The Climb Day Five: I’m Dressed Like a Ninja To Climb a Huge Fucking Wall

I don’t want to brag but I am no longer decorating trees with my recycled underwear and today I put on clean pants. Black climbing pants that I have coupled with a black shirt and I’m feeling pretty badass about it. I’ve also brushed my hair out for the first time (I’m pretty sure that the team didn’t even know I had hair). I think the army of black crows stalking our camp ground looking for scraps are planning to salvage my copious sheddings for their nests.

“Carrie,” I addressed my climbing companion with the utmost seriousness. “I’m very upset that you didn’t notice my clean outfit.”

“You didn’t notice mine either,” she said while stiring her tea, and there it was. Our first fight. Apparently, day five of an eight day climb was when most people pulled out their back-up duds and got real. We complemented each other and promised to do better noticing the little things.

As camp collapsed around us, with now familiar military precision, we headed for camp five-Karanga Camp- for our last stop before base camp tomorrow. Our guides were now openly discussing the summit strategy, which I think they avoided doing earlier while they assessed our overall ability to handle our shit. From first impressions of two aging white ladies who had no idea that they were even south of the…