Kilimanjaro is not known for summit plumes but there it was nonetheless.
Unlike the Himalayan giants, this was not warm monsoon air condensing to ice crystals. Kili was sucking the clouds up the Western Breach from behind us and playfully throwing them off the summit ridge with the same nonchalance used when flicking a bug off your sleeve, unbelievable!
Words to describe the feeling as I set foot on the crater with my son are difficult to conjure. A bliss filled re-affirmation of life, though, comes pretty close.
Our 8 awesome days on the mountain, the scrambling preparation, a dose of tragedy, the work already put in, the knowledge of easier days ahead and the incredible view, all converged to a single point in time. Surrounding us stood the mythical “Snows of Kilimanjaro” and the mountain treated us to this, Everest-like, plume.
Hugging my 17 year old son as emotion washed over me was a moment we will never forget. I liken it to the day he was born, I felt indestructible.
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