Simon started playing aged 10, together with his family (Brothers Jack and Zebedee make their living exclusively from teaching bridge), and was soon playing at club, county then national level. Simon represented England as part of the Under 25 squad, partnered with both brothers in turn. On completing a degree in Classics from Trinity College, Oxford, Simon began teaching bridge at the London School of Bridge, and then at The Acol Bridge Club with Andrew Robson. In 1995, Simon started the Andrew Robson Bridge Club in partnership with Andrew, establishing it (with help from brother Zebedee) as the world’s most successful bridge club. Simon left in summer 2000, pending the arrival of his son Max, and now teaches in London, the Cotswolds, and the Caribbean. In 2004 Simon played bridge on top of Kilimanjaro at a height of 19,335 feet.
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Tuesday, March 11, 2008
KILIMANJARO
Is this the highest game of bridge ever played? I'd like to know. Thanks to Felix (far right) and his amazing team of porters who made this possible. They made themselves some extra dollars and helped raise many more for children orphaned by Aids. Credit to Jem Fawcus, our photographer, Rob Waddington & Nick Prideaux (left & far-left).
With just over a month to go before Christmas, I received an email from two friends, requesting sponsorship. They were off to climb Kilimanjaro on the Kenyan-Tanzanian border. So I rang Rob and asked him when he was starting, and whether I might join him. Disappointingly, they were intending to start climbing on December 17th, summitting on December 21st, the summer solstice, as Kilimanjaro is just below the equator. Christmas is a busy time of year for me as I make wooden jigsaw puzzles, so I thought it unlikely that I would be able to complete my orders in time - traditionally I deliver puzzles around the Home Counties on Christmas Eve.
The more I thought about it the more I realised this was too good an opportunity to miss, and after three weeks of back-breaking puzzle cutting (they are all cut by hand on a treadle machine), with much help from the support team, my mum, my dad and Max, my 5-year old son, I was touching down in Nairobi.
I was met at the airport by Han and shown to the cottage of Rob's sister, Joe, a tranquil haven, lush with fragrant flowers. She was with Rob and his wife visiting villages in Northern Kenya, where her charity helps children, orphaned by AIDS.
Suitably refreshed, I headed out next morning, with bags of kit ("Kili", I knew, was no pushover) and met up with the other members of the party - Rob and Jem - both of whom I had lived with in London and a late addition, Nick, whom I'd not met.
The team was assembled and under scorching heat we headed off South in a small plane. An hour later we caught our first glimpse of our future - shrouded in clouds there she was, rising majestic from the dusty plains. Our adventure suddenly felt real, stomachs flipping. Kilimanjaro is in fact the largest free-standing mountain on earth. Interestingly because of the earth's equatorial bulge it is the point that protrudes furthest into space. Those who believe life was first seeded from space point to that part of the Rift valley, close by, where the earliest human skulls were found.
On landing we were met by Felix and his land-cruiser. Felix had fled Rwanda with his family, and as well as being Joe's boyfriend was a fully qualified guide. This would be his 22nd ascent - he also holds the 2nd fastest time, 30 hours, for the full up-and-down. This was reassuring.
We spent the evening in our hotel, checking and double-checking our kit. After a last supper and an early night, we headed through lush banana plantations to our starting point, where we met his team. We were just under 3000 metres above sea-level, and he had decided to take us up the 'whisky' route, so-called because, unlike the 'Coca-Cola' route it is the hardest. Thanks Felix. This would in fact increase our chances of success.
After a leisurely start of colobus monkeys and vibrant jungle, the climb kicked in, unrelenting, breathless and hot - thankfully unlike the Coca-Cola we had lots of cover and not a soul in sight. We arrived at our first camp, just before sundown and discovered we'd made good time, ahead of most of our team - dinner was still half an hour behind us, but we had our mess tent, a table and four chairs, and I had a pack of cards.....
.....ten minutes later Rob was declaring 3NT, and bridge had begun - the perfect tonic for hunger and altitude - we were now around 3500m high. Rob had played before, and the other two had card-sense, so time sped by until the best hot meal of the year, followed by instant sleep.
After a big breakfast, we were soon on the trail again, emerging from the jungle, and into the clouds and a truly alien environment - giant Lobelias. Felix reckoned we were walking too fast - he had not been able to accompany us on the first day, as he had to organise his team, so he placed himself at the head, and taught us Swahili for slow. Like in bridge, the tortoise wins the race: we were overtaken on day 2 and 3 by many mocking hares, but we had the last laugh when we later found them on their knees 400 metres below the summit. Laughter was in fact what I remember most - somewhere between unadulterated joy and altitude-induced delirium.
We arrived at our camp on Day 2 mid-afternoon, now at 4200 metres with Kili in full majesty and the card-table emerged again. Day 3 and 4 saw us ascend very little, half-days in fact, so plenty of opportunity for bridge, in fact the ideal tonic to take our minds off the final push. Our four was now quite accomplished, and I had the idea that we might try and play bridge on the summit, with a view to raising some additional money for ACE-AFRICA, Joe's charity. So at 4600 metres, the plan was hatched. We were due to begin our climb at midnight, seven hours straight up, arriving just after dawn at the rim.
Felix had hand-picked his 4 best men, leaving 5 behind at the final camp, and assigned one to each of us. We had negotiated a handsome bonus for the team as they would have to carry the table and the four chairs. I was in charge of the cards and the cloth. They were delighted - while we had headaches and derangement, they were huddled in the tent singing and smoking.
I awoke marginally worse than when I had eventually managed to drop off. My head felt primaeval. Porridge was vital, but hard to keep down, and the idea of bridge up there seemed absurd. If I could have spoken I would have told the team not to bother with the chairs and table. Wearing every piece of clothing we had, we started, last in a steady trail of head-torches - over 10,000 'tourists' climb Kili every year, and December is busy as the weather is more reliable. Snowstorms and death are not uncommon. Hundreds don't make it to the top. Many of the porters have to turn back - altitude sickness can slay a regular marathon runner. Nature is cruel and random, and nowhere on earth did this feel more true.
I was certain I would not make it - how could I, when I felt so appallingly wretched? I yearned for a break, an end to it all, just to sit down, but on we plodded, even the moon was ghastly bright. Over an hour later, we stopped, still the last group on the mountain. Warm water - heavenly elixir, but the break was not our friend. We had to press on or we'd lose heat - seriously sub-zero by now, we were off. I was reallocated to Felix's heels. That is all I saw for the next two hours, until a moment of epiphany, when I knew. The first words I spoke on that mountain, that night "I'm going to make it".
We stopped again, but spirits were up. No one had asked the dreaded question, "How much further?" and no one did. Slowly we started to overtake first one group then another, but with no sense of triumph, just sheer gratitude.
And then the sky to the east began to redden, the rim was in sight. This lunar landscape slowly appeared before us - our bones were warming and still we plodded, until finally we were there, Gillman's point, and yet there from the rim as the sun rose, we could see far away the sign. The sign that surely says "Highest point in Africa - 5895 metres", half-way round the crater. Did we have a choice? We couldn't play bridge here - what a joke that would be.
We began again. Troubled but thankful. The last stretch slowest of all. Breath by breath. Marvelling at impossible ice-structures, steaming craters, and the hazy dust of Africa, far below. Cold, yet dazzled by sunshine - strange paradox, because it is there. We did all make it, we did set up our bridge table - a chair, weird but welcome. Luckily I had dealt the hand in advance. I distributed the cards, 13 off the top. We bid, we played, we conquered, and then we left. "Uhuru", or "Freedom" as the peak is known is not a place to discuss the rarer trump squeezes - temperatures of minus 30 are commonplace. It is however a place I would like to visit again, so if anyone fancies a game.....?
In truth, I prefer my bridge at sea-level, but the exhilaration even as you descend your first foot (19341 in total) is profound. What took us over seven hours to climb took us just one to descend, scree running our way to breakfast. We spent a final night on the mountain, a night of luxury in our hotel, before heading off to the Swahili coast, and five days of well-earned 'r&r' by the beach in Felix and Joe's beach hut.
Please visit www.ace-africa.org - perhaps you too might change a child's life.
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