Above the Tree Line

I went to Tanzania to climb the highest mountain in Africa, standing on its own, rising up out of everything around it. I wanted to see what it felt like to be up there.

At the bottom, everything was green. Thick trees, wet air. It felt alive. You could hear birds, insects, people talking—noise everywhere.

I remember taking the first step. Like any other step, and at the same time, completely different.

As we got higher, things changed slowly at first. The trees got shorter. The air got thinner. The green started to fade. It felt like the mountain was stripping things away as you went up—from both the mountain and your mind.

I stayed in a red tent. It was simple. Just enough space to lie down. Your world got small in there: a sleeping bag, a little bit of gear, and the sound of your own breathing.

At night, the temperature dropped fast. You could feel it through the ground. Zipping the tent shut felt like closing yourself off from everything outside. And outside, there was nothing—no wind, no animals, no distant noise. Just silence. The kind that almost feels loud because you’re not used to it.

In the mornings, I’d unzip the tent and step outside. Every day looked different, like we had moved into a new place overnight. Same mountain, but it didn’t feel the same.

The night before the summit was different. Everyone knew what was coming the next day. You could feel it. People weren’t talking much, not because they had nothing to say, but because they were thinking about the climb, saving energy, sitting with it.

I lay in the tent but didn’t really sleep, just staring into the dark, thinking about the hours ahead. About whether I was ready.

They woke us at midnight. It was cold. Dark. We started walking with headlamps—just a line of small lights moving up the mountain. Occasionally, you would see lights turn back. The higher you got, the more lights turned back. I can’t remember if that made me more determined or less confident.

All I knew was: keep moving. Steady. Step after step. Nothing else to focus on.

At some point, your body just keeps going. You stop thinking about how tired you are. You just move. It took about six hours.

When we got to the top, the sun was starting to come up. Everything changed in that moment. The light hit the snow. The sky opened up. And all the effort—the sweat, the aches, the long walk up, it all melted away like the snow.

It felt… quiet again. But different this time. Lighter. Gravity disappeared.

In that moment, the only thing I felt was freedom.