As seen from below:
On the plateau:
High above, from the top of Saptiwa Peak:
Because the environment on the massif is so different from the surrounding area, a host of plants and animals have evolved into species found only on the massif.
Interesting flower:
Fairly gigantic snail:
The Protea flower, found only on Mulanje:
Another pretty flower:
Eternal daisy (or something like that), a dry flower: 
Another whose name I don't know:
Diana and "miniature palm trees" (some kind of fern)
Hiking through a veritable "Hobbit-Land" section:
Hiking in a field of ferns: 
Constantly changing weather:
Random golden field: 
Burnt forest:
Initially, I was not even planning on going to Mount Mulanje. It was so nice to have some creature comforts in Blantyre -- like a lukewarm shower -- after the lean weeks in Zimbabwe that I was tempted to stay and lounge around the hostel, eating steak and egg sandwiches until I became so bloated that I could bob around the pool without having to use a flotation device. After all, other people at the hostel kept talking about how it was necessary to hire a porter because it was really easy to get lost and the hiking was difficult and what would you do if you got malaria on the mountain? In fact, we did meet one fellow who brought his malaria-incapacitated friend down off the mountain (with a porter of course) the previous night, in a hailstorm no less. Add to that the mysterious lack of maps of Mulanje around Blantyre or, really, any information of the area updated since 1975, and there was not much to entice me in the plus column for taking five days out of my life to mosey around Mulanje. It sounded like a logistical pain in the ass and my primary urge was to drink more banana milkshakes.
In the end, I decided that despite the eerie similarities, potentially getting lost in a hailstorm on top of an unfamiliar mountain in the dark in Malawi would be completely unlike my experience getting lost in an icestorm on top of Wolfberg in the dark in South Africa.
And it was. Instead of shivering uncontrollably, I wound up sweating more than humanly possible on the hike up the bottom of the massif. It is not unusual for me to sweat copious amounts when engaged in physical activity, but this was a completely new experience. It was running off of me in volumes that rivaled the annual rainfall of the Amazon rainforest. The other folks I was hiking with could not stop exclaiming about the non-stop rivulets of sweat coursing down my body. Apparently, my genetic code does not allow for me to exercise in sub-tropical climates. I soaked my shorts completely through from my sweat. I soaked my backpack completely through from my sweat. I was drinking a liter of water about every 52 minutes and it seemed to exit immediately through my skin. I'm not sure, but it may have had something to do with the trail going straight up the base of the massif. I was cursing the lack of switchbacks, cursing the weight in my pack (I had insisted on carrying all the food for Diana and me which consisted primarily of canned foods that we had on hand. What a stupid decision that was -- especially because we both know better.), cursing my lack of conditioning, cursing the ants on the trail, and pretty much cursing myself for cursing.
Smiles at the bottom:
Only Emma was smiling near the top:
Magical scenery at the top:
Then we encountered some woodcutters practically running down the vertigo-inducing trail in flipflops. Bastards. We must have looked completely ridiculous huffing and puffing along with our packs while they sure-footedly scampered by carrying massive beams of cedar on their shoulders that they had just finished cutting by hand. Despite the fact that Mulanje cedar will likely disappear within 10 years, there is still a small, managed forestry industry for the Mulanje cedar, and it is all done by hand. The woodcutters hike up from the lowlands surrounding the massif, fell a cedar, cut it into beams and planks of varying sizes using only saws over a period of days, then carry the cut timber on their shoulders back down the steep trails. The entire process is brutally labor intensive and the men are all in incredible physical condition as a result. Although most of the woodcutters were friendly, Diana and I encountered a couple of guys who ran away as soon as they heard us, abandoning their tools, timber, and food boiling over their campfire. We were confused about what had happened until we learned several days later that there are men who harvest the cedar illegally. While they only receive a couple of dollars per plank, the timber is in high demand and commands top dollar, so the incentive is there from local buyers to purchase illegally cut cedar. On another occasion, we heard communication whistles around us that could have passed for birds, but didn't sound quite right. When coupled with the fact that we were walking quietly at that point and had heard activity in the forest which abruptly ended when the whistles started, it was highly likely that we had been spotted by a group of illegal woodcutters. Diana and I left the area as quickly as possible.
Woodcutters putting us to shame: 
Legal or illegal, evidence of harvested cedar was inescapable. It was not unusual to walk through cedar chips that were six or more inches deep along stretches of trail that passed through forested areas. On occasion we would encounter a place where woodcutters had felled a tree across the established hiking trail, and it was necessary to clamber over, under, and around the massive trunks with their twisted branches poking out into the surrounding forest like so many enormous corkscrews. The smell of cedar was so strong at times that it almost had a presence of its own and I could swear that I could smell it on my clothes several hours later. I took to picking up chips while I hiked and taking deep breaths of them if I was feeling tired. For some reason, I would feel reinvigorated after a few deep whiffs.
Cedar trunk on a scaffold platform partially cut:
Woodcutters' camp:
Ironically, despite the fact that the Mulanje cedar is endangered, caretakers of the mountain huts (managed by the Malawi Forestry Department, no less) would burn cedar fires for people staying at the huts. The caretakers were amazing. They would start fires for us when we woke and when we wanted to cook, often spotting us from a distance and have a fire going for us by the time we arrived at the hut. It felt weird burning the cedar, but I'd be lying if I said I didn't enjoy the smell and the fact that the wood burned really well.
There was one hut we stayed at on Mulanje, the only one on the massif not run by the Forestry Department, at which the fellow nominally managing the place had requested that the caretaker burn pine or any wood other than cedar. Merlin (I think that was his name -- I could never remember it.) was there running a Serval rehabilitation project and the owners of the hut were letting him stay there for free in exchange for managing the hut and the upgrade projects they had underway. Servals are a primarily nocturnal cat-like animal that are rarely seen in the wild. While native to Mulanje, there has never been a confirmed sighting of a Serval on the massif, their feces being the only evidence of their presence. Diana and I told Merlin about some paw prints that we had seen on a cedar plank leaning against a tree a couple days earlier and he became very excited, asking us to mark the spot on a map. Apparently, people don't see Serval prints very often either. We saw much more than just paw prints over the next few hours because Merlin had just released a couple of Servals he had raised from the time they were kits the day before we arrived and they kept popping up around the hut, even joining us for dinner one night. It was an odd experience to be eating a candlelight dinner in a century-old wooden hut on a mist enshrouded mountain while an animal that is never seen in the wild repeatedly brushed by my legs, then leapt onto a bed and started kneading a wool blanket like a domesticated housecat. Merlin was clearly attached to the Servals and took every opportunity to interact with them when they appeared, obviously saddened at the prospect of not seeing them again.
Serval cats: 
Of the five huts Diana and I visited while on Mulanje, our favorite was the one at the base of Sapitwa. Although smaller and much newer than the other huts, it had a wraparound veranda and the best view, looking out onto the lowlands far below. Originally, we were not much interested in summiting Sapitwa, not because the name means "Don't Go There" (although that certainly gives one pause for thought), but because we were not very motivated all those miles away in Blantyre. Once we got to the hut, however, it became pretty clear that we should make a push for the top, weather providing of course. It was just way too spectacular not to take advantage of option if conditions were right. As luck would have it, the weather was clear when I got up at 4:30 a.m. and we decided to head for the summit. It turned out to be one of the most interesting trails I've ever had the pleasure of following (and getting lost on). The path is marked by red and yellow paint, which wouldn't be too bad except that it is all extremely weathered and pretty easy to miss the markers, even if one is being vigilant. Regardless, the path goes over and through boulders, past tiny streams with miniature, moss covered trees, and across a grassy, sometimes marsh-like field. Everywhere are amazing views. It is understandable that people simply disappear with some regularity trying to hike to the top -- not only because of the poor trail markers, but also because the weather can build fast and it would be very easy to become disoriented. In fact, not long before we hiked up Sapitwa, there was a Dutch woman who had hiked up and never returned. The embassy launched a comprehensive search, even flying in dogs from the Netherlands, but nobody found any trace of her.
Hut at the base of Sapitwa:
View from the hut:
The hut again:
On the way up:
At the top:
Diana rocking out:
Luckily, my experiences on Mulanje were all positive. Every day I found myself in awe at something on the mountain - be it the moody, minute-changing weather, spectacular scenery, beautiful natural pools, or scent of the cedar. Except, that is, for the very last day where I jumped in a pool and wound up with tiny leeches all over me which meant that I hiked the rest of the way down in my boxer shorts because there was no way in Hell that I was going to put my shorts back on that I had worn into the pool. But that was the only check in the negative column. Really, it was a fantastic experience and I was surprised that it the area was not covered with tourists (some days we didn't even see another tourist while hiking). If you happen to be in Malawi and like rustic hut to hut hiking with opportunities to explore a host of mountain peaks, Mulanje is an undiscovered gem that is definitely worth a visit.
Moody weather:
Happy hiker:
Playing with Lights:
(Photo taken by Diana)
