In an effort to spare Kate, I would try to quietly get up in the middle of the night and creep to the bathroom after lying awake for some time hoping my intestines would magically start producing a chemical that would give the water running through them some substance. The bathroom door, which of course didn't close entirely, would creak loudly and I would flip on the light and fling myself atop the toilet seat with no small amount of athleticism, if I do say so myself. Seamlessly, with no time to spare, some liquid accompanied by noxious fumes that I would never have associated with my body would vigorously make its way into the toilet. It would have been nice if that had been a reasonably quiet, controllable stream, but no, this was explosive enough to rival cluster bombs going off. Sometimes even the rat-a-tat-tat of machine gun fire for a little variety. I tried in vain to quiet these unearthly emissions. There was no holding back. After the first go I thought "oh, screw it," and submitted poor Kate to the full arsenal angrily emerging from my digestive system. Although no person could have slept through the campaign my body was waging against the invading bacteria, Kate took the high road and never admitted to hearing a thing.
The nauseating fumes and burps created from my body's digestive campaign distracted me from what turned out to be a tad more disturbing: the flesh eating bacteria that had taken purchase on the outside of my right ankle. I had been wearing sandals a fair amount while at Tigrai and they had been wearing a small hole in my ankle. I didn't think much of it. Every other wound I've had on the trip has healed relatively quickly and I figured this would be the same.
One day, however, while bedridden with my Giardia class diarrhea, I noticed that my ankle kept sticking to the bedsheets. Upon closer inspection I discovered that my ankle was vigorously secreting pus. Now, in fairness to myself, I have to point out that I could not see the wound without doing some wild yoga moves due to its location. I figured I would put some Neosporin on it, cover it with a band-aid and call it a day, choosing to concentrate on my more explosive issues. The folllowing morning I noticed something quite disturbing when I removed the bandage: the skin had become necrotic around the initial wound and it didn't smell so well. Within 24 hours the necrotized tissue had more than doubled in size and rivaled the diameter of a quarter. Well that happened quickly, I thought to myself, while images of clumps of my leg skin sloughing off ran through my mind. People were suitably impressed when I revealed my reeking wound and nearly liquified skin (I thoughtfully waited until after breakfast), and some of the more sensible types urged me to go to a doctor for some proper treatment. I chose instead to pit the infection against a superdose of heavy-duty antibiotics followed by a week-long course of a different heavy-duty antibiotic. Take that flesh eating bacteria! Actually, I have no idea if it was flesh eating or not, but I have to admit that I was rather awed by the alarmingly rapid spread of infection. The antibiotics did the trick, thankfully, and now I have a nifty circular scar on my ankle, although I couldn't go climbing until it healed up because the wound rubbed against my climbing shoes.
I wasn't the only one in need of a medical trauma team, other people in the group were dropping like flies, as well. Two folks were diagnosed with typhoid, another was diagnosed with pneumonia, and pretty much everyone else had some form of vicious diarrhea. We were truly a sorry looking bunch.
We wound up having plenty of time to climb outside of Axum, however,
The back of BiRT and one of the climbing crags:
because Duncan and Lianna flew back down to Addis for our Sudan visas when the embassy opened again and the application process made the Egyptian visa experience seem like a walk in the park. I only managed to get in a couple of short bouldering sessions because of my ankle and missed the best rock we had seen in Ethiopia.
Emma trying to hold on to, well, not much really:
Juliet manages to find something that fits in her fingerprint grooves:
At the campsite, 
we braved more children;
These boys were probably the only well-behaved children in Ethiopia:
were interviewed and filmed for an Ethiopian national news story that ran several times on TV, print newspaper, and radio; Danny managed one of his few showers;
With the typical Ethiopian audience:
and we said goodbye to Steffi (an outstanding climber coming back for a portion of the Silk Route), Jase and Drew (my fellow enthusiastic North Americans who backed me up on correcting the Brits on proper English pronunciation), and David (on since the start in Cape Town and my Wolfberg accomplice).
Steffi, Jase, and David prepare for their long trek back to Addis:
and crappy, yet fantastically rutted dirt roads of northern Kenya,
Ethiopia seemed a bit like the promised land -- especially because the roads were recently paved. 
and it really did at last seem to be the promised land. A massive array of mesas and pinnacles reminiscent of the American Southwest covered the land 
and everyone was extremely excited at the prospect of climbing. It was an unknown region that seemed to have endless potential 
-- based on a single article that had been published years before.
We finally found one route that looked pretty cool, although, unfortunately, it was a horrendous approach defined by the most tenacious prickly seed pods in the world 
and a sphincter tightening free climb up rock covered in barely rooted brush and grass. When we finally got to the point where we really needed to rope up, we discovered that we would have to climb through a section of the most crumbly sandstone imaginable before reaching the solid looking crack we had spotted from below. Feeling rather dangerous, I went for the first pitch and just about died after the second move. I had not placed any protection yet (not that it would have done much in that rock anyway) and was a few feet above Danny when my right foothold gave way. I involuntarily squeezed my handholds in reaction and felt the rock under my left hand start to crumble in my fingers just before my left foothold abruptly broke off. In ordinary circumstances, it would not have been such a big deal because I could have dropped to the ground. However, the only level ground was a small ledge Danny barely fit on and he could do nothing to stop me tumbling down the near vertical slope a hundred feet or so. Somehow I managed to hold myself onto the rock and find purchase with my left foot, then proceed calmly up a couple more moves to a point where I was able to place an extremely questionable piece of gear. Oddly enough, I never considered myself in danger. I was in an unusual frame of mind (for me at least) where I had complete confidence and knew I would make it up the pitch. The solid part of the climb turned out to be quite good, although I was extremely careful about every hand and foot hold -- tapping each one multiple times and never putting my full weight on any hold. I eventually came to a ledge
that was a good place to set up a belay, despite the fact that there wasn't much in the way of headroom... 
Once Danny joined me on the ledge, we investigated a couple of cracks on either side and determined that it was getting late and we didn't have the gear to proceed into the unknown, so we just sat there for about 40 minutes laughing and cracking jokes while enjoying the view. 
We agreed to leave the gear I had set up as an anchor and maybe come back for it. It was only later that Danny, a strong and normally fearless climber, told me he really didn't want to go back -- once had been enough. Upon reflection, I had to agree with him and we decided to leave the gear
To pass the time, Jase set up a volleyball net (rope to be exact) 
which became a big hit with the locals guarding our camp (protecting us from the children hovering around, actually) as well as some of the older kids that wanted to play.
The Peanut Gallery:
Perhaps she is a little unclear about the rules:
It was great watching some of the girls play -- big smiles on their faces -- and really get into it, despite the fact that they were playing in skirts.
I love how all the boys are on the sidelines:
Since the climbing wasn't going so well, I turned my attention to some of the churches in the area that were built into the rock on the top of cliffs. The region is famous for these churches and, although many were built BC, we were unable to find out what they were used for before they became churches. There were a couple relatively near our camp, and Mike and I set out one day to see what we could find. The first church we went to we were pressured to buy tickets to go inside and neither of us liked the vibe. Yes, it was interesting and the priests lived up there with their families and grew crops etc, but it was impossible to explore without having shadows, aka children, wanting money for "guiding" one around. We decided to leave and try to find our way over to a pinnacle that allegedly had a church on top. 
Neither Mike nor I could figure out how a church could exist on top of the pinnacle, but we thought it would make a nice hike so we proceeded, against the screams of "NO No no no nononononoNO!" from our shadow, to downclimb through an area in which he could not follow. We make our own trail.
Goosebumps rose on my arms. There was nobody around, it was completely silent, we were miles away from anything, and we were staring at a pile of human remains. One's imagination runs wild at such times, especially with no context. The likely explanation, of course, was that the bones were the remains of priests, but, for all we knew, it could have been hapless tourists chopped up by a wild-eyed mountain priest wielding a sharpened walking stick. We proceeded with caution.
View of the cave from above:
It was distinctly weird and for a moment the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. Half expecting a caveman to leap on top of us with a bloodcurdling yell, we tentatively looked around, spotting additional caves in the rock wall with yet more human remains.
Once we settled down, we determined that the church was just above us 
and, while not at the top of the pinnacle, it was still fantastic. 
Me in the entrance:
The door was locked which we found out later was because only the priest has the key and it is necessary to contact him first before climbing to the church. Regardless, it was quite amazing, especially considering that people had decided thousands of years ago and hollow out a structure in a pinnacle in the middle of nowhere. 
Other people from Hot Rock went the following day and were able to go inside and see the paintings that have remained intact all these years, preserved by the dry climate and lack of visitors.
(despite the children). 
Although they aren't all so bad:
It was with a trace of sadness that we left in search of more mostly unexplored rock near Axum.
Of course, not much of the mountain would be revealed from that "mere" distance.
had a cup of tea and lunch, marvelled at the view,
then sauntered back down the trail happy that we were finally doing some type of physical activity. Although that day hike made me want to keep going, truth be told. Unfortunately, we had gotten a bit of a late start and didn't make it down to the gates until just before sunset which was a bit of a problem because we had no transport back to camp and it is not the kind of place frequented by cabs. Pre-arranged pick-ups, yes; a cab idling by the gates just waiting for random tourists, no. The prospect of walking in the dark the equivalent distance it takes a car an hour to drive was not particularly enticing, and we explained our situation to the woman at the ticket counter. She did the logical thing of course and soundly berated us for not thinking ahead. Then she said she would call a friend with a cab and he would come get us for a good price. Gotta love Africa -- for a price, everyone has a friend who has what you need. Short on options, Matt and I decided to accept her offer and settled in to wait for our ride. An hour later, the sun had set and it was getting cold. An hour after that, we were doing boulder problems on the outside of the building in an effort to keep warm, asking the woman every three minutes when the cab was coming. Finally, waaaaay after sunset, a "cab" arrived, its feeble set of headlights halfheartedly lighting the road. Although the shocks were long gone and the car was practically bottoming out on every bump, it didn't stop the driver from picking up other random people and dropping them off along they way. He also hadn't mastered the concept of shifting gears and Matt and I found ourselves futilely rocking for momentum as the car lugged up tiny hills. It took nearly two hours to drive back to camp.
It looks really cool backlit:
Both Matt and Emma have quite a bit of experience at altitude, and I depended upon them to set the pace. For some unexplained reason, I was having no problem with altitude and felt like I could run up the trail with my full pack (ok, maybe run is a bit of an overstatement), but I held back, knowing that a slow pace is one's friend at altitude. 
The peaks of Mt. Kenya continued to grow, 
the day was beautiful, 
Same view in morning daylight:
Matt walking along the trail beyond Simba Col:
View down the Choroggio Route. Note the clouds off in the distance:
with Juliet and discovered that the rest of our group were all there. They had arrived two days earlier and people had been doing exploratory climbs to determine the route up Nelion and Batian as well as attempt to acclimatize. Many folks had been sick, some were just getting sick, and some people were doing great. I was sorely tempted to make a summit attempt, but didn't have my harness or climbing shoes with me (hadn't planned on making it to the Austrian Hut!), and, although it would be nice, didn't seem likely. Then George piped up and said he would leave me his harness and shoes and I could use them after he climbed. Hmm, that gave me no excuses other than my insurance, and, by merely being at Austria Hut I suddenly realized I had gone past the specified 4,500 meters on my insurance policy. whoops. So, at altitude, in the full grip of summit fever, we hatched a plan for me and Matt to have a go at the summit in a couple of days with me using George's gear.
Matt, Emma and Juliet descending. Point John is the peak on right:
Classic Mt. Kenya scene for me -- glacier on left, Point John on right, random cabbage plants and cool light. This view is from near Mackinder Hut:
Another view of Point John from near Mackinder Hut:
Sunset from Mackinder Hut:
Summit flag:
Me and the summit flag:
Matt pondering cloud enshrouded Nelion from top of Point Lenana:
Looking down the Point Lenana ridge line toward Austrian Hut. You can just make out the roof on the left side of the pic. Point John is peak on right:
