5 Things I Wish I'd Known Before Climbing Kilimanjaro

(I Had to Learn Them Twice)

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I climbed Kilimanjaro at twenty-seven, sick, robbed of almost everything I'd packed, and running on a promise I'd made after losing my mother to cancer. I made it to the crater rim. I didn't make it to the top.

It took me ten years, a marriage, and a continent's worth of other adventures before I went back — this time with my wife, Fran, beside me — and finished what I'd started.

Here's what I learned the hard way, on both trips, about the mountain that took me a decade to actually climb.

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1. The route you choose matters more than your fitness

It's tempting to think summiting Kilimanjaro is about leg strength and lung capacity. It isn't, mostly. Acute Mountain Sickness — not fitness — is the leading reason climbers turn back, and the single biggest factor in your control is how many days you spend on the mountain. Five-day routes can have summit success rates as low as 27%, while eight- or nine-day routes regularly exceed 90%.

My first attempt was on the Marangu route — the shortest, hut-based option, often (misleadingly) called "the easy one" — and I didn't make it past Gilman's Point. Ten years later, on a longer Machame itinerary with an extra acclimatisation day built in, I reached Uhuru Peak. The mountain hadn't changed. My itinerary had.

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2. "Pole pole" isn't a suggestion — it's the whole strategy

Every guide on Kilimanjaro will tell you the same two Swahili words: pole pole — slowly, slowly. It sounds almost too simple to be real advice, but it's the practical expression of "climb high, sleep low," the acclimatisation principle behind nearly every well-designed route. Walking too fast in the early days feels harmless, because the distances are short. It's the altitude gain that catches up with you later, often on summit night, when it's too late to undo.

The climbers I watched stride confidently past us in the first few days weren't always the ones celebrating at the crater rim.

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3. Know exactly where the "summit" actually is

Kilimanjaro has three recognised high points, and only one of them is the true summit. Gilman's Point sits on the crater rim at 5,681m. Stella Point is a little higher, at 5,756m. Uhuru Peak — the actual roof of Africa — is another 45 minutes to an hour beyond that, at extreme altitude, after a night with almost no sleep.

Some operators count Stella Point as a "summit" in their marketing. It isn't dishonest exactly — it's still a remarkable achievement — but if you want to stand at Uhuru, ask your operator directly which point their stated success rate refers to. I reached the crater rim on my first attempt and was profoundly proud of it. I still had to come back for the rest.

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4. A second attempt isn't a consolation prize

There's a quiet shame that can attach itself to not reaching the top, especially if you've raised money for charity or made a promise to someone. I felt it for years. But altitude sickness isn't a verdict on your character or your effort — it's physiology, and physiology responds to better preparation.

Going back wasn't repeating a failure; it was applying everything I'd learned the first time. If you don't summit, it's worth asking honestly whether it was the mountain, or the itinerary.

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5. The huts, the group, the guide — they're not optional extras. They're what gets you up there

Even solo climbers on Kilimanjaro aren't really alone: every climber needs a licensed guide, and most departures mean you'll spend a week eating, resting and struggling alongside the same small group. That isn't just companionship for its own sake.

On my second climb, our guide Evans paced us, sang along to our music, and read us perfectly during the worst of the altitude. That kind of attentive, experienced guiding matters as much to your odds of summiting as the route itself. Choose your operator on guide quality and group size — not just price.

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These five lessons cost me a decade to learn. They're woven through Wild About Africa: Sleepwalking on Kilimanjaro and Running from Lions — along with a hyena outside my tent, a sinking dhow, a charging lion, and the longer, wilder overland journey from Tanzania to Cape Town that came after the mountain.

If you've ever wondered whether it's too late to go back and finish something — this book is proof that it isn't.