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Within the crater are several of what look like miniature volcanos – hornitos.

These are where the lava itself comes out of the volcano – while we were there this was in the form of regular spurts, up to 10 feet into the air. It looked like these pits had some little fella in them shovelling out dirt, but in fact it is liquid rock. The dark parts on the cones in the picture are patches of freshly “excavated” lava – it goes white when it cools.

Again I was a little nervous about the cones, but fascinated by the activity going on within. Some other people were going a lot closer, but I fear having a chunk of something hot searing its way through my skull and brain so kept my distance and advised Yuki to do the same.

Every time the cones ejected lava, some of the vents would let of a burst of steam then return to simmering away. Some people played dangerously close to these, even stepping inside. Luckily I didn’t witness any scalds.

Not wanting to miss the sunrise which was imminent, we headed on, although I wasn’t sure whether a growling volcano was something you want to turn your back on. The east side of the mountain was almost completely shrouded with clouds, apart from to top – we saw a view usually seen from aeroplanes, the sun rising up through a sea of white clouds. As we stood there watching it rise in the sky the clouds began to shift and we could see the valley floor below us, laced with meandering river beds. Still nothing man made was visible.

I felt like I was looking down from the moon.

As we crunched across the crater, Mtui shushed us and told us to stop.

A low growling noise was coming from one of the hornitos. A deep powerful vibration came from beneath our feet, as the volcano groaned and it resonated through everything. I wasn’t sure whether to stay where I was, continue walking or retreat to the rim.

Then we saw for the first time a small eruption, what looked like a spade full of soil jumping from the top of one of the hornitos.

As we mounted the crater wall we found ourselves in a different world. Standing on the crater rim I looked down to see a small steaming hole in the ground. I crouched down to feel the heat – it was like a boiling pot. We could have popped an egg in the hole and three minutes later enjoyed a tasty snack.

The crater floor was almost completely level apart from the sharp hornitos that protruded here and there, smoke or steam streaming from their tops. I assumed we would stop here at the rim, but other groups had already proceeded to walk across the crater floor, which was white almost like snow, and crunchy under foot like the lake bed of Natron far below us.

We camped at the nearby Kamakea Campsite, getting some food and an early night. We set off for the foot of the mountain at 11:30 pm – in the distance was a chain of lights – other vehicles with more wazungu attempting to climb the mountain. I felt slightly dismayed that there were five groups that we could see trying to negotiate the treacherous lava flows on the way. We reached the foot of the mountain at about 12:15 am, met our Masaai guide, who smelt quite a lot like Konyagi, and had such a weak handshake I found myself checking to see if he had more than two fingers on his hand, which he did. He presented us with some recently hewn branches for climbing sticks and we set off on the moonlit path which headed more or less directly straight up to the top of the mountain. Masaai tend to walk in single file, and the path was designed thus. We rapidly found ourselves bunched up with one of the other groups – this may have been a sign that we had set off too quickly, but the first stretch of the walk was not steep.

The setting was fantastic – dark mountain silhoutted against the sky lit by a just rising moon that lit up the steep rift valley walls behind us. There was no sound but the wind, not even insects, as we proceeded along the gravelly path. Either side of us were deep gulleys that had formed from lava flows. A step to each side of the narrow path were numerous opportunities to break an ankle or neck. I surveyed the mountain profile to each side and watched as our path took us to a steeper and steeper incline. The path never desisted from its direct route, not winding at all, just heading boldly on to the top. After the first section, which was like a walk in the Lake District we got to a section where the path was heavily eroded or formed mainly from loose ash and gravel. Each step forward included a slide backwards half the distance progressed, and we slowed down significantly. Looking across to the escarpment at one point I saw that we appeared to be about level with the edge – surely we must be near the top now – it didn’t look far. But our guide shattered my enthusiasm – not even half way he giggled. We slipped and slid our way further up the mountain path, cursing at each fall. The path changed from the slippery gravel to larger rocks and eventually rock face, with a thin coating of small stones which skittered away under foot. Looking down and around I was amazed not to see a single source of light other than the starts. I felt truly priveliged to find myself in such a wild and remote location.

As we inched our way up we ended up on all fours, trying to decide whether to discard our sticks so as to free a hand, or try and walk upright like our guide. We would stop briefly every ten minutes. Stella started to worry about altitude sickness. Mtui started speculating about how long it would take to reach the top. It was four in the morning and none of us where really in the mood anymore. But we were definitely gaining on the summit now. We reached a level where the ground was coated by a layer of white powder – sulphur, ash? In the dark we couldn’t tell, but it was coating our hands, and getting in our mouths – I could smell and taste the mountain, both sulfurous fumes and this fine dust filling my nose and mouth. As we really did approach the top, the first glow of the sun rise began – it was 6 am. It took us 5 and a half hours to climb up, and we were knackered.

Lake Natron is a soda lake. It is the only breeding ground for Lesser Flamingos (the pink ones) in East Africa. They are attracted to the large quantity of algae that grows in the sodium carbonate rich waters. The lake changes size over the seasons. We walked out across the dry bed to where there was still water to spy on the Flamingos. They make odd grunting noises. We didn’t get close enough to see any babies – they often get a build up of sodium carbonate around their ankles which makes them too heavy to fly, and they perish.