Road Head camp 3300m ASL
Soles from boots littered the trail. Left behind during thousands of ascents from local guides. Anderson told us he had lost count of how many times he had made this ascent, and it reminded me to donate my boots to him after this trip. We hiked on the trail to a ridge line of dense shrubs, then into the higher altitude grassland. My fatigue told me I was at altitude yet the landscape did not. Not compared to the scenes of the Mont Blanc Massif I am used to. Instead a dry eerie landscape haunted by twisted rock and draping moss.
Katabatic winds drew the clouds through the gorge on our left. It shrouded huge rock pinnacles, but every now and again gave us a chancing view of the lakes below. We had traveled from 1200m and were now well above 4000m. It was a different type of fatigue, not ready to sleep but exhausted by the physical demands of 30% less oxygen.
The huge succulents would catch my attention out of the corner of one eye, playing tricks on me in my tired state. It was like a stranger on the mountain, judging our progress. We continued at a steady pace. Neither Jack nor Ewa had never been to such altitude before, but we knew to look for the signs of altitude sickness. In front of us was Minto’s hut, a dilapidated tin shell used by the porters. Instead the surrounding area would be our base camp for the night. I got a sudden burst of motivation and energy to run across the boulders towards the edges of the cliff. A single photo of these cliffs was the reason why we where here. We passed beautiful lakes, sunbirds and dassies. I Peered over the edge and looked down to Lake Michaelson. A huge base camp had been set up hundreds of metres below, serving as another route for the Lenana summit. I was hoping that tomorrow morning if all went well I would’ve found the quick way down.
Minto’s Hut 4290m ASL
We had to make do with the kit we had, which required us to do some last minute shopping. Searching the local markets for a tin bowl, noodles, tofu and some petrol to fuel our MSR stove. Our new ultralight sleeping bags from Thermarest served us well on the coast but we would see how well they did at 4300m.
That night I told Anderson that I was going to fly down and meet him back on the trail of Lake Michaelson. He was a quiet character and I couldn’t judge how he would react to one of his clients jumping off a cliff. I had kept the information as minimal as possible and he was unsure why I wanted to see the cliffs around the lake so much instead of making a summit attempt. With a bewildered look he asked where my wings where, and I pointed to my backpack. It was a cold but not unpleasant night. We woke to see frost on the ground and encrusting our tent but our sleeping bags kept us warm.
Photo- Jack Atkinson
The Jump 4300m ASL
Intuition guided me back to the exact same spot, looking down to the large tents. First stirs of life came from the camp as they went about their morning routine. The sun peeked over the walls in front of me, shining on the inky black lake. Behind me I could see a silhouette of a giant succulent, or possibly Anderson, inquisitive about my wings. I couldn’t see directly over the edge of the cliff but was sure it was vertical, with over 150 metres of clean air. A big push would be necessary from my selected exit point. As always I thanked Jack and Ewa for joining me at the exit. It’s always special to have friends to share these adventures with. I counted down from 3, and I pushed out, past the point of no return. Past the golden wall now illuminated by the sun, until I was falling into the shadow. Gravity guiding, then instincts controlling. Controlling me to pull my pilot chute. My white canopy snapped open a stark contrast over the black lake.
Lake Michealson 3950m ASL
I landed on the shores of the lake. A few guides came of their communal tent to great me, offering me a hot drink I could not refuse. Entering the 10 man tent a wall of heat instantly hit me. It reminded me of my Arctic warfare training; the morale of getting in a 10 man tent after 12 hours of ski touring in a blizzard. A guide pointed me in the right direction to gain the ridge line back to the descent route. This is where I would meet Ewa and Jack. I saw them in the distance. Though not able to hear or see me, I ran up behind them. Welcomed by the biggest smile from Ewa and congratulations from Jack. Anderson continued along the path without a comment, but at least now he understood why I wanted to see the cliffs so badly.
Thanks to Thermarest and MSR for supporting us on this trip.