The last day's hike dragged on for a long time. Like the first day, there were some extended mud lakes that required hanging on to trees to get around, and it was extremely slippery. Luckily, it didn't rain, so we didn't have to deal with mud that potentially could have been flowing. Like day one, I eventually started just walking through the mud and water. There was just no point in trying to gingerly pick my way through. My gaiters were tied closed with twine because the velcro was so caked with mud that they refused to stick anymore, and because the zippers didn't work. The sole on my right boot was now half-way off, flopping around. "It looks like a fish mouth," said Alex. Roots jutting horizontally off the ground would periodically get stuck in between my sole and the rest of my boot (while walking), and it required a good deal of arm flailing and praying not to fall. The sole would also wrap under my foot occasionally (again, almost making me fall). I did fall four times, but they were minor slips. Some of the falls involved my trekking pole catching on plant-life and refusing to come loose without taking me down first. Both Wally and Alison had falls "with technical merit" (Alex was keeping score), which involved a few running/jumping steps followed by dives to the forest floor. Near the bottom the path became very slippery. The riverbed we were hiking down took on a red color -- like the rock formations in Sedona, Arizona -- and were coated with a thin flim of mud. Wally's stomp-like walking didn't fare so well there, so he was slipping all over the place.
 
When we arrived at Mweka gate, the British army unit guys were there to heckle us, with their freshly cleaned, shiny boots (there are locals at the bottom who offer to clean your boots for 200 schillings -- almost 27 cents). Anyway, so we signed out of the park, ate lunch, tipped the porters and guides, and were driven back to Springlands hotel.
 
I was given a fancy certificate for successfully reaching Gilman's Peak.
 
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