Sabyinyo with AK-47(s)

As promised, the story continues...

Jen and I double-boda'd (like how I've made that a verb?) to the bus station, remarking on the way about how both of our mothers would die if they saw how we traveled around, helmetless, through the city traffic madness. We met the others at the station and boarded the packed night bus.

Once everyone figured out where they were sitting and settled in (which took about 40 minutes for some reason) we departed from Kampala for Kisoro. I sat next to Anna and we chatted for a while before eventually shoving earplugs in our ears and burrowing into our hoodies.  Unfortunately, Anna's observation of cultural differences in seemingly simple understandings of common courtesies was tested thoroughly throughout the evening. The main culprit was the guy seated directly behind her. He acted like a 7-year-old, but was clearly in his 20s, first actually hitting her on the head by grabbing the seat back several times, then repeatedly turning his phone radio on, full volume and holding it up in the bus to get a better signal, right behind our heads. This might not have been too much of a bother if it just happened at the beginning of the trip, but this dude would turn it off for a while, then decide at 2am that it was time to listen to some songs again, and on full blast it would go. Funnily enough, even though this guy was waking up the entire bus, no one said a word. Other times people would be standing in the ailes and just start yell-talking to each other without any regard to the fact that the bus was full and it was now 4 in the morning.

The long, treacherous bus ride arrived to Kisoro around 6am.  We departed, delirious, and I haggled with the boda guys at the stage outside the bus station in order to catch rides up to Mt. Gahinga lodge, at the base of the dormant volcano. This rode up was unreal. Not only was it mostly mud, entirely uphill, and incredibly slippery, it was riddled with pot holes and large rocks, so the bike would spin its wheels or spit out randomly, and we fishtailed all over as I gripped the "oh shit" back handle for dear life for about 45 minutes as the sun rose. Anna got dumped twice as the boda driver lost control of his bike and I realized I actually lost skin on my pinky finger knuckle from holding so tightly to the back of the scooter. We arrived with blood-shot eyes and shaking nerves to the lodge, a rustic, charming place with eight private bandas built into the hillside. We dropped our bags, used the eco-friendly "drop toilets" and sat down in the lodge for breakfast.

After a delicious breakfast of toast, nutella, eggs, fresh fruit, porridge and coffee, we retired to our room and collapsed into the fluffy beds. Two hours later, I realized I was still sleeping, and dragged myself out of bed. We were considering the likelihood of motivating ourselves for a hike when it started to pour. And I am from Oregon, and this was some serious rain. (See ominous clouds below.)

So we went to the lodge, sat by the fire, ate some more, chatted with the others that arrived, drank tea, played a rousing tournament of "Shithead" (a card game) and generally acted like little old women. It was great.

The next morning we arose for breakfast (a welcome repeat performance) and met up with the others to head to the base of Sabyinyo. This mountain is quite tall, and I think I suddenly realized what hiking uphill for 8 hours might mean. We met our guide, John, who explained the journey and the fact that we shouldn't be alarmed by the other guide walking ahead of us with the AK-47, because he was just there to protect us should an errant buffalo come charging our way. Super reassuring. 

We began walking around 9:30am, and got about 20 minutes away from the wildlife center when Anna stopped. Her chest cold was bothering her, and she was having trouble catching her breath. She decided to drop out of the hike, realizing that if she was having trouble at the beginning, she would never make it for the next 8 hours. And so four became three. We waited as our guide walked her half-way back down the trail to meet someone to escort her, and began our hiking again around 10:00am. At this point we were about two hours behind schedule, and I was restless and ready to get going. I soon discovered the pace we were to be traveling would involve quite a bit of patience.  Jen and Ric were in horrible shape. That, paired with the fact that we were essentially trudging through a swamp for the first hour and a half kept the momentum at a crawl.  My running shoes were soon black with mud and soggy.  At one point my foot sank knee-high into the mud, and visions of quick sand and The Princess Bride flashed through my mind.

The swamp opened to a bamboo forest area, as we clacked along, using our own bamboo walking sticks to hop over muddy sections and support ourselves along the banks of  the water as we walked. Bamboo opened up to another marshy section, then more bamboo, then, about 2 hours in, John announced that the real hiking was about to begin.

We were blessed with dry weather for most of the trip, which was incredibly lucky this time of year. I was hiking ahead with AK-47, then stopping and waiting frequently for the others to catch up and catch their breaths. We were about 45 minutes away from the first peak when John was remarking about the time and how far behind we were. I asked if we would have to turn around early, disappointed, and he finally gave me the go-ahead to walk on with AK-47 and reach the peak. (We were beyond buffalo danger at that altitude and it wasn’t as necessary to keep together, apparently.)

And so three became one.

Relieved, I set off, trailing behind AK-47 as he left me in his dust. (Apparently hiking this thing like three times a week makes you pretty fit, and quick.)  My heart pounded as we reached vertical areas fashioned with hand-made ladders nailed into the mountainside, gnarled branches serving as stairs, not without gaps, broken areas and times when the whole ladder would shift under pressure. At certain points we had to crawl upward on all fours, not unlike the great apes that used to frequent the area. (The gorilla families have since moved south to Rwanda.)

We stopped, suddenly. There was rumbling below. I couldn’t tell if it was thunder or mortar fire. Unfortunately AK-47 didn’t mince words, (or speak a ton of English,) and wouldn’t explain to me what was happening. We stood in one spot for about 15 minutes as he called to the guide below, eventually taking the walkie-talkie from him in order to call the Ugandan Wildlife Authorities and ask questions in Luganda about what was going on in the Congolese jungle. I asked if there was danger, and he seemingly scoffed at my question.

About 45 minutes later reached the first peak of the three “teeth” after which Sabyinyo is named. “Peak One.” AK-47 expressed, matter-of factly. We stopped for a brief rest, I dug into my packed lunch and shared my gorilla-shaped cookies and hard-boiled egg with him. The gunfire below continued, and it was clear that it was no longer just the occasional burst of thunder. I asked if they were firing in the Congo and he said yes, the rebels were fighting down there.  I didn’t like the way he would stop and listen to the walkie talkie and stare down below, but it seemed we were safe where were were. We were waiting for the rest of the group, but I asked if we could continue on in order to finish all three peaks. The clouds in the distance were dark and rain was on the way. He also made a comment that it wasn’t safe to still be hiking in the dark since he only had one gun. Yay!

We continued, down peak one, and up the dip to peak two, climbing ladders almost entirely now up the vertical sides. “Peak two,” he unceremoniously stated. Same routine and we reached peak three. It was a lot of sweat labor to get up and down these peaks quickly, but I did get some beautiful pictures on peak two before the clouds rolled in. We turned around after reaching peak three and headed back to meet the others. It was precarious, to say the least, to navigate these shifty ladders back down the mountain, and I had several flashing images of my body bouncing down the mountainside, never to be seen again.  We caught up with the others on the way down about an hour after we had initially left them.  Then the rain caught us.

The downward hike continued for about 2.5 more hours, with stop-an-go shuffling to keep pace with the others. It probably didn’t help that I was now completely soaked, mostly muddy, and my muscles were already cramping a bit, but I definitely felt “over it” at that point. By the time we reached the alternating bamboo/marsh areas, I barely attempted to avoid the waterways and muddy sections, since “keeping clean and dry” was now futile. I finally went ahead during the last 15-minute leg to the wildlife center, because I was planning on catching the night bus back to Kampala, and it was already nearing 5:30pm.

At the lodge, I reunited with Anna, and upon realizing that the bus would leave Kisoro at 8:00pm (instead of 9) and it was at least an hour to get to the station, I was still covered in mud, soaking wet, hungry and grumbling, it might be a better idea to skip out on work the next day (which was pointless to attend anyway since all offices were closed for Easter Monday) and take a morning bus instead. I called a couple of my coworkers to inform of the new plan, and settled in for another (welcome) “boring” night at the lodge. 

And like Jesus, we rose again Monday morning, and headed back to Kampala.