Campsite at Lukenya:
Sunrise with morning mist over the valley:
Emma watches the morning parade of cattle through camp. One day some calves decided to slobber on my tent (my tent continues to attract trouble):
It had been a long time coming, but I had a rack to use (Diana left her rack in my care until she returns), not enough sport climbs around for me to fill the time, and, primarily, George telling me in no uncertain terms that I was going to lead trad.
George has to take a moment and rest with Steve to recover from following my trad lead:
Steve can't wait to get away from me:
And celebrate with a Gin and Tonic at the bottom. Oh, wait, this is Steve and Kat the night we had their "Goodbye!" party in Lukenya. Neither had smiles this big when they actually had to re-enter the real world.:
Since Lukenya is the traditional training ground for Kenyan climbers, it was fitting that I should have my first trad leads there. In fact, other than one sport climb and a couple hours bouldering, I spent the rest of my time getting cozy with cams, hexes, and nuts, anxiously awaiting critiques of my gear placement from the more experienced trad climbers in the group.
Turns out, trad climbing is a completely different head game. I got scared even though I was climbing way below my level so that I could concentrate on placing gear. It didn't really help matters that my very first lead involved both a crack and a slab -- the two features I am least comfortable on. It felt like it took me an hour to climb the simple 15 meter route as I tried about 20 different pieces of gear in each promising spot before finding one that was suitable. As the days progressed, however, placing gear became more intuitive and I was more comfortable with slab style run-outs. It will be quite some time, I think, before my trad climbing level matches my sport climbing level, but I can afford to be patient on this trip. Unfortunately, it is apparent to me that I'm going to have to spend some coin in order to build up a rack of my own.
Although I considered my potential death on several occasions while leading trad, I feared for my life most when I was not climbing.
Adrian, however, was fearing for his life on his first outdoor climb:
Which was overhanging??:
We needed to pick up several people in Nairobi who were joining the trip, and I decided to take a day off and go along for the ride. What a ride it was! The highway between Lukenya and Nairobi is undergoing major construction, and it is absolute mayhem on the temporary gravel roads currently supporting traffic. Theoretically, the temporary roads are standard two lanes. In reality, cars, trucks, vans, busses, and semis attempted to pass each other at breakneck speeds, successively swerving out to create a line of five or so vehicles across the road.
The white SUV is about to get sandwiched:
Lanes were absolutely meaningless. Now add oncoming traffic and enough dust to make the American Dust Bowl look like a non-event and you've got accident central waiting to happen. I lost track of all the death-defying near head-on collisions that took place as four lanes of traffic going one way played chicken with three lanes of traffic going to other way.
Note the truck on the far right coming the opposite way at full speed:
There was one little white truck in particular that would somehow swing out around four or five vehicles, face down an oncoming tractor trailer that would honk its horn but not reduce speed, then, at the last possible second, dart in front of the outermost vehicle missing the tractor trailer grill by seeming inches. The insane driver did this on several occasions, prompting Matt to coin the phrase "That guy has his balls in the passenger seat, strapped in!" It was an absolutely terrifying ride.
My second near death experience happened after Matt, Drew, and me had finished a lovely climb and were returning back to camp one evening.
Drew staring pensively at the valley below before starting the climb:
Matt looking heroically pensive before the start of the climb:
Drew belaying:
Matt on the crux. That wall bulge was a bit more steep than it appears from this angle...:
Drew working for it. Must...find...crimp...:
As we were walking down the hill through the brush, Matt skidded to an abrupt halt, exclaiming "Holy @#%! That's a big snake!" I was more concerned at the time with a large ant that was winning the war with my foot inside my shoe, but completely forgot the ferocious toe biter when I caught sight of the snake. It was about 15 feet away, on the other side of a large sloping rock that was a couple of feet high, directly in our intended path. Granted, this snake was no anaconda, but it was easily six feet long from what I could see. Initially, it was a standoff: the snake didn't move and we were petrified in fear. Then, since the snake was just lying there, our adrenaline dissolved into curiousity and it seemed like a good idea to take a picture. I snapped a couple of photos
Trust me, this fellow was a bit larger than a garter snake: 
before Drew said "You should get a closeup." "With this thing?" I replied, gesturing to my small digital camera. "Here, give it to me and I'll get closer," he offered. I handed him my camera and he jumped up on the rock, cautiously moving forward, his camera arm extended to the max in front of him, while Matt and I craned our necks to watch. Drew had taken a few steps across the rock when the snake started to move back into the brush, parallel to the rock but seemingly away from us. Just as I was starting to breathe a sigh of relief, I saw the tip of its head just over the slope of the rock moving rapidly toward us. The snake was indeed parallel to the rock, but it had made a U-turn in the brush and was now right next to the rock, slithering toward us with alacrity. Now, I'm not one to anthropomorphize, but that snake was definitely using the rock for cover and definitely coming for us. Fast. My flight response kicked in immediately and I heard myself say "It's right there! Time to go!" in a rather strangled voice as my adrenaline level went through the roof. Drew practically levitated off the rock while Matt and I shot through the brush faster than a sprinter outrunning a doping charge. We speculated on what type of snake we had seen on the walk back to camp. Some sort of rock python? Something benign that ate field mice (albeit a lot of field mice)? Perhaps even the most poisonous snake, a black mamba? It was only after we consulted the African wildlife guide in BiRT and mined our memories of Snake Park that we determined, yes, we were absolute idiots for trying to get close to a black mamba. Thank God I wasn't tempted to peck it between the eyes like I had seen that baby chick do at Snake Park...
