Think Kilimanjaro has a flat top? Think again! From hand-drawn diagrams to summit photos at Uhuru Peak, explore the volcanic 'cooking pot' at the top of Africa’s highest peak.
Explore the beauty of Mount Kilimanjaro from Karanga Camp. Follow along as we recharge at 12,992 feet, observing glaciers like "icy fingers," moorland chats, and the surprising sounds of John Denver drifting through the East African clouds.
Meet the bird that can fly at 36,000 feet! From its 'gut-of-iron' to its unique oxygen-moving blood, discover the incredible Rüppell's griffon vulture and the German explorer who gave it its name.
From Charlton Heston to Indiana Jones, movies love a good ant apocalypse. But would they really eat you in six minutes? Explore the facts—and a real Kilimanjaro ant dance.
From tooth-brushing in an African sink to barefoot sprints through mamba-filled grass, learn why being a ‘savvy traveler’ beats being a white-toothed barefoot amateur.
Swarms of giant storks were suddenly everywhere. They were beyond counting. In the hundreds? For sure. Thousands? Maybe. Some circled slowly overhead, great wings outstretched. Many more rested, nested, and clattered their bills from poo-spangled trees.
Safari operators often speak of the "Big Five." This is a linger-longer from the blood-sport days. The phrase does not identify Africa's largest species, but rather the five most difficult/dangerous animals to hunt on foot.
In the story of Noah's Ark, a portion of the living world finds sanctuary in a pinch. I thought about that as our rig bounced down the steep track into Ngorongoro Crater, Tanzania.
The land yawned like a Wyoming dawn. The opportunity in front of us was equally wide. We had a full day to spend in Ngorongoro Crater and I was pumped.
Zebras and wildebeests drank the muddy water, flicked their tails, rolled in the dust, and fussed with each other. It may have just been in my head, but somewhere I could hear the soundtrack of "The Lion King" playing.
We pitched our duffels and then ourselves into Saidi's knobby-wheeled truck. Saidi found the gear and we lurched forward. Our aim was to encounter the wildness of East Africa, God-willing, in a bloodless way.
Great sheets of ice flanked our walk on Kibo's rim. Aside from the fact that we were tripping along a corridor that was 19,000 feet in the sky, it could have been someone's gravel driveway. Or one of Jupiter's moons.
I found a comfortable rock and sank into it like a sofa. A local appeared out of nowhere and extended a plastic cup my way. I couldn't remember his face. Was he from our group?
I caught her in my headlamp. She might have pretty in another place but she was beyond defeat here, maybe even beyond consciousness. She was draped between the wings of two laboring guides. Her head was lolling. Her toes were dragging. That little Piper had stalled.
Three other members of the team had walked out of camp an hour earlier. We assumed they were already pressing the envelope on the ridge above us. It was now our turn.
Ernest Hemingway dangled a riddle of death at the front end of his short story, "The Snows of Kilimanjaro." But what kind of epigraph is this? A freeze-dried window decoration? A chewy historical tidbit? The most interesting man in the world may have solved the riddle.
The old king climbed into the icy womb of Kilimanjaro. On his finger was the ring of Solomon. His porters carried a vast treasure. None of it has ever been found, of course.
It was one of those nice mattresses with a heat-reflective layer that is supposed to keep you snuggly warm even if you choose to bed down on an iceberg or glacier or such. It also shared many qualities with a Wham-O Slip-'n-slide.