above image "borrowed" from Sunrise Tours... climbing Fuji wasn't quite as scenic as the view from afar

Fuji:  Even Once is Damn Foolish

15.07.05  1:00pm (our apartment in Soka)
We’re setting off for Fuji yama.  The big climb day.  In many ways, our whole stay in Japan has culminated
to this moment.  It is a metaphor for so much of the experience here.  The lows, the fucking rocks and that…
oooohhh…. Summit.  Our climbing partners are fellow Canuck married couple, Scott and Adrianne.
We prepared intensely for the climb, at least in terms of food and clothing, but a little less so on the physical side
of things.  Though we have done more exercise here than ever before in Canada.  I’m more concerned about
the possibility of altitude sickness than I am about physical exertion.  We’re taking a bus from Shinjuku to
Kawaguchi Lake 5th station (Kawaguchigogome).  Tickets cost 5200yen each for the return (about $58 CDN)
and the ride is just over 2 hours one way.

5:45pm (Fujikyu bus bound for that big mountain)
We’re already winding through thick green hills.  I so rarely get to see this many trees all in one spot.
The summer rains have left the scene misty and lush.  The entire bus has just emerged in an aahh from silence.
We have seen the mountain.  Our ears are popping, we’re already high, but Fuji looms enormous above the rest.
A clouded grey monster.

7:30pm (hut on Fuji)
We are at the 5th station.  Elevation 2300m.  Temperature 14ºC, somewhat windy and drizzling.
We are in the one open shelter.  They are selling souvenirs.  Rod bought a hiking stick.  Overpriced piece
of wood to be stamped, for a fee, as we make it to each station.  Used the washroom for 50yen (60cents CDN).
Put on warmer layers and boots.  Excited and nervous.  The climb looks steep.

9:00pm
We are setting off.

11:00pm (7th station- 2700m)
A few people hanging around.  It’s raining.  Pay money to rest.  Be quiet, people are asleep.  It’s like the moon
at night.  Is it always night on the moon?  I’m doing this for mom, dad and everyone I love.  Air is thin.
Words are sparse.  Temperature 7ºC.

And that was where my official climb log ended.  It rained so hard the rest of the way that pulling out the pad
would have meant seeing it dissolve in my hand.  For the rest of the tale, you have to rely on retrospective
recounting based on memory.  It’s amazing how many details came back to me once I’d thawed out
and had a night’s sleep.

We departed at 9pm from the 5th station with two women who would show us the way to the trail.
Where were the crowds of hikers we were guaranteed to see?  The 6 of us set off, glad we hadn’t listened
to the website that had told us the light from the moon would be better to rely on than our flashlights which
would only make us dizzy.  The moon was a tiny sliver covered by clouds and the power of our lights
combined may have made for one good flashlight.  The 100 yen shop can’t fulfill all needs after all.

The little vegetation at the bottom quickly became volcanic rock.  Rain, rain, rain.

At the 7th station, Rod stamped his stick and I found the self-proclaimed “nicest washroom on the mountain”.
Later I would realize this was all too true.  Unfortunately it was unheated and between the cramped quarters,
my oxygen-deprived brain, sleep-deprived body, the poor lighting and the fact that everything was soaking wet,
it took me half an hour to change into my next layer of climbing clothes.

We had only gone 400m and still had 1000 to go.

By the 8th station, it was 1:30am.  We were wet, cold, tired and the thin air was getting to us.
People were starting to look sick on the mountain.  Some were turning back.  One girl didn’t have rain gear
and was shivering and bent over retching.  Rest cost 3000yen/per person ($35 CDN) for 50 minutes.

At 8.5, we found a spot to take our longest rest.  You could stay inside a kerosene heated room
(still cold and did nothing for the fact that you were wearing four layers of drenched clothes) if you bought
a drink.  A very memorable hot chocolate, as I felt I might not be able to make it before that point.
After the rest, the hut being the first show of human kindness on the mountain, I was recharged for the final 500m.

Our most frightening moment of the night (other than feeling winded after taking a sip of water) came when
we mistakenly shifted off the trail and started forging our own way up the mountain.  Some Japanese hikers
noticed us, and yelled out that we were going the wrong way.  Abunai yo!

The last few hundred metres to the top were steeper.  I was down on my hands and knees over rock.
The day was beginning.  I can’t say the sun was rising because it was still raining, but the trail was lighter.
A single file of climbers pushed for the top.  The pace was slower as the group moved.  Along the sides of
the trail, climbers leaned on rocks, eyes closed, some sucking on oxygen canisters, others trying hard not
to be ill.  Faces were pale and weak.  Smiles were an enormous effort.  Still, many tried.

The top was guarded by stone lions.  We had to ask twice to be sure it was really the top.   At about 5am,
we raised our arms in a last exhausted effort as we passed through the torii (gate) marking the summit of Fuji-san.
3776m.

Unkai.  A sea of clouds.  That was our view from the top.

We ducked into the first shelter we saw, took off what we could of our wet clothes and sat with other climbers
sipping on hot ramen (noodles).  All washrooms on the mountain charged 100yen ($1.20CDN) for use
and 200Y ($2.40CDN) at the top for one of the most disgraceful shows of human dirt I’ve ever seen.
After that lovely little find, we decided we’d seen enough of the highest point in Japan.

The problem with climbing mountains is that you still have to get back down. Though we were on a much longer
trail that zig-zagged the mountain face, we saw just how ugly the terrain had been.  Luckily, there was no
crawling down rocks, just sliding—sometimes ankle-deep—through red volcanic stones.  My legs screamed
in agony as I tried to hurry down.  It warmed up quickly and soon the sun was beating straight on my nose
and cheeks and my sunscreen was buried so deep in my sopping pack that I didn’t bother reaching for it.

Our descent took 4 hours—half our climbing time.  After a few false alarms, we were exhalted to see our
starting point hut now teeming with bouncy hikers all suited up for a day of fun.  Most Japanese people just
hang around the base and other smaller mountains near Fuji without actually climbing the big temperamental
volcano.  Foreigners go right for the throat.  When in Rome, do like the Romans.
When in Japan, follow the fools up the hill (?)

Still, I sort of recommend it.

 

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