Rounding the east face of Uhuru peak on the way to the summit. (Jet Belgraver/CBC)

The snowy white peaks of Mount Kilimanjaro are not as pristine or as untouched as they appear in magazines, as I discovered when I hiked up Africa's highest peak last summer. One obvious giveaway: The trail is littered with toilet paper.

That was one of several revelations I had when my husband and I climbed one of the world's most celebrated mountains as part of an adventure holiday.

The view from Shira Plateau, near the lowest of Kilimanjaro's three volcanic cones. (Jet Belgraver/CBC)

We arrived with the full intent to reach the summit and had done our research. I knew to pack ample layers and fleece galore and the best sleeping bag I could afford.

I knew that my hiking boots should be well worn. Most importantly, I'd been forewarned not to underestimate the cold or signs of altitude sickness, which can be fatal.

We were aiming for the peak at 5,895 metres (19,340 feet above sea level). So we spent a few days acclimatizing in Moshi, a pleasant town in Tanzania, near the foot of the mountain, encircled by coffee fields.

One of the main reasons for climbers failing to reach the summit is altitude sickness, which can strike at about 2,300 metres. The more time one spends getting used to thinner air, the easier it is supposed to be to adapt and function.

Enter the entourage

We opted to hike the Machame route, one of several up the mountain, specifically because it was a day or two longer than the more popular Marangu trail, known locally as the "Coca-Cola route" because of the many huts that sell beer and Coke that dot the way.

Up and down would take six days and cost just over $1,000 per person less airfare and tips for the porters, which can run another $250 or so.

For those who are tempted to make the climb, you should know that Mount Kilimanjaro is a national park and it is mandatory to hire a guide. Costs vary but all trekking companies include the park fees, food, basic camping equipment and a team of porters. Our guide, Naftael, picked us up en route to the entry gate of the park, where we registered and met our own team of porters.

That was when I received the first dose of reality — there must have been about 50 of us foreign hikers, a mixed bag of nationalities, many decked out in the latest Gore-Tex and fleece.

But it was the number of porters that was far more surprising, far outnumbering we intrepid climbers. The rule of thumb for most trekking companies is two to three porters per climber and their very presence takes some of the mystique out of the ascent: They showed up in sneakers, sweatpants and even flip-flops.

A brigade on the march

Do the math — even our little team, and we were just two, became an entourage that included our guide, his assistant guide and four porters. Larger groups become army-like units going up the mountain.

All porters have their loads, which include all of our food and shelter, with the packs weighed to ensure the loads are not over a set limit. These large awkward bundles put our daypacks filled with water and energy bars to shame.

Kilimanjaro is remarkable because so many climate zones are represented on the march up to its twin peaks.

Day one takes you through a rain forest. You trek gingerly through the mud and the mist with massive trees to shade the path and, further up, green moss dangling from their branches.

Every now and then, we would stand aside to let the porters pass, massive bags on their heads, a chair or two protruding, and carrying cartons of eggs in their hands.

We reached our first camp ground just before night fell, in the drizzle, and that was where I had my first experience with the Kili outhouse, which, much to my chagrin, was perched uphill from our tent about a dozen feet.

In the days to come, I would be confronted by many of Kili's outhouses, some too nasty to describe. They are often so slick with filth that many people prefer the open air, hence the trail of toilet paper in many of the mountain's nooks and crannies.

Be forewarned: The pack-it-in and pack-it-out mentality that we adhere to in our own parks in the West seems to have gone missing under Africa's equatorial sun.

Kili calling

The next couple of days offered us many beautiful vistas as well as a varying landscape that became increasingly harsher and more barren, once above the cloud cover and tree line.

There is, of course, a raw beauty in these plains, much of it more reminiscent of a desert than a mountain. Sometime, too, you would come upon a table set for lunch in the middle of nowhere, just standing there with gourmet condiments, meant for a more monied crowd, gracing the tablecloth.

As for the hike itself, the pace is hard but nowhere near as difficult as I had been led to believe — this from someone who did not specifically train and spends more time in an office chair than desired.

Although we did not seem to suffer from the debilitating headaches altitude can induce, one of our porters fell very ill and was sent down the mountain. Then again, we were taking Diamox, the recommended drug to prevent altitude sickness.

The most difficult section came on day four. We camped among the rocks, some tents perched at odd angles.

A lone Japanese hiker enjoyed a smoke on an outcrop and a young Canadian woman strolled out to a viewpoint and promptly called her father on her mobile. Up until recently, Kili was the highest place in the world that had cell access. Then the Chinese set up service at Everest.

Dinner was served early because we were getting up before midnight, in order to reach the summit at sunrise.

Dressed to withstand the cold — a mild -15C that evening — we started up the hill in the inky blackness. But I was so sluggish from lack of a proper sleep that I was in danger of jeopardizing the ascent.

My husband, bless his soul, insisted I grab a hold of the straps of his daypack to guide, rather drag, me up. And so it went, one foot ahead of the other, on the sand-like path, brain in neutral.

Dawn over Africa

Six hours and more than 1,200 metres later, we reached the ridge known as Stella Point and were very grateful for the tea and biscuits our guides offered. As we continued around the ridge, a sliver of light appeared on the horizon, growing in size and intensity.

The author at the top of Kilimanjaro. (CBC)

Pretty soon, dawn was upon us and we were able to see the fruits of our accomplishment. We were hiking around the edge of the dormant volcano that makes up the highest peak on Kilimanjaro — the mountain has three volcanic cones. The remains of the shrinking glacier shone all around us as we were now hiking in crusty snow.

Within an hour, we had reached Uhuru peak and collectively marvelled at the sunrise in the distance. Thick clouds obscured the vista below, but there was a clear view of the crater and the massive flutes of the main glacier.

We remained up top long enough to have our picture taken with the sign, everyone patiently awaiting their turns. And then we were herded quickly off the top as every minute at that altitude can kill brain cells. Dehydration is also a critical factor.

As the sun rose, the temperature went up and the layers of gear came peeling off.

The sun, reflecting off the snow underneath, was dangerously bright. I remembered to apply sunscreen to the bottom of my nose and the tops of my hands, places where the sun usually doesn't shine.

Back at the camp, more tea and lunch was served and soon we began to descend at a rapid rate - to warmer temps and thicker air. The quick descent is to make room on the barren rocks for the onslaught of the next day's arrivals.

But it can also leave you with more than a few blue toe-stubbed toenails, a physical reminder of a peak whose beauty — save for the Kili outhouses — is impossible to forget.