Monocular Mount Kilimanjaro Climb: Scaling the world’s highest free-standing peak – but why?

T minus 51 days….

On 1 February, Mount Kilimanjaro beckons – with its dusty welcome and icy roof. From jungle beginnings (shorts and malaria tablets at the ready) to arctic endings (outfits worthy of lunar explorations) – and more than a smattering of oxygen deficit.

Kili is Africa’s highest peak at 5,895 metres or 19,341 feet. A dormant volcano, it’s also the world’s highest free-standing peak. And while friends have confused me with climbing Everest (I will leave that to the pros), it’s no mean feat.

Dust, wind, cold – and determination.

I am not here for the sympathy vote. No, siree. No pity, please. But I do have an added challenge. Namely, I have monocular vision; blindness on my left side and various stuff that comes with wearing an eye prosthetic is playing on my mind – that wouldn’t even cross yours. Mostly, dust, wind, cold – and the need to protect my good eye at all costs. Because…it’s all I’ve got. I’ve read tales of corneal abrasion. Of freezing of eye sockets. Anything eye-related and scary, I’ve consumed.

This is also making me more determined. Fighting talk! To show that my eye cancer isn’t going to hold me back. To prove that to myself. And to give hope to others going through adversity. That there can be bright, after the dull numbness of trauma. I have struggled to ‘feel’ following everything I’ve been through. To be happy, to be sad. I am sure it’s ‘normal’ of sorts. But I am hoping to find ‘feeling’ again, if that makes any sense.

Put simply, Kilimanjaro isn’t ‘just’ a mountain to me. It’s a statement. I lost an eye to cancer. Living with monocular vision changes everything – depth perception, balance, confidence – and, at times, it feels like the world assumes you can’t do certain things.

"Kilimanjaro isn’t ‘just’ a mountain to me..."

Six: The Summit

But I am far from alone. Five incredible friends are joining me on this epic adventure, each carrying their own emotional bag of rocks as we climb. See here for how our training kicked off in September. New boots on, sun out. Perhaps a far cry from reality. Together, we will face exhaustion, cold, altitude sickness, and the very real fear that climbs like this demand. The camaraderie, the shared mission, and the laughter along the way will be what keeps us moving when our legs – and lungs – beg us to stop.

But this climb isn’t just personal. It’s also deeply purposeful. I’m raising money for Ocular Melanoma UK and the Victoria Cohen Eye Cancer Charitable Trust, two charities that do vital work supporting patients and aspiring ocular oncologists in areas of world that don’t have them. Every step I take up that mountain will also be a step towards better awareness, support, and hope for others affected by this rarity. The fundraising gives me an added sense of responsibility.

Fear still sneaks in. Will my body cope? Will I get altitude sickness? Will I make it to the summit? Doubt hovers, but that’s to be expected when you push yourself beyond your comfort zone.

"Every step I take will also be a step towards better awareness, support, and hope for others affected by this."

Purposeful fear

There’s something a little different about fear when it’s paired with purpose. Each time I look at the mountain looming ahead of me in pictures – like you see in these specs here – I remind myself: this climb is bigger than my fear. It’s about proving that life doesn’t end when circumstances change. It’s about showing resilience, grit, and the power of mindset. And it’s about hope – hope for me, hope for those with monocular vision, hope for the people who will benefit from the charities we are supporting.

Kilimanjaro will test me and my group physically, mentally, and emotionally. There will be moments of doubt, moments where I think I can’t go on. But I also know there will be moments of triumph, moments of pure awe, and moments of connection with my friends – and myself – that are irreplaceable.

If you’d like to support this climb and the incredible work of Ocular Melanoma UK and the Victoria Cohen Eye Cancer Charitable Trust, you can donate here. And we’d be very grateful.

For now, I will keep putting my boots on, keep getting on that stair master, and keep visualising the summit, hoping I make it to the top of Africa. And return tired, proud, and possibly a little changed.