I recently spent two weeks volunteering on the island of Zanzibar, Tanzania, with a group that helped local communities. It was my first solo international trip.
After our time on the island ended, a few other volunteers and I planned to extend our time in Africa to hike Mount Kilimanjaro. The summit stands at 19,341 feet (5,895 meters). Its unique ecosystem has five distinct regions that climbers must pass through to reach the summit: cultivated farmland, rainforest, Afro-alpine moorland, alpine desert, and the arctic zone.
Our guides pointed out plants and birds that were unique to the Kilimanjaro regions as we moved through them. The mountain is challenging to summit but feasible for beginners when traveling with an experienced guide organization. A typical team includes two lead guides and four porters per person.
The guides led us on the second most difficult path, the Machame Route, which would take us four days to go up and two on the way down. Our days consisted of five to nine hours of climbing; sometimes we would be trudging through mud on a slow incline, scaling rock walls, and wading through creeks. It was an incredible environment unlike anywhere I have ever been.
Our guides would test our oxygen level and heart rate each night. Altitude sickness is common when summiting to such a height, especially when covering up to 4,000 feet (1,219 m) of elevation each day. I visit the Colorado Rockies every year and am somewhat used to altitude, so I planned to power through.
The first night we slept at 9,908 feet (3,020 m), and my oxygen level was 79%, which was low considering that we had just begun. Others in my group tested at more than 95%. Around this time I began to lose my appetite, which is a common side effect of altitude sickness, but I was determined to complete the trip. I am an athlete — a former competitive swimmer and member of the Army ROTC Ranger competition team at the University of Florida. I’m used to pushing myself physically and not letting myself underperform.
The climbs got steeper over the next two days, and I found myself continuously out of breath. My oxygen levels were steadily decreasing and even got to an alarming 46% on the third night. That day I was unable to carry my backpack and frequently needed to stop and rest. My heart was pounding, and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. I had no appetite and hadn’t eaten anything in days, which is not ideal when exerting so much energy. But I was still determined to push myself and make it to the top, where all the pain would be worth it.
The approach to the summit happens at night with a plan to arrive at sunrise. Trekking straight uphill in the dark while in temperatures approaching freezing was a physical and mental battle. I had to separate from my group because I simply could not keep up and needed to stop every 20 feet (6 m). The guide and porter who had stayed with me were very concerned with my breathing patterns. I don’t remember much from this part, but it was the most difficult seven hours of my life. The lack of oxygen caused my body to fail as we continued upward.
I began to see a layer of white fog forming, which I assumed were clouds and didn’t think anything of it, even as it became thicker. The higher we got, however, the thicker the fog became. I started to wonder how anyone else was able to navigate this difficult terrain without being able to see where they were going.
When I mentioned my clouded vision to my guide, he was shocked. We were already above the clouds, but the fog had become a white blindness that completely blocked my vision. I never had any issues with my eyes before, and at that moment I wondered if I had impaired my vision for the rest of my life. My irises had fully expanded, and my oxygen was below 20%, an extremely dangerous and life-threatening level.
We immediately started back to the base camp. I later found out that we had been only five minutes away from summiting the mountain, but I know it was crucial for my safety to descend immediately.
Going down was the longest three hours of my life. I could not see or navigate, so two porters had to support me the entire way, keeping the conversation going so I would stay conscious. My body was shutting down as I trudged through hour after hour of “take a big step right” and “shuffle left.” I am proud to say I remained calm and didn’t freak out, even as I recognized my mistakes. Nobody realized how bad my condition was until later.
We finally reached the base camp at 15,354 feet (4,680 m), where I collapsed in relief that my body could rest. I still couldn’t see anything. The guides called a mountain rescue helicopter that arrived within 20 minutes. They also called my family, who reached out to Divers Alert Network to begin coordinating an evacuation.
I was able to call my parents and tell them my status after we flew to our compound in Arusha. Despite being blind and exhausted, I was in a good place and knew that being on solid ground was the first step to recovery. My phone died shortly afterward, and I couldn’t find a charger until days later, so communication with my family went through the guide company and DAN.
After meeting with the physician at the nearest clinic, I was on and off oxygen for the next two hours. I still had a white haze in my eyes, but I could start to make out larger shapes. Later that afternoon I was transferred to the local hospital in Arusha, where I stayed overnight. I received more oxygen and heavy doses of steroids to clear my lungs. I still did not have any way to contact anyone, but thankfully the guide organization remained in constant communication with my parents and DAN.
Nurses continued to treat me with oxygen and check my vitals after I woke up the next day. My oxygen levels were slowly increasing, but I would not be discharged until they hit 98%. On the third day the doctors diagnosed me with pulmonary edema, a condition in which the lungs fill with fluid and make it difficult to take in oxygen. It is extremely life-threatening and can lead to heart-related pressure problems without immediate care. I had no official diagnosis regarding my vision, which had returned to normal, and I was advised to visit my eye doctor upon returning home.
My other big issue was undernourishment. I hadn’t been able to consume anything but water for more than five days, and it had taken a toll on my body. My flight back to the U.S. was scheduled to leave soon, kicking off 25 hours of travel, but I was not equipped to make it. Between the strain on my body and the amount of medication I was taking, all I could do was rest.
The physicians recommended rescheduling my flight. As much as I wanted nothing more than to go home, I knew delaying the trip was the right thing to do. DAN quickly helped me reschedule my flight, and I stayed in Arusha to allow my lungs more time to clear.
After returning home I visited a pulmonologist, who informed me that I had experienced a very severe case of high-altitude pulmonary edema (HAPE). I’m thankful there was no permanent damage, but he said it may be weeks before I felt normal doing routine activities.
If I had stayed at the high elevation any longer, the repercussions could have been much worse. This condition can affect anyone, regardless of fitness level and age, and I will need to be mindful of future trips to altitude and how it may affect me.
When I visited an ophthalmologist, the technician was shocked by my story. She brought all her coworkers into the room to hear it and look at my eyes. I was worried that something was seriously wrong. The doctor determined that I had suffered a hemorrhage in each eye due to the lack of oxygen but had no permanent damage, and the effects would subside over a few weeks.
Looking back at all the warning signs and issues I had while climbing the mountain, I very narrowly avoided what could have been a much more serious scenario. I should have listened to my body rather than stubbornly trying to push through the pain. It is common for people to not summit Kilimanjaro on their first try, but I was determined to beat those odds. I now know that there was no need to push myself, endure so much discomfort, and face potentially life-threatening conditions.
Despite not summiting, climbing Mount Kilimanjaro was an incredible experience and one I do not regret. I learned how important it is to accept limitations and make smart decisions during an activity involving your health and safety.
We often think of DAN insurance for diving, but I relied on it when it was time to pay for the helicopter evacuation. People without insurance or the funds to pay would have had to hike back down, which could have had dire complications.
At every turn, from communications to compensation, DAN was there for me.
© Alert Diver – Q2 2025