By Hon. Julie Mogenis
Hmmm
Where or rather, how to begin this story…
That’s always been my problem when it comes to pen and paper. You see I’m just a better talker than a writer; I’m just a better doer than a watcher. I really don’t need a script. I’ve always been that way. Even as a kid, I took my behavior cues from the Looney Tunes cartoons. And the Road Runner and Wiley Coyote provided my operations manual. Do it. LIVE it. Find Fun and humor in life’s big beautiful adventure. Step back to realize it. Absorb it. Share it.
Unfortunately, for some folks it too often takes a tragic loss or traumatic accident for them to realize this…the missed chances, the present opportunities of adventure that are right there in their lives, and their actual abilities to seize them. As noted, I’ve always been an adventurist so my near fatal hunting accident was not the event that pushed me to climb Mt Kilimanjaro. Instead, it became the vehicle to prove to all the skillful surgeons, the praying friends and family that I would eternally be grateful for their faith and continue to pursue the blessings, adventures, and second chance to live. I’ll always remain an Explorable and hope to motivate others to LIVE life as well… no matter the challenge. LIVE and Do a few things in life Unscripted.
Years ago I was unfortunately the victim of another hunter’s negligent firearm handling. I was shot with a 308 round within 10 feet in the left abdominal area. It resulted in an initial prognosis of a 2% chance to walk if I survived. I lost a few organs below the belt and gained a few man made ones . I was pretty broke down and messed up as we say here in Texas. I was quiet sure though that I could beat this… But admittedly even I was initially dubious of the future of my shoes in my closet and how I would be able to be my explorable self with a multiple fractured pelvis and having to use a catheter and colostomy bag. It didn’t sound like a situation that would lend itself to spontaneity. But I got it figured out and the walking thing became the “duct tape your feet to the stepper and let your arms teach your legs” mission. It was tedious but it worked.
Recovery wasn’t a fast process but it was one of stages. I had to keep my eye on a prize, new personal milestones, and try not be too harsh on comparing my pre accident fitness to the present progress. I was making the new me work. I had to. Adapt and LIVE epic.
What next.? What was the prize? A TV show highlighting hunting, fishing and adventures around the world was the new challenge and life adventure. Folks would notice the fun and the mission and I would see past my broke down parts and perhaps motivate and educate others. Wounded Warriors were often taken on our journeys so they too could help heal, feel and spread the outdoor spirit and lesson to find life, live it and share . What a life you’re thinking. For me it was all fun , the globe trotting and experiencing the outdoors, but presenting these tales and teachings to the viewers each week became the hard work. The shows Huntin with the Judge and World Wild Adventures between the two, aired several hundred episodes for over 7 years and then.. well it was time to get back to life Unscripted.
So , It was in January 2013 that I decided to take on a new kind of adventure.. perhaps one more personal. Just The year before the show had gone into reruns and I had initiated some changes in the household structure, so it just seemed and felt like a really different type of mission was needed . The timing was right. I had to set a new standard for adventure. Jack up the fun. Jack up the fun? How?
I made the decision I would go mountain climbing. I believed I had the reserves and would, if necessary, develop even new super powers inorder to challenge one of the 7 Summits. I wanted to go back to Africa and immerse myself in a new wild and cultural bath of senses. I wanted to tackle the tallest free standing mountain on earth. I said “jacked up fun”, so I called up a few friends, shared my plan and several were actually willing to join in. So in a nutshell, in September of that year I climbed Mt Kilimanjaro and made it back to Arusha before supper on the 7th day. I then took one of the best showers of my life, had a big ole coke in an icy glass bottle, two local beers and then laughed with old friends, guides and porters as we recounted our just completed adventure in song. We lived epic and of course, unscripted.
Kilimanjaro is basically a dormant volcano in Tanzania. It has a colorful history of German and English explorers. Some giving their lives to summit the majestic ever snow capped peak. It stands at about 19,341 feet in elevation and is referred to as the Roof of Africa. I understand the reference as it is the highest peak in that continent but when I got to the top I at least anticipated a view from the roof. Nope, We were so high…all you could see were clouds and glacier like formations. Yet in the low oxygen zombie state that I was in at the time, those were still and to this day, some of the most awesome views of my life.
Before our group left for Tanzania, we all took on personal mental and training hurdles in preparation for this big adventure. We each had goals within goals. Equipment to chose, training regimens and the inner battle of convincing yourself that you are doing enough. I additionally had to devise a plan on how to pack medical supplies and use them in cold, windy and often no light situations. My closet became a testing ground for my methods but I just couldn’t simulate the -15 degrees. But honestly, I really didn’t want to. That one element would be a surprise. During the trek, the porters made a potty tent. It was a very gracious accommodation but after awhile, and a few cold nights, it was so much easier not to brave the cold to go to another tent, but rather to just put “evacuation bags” outside the vestibule of my tent where they froze and became a shit brick to throw over the side of the mountain the next morning. Totally Unscripted.
There are several different routes to base camp. A bit nervous on how long I could endure the trek, camping in tents on the ground with my various medical challenges, I opted for the most expeditious way up . My fellow trekkers were a bit dubious of this choice as the best way to deal with the mountain is to have time to acclimate. To avoid High Altitude Sickness, time was needed to allow your body to accept and breath the thinner air. Although the mountain is regarded as the boss, I was insecure with my exposure to a longer duration away from some sort of civilization. So we stuck with the plan. We went on the Rongai and approached the mountain from the northeast, near the Tanzanian and Kenyan border. This was the most wild, quiet, and fastest route and after summiting, would take us down the other side through the lush forests of the National Park to the Marangu Gate.
The bus ride to our starting point was somewhat arduous, bumpy, hairy in spots yet ever so interesting. We stopped in a seemingly teeming yet somewhat poor city for supplies. The city was Buzzing with bartering .This part of the adventure was like an Indiana Jones movie and we were glad to finally check in and start. The first day’s trek seemed easy enough. It wasn’t steep but rather a gentle rolling hillside hike. We were pumped and still speeding from the red bull type energy drink we slammed in town . It was a Good day. There was plenty of water and good food. We camped in the woods. The next morning I was still very energized and excited even though we had not yet seen Kilimanjaro. As we made our way through the forest /jungle and dots of farm villages the trail on day 2 began to change. Wild game and interesting vegetation gave way to rocky terrain and caves. The trail opened up and we all began to feel like we were on a really big mountain! We also realized that once it got dark, it did so quickly and the temperatures dropped as well. So we devised ways to hang solar charges on our packs and with porters so the go pros and tablets had juice for the long darkness. I personally got pretty good at Bejewelled.
The food was good the first day but beans, carbs, stewy type stuff and more carbs soon sucked hard. We were all at times suffering “a bit of the altitude”. We were a little dizzy or dehydrated. I had never been a hot tea and biscuits in the afternoon kind of person. It was novel and so British at first. At first. But I wanted a coke, or an energy drink . Yes, I was on edge— a bit of the altitude but, I believed, I was cranky more so from the lack of protein. So at day 4, I protested for meat. Dumb that it didn’t dawn on me that we had left the moorlands and easy water sources. We were high enough where there was no more vegetation. We were hauling and boiling water and the porters only had what they had. I wanted meat! We were in an Alpine desert, yet I, and my limited amount of guts needed protein. I wanted meat!
The porters were amazing hustling folks that always got to the next camp and set up before we finished that days path. They made sure that camp was an oasis for us so to speak. I received the handle of Bwana Momma (Boss Lady) and Hakima Hatari (Judge Danger). Both I’m sure, terms of endearment and great characters for my possible cartoon sequel. In any case, our porters quickly became aware of my dietary desires and curiously, some of the porters walked even faster than their usual pace and got way ahead of us. Don’t know how, but we had “fried chicken” for supper that night. Best damn raven ever, said no one. Bwanna got bird. Unscripted
Periodically at night we would hear the porters sing and chatter in their language. These were welcome breaks in the silence. The guides and porters were especially energetic in their visits and chanting at base camp. Their songs took the edge off the anxiety and to this day I can still relive those sound bites.
On day 5 we had made it to base camp where we met with many other trekking groups that all had one focused and unified purpose. We all wanted to rest and stand on the roof of Africa. We snacked, talked, laughed, cried and visited with new friends from all over the world. There was a lot of camaraderie yet an inner turmoil of doubt, confidence and competition. Funny how you wonder whose gear is better? Everyone is eyeing each other. How would we all get to the top? Would we all get to the top? I hoped I would. As night and climb time approached, I was feeling cold so I put on every layer of clothes that I had and attempted to catch a nap before the late night challenge. My brain and ears though were too full so a long space out was the best rest I could muster before our carb load dinner.
We began our summit from that freezing base camp at 11pm. I decided to wear my expedition weight hunting camo, my Prois gear. It was always clutch in any other hunting, fishing or outdoor scenario…and I decided I had to feel as comfortable as if I was in my snuggly good old pajamas. That’s probably why my wardrobe choice got more looks by my fellow climbers. No one else was camouflaged or needed it. It was home. It was part of my super powers that would assist me in my quest to the top. The black scree and the incline for the first mile were arduous and it was best that it was dark. All you could see were the headlamps of the other trekkers. They dotted the approach and were a neat distraction to my burning quadriceps. I’m sure that many would have been disheartened if they had been able to actually see where we were going. It was dark, black and straight up.
As I approached the first or false summit, Gillman’s Point, I celebrated and yearned for a Red Bull. A full strength leaded kind. I briefly felt accomplished. My guide reminded me that we were not done yet. He was my guru now and I listened carefully as he admonished me for taking my gloves off .He said that it was cold and we needed to keep moving in order to get to the summit by sunrise. I became motivated again as I heard faint woo hoos and yodels from those who were higher than I presently was. I knew of the prize, I had to be goal driven but remember the stages. Again it was good that it was dark as the trail, now around the lip of the volcano was narrow and frightening. Although on the way back my spirit was “jacked up”, physically I was so tired that fear of that skinny boulder ridden volcanic path was an energy that already got all used up. No fear. Unscripted
Our group had split up on the way up from base camp, each going their own speed. I knew my limitations and my hip was screaming for a rest, which was not going to happen. I drove myself to be mechanical in my pace. I passed one group of Germans both on the way up and the way down. They yelled at my camo clad person “pole, pole”. (pronounced pole lay) That is the Swahili word for slow and a warning in the mountains to avoid building up toxins in your quads by keeping a too quick pace. I ignored that and plodded on. I could feel the wind at the top. It was magnetic, it pulled me higher. There was one group that had gotten to the top before me. My head in the clouds, literally, I was just overcome. I had made it to Uhuru peak, 5895m—the highest point in Africa. I didn’t know what to do. I just stood there. It was everything epic.
I don’t recall how long I was at the top or my summit photo ops, but do remember trying to take off layers and discard my gloves again, only to have my guide pick them up and say that it was time. We had to descend. The weather was precarious. I was tired and clearly a bit displaced, but I evidently took some great photos of the Glaciers and began to get a second wind. I was empowered. The glaciers and snow actually chilled or locked in my sense of accomplishment. It would be awhile before self-doubt returned. Todays trek up and then back down to the first camp of our descent would be at least 14 hrs. I thought…Hold on to that empowerment. And I have!
I made new friends, strengthened old friendships and experienced a definite soul moving adventure…. More than I could have ever imagined. Life Unscripted
I’m resting some now…so… until the next trek, Happy Trails and safe Adventures…stay tuned….
Ba deeya Ba deeya Ba deeya “That’s All Folks”.
Thanks to the support of my parents and the home crew in Texas. Special love to Mike Miller (aka the Turkey Killer), who provided quiet inspiration, prayers and film as we climbed Kili. He was a special source of peace as was my very dear old friend Jeff Abrams whose presence provided strength, laughs the best flute tunes on the trail