You start in the damp hush of montane forest, a canopy that muffles footsteps and loosens the world into green light. Trails cut through ferns and giant tree-heathers, and for a few hours colobus monkeys keep pace in the branches above as porters carry the gear that makes hut-to-hut travel possible. By the second day the trees thin, leaving lobelias and groundsels like alien sculptures on the moor; by day three the wind strips the warmth from your hands and the mountain’s raw granite and volcanic scree reveal the crater rim ahead.