A jaw dropping conversation with a porter.

With a beautiful site like the Kitandara Hut and adjacent lakes, we were quite tempted to hang here. At least have a second thermos of hot tea. We had kept the option open to climb Mt. Baker. We even had a spectacular clear day. However, we let it slip away because we felt it would just leave too many loose ends and would make our last day too hectic.

The day's major obstacle was 14,000' Freshfield Pass. Since we were already at just over 13,000,' it wouldn't be much of a slowdown.
By the time we arrived at the pass, I had hopelessly stuffed both my camera's memory cards. Each day, I would trash any image that was not crisp, well composed or photoshop-able. As a dear teacher-photographer-friend I had in high school always told me, "You can never hurt a slideshow by editing it." I suspect he meant it more energetically with my presentations than with others.

Regardless, I did not have the will to edit any more images away. I pulled out the little Flip video camera. I handed it to Vittorio, figuring he was ripe for Hollywood. From the way his posture changed, he agreed. My partner hung his head, knowing our personal photographer's days were now numbered. Vittorio, always the professional, knew he would have to double up and shoot both formats.

Anyway, at the pass, I wanted to get a shot and had to settle for video, even though it really complicates a show.
I instructed Vittorio on the golden rules of video:
1. 10 seconds of footage at the beginning and end, to edit with.
2. every scene tells a complete story.
3. Any motion needs to be slow. The audience should not even realize there is a camera.
4. Watch the lighting on the subject. Plan out the shot, camera location and subject movements. The camera should not move.
I spewed in his direction until his ears started bleeding. At that point, I figured there were diminishing returns to me using up breath, especially here at 14,000.'

It must always be tough to watch budding videographers. Vittorio's pans were fast. He walked with the subject, rather than let him get out of range. One time, when the porter he was filming was at a loss for the English word he was searching for, Vittorio finished the sentence, from behind the camera. To cap it off, every scene he shot, did a full 360 degree circle around him, Sound of Music fashion. All we needed was the song.

It was during this phase in Vittorio's rapidly developing career, that I was just admiring the view into the Republic of Congo, just to the west of us. I was looking for guerrilla activities coming up the valley below, when I heard, "There used to be snow here. Now its all gone. It used to be so beautiful. Its so dry now. Now its all gone. And, I don't know why. I don't know why. I don't understand. I don't understand." He went on for several minutes, not repeating himself.

Out of the fog I had slipped into, I bolted back to consciousness.
"Do you mean in your lifetime, there was snow here?"
He was too distraught to acknowledge my question.
Knowing the microphone on the Flip video camera couldn't possibly be picking up the audio from this far away, I had to step into the scene and get the shot re-done.

This time the 58 year old porter would carry a digital voice recorder. I did not care if it was visible to the audience. This was too, too important to lose the audio. I walked up behind him, as if we were having a conversation.

The porter could have easily been the elder statesman of the village. His community mindedness was impressive, with significant concern for the long term ramifications climate change will have for this area.

The area surrounding us was the final slope leading to the pass itself (they have a habit of putting a sign at a pass, then we walk to a significantly higher height-of-land, so I was mostly confused where the passes actually were). Vittorio chimed in, stating that there was permanent snow here, even 20 years ago. Looking around, I would have guessed I was surrounded by a century's worth of plant growth. I would not have guessed this area had seen permanent snow in my lifetime.

The descent off Freshfield Pass was quite steep and slabby. We spent seeming hours descending steeply. Yet, still unique, pretty, varied and another bell ringer of a day. We ended the day in our last hut for the trip, the Guy Yeoman Hut.

Elisha, our cook, is no fool. The last two days of food was the best. This guy had been around the block before. Tips can more than double their wage here. Frequently, tips were handed out at the end of today, or in the morning. As our little band would be doing.
Wages are $10.00/day for porters, of which there are likely to be $3.00/ day expenses (rentals). The Cooks get $12.00/ day. We found that surprising, with the responsibility they take on and the critical contribution they make to a trip. Guides get $20.00/day. If they can get their wages, again, in tips then the trip is making them money.

 We had a business man, a couple of teachers, a couple of kids in school and a few full time porters. It is beneficial enough for men to leave their jobs to porter.

Educating their children is expensive everywhere. We were told it costs $150.00/year through primary school years. High school cost $250.00/quarter and they go three quarters a year. Even though we pay high school costs at home, I will refrain from barking next time the town gets all riled up over the latest levy. How these folks get a kid through school is beyond me. Elisha has 4 kids.

Mount Baker

Descending the rock slabs on Mt. Stanley is just a slow process.

90% of my time anymore seems like I am driving to some worksite. Long drive, usually not too long a job. When I was climbing all the time, a slower pace was second nature. I am too used to a faster pace. It took a conscious effort to accept reality. For here, in the Ruwenzori, walking is the speed. These guys have all ridden in cars. I would think they will occasionally rent one. But, down, down, down, ever so slowly, is a challenge to my 'making peace with it' department.

Just keep in mind, "And, this too, shall end."

Eventually, there is the Elena Hut. We took 45 minutes there and continued on our way down. Our night's resting place was the Kitandara Huts, on the shore of the lakes of the same name.
For a place with such a fierce rep for rain, we have seen a tremendous amount of good weather. Not southern California good weather. More like Glacier Bay, Alaska good weather. Still, good enough weather to consider doing some rock climbing here.

The west wall of Mt. Baker is no slope you would ever think you could walk up. It is closer to a big wall, than it is to a crag. There may be a route where you would be scrambling after 600' of steep rock climbing, but not many.

Vittorio really had me going, when, in an 'aha!' moment, I asked, wide eyed, if the waterfalls we were surrounded by ever froze? A thousand foot waterfall is ordinary here. There are plenty of bigger ones. Imagine ice routes on the Equator! I found out later, from the boss of the Ruwenzori Mountaineering Services, that, no, they don't freeze. Just atmospheric ice- rime ice. I'm not going to fly 18 hours for patches of rime.

But I could be encouraged to throw in a pretty good rack for a climb on the W. face of Baker. And a traverse of Speke. And a long ridge traverse of Margherita and Alexander.

So, you Ruwenzori vets out there, (I know there are none- nobody goes to the R. and, then,  nobody reads this. The odds would be astronomical. I can tell all the lies I want.) I hope I may be excused for considering rock climbs on the large West Face of Mount Baker. I can only imagine what it would be like in rain. The gear list would require wetsuits and a chisel and hooks. There would be plenty of features routes would follow where a guy could drown. The slabs on the southern end of the wall, towards the lakes, would be pretty tough in the wet. On the northern end of the 2mile(?) long wall is steeper terrain, better suited to climbing in the rain.

However, I really like the idea of coming home to a hut after a day on the crags. Considering how wet everything would get in a tent, after a week in a wet basecamp. Maybe the next trip should include a clothes dryer, one of those salad shooter style rigs.

Needless to say, my time between The Elena Hut and the Kitandara Huts passed very pleasantly, considering the tactics needed to climb the routes I saw before me made for pleasant amusement.

The hut is spectacularly situated well within view of the lake, right off the front porch. The lakes are beautiful, yet still at 13-some thousand feet. Again, every day is a bell ringer.

Mount Margherita

Mt. Stanley. On most trips, we would have walked long, grinding walks or slogged miles of glaciers to get to the climb.
In the Ruwenzori Mountains, there is no grind, no monotony. In fact, this place is an attention deficit dream. The scenery is soon  to change and if we change the lens on our eyeballs, and take a look closely, there is plenty to marvel at. The people of Uganda are the real treasure, with plenty to teach the rest of the world. And the history of the Ruwenzori is rarely paralleled in a mountain setting.
So, we arrive at the Elena Hut, prior to tomorrows ascent, with, "We here already?" 

The initial ascent from the hut is a long, 1-1/2 hour rock ramp to a ridge, giving us access to the glacier. With a peppering of new snow, I am going to walk in spikes, otherwise, I'll be slipping all over the place. I go out for a half-hour exploration of the route, to try the crampon on rock theory out. I get to feel the terrain we will be on in the dark and see if it is worth grinding away at my lightweight Katoolah spikes. By walking carefully, we should minimize the piercing fingernails-on-a-chalkboard sound of crampons on  hard rock, glacier polished slabs. Especially jarring when the only coffee you have drank for a week is instant.

The one thing the people of Uganda need to get their act together on, is coffee. I marvel at how they feel they have the best coffee beans in the world, yet it is so damn hard to get real coffee! I'll carry the grinds out. I have been holding the shakes at bay with the very excellent, I must say, Ugandan tea. All I need now would be one of those thin little weeny cucumber, tomato and butter sandwiches and I could be back in the Shipton/Tilman days.

I just realized it. What distinguishes this place. This place is primordial. I would not be surprised if Stanley and Livingstone stepped out of a hut, or  Cleopatra's emissary- hunting the source of the Nile, or a dinosaur was spotted off in the distance. This place is timeless. Anything we build here, won't be here long, without a good maintenance program.

A 5 AM start got us to the ridge crest at dawn, where we caught a pretty, veiled sunrise. With, or without the comma, the statement is true. We caught a view of Mt. Margherita, for no more than a minute and a half. Soon, we were on the glacier.

The glacier portion is a long, rising traverse. I saw no real trail in the stiff whiteout. No wands marking the line like Hansel and Grettel's breadcrumbs. The route was locked onto the muscle memory of Vittorio's legs repeating that traverse. I could instantly recognize the tactic. In the US, we would use wands because we expect optimum efficiency, even if they take away the mystery and the romance of the route. They Pasteurize it. Vittorio knew how long this should take. He knew to err on the high side of the goal (a navigation error is far more excusable, if I don't have to work to correct it). Too rarely do we, in the 'developed' world, rely on ourselves: our intuition and senses. Vittorio brought us into the rock rib we wanted to cross about 100' high, after a good half-hour traverse. Nice work.

At the far end of the glacier traverse, we shifted the rope handling from glacier travel to short roping through a notch in the rib separating the two glaciers. About a thousand foot long, it was nice to have a solid nav fix. To drop down off the rib, the locals have fixed (maybe a stronger term than represented by reality) a 20' (sectional) steel ladder. Steel. It had to be, because by the lower third, the ladder was cantilevered off a protrusion of rock. I was bouncing at the end of a not quite vertical diving board. Ease up on the anchor ties a bit?

Back on the new glacier. Still a whiteout. This one, however, was a direct ascent up the center of the glacier. The views were... so Ruwenzori... nothing. There is a beauty in that though. You don't see anything bad.
At a change in slope angle, we shifted a shade right out of the fall line, aiming for a break in the rock wall we could sense off to the east. I would guess we had an hour on the glacier between Margherita and Alexander.

The saddle joining these two peaks is what makes this the prettiest peak in Africa. The world's major mountains generally would not rate aesthetic. K2 is pretty, but nothing compared to its itsy little just-under-26,000' Gasherbrum IV, neighbor. A reason the Matterhorn is such a classic mountain is its beauty and its dominance. Very rare. Mt. St. Elias is pretty from Yakutat, Alaska, another Duke of Abruzzi first ascent. So, Mt. Stanley rates. If we could just see it. It just adds to the allure, the rare experience of a treasure.

None of this Top 40, beat-this-song-into-the-ground stuff here in the Ruwenzori. We'll treasure any views we get.

At the end of the snow, we come to the crux of the climb. The rock is easy fifty class standard. It would be fine in mountain boots. Climbing the rock would be the traditional way to get through the area. However, it is not the sporty way to go. The circus ladders the guide service has tied up (I can't stretch the term 'fixed' to this installment), are the real adventure.

They are, again, steel. The two separate sections, both about 10', are racked- the welds between rail and rung are cracked. They are tied to ropes, disappearing over a rock above to unknown anchors. This is a danger point when fixing ropes on an expedition. Wind will move the rope back and forth, abrading through the sheath. Once through the tougher sheath, the ropes core is nearly defenseless against abrasion. With the weight of the heavy steel ladders, I found no rope abrasion on any rigging on the entire route. A sign of care taken by Ruwenzori Mountaineering Services. The ladders don't hang straight down. They angle across the wall, giving them their circus element. I had a doubled, knotted rope from above to clip above each successive knot. If you drive by at 40MPH, from 500yards, it is a little bit like a via feratta. I was simply hoping to not repeat the last the last time I ran into a ladder on a big mountain.

On the Second Step, of Mount Everest's N. Col route, from Tibet, there is a ladder. This is in the neighborhood of 28,300'. The Chinese installed it in 1975. I stood below it and looked at its anchors: an ice screw driven into a crack. Hammered in. And some other lame piece. All connected with junk rigging. Not the material used. It would have made a very strong dog leash. 'Junk' refers to the workmanship. I looked up at what I was proposing to ascend, "This isn't going to hold." Above, the weeny little fixed rope disappeared over and edge (term used as in, 'a knife edge'), without an anchor in sight. The idea, should you ever be fixing rope on a climb, is to anchor below the cutting edges. This way the edges do not have to sustain the affects of abrasion while under tension. I got to ride the ladder on the Second Step. When it broke loose, both it and I swung into gravity inspired pendulum, until the anchor below interceded. Below was 10,000' of air. One bounce, and I'd soon be on the glacier below. I don't remember any real panic. High altitude is good for that. I do remember the critical concern, "Do not - drop - the - ladder!" Once that was all over, it was a simple matter of leaning the ladder up against the step, like I was painting a house. No problem.

Soon we were all at the anchor above Mt. Margheita's ladders. It was a nicely constructed piece of rigging: good choice in materials, the angles from anchors were all good, appropriate choice of knots and a good stance at the transition to the continuing traverse. Within a half hour of walking, we were on the top.

The view was missing though.

It had not been a particularly difficult ascent. Our weather had been good. We were a strong, experienced team. What makes it such a memorable climb? There was not one hour of the entire trip, that I was wishing hadn't been there. This entire trip is, start to finish, a quality experience.

We had planned from the outset, to descend from Margherita past the Elena Hut to the Kitandara Hut on the same day. That deserves another post itself.

Rain

I was awakened last night by, either someone vacuuming outside the wall, or it was RAINING. It came down hard until 11 AM. It came down so hard and steady, I couldn't help but wonder where all the water came from? How does so much get up in the air? And it all starts up as vapor? Come on, you think I was born yesterday? This was the kind of rain that would get through a bucket turned upside down.

With the Marmot rain gear challenge on the table, how did the Exum Jacket do? I do have to admit there was a glistening of moisture inside the jacket.   For moisture to move across the fabric (Gore-tex), there has to be a vapor pressure gradient. Or a difference from the inside to the outside. Pressure can not really be considered without including the temperature. With my body temperature near the air temperature and then with very high humidity in the air, there is just not enough temperature and pressure differential to drive moisture through the membrane. Change the humidity or temperature outside to a greater spread from inside the jacket and vapor will move.

 However, vapor passage is not the real selling point of raingear. Quality raingear, in my mind, can be most easily determined by the hood. Certainly fit and movement within is pretty critical. Pockets and their location have to be included. Fabric weights, 'hang' and durability are a tough topic when you have to carry the thing (and pack it in an already overfull backpack). Durability and weight is the fine line to walk. In every one of these criteria, Marmot has dinged the bell at the State Fair- you know where you have the big  rubber sledge hammer. With the rubber head, the only way to get enough travel out of the travelling dinger-thing is to absolutely hit the hammer-target-thing dead on- and confidently.
Like a Clipper Ship (the fastest multi-masted sailing cargo ships), the Exum jacket had to have come into existence from many, many evolutions.
Marmot has followed the carvers maxim- you start with a big block of marble, and you take away everythig that isn't the sculpture. There is nothing in the Exum jacket that is not a very very fine jacket.
In hard rain, I really felt like I was a kid again, at a drive-in movie. I was sitting inside the car, eating popcorn, while the movie went on outside.
I can't even guess how many shell jackets I have worn over the years...  a few dozen, to be sure. There was only one that stands out of the mist, but it delaminated and the company had discontinued the model.

The Marmot Exum Shell is a great jacket. And it has a fresh style to it, as well.

Every cliff had a waterfall pouring down it. With the heavy volume we had overnight and in the morning, every existing waterfall was bounding with water. The trail coming in from above camp was ankle deep. A little splashy creek beside camp, was too deep to cross! Mind you, these trails are, on the outside, sixteen inches wide. We had to retreat from the creek and cross only one rivulet at a time.
It has become clear to me that a good pair of high rubber boots are essential, not just nice. I spent more time in the Muckboots than anything.

Rather than walk in the heaviest rain, Vittorio kept holding us back, finally until eleven o'clock. By then, the rain was easing.

Up to the Elena Hut, the high camp for Mt. Margherita, is a short, but sweet walk. We gained a couple  thousand feet of elevation quickly, but, yet again, it was another spectacular trek. There was not a single, ho hum day on the Ruwenzori Circuit. Once we make our altitude by cresting a pass, we wander up rock slabs, just staying off scrambling terrain. Certainly, the Duke of Abruzzi would have been on glacier here. Even though recent ice retreat is very apparent, the rock left behind is cool terrain. You do need to be very careful. There are many places with small house sized rocks laying on slabs. Someday they are going to go. In places, it is a Khumbu Icefall of rock. Move quickly through the bowling alley underneath the 'vacation cabins.'

As I suspect is typical here, we saw nothing upon arrival in a fine mist. The hut here is a smallish A-frame deal, with two 6-person apartments. The guides/ cooks share a second structure next to it. Off beyond it looks to be a porters bunk room.
By the time we had gotten into dry socks, clothes for the climb tomorrow and downed a few hot drinks, the veil was pulled back enough to let us see a few of the enticing features of the show we were here for. We were surrounded by steep rock walls and retreating glaciers. Direct ascents of the two little rock peaks would be 6 to 8 pitches of real rock climbing. With the smaller glacier, the route has shifted up a slabby rock ramp to access the glacier. 

Behind us, the broad rock wall of Mt Baker presented itself in its full glory. There ought to be a climb or two on it. We'll be walking by it after we have a go at Margherita.

For the rest of the evening, we just relaxed prior to our summit attempt on the third highest peak in Africa. There are higher and even harder climbing, but nothing in Africa holds a candle to the experience of climbing in the Ruwenzori. No way.

Mt Speke

We climbed our first peak, 4890 meter Mt. Speke on the 8th of February. The most climbed route and mountain in the area was first ascended by Eric Shipton and H.W. Tilman, two of the most prolific late-in-coming mountain explorers we've seen. Tilman's first book, Snow on the Equator, begins in 1919. I would guess they were of an age that went to WW1 right out of school.
In 1919, they found themselves in Africa, I believe starting up coffee plantations. After a series of adventures (one being the finest mountain expedition, ever, to one of the world's most beautiful peaks, Nanda Devi), they found them selves on Everest in 1936. Again, a small team, traveling light, taking on a big dragon. Eric Shipton was on the very short list of leaders for the 1953 Mount Everest Expedition. The one that made the first ascent, and put Edmund Hillary and Tenzing Norgay on top.

I had high hopes for a Shipton/ Tilman route.

We left in dry weather at 5AM and walked for about an hour to Stihlman Pass. Just before the pass we cut off towards our route. The big mountains in the Ruwenzori are massive conglomeration of summits. They are like a spiked hairdo. All the peaks coming off the top of the mass that makes up the mountain. For this reason, traverses are appealing, if you can figure out the wetland trails. The big peaks are Baker, Speke and Stanley. The highest being a summit of Stanley, Mt. Margherita. How it got that name, I don't know, but I'll still drink to that.

There is a vast gulf in styles of guiding and protecting your client as we travel around the world. The Russians, on big mountains, like to act like sheep herders. European guides maintain low client to guide ratios of 2:1 or less. And they go like hell. American guiding tries to get the numbers up a bit (to cut costs for the clients) and we cater to the client more. We will walk with our clients. Euros meet you at the hut. We walk slowly. Euros don't have a low gear. Euros are in mountains that are often more dangerous. Euros trips can be done out of nice cute backpacks. Americans are often out for weeks, pulling sleds and carrying a pack that would have made John Henry eat a couple of extra flapjacks for breakfast....

I certainly was expecting to see plenty of differences in guide styles in the Ruwenzori. It is a remote, rarely visited area. Most of the visitors would, I expect, be pretty avid adventurous, high-skills types. An what I found is pretty true to my guess.

We started off with a bang. Vittorio happened to be carrying the rope. He, from the top of a 100' plus rock step, was hoping we would scramble up a rock slab. Easy enough, but I am not risking someone's neck on an inconvenience. The rope is... let's just say up above. Vittorio hoped we would batman up, using the thin climbing rope I had brought, as a hand line. 8.5mm rope, gloves, steep move at the top of the step... it could be a bad way to start the day off. My partner is a good climber and had no problem with any of the climbing we did. However, there is an excellence International Mountain Guides has doggedly cultivated over the many years they have been guiding. I needed to uphold the high standards they have set.
So we got the start worked out. As any mom would tell you, "A journey of a thousand miles still starts with getting in the car." The start. OK, little bit of a rocky start. Lets get on with it. The terrain stays a little too steep for my comfort zone. Easy enough ground, but a fall would often go 50'. Rather than the full rope work program, a cordolette between myself and my partner was just enough protection so we could relax. It also helps transfer a steady pace and eases communication between partners.

 If your country has been through a terrible war, or genocide, or a horrible dictator, I am guessing you have a different view on hazards. We are very lucky, in America, to have a very soft perspective on what is dangerous. I would argue it is too soft. To the point of impacting individual toughness, problem solving, and tenacity. With pitbull lawyers and a system that lets it go on, it is hard to change it up much. American society is softer than its competitors. There are certainly exceptions a plenty, but for the 333 million of us, on average... we are not Eastern Europeans.

Lets just say, I disrupted Vittorio's schedule quite significantly. We moved along slower than he wanted to. He did things differently. I argued, do only what will work. We held a very few, quick clinics on technique and I really tried to let him do his job. Really, Really tried. Hard.

You know what Yoda says about Try. I was still only trying. He took the indiscretion like a man though. He kept his mouth shut and did his job. Vittorio, as I suspect is very common in... East Africa, has an exceptionally sweet way about him. I suspect they have been through enough Hell for all their collective lifetimes. In the end, I can't help but have the highest of respect for the people. These guys just need some access to the outside world.

During our day, we had the curtains drawn, some rain, some snow, but not too much heat or cold. I wore the same clothing through out the day.

 When we finally got onto, what I would call, the remnant glacier, My boot selection was at the forefront of my consciousness. The fallacy of my ways, bringing a trail shoe style boot and a lightweight crampon for this terrain was a mistake. The Katoolah spikes I brought are a great set of lightweight spikes, but the tines are too short for alpine conditions. There may not be much of it, but 40-degree-glacier-in-retreat-equatorial-ice is still steep and hard. As much as my Keen boots are my typical go to boot, they aren't a mountaineering boot. What I wanted was a light alpine boot, with a sticky rubber sole, that would take full sized crampons.

The descent was slow. I bit my lip for the bulk of the time, coming down last. The size of the mountain is multiplied by the unending easy-but-not-easy-enough-to-un-roped-in terrain.

Mt. Speke is a large mountain. It fits in well for an acclimitization climb, but there is nothing there I would recommend as a route. Now a traverse of the mountain. It would probably be a 2 day program. That would be a worthy trip.

But, for my first full-on Shipton/ Tilman route, I was disappointed. It is a peak bagger route, not quality climbing, or a grand situation. Obviously, they evolved. As a writer, Bill Tilman is a quiet treasure. The route they did on Speke isn't their best work though.

The source of the Nile

 Soon after leaving the John Matte Hut, we climbed up a rise to a large plateau. Here was a mildly vast wetland area. Vittorio explained he had once been with researchers up in the Ruwenzoris for 29 days. Their focus was on the Lower Bigo Bog (at least that is what I think he was talking about. I came at this very same topic three or four times over our eight day trip).

 The piece that I had to make very clear is the part where the bog is the source of the Nile River.
"How can the bog be the source of the Nile?"
"The plants in the bog pull water out of the ground. More than the rainfall and snow melt."

Now, for an area like this, that, is making quite a comment. I took this to state that the vegetation pumped water to the surface, which overflowed into the adjoining river, which is the highest elevation water flows in the direction of the Nile. On the western side of the Ruwenzori, I would think that water flows to the Congo River.

"What were the researchers looking at for 29 days?"
"The bog."
"Did they think it was the source of the Nile?"
"Definitively." He used that word. Vittorio is quite well educated.







So here I am, little old guy from Columbus, Ohio, bumbling along some trail in Africa to climb a mountain and just inadvertently hike up and over a world heritage site that is the source of the Nile.

My great, 'Man, I did not prepare for this one.' was not bringing a small empty bottle with me. I could have had a bottle containing a bit of the source of the Nile. I could put it on the mantle next to my squashed penny  from Yankee Stadium. And my Viewmaster slides of the West.

All kidding aside. There are places on the earth where you can't help but notice the energy there. Mount Rainier is a place. So is the Washington coast, west of Olympic National Park. Similar energy along the waterways on the inside of Vancouver Island, north of... Vancouver. Yellowstone. Tibet. New Zealand.
Even I could feel it. The guy who wouldn't notice the Dali Lama, if he was sitting next to him on the Bus. To start conversation, I'd probably ask him about how he does his trash pick up.

But, the Bigo Bog has this, 'Beginning of Man' energy about it. This pureness. So pure, I was not brave enough to drink from the source of the Nile.
Another one of life's opportunities missed.
This kind of stuff is the difference between people like me, and... Hemingway.
Some people live life. I just walk around the perimeter.

The trail through the bog is a boardwalk, to protect the bog. This boardwalk had the earmarks of the UN, or at least an NGO: 24" diameter plastic culvert pipe (the expensive kind), stainless steel bolts, sawmill wood (any piece of it would have, at home, sold as an exotic African hardwood). The boardwalk was well built and made the right statement. This place is too beautiful and valuable to scar up with a pig slop through it.

At the bog's end, we climbed through some higher ground and into the Upper Bigo Bog. It is not quite as much of a power center. Although the boardwalk here does possess less of a
'right-outside-National-Park-Service-headquarters-in-Washington-DC feel to it though. The boardwalk lays directly on the wet earth and may last an additional five years before it begins to rot too pervasively.

Above the Upper Bigo Bog, is beautiful Bijuku Lake. It is accompanied by a hut of the same name just above it. With a lake holding water here, acting like a battery for a solar panel, Why would this not be the source of the Nile? I asked Vittorio if it was so.
"Yes"
"Both the bog and this lake are the source of the Nile?"
"Yes."
Clearly, the concept of an ultimate piece of real estate doesn't compute here in the Ruwenzoris.

I'm glad it doesn't. Here is a place where 'this tree is no better than that one', 'you get the same respect others get, when it is deserved' and 'Nothing here is worth more than another element. Its value is as a complete system. You can't break it up and sell it for the most any and every single piece can demand.'

A reference to Vittorio Sella

I inserted a nickname I gave to our guide, without the story behind it. I think its worth hearing, so, pity the reader. It comes out of an email I sent out to my climbing friends, thereby, I had this impression everyone had seen it. Sorry. Time to bring the story up to speed.

The Duke of Abruzzi came into the Ruwenzori in 1906. The area had been observed. A couple of Europeans had walked into the mountains, but not far. They had not mapped the valleys, even. I know of 4 expeditions the Duke had masterminded: Mount Saint Elias, K2, The Ruwenzori and an Arctic attempt. I have been to the first three areas and have some very real opinions to the tenacity, strength, thoughtfulness and quality of the projects the guy took on. Each a magnificient trip. And well done to boot.

He brought a brilliant photographer on his trips, Vittorio Sella. For my money, Vittorio captures the loneliness, beauty, the bigness and the romance of these big peaks and the experience. He can stand next to any of the big boys: Ansel Adams, Bradford Washburn, etc.

On day two, while wallowing through some mud, I proclaimed my photography guideline. If you only take pictures of good weather, people think the trip was a celebration of good weather, good times, light loads, sitting around drinking good coffee every morning and laying around in the sun.

If I return to work at Utility Technologies International, a pipeline engineering consultant and contractor, could you imagine if the guys in the ditch (who I work with) saw only the sunny side of my trip? They would plant me in the mother of all mud holes, and leave for lunch. Just to preserve my dignity around the shop, I must photograph the hard times.

Capturing the hard times is the goal of the photography experience for me. I have rarely succeeded. Its a shoot from the hip; keep your eyes open when they are packed full of mud; be ever willing to ruin your camera for a shot- world. I see several visions of heart stirring shots a day, but ever so rarely, can I capture them. The perspective is challenging. I am usually busy. Most of the time, I'm tired. And, I just don't want to ruin my little point and shoot camera...

Within those shots, though is an unusual insight into the Human Spirit. Why do we go to battle for that next step upward, when for the same effort, we can take 100 downwards? Why do we increase the risk to our existence, when we could have stayed home and ben warm, safe and dry? Where does the energy come from to keep us moving farther? Why keep going deeper into the misty, cloud shrouded mountains in the distance, knowing any injury will turn our dreams into nightmare?

For all these reasons, my partner, in his deep wisdom could see the artistic aura around our guide, and handed him his camera for a few snaps of the mud.

Suddenly, this man was transformed. Every shot required three takes. Every species was recorded. Each beauty of the area had to be documented. The subtle gray on gray of the sky was realized. He was capturing images he hoped would help publicize his beloved mountains. In so doing, the world would come. The community would be able to afford to educate their children, buy medicine and hopefully improve their world slightly.

The net effect? We rarely saw our guide, or my partner's camera after he got his hands on it.

Hence, the reference to our guide, Vittorio.

In each day's review of the images shot, we realized the guy was taking some nice shots. It was humbling that this remote mountain area, our once-was-a-porter companion had a better grasp on the art of photography than myself after dangling one of the things around my neck for 35 years or so... A photographers images can hang on a wall and be scrutinized from close up and back at a distance. Some of my snaps can hold up to 8 seconds of investigation on a projections screen, with the distraction of a story and maybe music going on at the same time