The Call of the Mountains of the Moon
Long before you lace your boots and tighten the straps of your backpack, the Rwenzoris begin to pull at you. Ptolemy once described them as the “source of the Nile,” mountains so high they birthed rivers that nourished civilizations. Locals call them Rwenzururu—the rainmaker, the bringer of life. From a distance, they do not scream for attention like Kilimanjaro with its solitary dome or the jagged splendor of Mount Kenya. No, the Rwenzoris whisper, concealed beneath perpetual mist. But step closer, and the whispers rise into a chorus—the rustle of giant lobelias, the cry of turacos in emerald canopies, the thunder of waterfalls plunging into unseen valleys. Already, before the journey begins, you know you are heading into something grander than a climb. You are heading into Africa’s secret Eden.
The First Ascent: Entering the Green Kingdom
Your adventure begins at the foothills, where the villages cling to the land with a gentleness that speaks of centuries of coexistence with the mountain. Terraces of bananas, beans, and cassava mark the lower slopes, and smiling children wave as you pass. The air is heavy with moisture, tinged with the earthy perfume of rain-soaked soil. The trailhead feels like a threshold between worlds.
Step into the forest, and the transformation is immediate. Towering mahogany and giant ferns swallow you whole. Vines twist like serpents from tree to tree, forming green cathedrals where shafts of sunlight filter through in golden beams. The Rwenzori forest hums with life: chattering blue monkeys leap overhead, while hornbills announce your arrival with their thunderous wingbeats. Every step feels like trespassing into a living kingdom where humans are mere guests. The path is slippery, tangled with roots, yet you climb with joy, every turn unveiling new wonders—moss-draped branches that glow like emeralds, orchids so delicate they look conjured by fairies, butterflies flashing sapphire wings as if to welcome you deeper.
Climbing into the Clouds: A Symphony of Vegetation Zones
What makes the Rwenzoris unmatched among African mountains is not only their peaks—though Margherita Peak, highest of all, towers proudly at 5,109 meters—but the journey through their surreal vegetation zones. It is as though the mountain itself is a layered tale, each altitude a new chapter in an epic saga.
At first, the montane forest envelopes you in abundance. Then, as you climb, bamboo takes over, rising in ghostly groves, creaking and swaying as if alive. Higher still, you emerge into the heather zone, where trees stand like enchanted guardians, their branches shaggy with moss, hung with old man’s beard that drips mist in silence. Here, the world shifts from lush jungle to dreamscape. The heather glades glow in golden light, and sudden clearings reveal valleys plunging into infinity.
But the true spectacle comes as you ascend further—into the Afro-alpine zone, unique to the Rwenzoris and unlike anything else on Earth. Imagine giant lobelias, towering like sentinels, their blossoms heavy with morning frost. Picture groundsels stretching taller than men, their leaves spread wide like prehistoric shields. Add in the silver glow of everlasting flowers carpeting the ground, and you walk not merely through a mountain, but through a landscape that feels like another planet. Here, evolution has sculpted an alien world, harsh yet staggeringly beautiful. Nowhere else in Africa—indeed, nowhere else in the world—does a hiker encounter such surreal wonder.
Rivers of Ice and Fire of the Sky
The higher you climb, the thinner the air, and the more the mountain reveals its ancient heart. Snow-capped peaks glitter ahead, their glaciers reflecting the sunlight in dazzling brilliance. The sight is breathtaking—equatorial Africa, bathed in tropical warmth below, yet crowned with glaciers that seem stolen from the Arctic. This paradox is the soul of the Rwenzoris: rainforests merging with snowfields, jungle birds soaring beneath icy cliffs, a world of contrasts bound together in harmony.
Margherita Glacier, though retreating with time, still spreads like a frozen ocean above the clouds. Standing there, boots crunching on ice older than history, you feel as though you have stepped into eternity. The silence is profound, broken only by the whistle of wind and the distant cry of ravens circling the peaks. At dawn, the first rays of sunlight strike the glaciers with fiery brilliance, painting them in gold and crimson. It is a moment of transcendence, a gift only those who dare the climb can ever receive.
The Creatures of the Mist: Wildlife Encounters
Yet the Rwenzoris are not only landscapes—they are alive in every sense. As you ascend, the avian symphony follows you: Rwenzori turacos flashing crimson wings, malachite sunbirds hovering among giant lobelia blossoms, regal eagles soaring across valleys. Birders describe this place as paradise, home to species found nowhere else on Earth.
But it is not only birds. In the shadows of the forest, forest elephants leave prints on muddy trails, elusive and quiet. The chimpanzees call from hidden groves, their hoots echoing through the valleys. Occasionally, lucky hikers glimpse the rare Rwenzori leopard—ghostly, secretive, a phantom of the peaks. Even the smaller life enchants: shimmering chameleons, skinks darting across rocks, frogs croaking in alpine bogs. Every step reminds you that you are not alone; the mountain is shared with countless other beings, each as at home here as the glaciers and moss.
The Journey Beyond Peaks
But the greatest magic of the Rwenzoris lies not in reaching Margherita Peak, though it is a triumph, but in the journey itself. Every hour is a transformation. One moment you cross a roaring river over makeshift bridges, mist rising like smoke; the next you clamber up muddy ladders, your boots sinking into the sponge of bogs; then suddenly you emerge onto rocky plateaus where the world spreads out in endless ridges and valleys. The mountain demands endurance—rain lashes without warning, trails grow treacherous—but each challenge makes the rewards sweeter.
At night, when you rest in high huts, the world outside glows with mystery. The stars blaze like silver lanterns, untouched by city lights. The air is crisp, and the mountains whisper with winds that carry stories older than man. Sleep comes slowly, not because of fatigue, but because you do not wish to close your eyes on such beauty.
Why the Rwenzoris Are the Most Beautiful in Africa
Climbers debate Africa’s great peaks—Kilimanjaro, Mount Kenya, Simien Highlands—but none compare to the Rwenzoris. Kilimanjaro may rise taller, but it is a solitary giant; Mount Kenya may boast jagged pinnacles, but its ecosystems are not as varied. Only the Rwenzoris offer the full spectrum: tropical rainforests, bamboo groves, mossy heather zones, surreal Afro-alpine meadows, and glaciers shimmering at the equator. It is the sheer diversity, the seamless fusion of contrasts, that makes the Rwenzoris the most beautiful mountain range in Africa. To walk them is to journey across worlds—Eden, dreamscape, tundra, and ice kingdom—within a single trail.
The Rwenzoris are not just climbed; they are experienced with every sense. You smell the earthy perfume of the forest, taste the fresh glacier water, feel the sting of rain against your skin, hear the cries of turacos echoing in valleys, and see vistas so vast they stretch beyond imagination. This is not a mountain. It is a symphony.
Day One: The Baptism of Rain and Forest
The trail begins humbly, a narrow path threading through farmlands at the edge of the mountain. Children run barefoot across terraces, their laughter echoing like the first notes of a song. As you wave back, the last sight of cultivated land vanishes, replaced by the untamed embrace of montane forest.
Here, the mountain baptizes you with rain. It does not drizzle; it pours with a ferocity that feels cleansing, as though washing away every trace of the ordinary world. The soil becomes red mud beneath your boots, each step demanding balance and grit. But the discomfort is forgotten as your eyes lift to the kingdom surrounding you—towering mahoganies vanishing into mist, ferns large enough to hide a person, moss glowing emerald under the rain.
Troops of colobus monkeys swing overhead, their long white tails trailing like banners in the canopy. Turacos scream their metallic calls, their crimson wings flashing through the gloom. The air is alive, vibrating with insects and birds. By the time you reach the first camp, soaked to the bone, you realize the Rwenzoris are not conquered—they are entered, like a sacred temple.
Day Two: The Bamboo Cathedrals
Dawn unveils a gentler side of the Rwenzoris. Mist curls in ghostly ribbons, unveiling the bamboo zone. Imagine forests where slender green trunks rise in dense groves, arching into vaulted ceilings that filter the light into silver haze. The trail here is a labyrinth of mud and water, where you must hop from tussock to tussock, balancing on bamboo stems laid across the bog like precarious bridges.
And yet, every stumble is rewarded. Golden monkeys dart among the bamboo shoots, their fur shimmering in the morning light. The wind sighs through the hollow stems, producing a music that feels ancient, like the mountain itself is humming. It is in this zone you begin to feel the shift—the thinning air, the cooler breeze, the sense that you are climbing into another world.
Day Three: Into the Heather Zone – Where Myths Are Born
Now the mountain reveals its most magical face. The bamboo fades, and you step into the heather forests, a place where reality begins to blur with myth. Trees rise gnarled and twisted, their bark hidden beneath thick coats of moss. Lichens dangle from branches in curtains of silver-grey, swaying with every breath of wind. The ground is a quilt of bogs, streams, and mossy carpets, each step a soft surrender.
At dusk, the zone becomes unearthly. The fog thickens until the world shrinks to a circle around you. A raven calls overhead, its echo distorted, as if the mountain itself speaks. It is easy to see why local legends describe this as the dwelling of spirits—gods of rain, of rivers, of fertility. You camp among these dreamlike forests, the firelight casting shadows on moss-hung giants, and you feel as though you are a traveler in another realm.
Day Four: The Afro-Alpine Wonderland
Beyond the heather, the Rwenzoris unveil their crown jewel: the Afro-alpine zone. Few places on Earth hold such strangeness, such otherworldly grandeur. The trail rises into wide valleys where giant lobelias stand like frozen sentinels, their flower heads catching dew that freezes overnight. Groundsels stretch taller than a man, their trunks armored with withered leaves like ancient warriors. Clusters of everlasting flowers shimmer silver in the sunlight, unbothered by frost.
Here, the landscape feels prehistoric. Mist rolls across bogs where crystal streams snake like veins of light. The silence is profound, broken only by the crunch of boots on frost and the whistle of wind across ridges. Sunbirds with shimmering feathers flit among the giant lobelia blossoms, their colors flashing like living jewels.
This is the heart of the Rwenzoris—the place that makes every hiker whisper in awe. Nowhere else on the continent, not even on Kilimanjaro or Mount Kenya, does nature sculpt such surreal artistry. You walk not in Africa as you know it, but in a place that belongs to both Earth and dream.
Day Five: The Glaciers of the Equator
Finally, the peaks rise above, jagged and white, their crowns shimmering with ice. The equator runs through these mountains, and yet glaciers cling stubbornly to the ridges, a paradox of geography and time. To climb toward them is to feel both humbled and exalted.
The air grows thinner, every breath a deliberate act. You move slowly, step by step, over rocks slick with mist. Then the glacier is before you—Margherita, Stanley, Speke—ancient rivers of ice glowing blue under the sun. You plant your boots on their frozen surface, your axe crunching into crystal that may have lain here for millennia.
The silence is cathedral-like. Above, ravens circle the peaks, black against the snow. The horizon spreads endlessly—Uganda on one side, the Democratic Republic of Congo on the other. Clouds churn below like seas, and for a moment you stand on the very edge of Africa, gazing into infinity.
At dawn, when the sun rises, the glaciers burn gold. You will never forget it—the light, the silence, the sense of standing in a place that belongs to the gods.
The Descent: A Journey Rewritten
Every descent from the Rwenzoris feels like leaving behind a sacred gift. Yet the mountain is generous—on the way down, you see what you missed on the way up. A chameleon camouflaged in the heather. A waterfall plunging into a canyon. A sunbird feeding on frost-covered blossoms. The mountain continues to reveal itself until the very last step, as though reluctant to let you go.
By the time you return to the foothills, mud-streaked and weary, you are not the same. The Rwenzoris change you. They teach patience, endurance, humility, awe. You came to climb a mountain; you leave having walked through creation itself.
Why the Rwenzoris Matter
The Rwenzori Mountains are more than a trek—they are a living museum of evolution, a sanctuary of life found nowhere else on Earth. They are also fragile, their glaciers retreating, their ecosystems sensitive. To hike here is to bear witness, to celebrate and protect one of the last true Edens.
Other peaks may boast records—tallest, steepest, hardest—but only the Rwenzoris offer a complete world. They are the most beautiful mountain in Africa because they hold everything: rainforest, bamboo, mossy heather, alien Afro-alpine meadows, glaciers glowing at the equator, and a wildlife symphony that sings from foothills to peaks.
To hike the Rwenzoris is not a climb; it is a pilgrimage.
The Enchanted Valleys: Rivers, Waterfalls, and Hidden Worlds
The Rwenzori experience is not a single path to a summit; it is a labyrinth of valleys, ridges, and secrets. Each valley feels like its own kingdom, unique in beauty and mood. The Nyamwamba Valley greets you with tumbling rivers, their waters foaming white over granite boulders polished by centuries of flow. The Mubuku roars through narrow gorges, echoing like distant thunder, while mist from hidden waterfalls paints the ferns in shining beads of silver.
One valley will cradle you in silence, where bogs stretch like green carpets, tufted with flowers. Another valley will test your endurance, demanding that you balance across logs spanning streams or sink knee-deep in spongy earth that seems alive underfoot. But it is in these challenges that the Rwenzoris truly charm—because the mountain never gives beauty easily. You must earn it, step by step, breath by breath. And when the mist parts to reveal a waterfall plunging into a sapphire pool, or when you stand on a ridge watching rivers carve valleys thousands of meters below, the reward is nothing short of transcendence.
The Stairways of Stone and Bog
No other African mountain plays such tricks on a climber’s imagination. The Rwenzoris are not built for easy walking. Trails wind over slippery roots, up ladders lashed together by hand, across endless bogs where the ground trembles beneath your boots. You leap from tussock to tussock like a dancer, balancing above black pools that mirror the clouds. You pull yourself up ropes, clamber over wet stone, and laugh at the sheer unpredictability of it all.
And yet, this difficulty is part of the Rwenzori spell. Unlike Kilimanjaro, where trails feel beaten and broad, here you are constantly reminded that you are a guest in a wild land. Every meter gained is a triumph, every campsite reached a victory. The journey is not smoothed for comfort—it is left raw, elemental, a communion with wilderness in its purest form. For mountain lovers, this is where the Rwenzoris surpass all others: they demand everything of you, and in return, they give you everything.
The Light and the Sky
Travelers who return from the Rwenzoris always speak of the light. It is unlike anywhere else in Africa. In the mornings, the sun spills through mist like molten gold, igniting the mossy branches into a thousand glimmers. Midday brings sudden storms, clouds tumbling over ridges with the fury of a sea. Then, just as quickly, the skies clear and valleys blaze in sunlight, rainbows arching across waterfalls as though painted for you alone.
But the true magic comes at dawn and dusk. When you rise early from a mountain hut, stepping out into the chill, you will find yourself above the clouds. Below, a vast ocean of mist stretches to the horizon, ridges and peaks rising like islands from a silver sea. The Congo forests roll away to the west, while to the east, Uganda’s plains shimmer in the first light. And at dusk, the glaciers burn in shades of crimson and violet, their icy crowns glowing like lanterns against the darkening sky.
For photographers, for dreamers, for lovers of beauty, the Rwenzoris are nothing less than paradise.
The Wildlife Symphony
Though the altitude and rugged terrain might suggest a barren world, the Rwenzoris sing with life at every level. Birdsong greets you at dawn: the musical call of the Rwenzori turaco, the liquid notes of sunbirds, the laughter-like cries of hornbills. In the forest, you might glimpse blue monkeys, their faces curious, their movements quicksilver. Hyraxes scamper across rocky slopes, while duikers tiptoe silently through the undergrowth.
Higher up, the wildlife becomes subtler but no less enchanting. In the Afro-alpine bogs, tiny frogs sing at night, their voices rising in a fragile chorus beneath the stars. Ravens wheel above the glaciers, their dark wings stark against snowfields. Even the insects are marvels—dragonflies shimmering like jewels, butterflies drifting among everlasting flowers, their wings catching the light like fragments of stained glass.
Each sighting feels like a blessing, a reminder that this mountain is not only about peaks and valleys, but about the pulse of life that thrives in places most would call inhospitable. For mountain lovers, it is this richness—the balance of life and harshness—that makes the Rwenzoris unforgettable.
The Glaciers: Last Jewels of Africa
Standing on the glaciers of the Rwenzoris is to stand at the heart of paradox. You are at the equator, where sun and heat should reign supreme, yet under your boots lies ancient ice. The Margherita, Speke, and Elena glaciers cling stubbornly to the peaks, their crevasses glowing with eerie blue fire, their edges dripping meltwater that becomes the rivers feeding half of Africa.
Though they are retreating, each step on these glaciers feels sacred. The ice crunches beneath crampons, echoing in the silence of high altitude. You move carefully, roped to your companions, each step steady, deliberate. Above, jagged peaks spear into the sky; below, an ocean of clouds churns endlessly. Few sights in the world can rival this—snow and ice burning gold in the equatorial sun, the very breath of Africa crystallized in frozen rivers.
For mountaineers, this is a rare privilege: to touch glaciers where glaciers should not be, to witness the last jewels of Africa before they vanish into history.
The Ridges and Summits
The Rwenzoris are not a single summit but a range of giants: Mount Stanley, Mount Speke, Mount Baker, Mount Emin, Mount Gessi, and Mount Luigi di Savoia. Each has its own character, its own challenges. Stanley is the highest, crowned by Margherita Peak at 5,109 meters—a roof of Africa rivaled only by Kilimanjaro and Mount Kenya. Speke rises like a jagged citadel, its cliffs daring and defiant. Baker stands proud, its ridges serrated like a blade against the sky.
To traverse these peaks is to feel like an explorer in uncharted land. Few have walked here compared to the crowds on Kilimanjaro. Trails are wild, sometimes barely discernible, marked only by cairns and the instinct of guides. Every summit reached feels like the discovery of a new world. The views are infinite—Uganda stretching to Lake George and Lake Edward, the vast forests of Congo to the west, and always the sea of clouds that swallows the lower slopes.
Each summit is a triumph, not because it is the highest, but because it is hard-won, intimate, and shared with so few. For true mountain lovers, the Rwenzoris offer the rare gift of solitude at the top of Africa.
The Persuasion of Adventure
If you are a traveler seeking the easy path, the Rwenzoris are not for you. If you want a trail smoothed by thousands of feet before yours, or a climb measured only in altitude gained, look elsewhere. But if you crave the raw taste of wilderness, the unpredictable beauty of rain and sun and snow in the same day, the enchantment of forests dripping with moss and glaciers gleaming above the equator—then the Rwenzoris call your name.
They are Africa’s most beautiful mountains not because of a single summit or a single view, but because of the journey as a whole. Every valley, every ridge, every flower and bird and waterfall adds to a tapestry so rich it defies imagination. They do not reveal themselves easily, but when they do, they etch themselves into your soul forever.
For the mountain lover, for the traveler who yearns for the extraordinary, there is no choice more perfect than the Rwenzoris.
The Final Invitation: Hiking the Rwenzoris, Africa’s Most Beautiful Mountains
The Lakes of the Gods
Hidden in the folds of the Rwenzoris are lakes so magical they seem drawn from dreams. These are not mere pools of water; they are mirrors of the sky, jewels strung across the valleys, each with its own mood and beauty.
Lake Bujuku lies in a long, glacier-carved valley, flanked by the towering walls of Mount Stanley, Speke, and Baker. To sit at its shores is to feel the embrace of giants, the peaks reflected in its dark waters, clouds drifting like ghosts across the surface. Mist rises every morning, swirling into shapes that seem alive, as if spirits guard this sacred basin. For climbers heading toward Margherita Peak, Bujuku is both a sanctuary and a threshold—a place where the real adventure begins.
Farther still lie the Kitandara Lakes, two sapphire gems tucked high among jagged ridges. The name Kitandara means “the place of darkness,” a nod to the deep shadows cast by surrounding peaks, but when the sun touches them, their waters blaze with impossible brilliance. No photograph can capture their beauty. No description can do them justice. You must sit there, breathless, and see them for yourself.
Then there is Lake Mahoma, perched lower, nestled in forest and heather. Smaller, quieter, it feels like a secret gift for those who take the detour. On its banks, you might glimpse bushbuck grazing or sunbirds flashing green and purple as they sip nectar from alpine flowers.
To hike the Rwenzoris is to weave among these lakes, each one a world unto itself, each one unforgettable.
The Huts of the High Mountains
Unlike other African peaks, where tents are pitched on dusty slopes, the Rwenzoris welcome climbers with mountain huts—sturdy shelters that seem carved from the very heart of the wilderness. From Nyabitaba to Bujuku, from Elena Hut perched beneath the glaciers to Kitandara with its view of jewel-like lakes, these huts become more than places to sleep. They are havens of warmth and camaraderie, where hikers from across the globe share stories by firelight.
There is magic in those nights. Rain hammers the roof, wind howls through the valleys, and outside, darkness presses in. Yet inside, laughter rises, boots dry by the fire, guides tell stories of the mountains, and strangers become companions. You go to bed weary but alive, knowing tomorrow will bring new wonders.
The Weather: Wild and Unpredictable
Every hiker who has faced the Rwenzoris will tell you—prepare for anything. The weather is a character in its own right, mercurial and fierce, yet stunningly beautiful. One moment the sun blazes, lighting glaciers in radiant brilliance; the next, storms roll in, unleashing torrents of rain that turn trails into rivers. Mist can swallow entire valleys in minutes, reducing the world to a circle of silver-grey.
But it is in this unpredictability that the Rwenzoris enchant. You learn to embrace it—the sudden downpour that leaves you drenched but rewarded with a rainbow spanning the valley, the fog that clears just in time to reveal a peak glowing with alpenglow, the thunder that echoes like drums across the ridges. For the mountain lover, this is part of the adventure. The Rwenzoris are alive, moody, untamed—and that is precisely what makes them unforgettable.
The Routes: Paths into Wonder
There are several ways into this enchanted kingdom, each with its own treasures.
The Central Circuit is the classic, weaving through valleys and over passes, circling the high peaks like a pilgrimage. It is a journey of eight to ten days, a full immersion into the Rwenzori heart. You cross bogs, climb ridges, pass shimmering lakes, and walk beneath glaciers. Every day reveals a new landscape, every night brings a new hut.
The Kilembe Trail offers another path, beginning lower on the slopes and winding steadily upward through forest, bamboo, heather, and alpine wonderlands. It is quieter, wilder, with chances to see wildlife in abundance.
Shorter treks are possible too—two or three days into the forests and lower valleys, perfect for those who cannot commit to the full circuit but still wish to taste the magic.
No matter which you choose, the Rwenzoris give themselves generously. Every route holds beauty. Every path leads to discovery.
The Test of the True Adventurer
The Rwenzoris are not a casual climb. They demand endurance. They ask you to wade through bogs, climb ladders slick with rain, push through fatigue at high altitude. But it is in this challenge that their glory lies. When you stand on a ridge, soaked and mud-streaked, and the mist parts to reveal glaciers gleaming like silver crowns—you know you have earned it.
Unlike Kilimanjaro, where thousands follow the same well-worn path, the Rwenzoris give you solitude. You may walk all day and meet no one but your group, your guides, and the mountain itself. Each summit feels private, each view a secret shared only with the clouds and the peaks. For the true mountain lover, this intimacy is priceless.
The Final Climb: Margherita Peak
At last, the crown. Margherita Peak, 5,109 meters high, the third highest point in Africa. The climb is no easy stroll. You wake long before dawn, strapping on crampons, roping yourself to your companions. The air is thin, every breath sharp, every step deliberate. You cross glaciers, their blue crevasses yawning like open mouths, and scramble over icy rocks slick with frost.
And then—suddenly—you are there. The summit. The world beneath your boots. The clouds stretch endless, valleys and ridges dissolve into mist, the glaciers glow beneath the rising sun. For a heartbeat, silence rules everything. And in that silence, you understand why you came.
It is not for the record, not for the height. It is for this moment—the union of sweat, struggle, beauty, and triumph. Standing on Margherita Peak is not conquering a mountain. It is being welcomed by one of Earth’s last true wonders.
Why You Must Go
Travelers and mountain lovers, hear this: the Rwenzoris are Africa’s most beautiful mountains. They are not the tallest, but they are the most complete, the most diverse, the most enchanting. They hold within them every face of nature—rainforest and bamboo, heather and bog, alien Afro-alpine meadows, glaciers that gleam in the sun. They are alive with birds, monkeys, flowers, rivers, and skies that change with every breath of wind.
If you crave adventure, if you love mountains not just as peaks but as worlds unto themselves, the Rwenzoris are waiting. They are not crowded, not tamed, not spoiled by mass tourism. They are still wild, still pure, still sacred. And they are calling for those who have the heart to answer.
The Last Word: A Love Letter to the Mountains of the Moon
The Rwenzoris are not a destination. They are a revelation. To hike them is to walk through creation itself—to pass from jungle to glacier, from the roar of rivers to the silence of ice. They are a living testament to the beauty of Earth, a cathedral of nature sculpted in moss, stone, and snow.
To every traveler, every dreamer, every mountain lover who longs for more than just a climb—for a journey that changes you forever—the Rwenzoris wait. Go. Step into the mist. Listen to the turaco’s call. Walk where glaciers gleam beneath the equator. Watch the sun rise over lakes that reflect the heavens.
You will return, but part of you will never leave. Because the Rwenzoris are not just mountains. They are the soul of adventure.
And they are waiting for you.
