Observatory Mount
|
|
It was a little over forty-eight hours earlier when I had first approached the peak known as Kilimanjaro. To get there overland would have involved a trek of several days on horseback, accompanied by a contingent of native bearers with tents and camping equipment, followed by an exhausting climb on foot - although the views from the track up the side of the mountain were frequently said to be breathtaking. Most fortunately, I had not travelled on horseback nor been required to climb on foot. I was being transported direct to the summit by airship with a small group of scientists and advisors, with no personal effort although with only the most basic of comforts. This was not some elegant cruise liner or lumbering dreadnought of the sky, but a fast military vessel; in fact, a Light Destroyer of Her Britannic Majesty's Aerial Navy, the HMA Constellation. The interior of a fighting airship is not like the spacious salons of a cruise ship. Space for people is severely limited; the interior of the craft is packed with machine guns and heavier pieces of ordnance, calculating engines and machinery of every description, and the intermediate volumes are filled with fuel tanks and magazines. There are precious few comforts; the interior was deathly cold, and I had been advised to wear my heaviest skirts and jackets against the chill, as if I was joining a winter hunt on horseback. I could not even easily take in the view of the approaching mountain. The majestic peak which is Kilimanjaro is nearly twenty thousand feet at the highest point, a height which is well beyond the reach of many airships. A commercial liner might typically cruise at five or six thousand or so, high enough to avoid some of the worst of the weather, but low enough that reduced air pressure would not be uncomfortable or worse for passengers and crew. Civilian craft therefore need to avoid both towering thunderclouds and the higher peaks of mountain ranges. A Light Destroyer like the Constellation has, by careful design, a considerably greater operational ceiling, as I hear the captain calling it. I confess that I do not understand the technical details, but I was assured that our craft could, in fair weather, draw up alongside Kibo summit and safely debark passengers. The air at this altitude, which we were now rapidly approaching, was sufficiently thin that the crew all wore face marks which dispensed measured doses of oxygen. I personally found the rubber masks unpleasant to wear. I understand one can become used to the effects of the thinner air, with careful acclimatisation: the advice is breathe deeply and move slowly - pole pole, as the expression is in Kiswahili. I sincerely hoped that all this discomfort and inconvenience was worthwhile. I had made my report of the conversation I had with Doctor Porter with a contact whose name I will not mention in these memoirs. His initial reaction to the Doctor's remarks was slightly dubious but came with a promise to investigate further. I am necessarily unaware of exactly what those investigations might have consisted of but, a couple of days later, I received an urgent message requesting that I and my retinue - "no more than two, please" - join an expedition to Kilimanjaro. (more to follow)
|
Part 1