’t think I could do it. He calmly asked: “Headache?” No. “Chest pain?” No. “Then keep going. As slow as you need. No breaks.”

So I went. So slow. Step, breathe. Step, breathe. Encouragements floated around me, but I didn’t believe them.

Another hill rose in front of me. A false summit. I leaned over my poles, ready to collapse. “Just this hill,” Seraphin urged. “Just this one more.”

I didn’t believe him, but I climbed. And then—the ridge broke open. The sign was right there. The rest was flat. He had been right.

I sobbed instantly. “Katie, do you see it?” Sue asked. “I see it!” I choked out.

The final stretch felt like an hour. At 7:30 a.m., I touched the sign. Uhuru Peak. 19,341 feet. The roof of Africa.

I hugged them both, tears freezing on my cheeks. We took photos, but I was dizzy, weak, and desperate to get down. We stayed maybe 10 minutes.

The Descent

The return to Stella was easy, and so surreal. The ice had now melted, turning the slope into loose scree. We skied down in the sun, roasting in our summit layers. I slipped on my butt; Seraphin immediately plopped down too, making Sue laugh. “Thanks for falling, I needed that break!”

We kept chasing the mirage of base camp, always in sight, never closer. Finally, a porter met us on the trail and offered to carry my pack. I joked he could carry me instead, and he actually reached for my leg and we laughed and laughed. Seraphin told me my mom was “strong as a buffalo” and excited for us. With both weights off my shoulders, I found a second wind. Sue even shared that she had spread some of her husband’s ashes at the peak—a sacred moment I was honored to be a part of.

At last, the camp came alive with singing porters. But when I looked for Mom, she wasn’t there. Erick and Seraphin slipped into her tent. It took three people to get her up and walk her to a chair. She hugged me, tears in her eyes. Not happy tears. She was disoriented, slurring her words and having a hard time walking.

The celebration around us felt surreal. Juice, high-fives, songs, excitement—and confusion and worry. Erick said Mom needed to go all the way down. Today. The helicopter was called.

I sat in front of her, blocking the wind, my face burning with sun I forgot to protect today, for what seemed like ages. I prayed to saints I barely remembered. Finally I shouted “Come on, Jesus, don’t leave us now!” Seconds later, Seraphin walked up. “It’s on its way.”

The chopper landed and the crew filmed, shouting goodbyes as we lifted into the clouds. Relief mingled with guilt. I had summited, but hadn’t finished the full trek. Would I even get a certificate? Why am I even thinking about that right now?!

Return to Civilization

We dropped into Moshi, the air thick (yes, we could feel it thicken!) and hot. Mom said she immediately felt totally normal again. My layers came off one by one. A driver whisked us to Arusha, then straight to a clinic for insurance paperwork.

The doctor was a mess of fast talk and “okay?” after every sentence. He tried to push treatments Mom refused, then proposed a fake bill for insurance which I kept refusing, and we’d talk in circles. In the end, we walked out with what I hoped were the proper documents.

At the hotel, we showered (first time in a week!) and called my dad and my husband. Dinner was pizza, watermelon, potatoes, and salad. It felt like heaven. By then I’d been awake nearly 24 hours.

My body collapsed into bed, but my mind reeled for a while. Summit day felt like a fever dream. If not for the photos, I’d wonder if it really happened.