Imagine this: you’re standing on the summit of Kilimanjaro, 5,895 meters above sea level. The wind cuts your face like icy needles, and the air is so thin that each breath is an effort, a fight for survival. Instead of admiring the sprawling panorama of Africa, you’re setting up… a darkroom. A small, makeshift tent designed to isolate you from the extreme conditions. Sounds like madness? Perhaps. But this is exactly how my journey to achieve the Guinness World Record for the highest altitude wet plate collodion photograph unfolded.
Wet Collodion – 19th Century Alchemy
Wet collodion is a photographic technique from 1851 that revolutionized the world of imagery at the time. Instead of a digital click, the process requires manually preparing a light-sensitive emulsion on a glass plate. First, you pour collodion onto the glass – a mixture of guncotton dissolved in ether and alcohol. Then you immerse the plate in a silver nitrate solution to make it light-sensitive. The entire process must take place in darkroom conditions, where the only light source is a red headlamp.
The wet plate goes into the camera for exposure. After taking the photograph, you immediately develop it in a solution of ferrous sulfate, then fix it in sodium thiosulfate. All of this must happen before the collodion dries – hence the name “wet collodion.” Under ideal conditions, you have about 10-15 minutes. At an altitude of nearly 6,000 meters, where air humidity is close to zero, this time drastically shortens. Each stage carries risk, and a mistake can ruin the entire plate. It’s already challenging under ideal conditions, let alone on a mountain summit where muscles refuse to cooperate, breath is scarce, and blood pulses in your temples as it struggles to deliver oxygen to your brain, greedily inhaled with the thin air!
Wet collodion is not just photography – it’s a ritual with elements of magic and alchemy, where any mistake can destroy hours of work. There’s no preview, no second chance. There’s only glass, chemistry, and light.
Kilimanjaro – Beauty and Danger
Kilimanjaro, a solitary mountain in northeastern Tanzania, is Africa’s highest peak and one of the Seven Summits – the highest mountains on each continent. Located near the equator, it offers an extraordinary diversity of landscapes – from tropical forests at its base, through heathlands and rocky alpine desert, to the glacier at the very top.
It’s also a symbol of the continent – a solitary mountain rising from the flat savannas. Its name in Swahili means “the mountain that shines.” For climbers, it’s a unique challenge – although it technically doesn’t require alpine equipment, which is why serious mountaineers often don’t take it seriously, the altitude and weather conditions can sometimes pose deadly threats.
Each year, about 35,000 people attempt to climb Kilimanjaro. Not everyone reaches the summit. Altitude sickness, exhaustion, hypothermia – these are real dangers. Statistics report an average of 10 fatalities annually. We witnessed firsthand tourists who had overestimated their abilities and had to be carried down the mountain.
It was there, in this harsh and beautiful place, that I decided to take my passion for analog photography to a completely new level.
The idea was born in 2021 during a trip across Tanzania. “What if…?” – that question, thrown out jokingly during a long bus ride, planted a seed that grew into a crazy plan. Two years later, after the project was accepted by Guinness World Records, the real preparations began.
Chemical Adventures in Africa
The first and greatest challenge was obtaining the appropriate chemicals. Collodion is a solution of guncotton in ether and alcohol – an explosive and highly flammable mixture that couldn’t be conventionally transported from Poland. My guide, Jumanne Kolokolo, searched chemical stores across Tanzania and Kenya like a detective. After months of searching, we found a supplier in Kenya who offered to import the reagents by sea from India.
But the problems didn’t end there. The batch of collodion I had waited over three months for turned out to be useless. Despite many attempts and hours of consultation with historical photography specialists and chemists, we couldn’t make the solution work. A race against time began – tickets purchased, team ready, and I was without the key ingredient! There were even crazy ideas – one supplier offered to smuggle collodion through three African countries. I rejected that option but found another, legal one.
It turned out that dangerous goods could be shipped by air after obtaining certificates and having them safely packaged by a specialized company. Again, shipping was only possible to Kenya, which has less restrictive regulations than Tanzania. Just when everything seemed to be going well, the package got stuck in customs! Adrenaline was at its peak because there were only a few days left before departure. I quickly completed missing documents, paid customs fees, and the friendly chemical store worked on-site. Just before our flight, we managed to collect the collodion from the airport; all that remained was to transport it to Tanzania. The package left by bus, and my guide went to the border to pick it up as quickly as possible and deliver it safely. It cost me a lot of stress (and money!), but the key element of the expedition was secured at the last minute.
Darkroom on My Back, Dream in My Heart
The next challenge was equipment. I wanted to carry everything to the summit myself: the darkroom, chemicals, laboratory equipment, camera, and tripod. For many months, I built darkroom prototypes, trying to minimize their size and weight.
A standard darkroom is a room with running water, ventilation, and constant temperature. Mine had to fit in a backpack. Eventually, I managed to pack everything into 18.5 kg of equipment: a light tent made of light-proof fabric, collapsible trays, bottles of chemicals, a large format camera, tripod, glass, and numerous small accessories. Every gram mattered, and every element had to be well thought out.
Physical preparation was also crucial. Kilimanjaro is no joke, and carrying a heavy backpack at such altitude required solid conditioning. Five months of training, sprints up stairs, long walks with weights, running – I had never been in better shape.
Freezer Test and Hot Dogs as a Tray
Before leaving for Tanzania, we decided to conduct tests in extreme conditions. Thanks to the kindness of my friend, Kasper Kędzierski, who was filming a documentary about the expedition, we organized a special freezer container that normally served as a cold storage for a steak restaurant. At -18°C, surrounded by boxes of Argentinian beef, we tried to recreate the conditions at the summit of Kilimanjaro. We hoped to check how the chemicals behave at low temperatures.
The first two visits to the freezer ended in failure – the sensitizer and fixer froze, and the collodion crystallized on the frozen plate. So I looked for ways to evenly heat all the fluids and glass. A set of small candles worked best.
During the last test, which happened to be on Friday the 13th, I forgot to bring trays for the chemical reagents! At first, I was terrified because there was no time to go back home, and it was the last available date before the flight. Then I decided to improvise. Kasper and I found a garbage container nearby and started rummaging through its contents. After a long search, we found a solution – a hot dog package served as a tray for the silver nitrate solution, and a plastic container as a tray for the fixer. Despite these unexpected adventures, I finally managed to obtain a readable image!
Ironically, these tests turned out to be completely useless. On the summit, inside the darkroom, the temperature reached +25°C! The greenhouse effect in the small tent was amazing – the black walls absorbed solar radiation, creating sauna-like conditions inside. While it was -6°C outside, sweat was running down my back inside the darkroom.
Final Test Before the Expedition – When Everything Falls Apart
The day before setting out on the trail, I experienced a moment of true panic. In the hotel room in Moshi, at the foot of Kilimanjaro, I set up a makeshift darkroom to conduct a final test of the equipment and chemicals. Everything went wrong.
Finally, the day of departure arrived. After reaching Tanzania and a short rest, I immediately started mixing chemicals. The stress was enormous – the entire expedition depended on whether the collodion would work.
The collodion, which was supposed to be my ticket to the record, behaved unpredictably. The first plate came out completely black – overexposed or contaminated. On the second, an image appeared, which caused an outburst of enthusiasm in the whole team, but when I put the plate in water for washing, the image suddenly blurred and disappeared. In my entire long career as a collodion photographer, I had never encountered anything like this!
Six months of preparation, thousands of dollars spent, and the basic element of the process failed. There was no time for further tests. I had to move forward with what I had – uncertain chemistry and my heart in my throat.
This lesson in humility just before setting out on the mountain was like a cold shower – a reminder that in collodion photography, there’s no guarantee of success, and combined with extreme high-altitude conditions, the chances of success are even smaller. But this challenge was the essence of the whole undertaking.
On the Trail to the Record
We set out on the trail. The Marangu Route, which we chose, offered accommodation in huts, which was a great convenience, especially when washing beakers and trays, as well as mixing reagents.
I decided to systematically test the equipment and chemistry at each stage of the climb, every 1,000 meters of altitude – this was my strategy for acclimatizing not only my body but also the photographic process. These systematic trials at different altitudes were crucial. Each camp had a different microclimate, different conditions, different challenges. Thanks to them, I could adapt the process to the changing environment and increase the chances of success at the summit.
In the first camp, Mandara Hut (2,700 m above sea level), I set up the darkroom on a nearby hill. I took three pictures, and all came out well. This poured courage into my heart and gave me confidence.
Two days later, at Horombo Hut (3,700 m above sea level), the situation became complicated. The altitude began to affect the chemistry – the collodion dried faster, and the developer worked more slowly. I had to adjust times and proportions. The first picture – unsuccessful. The second, better, but again dissolving under the influence of water. The third the same, so I decided to limit washing to a minimum. Stress returned, along with accelerated breathing, which made me suffer even more at this altitude.
The Last Camp – The Limit of Endurance
The last camp before the summit, Kibo Hut (4,700 m above sea level), is a place where everyone is barely holding on. The approach to it gives some idea of who has a chance to reach the summit and who will have to turn back. In our group, there was also a division into those who had better acclimatized and those who reached the camp later and with great effort. Fortunately, I was in the first half, which was a good prognostic sign.
The time in the camp itself is often already a fight for survival. The thin air makes the slightest effort – tying shoes, packing a backpack – cause shortness of breath. The oxygen-deprived brain starts playing tricks; it’s hard to concentrate and gather thoughts. Most tourists lie on their bunks, fighting headaches and nausea – typical symptoms of altitude sickness.
And I, in these spartan conditions, without running water, was washing laboratory equipment and mixing chemicals. Guides and other climbers looked at me like I was crazy when I was laying out glass, beakers, and bottles of chemicals. But I couldn’t give up, and although I wasn’t feeling my best, I methodically performed the learned tasks.
5,100 Meters – Unofficial Record
During the final acclimatization, I decided to try to establish an unofficial record – taking a collodion photograph above 5,000 meters. The approach was steep and demanding; every breath burned in the lungs. Plus, there was a strong, frosty wind blowing in our faces. When we found a suitable, sheltered place, I set up the darkroom and took a picture of the guides. The plate came out perfectly! Dancing with joy, singing, smiles, relief. All of our fatigue instantly vanished, and filled with joy, we returned to the camp.
The Road to the Summit
The night before the summit attack was short and nervous. We set out in two groups, the weaker one at 1:00 AM, the stronger one, with me, at 2:00 AM. Darkness, frost, and thin air made each step a challenge. We saw the lights of other climbers’ headlamps as if we were walking in a procession of ghosts.
After an hour, we met one of our team members returning to the camp. Dizziness and circulation problems forced him to abandon the trek. After another hour, we caught up with the team that had left earlier. They were exhausted, but so were we. In the darkness, you walk step by step, like a robot, seeing only the back of the climber in front of you and thinking only about regular breathing. The sunrise over Kenya added encouragement, but strength was waning with each meter.
The next critical approach was the path leading to Gilman’s Point (5,756 m above sea level), the steepest of the entire route, requiring climbing on boulders. Until then, I had been walking like a robot, fueled by adrenaline. Here, however, the necessity of climbing high rocks with a heavy backpack completely exhausted me. For all of us, the trek ceased to rely on physical fitness and began to depend on willpower and determination.
The road to the summit is not only a physical challenge but also an emotional rollercoaster. We passed tourists who were barely standing on their feet; some were being carried down by guides on makeshift stretchers or special carts. These sights were depressing – reminders that the mountain does not forgive mistakes or weaknesses. But we kept going, breaking the long route into tiny steps.
On the Roof of Africa
At 10:30 AM, we stood on the roof of Africa. Euphoria mixed with exhaustion. Time was pressing – we had to build the darkroom and take the record photograph. Just setting up the tent took half an hour. The altitude was taking its toll – blood oxygen saturation dropped to a dangerous level. Guides recommend staying at the summit for no more than 20 minutes. We spent nearly two hours there. It was risky, but we had no choice – the photographic process required time.
Kasper, the cameraman, nearly fainted while sitting with me in the darkroom and documenting the entire process. The others were also staggering on their feet. But there was no turning back.
The Mistake That Cost Me the Perfect Photo
Finally, the time came to take the photograph. With trembling hands, I prepared the plate, positioned the team under the summit sign, and took THAT ONE picture. Unfortunately, I made a mistake – I overexposed it. The UV radiation at such altitude was stronger than I had anticipated.
In the collodion technique, you can salvage overexposed images by quickly interrupting the development process. That’s what I did, but it always affects the quality of the photograph. The group was barely standing, and we had spent significantly more time at the summit than recommended. I looked at the photograph again – despite the imperfections, the summit sign was clearly visible, with the altitude written on it – 5,895 m above sea level. I had only one thought in my head – would the Guinness committee accept this? But there was no time for more attempts. We had to descend.
Ultimately, despite the imperfect photograph, I was satisfied. Considering the extreme conditions, the result wasn’t bad, and most importantly, I had accomplished what I had dreamed of, what I had worked on for months. The descent was as difficult as the ascent. My knees refused to cooperate, and fatigue was taking its toll.
Guinness – Official!
After returning to Poland, months of waiting for the official Guinness decision followed. The documentation requirements were very detailed. They included photographic and video material, GPS readings, witness accounts, and an opinion from a specialist in historical photography. Finally, after almost 6 months, the long-awaited email arrived. I was officially announced as a Guinness World Record holder! And although the record, due to an incorrect altimeter reading, shows an altitude 24 meters lower, 5,971 m above sea level, I can proudly call myself, as the record slogan states – “Officially Amazing.”
Summary
My expedition to Kilimanjaro is a story about passion, determination, and overcoming one’s own limitations. It’s proof that even the craziest dreams can come true if you put in a lot of work and heart. It’s also a lesson in humility, as the mountain showed me how small humans are in the face of nature’s power. The memories from this expedition, the friendships, and the lessons will stay with me for a lifetime. And the Guinness World Record? It’s just the cherry on top. It’s proof that it’s worth dreaming and fighting for what you believe in.
Huge thanks to Kasper, who was the first to catch the bug and took charge of the documentation.
Thank you to the team who handled the logistics and shared the challenges along the way.
Thanks to our friends in Tanzania – the guides, porters, and cooks – none of this would have been possible without you.
Big thanks to my fellow wet plate collodion enthusiasts – for your knowledge and equipment support.
Massive applause to my trainer Aleh – for the training and teaching me how to breathe at high altitudes.
And thank you to everyone who supported me. I won’t list you all by name, but I remember each and every one of you!
Watch the video story from this expedition: