After a visit to Kigali, the issue was fixed when ORTPN adviser Alain Montfort paid $300 toward the census from a little Belgian research budget under his authority. A fresh squad was back on the field a month later. Big Nemeye took over as tracker when Rwelekana’s agricultural duties conflicted with the altered calendar.

Hired to protect our camp and monitor daily bean pot cooking was Antoine Banyangandura, an occasional karisoke porter and tracker-in-training. One volunteer for the Peace Corps, Roger Palm, even paid a few weeks for vacation time to help out.

Named after the little lake filled crater jutting out from Visoke’s North Eastern face, the reconstructed census crew set up a base camp at Ngezi on July 21. Our first chore was cleaning the fifth litter left by poachers from past short-lived efforts by Dian and a European friend to provide a tent for visitors remote from karisoke.

After the clean-up was finished, we lounged along the lake’s side in the declining light before sun set. Breaking visokes’ reflection on the surface, a pair of yellow-billed ducks paddled over a length of open water. From the thickets around the lake came the bell-like goong-goong of the solitary buff-spotted crake, a tiny bird whose long feet allow it to walk on floating foliage.

There were paths suggesting likely gorilla usage over a wide bowl of herbaceous plants immediately beyond the lake. Far above, a faint glimmer burst momentarily before fading as the sunset sank below Visoke’s top.

On the first day of our tour, we came along two new groups whose composition obviously indicated that we had not counted then previously. This would be the last time we relaxed. As Bill and Nemeye were teaching Roger how to count nets, the first group emerged on a hill. We got a great glimpse of a gorgeous family of twelve individual’s two silver backs, four females with four babies and two additional sub adults as the gorilla group crossed a nearby gully.

We observed the gorillas calmly settle down to eat and relax. Then followed a silver back scream and voices. Then more sounds—human voices from below. Five European visitors emerged from the woods, startled to discover other people rather than their target, as the gorillas retreated. They were with a badly dressed park guard who seemed as like he really wanted to be someplace else.

For the $5 price, or comparable bribe, these were some of the few courageous visitors who paid to view wild gorillas in 1978.Although approved by ORTPN, such excursions were supervised by untrained guides ignorant about gorillas or appropriate behavior in their presence. Although few groups were able to see gorillas, these folks had at least established verbal contact whether their guide intended to extend the encounter any further was not quite obvious.

Our team then confirmed a count of twelve members in this group, which we noted as group 11 in the final census. Over the next several days, we introduced a second group including six gorillas. This finished the visit to Visoke proper. We next drove out into a wide plain surrounded by a sequence of hills to the north of Ngezi, totally in Congo.

The region was covered in heavy scrub vegetation and had nothing to suggest it as probable gorilla habitat. Still, it had to be explored; we covered a sizable portion in two days of mandated ten-hour marches. Surrounded by a sea of Kibaba Nzovu-elephant nettles packed with a terrible twenty-24-hour sting-and exposed to the unusual dry season sun devoid of surface water, the Virunga paradise was turned into green hell national a park.

These diseases did not, however, keep other people away. We cut hundreds of traps and fresh poacher tracks spanned the plain. Hyna prints overlay fresh duiker tracks at one point, and the little bare foot prints of a pair of poachers—probably pygmies followed both of them. We put our lug-soled boot prints into the mix and considered the fascinating prospect of a group meeting.

But the sight of smoke carried us off the path toward a far-off hill. Fresh duiker welcomed our arrival at the flaming fire. Inside one of two little cottages, Nemeye came across a plastic bag containing white powder used for elephant poison near a drinking well. Before we burned the cabins, we also collected machetes and wire traps. Late on July 24, Nemeye climbed the steep face of Ngezi and discovered and cut three newer snare traps five hundred yards from camp.

Arriving at the outskirts of Ngezi at 5.00pm that same day, we were tired but happy to know we had completed the challenging plains leg of our census. With fresh expectations of spotting gorillas, we would then go east of Ngezi on bamboo slopes. Antoine was waiting when we came to the cottage. He held out a note for Bill in both hands and lowered his head. The stance of the watchman seemed to be expecting the worst.

Uncle Bert has passed away. We do not know if the other gorillas are alive or not. Come return to camp as soon as you can. Ian.

The two largest lakes in Africa are the sources of two of the continent’s most powerful rivers. As the Nile River begins its journey from Lake Victoria, the Congo River is formed by Lake Tanganyika. But this geographical pretension doesn’t take into account the hundreds of smaller streams that drain down from the neighboring hills and mountains, which feed both large lakes. Rwanda is the birthplace of a lot of these.

In the saddle region between the three mountains of Karisimbi, Mikeno, and Visoke, there is a large wetland. Approximately twenty minutes to the west of the Karisoke field station lies a gentle rise that divides the summing hummock. At this point, a grassy channel, eighteen inches wide, collects the clear waters of the Virunga and channels them towards lakes Tanganyika and Kivu, then out into the Lualaba River and finally into the powerful Congo.

Twenty feet apart, a similar channel develops into a torrent that grows in magnitude and force as it winds its way eastward through the camp. As they travel, the Susa, Mukungwe, Nyabarongo, and Akagera Rivers join forces and eventually flow into Lake Victoria. From there, the last four thousand miles of water make their way down the Nile and into the Mediterranean Sea.

Camp creek was more than just a topographical oddity; it was our very survival. It supplied the Virungas with a reliable water supply, since it was fed by the Visoke and Karisimbi rivers. Large swaths of the park were without surface water even after continuous rainfall since the water soon seeped underground due to the porous rocks and lava rock formations.

Any area of the park with stagnant water that did not flow was questionable from a health perspective. Camp brook, which flowed about thirty feet from our cabin, had clean waters that we could drink untreated over most of the year save the driest part of the year.

As the most recent rainfall transformed camp creek into a raging torrent of churning, whirling white water, the stream’s nature may change in the wet season in as little as an hour. It was a recurring dream to ride a tube down its rumbling waterfalls at high water, confined in a stony passage no wider than 10 feet. Unfortunately, the water was only little warmer than freezing, and we were without a tube.

There was a time when the Virungas didn’t care about weather reports. Always damp and chilly. the two descriptors disguised a huge lot of variety, however. Lows of 5 degrees Fahrenheit on a clear night at 10,000 feet drove the temperature down to freezing, while highs of 10 degrees on an unusually bright day caused a rapid undress as the thermometer got close to 70 degrees.

We were quite aback to hear upon arrival that they has no dependable method for recording meteorological data, except for a little plastic rain gauge concealed among some trees and a thermometer from a department shop fastened to a window of Dian’s hut.

A professional high-volume rain gauge and a min-max thermometer that recorded daily highs and lows were sent to us by Rwanda’s bureau meteorologique in response to Bill’s request for improved equipment. Karisoke became a part of contemporary meteorology, Rwanda acquired its sole high-elevation rain forest monitoring station, and they were made acutely aware of how chilly and rainy it really was every day with their installations in the right places.

ITS DRAMATIC ASCENT INCLUDES During our stay at Karisoke, the camp stream never flooded the main residential area due to its steep banks. Our environment was always a swamp, so it wasn’t necessary. Starting at the point where the Nile and Congo rivers split less than one mile west of camp, the whole saddle region was a wide, gently sloping marsh.

While some of its waters flowed quickly via the creek, the majority moved more slowly as a sheet of water that was almost frozen as it moved gradually. Located in the upper marsh, near the saddle’s eastern side. However, being here brought us even closer to the Visoke slopes, where an unchanneled tributary stream was regularly seeping over the station in an effort to join the camp stream.

The preservation of its natural habitats was a major selling point for karisoke. Large sections of mush remained covered with grasses, sedges, and the 0ccupational alpine lobelia that had been washed down from the slopes as seeds or seedlings since no one had bothered to drain or channel them.

In the virungas, dense thickets of senecio bushes, purple-crowned thistle, and hundreds of yellow-flowered hypericum seedlings (a cousin of St. John’s wort that matures to be a tree) may be found on higher land.

A series of grassy meadows and natural springs served to divide them. Hagenia abyssinica, in its gigantic shapes, towered over everything. These trees are at their largest in the vicinity of Karaisoke, where they reach about 100 feet in height and six feet in diameter at the base. These extraterrestrial beings appear to have been created by Dr. Seuss.

The four of us set off from Entebbe and drove for almost seven hours, passing via Mbarara and on to Kasese. We got to Kasese at around 6:00 in the evening and booked into the Sandton Hotel, which we had heard was the greatest “local” hotel in town. Conveniently located in the heart of town, on a quiet street that doesn’t appear flashy at first glance, this establishment has a large interior courtyard complete with seating and an exterior that extends onto the street behind it.

Even though they don’t sell alcohol on the premises, they went out of their way to get us beers to go with our fish, chips, and avocado salads. With ceiling fans, plush mattresses, and televisions, our first-floor en suite rooms were ideal. The restroom is on the cramped side, and the water from the shower runs over the toilet, but it will do for a single night.

The next morning, you’ll get an early start with a classic Western breakfast that includes some local delicacies like potatoes, chapattis, and eggs, served from 6:30 in the morning. There is also fresh juice, coffee, and tea available to you.

Then it’s about a half-hour drive out of town, up the hill, down the road past the Margherita Hotel, and continue towards the Kasese cobalt mine to our meeting location for the beginning of our Rwenzori hike. A flood and rock collapse had destroyed the bridge over the river and the final section of the road, so we were informed that we wouldn’t be able to reach the headquarters of Rwenzori Trekking Services—the organization that had organized our mountain excursion.

We picked up our escorts, Moses and Richard, who were already on their way, and they assisted us with our bags as we up the hill to the RTS headquarters. It was time to get down to business, so we needed everyone’s information on their health, insurance, food allergies, and emergency contacts.

Additionally, we were allotted porters according on the weight of our bags (15 kg apiece). In order to transport not only our baggage but also the equipment, gasoline, food, and other necessities up the mountain—not to mention our one spare bag—we need a total of sixteen porters.

At 9:45 in the morning, we embarked on our journey up the road, passing through the somewhat rundown mine housing estate area. The area was teeming with life – ducks swimming in the muddy valleys, chickens, goats, and even a pig or two.

People were going about their daily lives in the little “duka” shops, bars, and houses with laundry lines in the backyard. We passed a few tiny holding farms on our way up the hill and eventually reached the Rwenzori National Park gate. We began the ascent in single line through the wooded hills after completing a few more formalities, such as paying the $40/day park entrance charge.

We ate a salad sandwich, some bananas, and boiled eggs for lunch before continuing our journey. At around 4:00 in the afternoon, we reached the first cabin, Sine cabin at 2596 meters. It resembled a classic wooden Alpine house—complete with a terrace and four sets of bunk beds—inside.

Perched on a long hill surrounded by pine and other trees, it looks out over deep valleys fed by huge rivers that plunge steeply into the lowlands below. A basin of warm, fresh water for washing and a spout of hot water for tea were both prepared and waiting for us. On foot, we did some exploring, including a short hike to a valley river that had a tiny cascade of cold water.

After that, we had our first mountaintop meal, which consisted of three dishes (soup, main, and dessert). It was delicious, but there were so many carbs that we were full afterward. After just a few hands of cards, we were all exhausted and went to bed shortly after dark (about 7:00 p.m.), when the chilly air brought in a haze.

The next day, at 8:30 in the morning, you’ll get a full breakfast that includes cereal, omelet, toast, and bacon. We proceeded through the wooded region, sometimes peering through tree holes to see other hills. We were fortunate enough to see several l’hoest monkeys, and while we have not yet seen any, we have heard the call of Rwenzori turacos.

There were landslides where the earth seemed to be still flowing down the slope as a result of the heavy rains that have occurred in recent months. We walked along a path on the edge of the mountain, but as the mist rolled in, our vision became blurry. We could barely make out the steep drop below, and the path was getting increasingly rough, with some rock climbing along the way. With each step, we focused all our energy and vision on the task at hand.

We stopped for lunch near a rapid river, and while we were eating our sandwiches, the sky opened up. Quickly donning our rain gear and gum boots (or wellington boots as they are known in the UK), we resumed our journey in an attempt to outrun the storm.

We were now above 3,000 meters in altitude, and I noticed that I was shivering from the cold and the dampness of the rain seeping through my beloved North Face jacket that I had brought from Kathmandu. On this mountain, where it can rain for days on end, having a high-quality rain jacket is essential.

Fortunately, my porter was close by, and I had a spare jacket—a cheapie security guard style one from Entebbe supermarket—along with a dry sweater. These items saved the day, even though I didn’t look as fashionable as the rest of the party in their high-quality rain jackets. So, my advice is to only buy the best rain gear when shopping for the Rwenzoris.

While the rest of us leisurely strolled down the path, taking in the more visible heather and Alpine zone flora, Helen felt she wanted to move a little quicker than us and so she went ahead with a guide. They looked like something out of a fairy tale, all covered in “old man’s beard” and shrouded in mist, thanks to the previous downpour. I felt like I was on a movie set, among massive, towering trees and plants.

The Mutinda Cave, our next camp at 3688 meters, was reached by around 5:00 p.m. A pair of tents were set up behind a rocky overhang, creating a fairly impromptu but much-appreciated overnight stay. The nicest part about the camp was that we were allowed to light a fire.

We sat around it that night, keeping warm and chatting with two fit and energetic Dutch women who were proud to tell us that they had just reached the peak, lost a day to weather, and had to hike twice as fast in order to keep to their strict schedule. We less physically capable individuals find it a little intimidating…

After two days of continuous climbing, we were prepared the next morning with our gum boots fastened to our waterproof pants for further security.

Gear for the sun, rain, and layers that can be added or removed as needed; our go-to snacks on hand; and plenty of water to quench your thirst (they fill your bottles with boiling water at night, so they’re ready to go the next day, even in cold weather), so you can stay hydrated on your hike.

Since today was going to be our first day of really needing to traverse the bogs, we were relieved that the weather started off mild and overcast without any precipitation.

You have to select your path with care, deciding a broad direction to go in and then keeping an eye on the ground to make sure it’s firm or at least somewhat muddy as you zigzag your way up. At this point in time, investing in a good, long walking stick was a wise decision; I used it constantly to maintain my balance.

At eleven o’clock in the morning, the skies opened up once more, and we spent most of the day slogging through the downpour with visibility of only a few meters. However, the weather turned for the better after lunch, and the sun came out, revealing breathtaking mountain ranges all at once.

After a fire in February 2015 severely destroyed and burned the whole region we had been trekking through, it became quite apparent. While it was heartening to see some new growth emerging from the burned stumps of trees and shrubs, I was informed that the whole recovery of these regions may take as long as 20 years due to the very sluggish growth rate of many plants at this altitude.

It was a short day’s journey, but we became very happy as we could see more of the area’s beauty. We stopped for photographs and to admire the view, especially the gigantic groundsel plants. As a result, we didn’t arrive at our second camp until about 5:00 pm. Located at 4062 meters, Bugata camp offers a pleasant view of a wide valley and a mountain lake from its vantage point on a big flat rock.

It is rather frigid at this camp due to its high elevation and exposure to the wind. We were provided with hot showers (a bowl of warm water and flannel wash) and tea to help us stay warm. Chicken soup, spaghetti, veggies, and dessert (I don’t remember what it was) made for another enormous and delicious dinner, and by 8 o’clock we were all snug in bed for the night.

Our brilliant idea to use the water we “boiled” the day before as “hot water bottles” in our sleeping bags to keep our feet toasty all night long had already been hatched by this point.

Wet and cold weather greeted day four. Once again, the breathtaking panoramas around us were obscured, and we resumed our ascent, this time on a rather steep slope. Climbing over and over boulders coated with water and little puddles of water as mist around us made it seem like we were climbing up a riverbank at times.

As the slope gradually diminished, the terrain loosened up, and we found ourselves back in the bogs, this time avoiding the deeper sections. Everyone who had gone before us warned us that the Rwenzoris was a difficult trail, and as the day progressed, we realized they weren’t kidding.

We were at the pass’s highest point, 4400 meters, with views of Mount Stanley and Baker’s by 11:00 in the morning. We arrived to see this, and the sun had chosen to come out again. Despite the fact that we were experiencing an altitude headache, we couldn’t have asked for greater vistas in any direction.

After that, we started our journey into a different river valley or gorge. You’d think descending would be easy, but in the Rwenzoris, you still have to keep your balance, watch where you step, and prevent your knees from constantly pounding as you put your weight on each step.

The scarlet tufted malachite sunbird was a delightful sight to see among the many sunbirds that ventured out to enjoy the pleasant weather. After a two-hour descent, we decided to stop for lunch at the base of the hill. Then, our guide Richard informed us that we should continue our ascent to “just around the corner” from the lake’s edge.

We proceeded around the seemingly peaceful lake on what seemed like a well-traveled path—but was actually more of a maze with dips, slopes, and muck that we had to weave our way through, not to mention enormous stones that were taller than me. Helen, our nimble and speedy hiker, was far ahead of us at this point, followed closely by Moses, our lone guide; with Andrew and Paul trailing behind, we were all dealing with the difficulties in our own unique ways.

Richard, our guide, did an excellent job showing me the best paths and landmarks to follow and checking in with Andrew and Paul to make sure they were doing well, too. Around 4:00 in the afternoon, we rounded a bend in the trail that wasn’t quite like the one we usually imagine—much longer—and found ourselves in a valley.

From here, we could see the next leg of the hike leading to Hunwick’s Camp 3974M, our overnight destination—just over the next hill and into the next valley. After making our way through the tussock-lined bog, we carefully selected low-mud impact foot spots and continued onwards. The last ascent was particularly challenging, coming at the end of such a long day.

We finally arrived at camp at approximately 6:00 p.m., completely drained and feeling like our energy reserves had been depleted. Mount Baker’s snow and glacier shimmered in the late afternoon light, creating a breathtaking sight. We were fortunate that the weather didn’t let us down.

Once again, the headache was there, and we could see that our ankles and face were beginning to swell—the first indication that our bodies were not adjusting well to the high altitude. Because his gum boots had such thin bottoms, Andrew thought he could determine whether a coin was heads or tails by looking beneath them. His feet were hurting.

Naturally, Helen was in a good mood after washing up, changing, and spending the last hour or two snapping pictures and conversing with a German woman who had remained at the camp to await her husband’s descent from the top.

Even with two sleeping bags, two layers of clothing, a cap, and a fleece layer on top of that, I remember that night being chilly due to the wind that whistled about our camp and managed to find holes to blow straight into my back. It was a drag to get out of bed for the nighttime pee, and you’d feel so out of breath afterward that you seldom got back to sleep. At this stage, I did start to question the purpose of it all.

The next day, I discovered my little mirror and saw a transformed visage – one that was bloated and swelled to the point that my eyes seemed as narrow, slanted holes.

I was informed that I would not be able to handle the high altitude, so I opted to take a day off, explore the region surrounding camp, and then go back down (particularly since this meant getting up to 4400m before really coming down). Helen chose to climb to the mountain, so Paul and Andrew trailed behind. We said our goodbyes and watched as she descended into the valley below.

We soaked up some rays and enjoyed a leisurely walk down into the valley close to the twin Lakes of Kitandara as the day slipped away. It was a delight to go at my own pace, taking my time to admire the landscape and snap pictures as I went.

We got some great shots among the thorny plants and everlasting flowers (helichrysun), and we even had a glimpse of a chilly little mouse who didn’t seem to mind that we were snapping away. We also met a geology student and her colleagues monitoring mountain movements at the RMS-controlled Lake Kitandara lodge.

According to reports, Mount Baker has been seeing an annual increase of at least 3 millimeters, which scientists attribute to intense heat and pressure emanating from deep under the Earth’s crust. Additionally, she informed us that the mountain was steadily making its way north, the reason behind which is still a mystery.

As the sun dipped below the mountain peaks in the late afternoon, we enjoyed the beautiful weather that persisted throughout the day. Suddenly, nightfall came. All wrapped up once again: an early meal and then bedtime.

The lodgings, consisting of two rounded-framed tents or huts with waterproof coverings and insulated walls, each housing four sets of bunk beds, were surprisingly pleasant, particularly given our location. In a separate dining tent, complete with seats and tables, guests may enjoy their meals and several cups of tea.

We got up early, had our normal substantial meal, and left off after a pretty anxious night thinking about climbing back up the mountain to descend. We descended into the valley once more, “around the corner,” and then followed the lakeshore. After a little rest, we resumed our ascent up the river valley, which served as a conduit to the upper mountain. We quickly shed two layers due to the hot weather and the difficulty of the terrain.

We were able to relieve our thirsts along the way thanks to the refreshing water from the creek we were going up. We began to glance backwards as we neared the summit because we could see so many mountains in the distance. Among them were Mount Stanley, which had many peaks (Alexandra, Elena, Speke, Bakers, Weisman, and others), and the sky were so beautiful, clear, and blue that we attempted to make out their names.

We crested the Banwanjara pass at about 2 o’clock in the afternoon and sat for a while, enchanted by the clouds that rolled in and out of Mount Stanley. Every time it looked like they were going to part, we hoped to catch a glimpse of Margherita Peak, but the clouds always seemed to change their minds right before we were about to see it. After a long day of trekking, we were finally rewarded with beautiful, warm sunshine and breathtaking scenery.

Nonetheless, we grudgingly continued towards our nighttime halt as the day was far from done. Now that we were descending through exposed rock regions, bogs, and river beds brimming with rocks, we could make out the same spots where we had ascended in the damp, mist before.

There was a lot of evidence of the 2015 fire here, and when we looked back towards Kasese, we could see mountains upon mountains, which made us realize how far we had come in the last few days.

Because we had been used to the pattern, our late-afternoon return to Bugata camp was as comfortable as going home. We were greeted with steaming cups of tea and pleasant, warm baths. Instead of having the camp all to ourselves, we enjoyed it here because we shared it with other hikers who had just reached the top of Margherita and were descending as well; we traded mountain tales as we went.

Being the small-world that it is, we were able to catch up on all the common news since we had mutual friends from the UK who had just visited us in Uganda.

We were now faced with the ultimate decision: descend the mountain by the more difficult and divergent path, or return via the more direct and easy way we had climbed up, allowing us to rendezvous with Helen, who was now a day behind us. Ultimately, we went with the simpler option, and I believe our guides and porters were also satisfied.

Even with our many stops to get photographs of the flora and fauna that we had previously missed photographing owing to inclement weather, the formerly seven-hour ascent now only took us around five hours. In the middle of the day, we returned to the cave.

We needed to rearrange our bags, dry off our socks over the fire, and eat up the remaining food since we were suddenly quite hungry at the lower altitude. It turns out that alcohol isn’t great for you at high altitude, so after dinner we sat around the fire and told stories while sipping our little flasks of whiskey or amarula. After a while we felt much more at ease and retired to bed, thanks to the lower altitude.

After a leisurely breakfast, we set out at around 9:00 in the morning to reach the 3134-meter Kalalana camp, which we had passed on our ascent but had not yet stayed at. We went through an area teeming with magnificent huge lobelia plants, which can reach a height of about two meters. These plants have long stalks that are adorned with purple blooms and have specific leaf regions that collect rainwater for later use.

Moving on to the heather zone, you’ll see the same plant kind that grows in the English countryside as towering trees, sometimes reaching a height of over 15 meters. Among the rocky terrain, you may sometimes find their branches covered with old man’s beards. The path was still somewhat rough, hilly, or swampy at points, but we had a great time on it since we were probably stronger and a little bit fitter.

Because the weather was unpredictable, we had to reapply our rain gear on occasions when we might have gotten by with t-shirts. We realized how far we had trekked and why we were generally exhausted from the exercise of the prior week as we had stunningly clear views back towards Kasese town and could see how many ranges of hills and mountains were in the distance.

We arrived at camp at around 3 o’clock in the afternoon and sat in the afternoon light, feeling considerably more energised now that we were down to about 3,100 meters. Helen joined us shortly after, having completed in a single day what we had covered in two leisurely days, so she could catch up with us in camp.

After we had separated farther up the mountain, she managed to reach the pinnacle, Margherita, and we sat down to hear her story. Conditions for a summit day were ideal, and she had savored a cloudless morning with little breeze. We learned that climbing the two glaciers with crampons was no easy feat and that she had to carefully navigate deep, suspicious-looking cracks in the ice along the way. Helen had accomplished the remarkable feat of reaching the top, which is 5,109 meters above sea level.

In honor of our final night on the mountain, we toasted with our last remaining snacks, a hearty dinner of freshly roasted chicken that had somehow made its way up from Kasese, and a rousing performance of tales from the past eight days’ journey, all while drinking from our last “bar” supply. No matter how hard the rain and wind beat on the roof of our hut, by 10 o’clock in the evening we were all sound asleep.

The last day came with overcast skies, leaving us to wonder when the skies would open again; but, nothing could deter us now, so we resumed our descent. As we descended steep pathways that I still couldn’t believe I had climbed only a week before, we went through the bamboo zone, sliding and sliding down the hills, and into the afro alpine mountain forest zone.

We finally reached familiar landmarks, such as the park entrance gate, at around 2:00 in the afternoon. At this point, the clerk who had originally registered us in to climb the mountain wanted us to check out so he could keep track of everyone.

The trail had appeared to go on forever. The last hour or two was a scenic drive through hillside towns, via the Kasese Cobalt Mine hamlet and on to the RTS office and home base. Upon our return, we were greeted with open arms and served a refreshing drink, which was the perfect way to round off the journey.

After some photo ops and a brief ceremony honoring our incredibly patient and helpful porters and guides, we made our way to the precarious bridge—much of it had crumbled during the floods earlier this year—and our vehicle, accompanied by our guide, to transport us to Ndali Lodge, where we would spend a couple of nights recovering from our incredible journey.

It was an incredible feeling of accomplishment for all of us to have conquered the mountain and returned safely, experiencing its whole range of weather conditions (sunlight, rain, cold, muck, breathtaking vistas, flora, fauna, beauty, issues with balance, and more).

Rwanda charges USD1500.00 per person per trek for gorilla permits, which is more than what you’d pay in Uganda or the Democratic Republic of the Congo. The cost of a gorilla permit in the Democratic Republic of the Congo is $400.00 per person per trek, however in Uganda it is $800.00 per person each trek.

No visitor may visit a habituated mountain gorilla family without first obtaining a gorilla permission, which might be in the form of a receipt, card, or other paperwork. You can spend an hour interacting with mountain gorillas and then you may let them eat and play for the remainder of the time.

A trekking gorilla permit is more costly than in Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, and there are several reasons why. Some of these reasons are as follows:

It is not hard to reach Volcanoes National Park. Gorilla viewing in Volcanoes National Park and return to Kigali Airport takes no more than three hours by car. As a result, getting from the city to the park would take less time than in Uganda, where getting to Bwindi Impenetrable National Park from Entebbe International Airport takes eight to nine hours by car.

Rwanda offers a superior experience. Some have said that, in comparison to Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Rwanda is the better place to go gorilla tracking. Furthermore, they make the case that mountain gorillas in Rwanda’s Volcanoes National Park are more approachable than their counterparts in Uganda and the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where they are known to hide in dense woods.

Some have argued that, in comparison to their Ugandan counterparts, mountain gorillas in Rwanda are friendlier, larger, and more habituated. They would like to spend a lot of money in order to have a memorable experience. It is clear that several of these claims lack any kind of foundation.

With that said, you may still go gorilla trekking in all three of these nations, with the exception of the Democratic Republic of the Congo, where security is still a concern. While the Virunga Ranges are home to half of the world’s mountain gorillas, the other half are spread out throughout the three nations that make up the Bwindi Impenetrable National Park. Tourists may undertake gorilla tracking in Uganda in April, May, and November for about USD800.00 per person, each trip, during the off-season.