Climbing Mt. Fuji

August 2008

Climbing Mount Fuji was one thing, but first of all we had to get there. One of my friends happened to host a group of German students as part of her job assignment, and one of the many activities she had planned for them was to climb Fuji together - which is why she decided to rent an entire bus. I chipped in, and we agreed on highway rest area where they would pick me up, what with them coming from Tochigi prefecture and myself starting out by train in Tokyo.

To actually get to that rest area turned out a bit more adventurous than I would have expected, since it is basically only reachable by car from the highway itself and fenced off from all sides. Having come this far though, and still quite a distance from our real destination, I quickly climbed the fence (thinking that if I wasn't able to overcome this obstacle, I might as well skip climbing Japan's highest mountain in the first place), all the while hoping no one would spot me and report me to the highway police.

After waiting a while, the bus turned into the rest area (delayed due to the ever-present traffic jams around Tokyo), and soon we were on our way, celebrating the start of our adventure with a can beer. To my dismay I soon realized that the bus actually passed rather close to where I was living in Tokyo and where I had just come from, so at least in theory I could have saved myself a long trip and some trouble (the fence). In practice though, one needs to consider that within Tokyo the highways are almost all above ground, don't have any rest areas worth mentioning, and therefore in all likelihood it would have been impossible for me to ever get to the bus, however close I might have gotten to it.

Another shock of considerable proportions awaited us all at the next rest area, where we had to learn the harsh truth that apparently none of the rest areas next to any highway in Japan sold any alcohol. While I totally support a zero alcohol tolerance for drivers - whether in Japan or elsewhere - I would have very much fancied another beer for the remainder of our journey (as would have approximately ten other young German students and my two friends).

With Tokyo and most of the Kanto plain being close to sea level or not much higher in most other areas, our starting point was to be Kawaguchiko 5th Station on the northern slope - with the summit at 3776 meters being the "10th Station" -, entry point to the Yoshida trail in an altitude of just about 2300 meters. Which meant that our bus had to bridge this altitude gap. It turned out that while our bus was perfectly capable of doing so, the rather weak engine proved to be somewhat of a handicap - the steep slope in combination with an endless series of hairpin curves continuously slowed us down so much we might almost have been faster walking.

Kawaguchiko 5th Station

Having left Tokyo sometime after noon, we finally reached Kawaguchiko 5th Station around 9:00pm. We had decided to start the ascend at night in order to reach the summit in time for the sunrise. The disappointment of having arrived much later than we had planned for was compensated by the immense relief that our bus had made it after all. At the local shop most of us made two very important purchases: the obligatory wooden Mount Fuji walking stick that bore the mark of the 5th Station and would later carry the marks from all stations (if we were to reach the summit), and that long-awaited second beer (which - like anything else in this shop - was sold at a premium price). Some of the students decided to take a few more beers to be enjoyed at the summit, but I decided against the additional weight - which later proved to be a wise decision. We finally set out on the estimated five to seven hours climb until the summit, first as one large group, but soon stretching out due to everyone falling into a different pace. Although it was pitch black, I didn't even have to use my torchlight, since there were plenty of other hikers around us lighting up the path in front of us. The first few kilometers of the trail took us more or less parallel to the mountain slope, with only a slight ascend, and so in spite of a slight drizzle we all made good progress. But soon enough the path turned upwards, and we could tell by our shortened breath that we were in high altitude. We all slowed down, and all other climbers - young and old - did the same.

Two of the younger students had set off at a very fast pace and would not be seen until we got back to the parking lot the next morning, but I learned my limit when we got to about 3000 meters altitude. Up to that point I was only out of breath a little faster than usual, but otherwise able to keep up with the others, not pausing too often. Above 3000 meters though that feeling of nauseousness which I had hoped I could escape kicked in slowly but steadily. By the time I reached the 8th Station, 3400 meters above sea level, I was with a group of about four others that went by the same pace as myself, but I had lost track of my two friends Uli and Rudi. I couldn't even say if they were in front of or behind me, since I was already too preoccupied with feeling nauseous and all the while paying attention to the slippery gravel below my feet (and the occasional obnoxious climbers overtaking left and right while not being too considerate about the safety of others). Getting up Mount Fuji might not require any particular climbing skills, but it was nevertheless a steep and tricky terrain, with chunks of volcanic rocks that were hard to walk on. Although I had heard many times that in Japan old and young were climbing the holy mountain, I was still amazed by the variety of climbers that - if it were not Mount Fuji - you would most likely not see on any mountain.

Trying to fight off the dizziness, I didn't even bother to get my walking stick marked at each of the stations I passed (and which of course the local staff charged cash for), and even upon reaching the 9th Station (3580m) I couldn't be bothered to take out my camera and take a picture of the signpost marking the altitude. For the remainder of the ascent I felt like walking and climbing in a daze, constantly having to stop due to the long line of climbers that were by now lining up to make the remaining few hundred meters to the top in time of the sunrise. After what felt like the longest night ever, I finally reached the crater rim at around 5:00am. Although the summit was shrouded in mist, I was overwhelmed - not so much by the natural sight of the crater rim, but rather by the large crowds of climbers that were already looking for the perfect spot to capture the sunrise with their cameras. Inside the hut I spotted some of our group, but here it was equally crowded. Due to my constantly feeling nauseous I didn't feel the least bit hungry, so I decided to let the offered soup be soup and step outside again to look for others of our climbing party.

Cloudy sunrise seen from the top of Fujisan

Meanwhile the outside of the hut started to resemble a crowded movie theater, with climbers fighting for first row seats in order to get an unobstructed view of the sunrise. Since I wasn't feeling too well, and in order to escape the first bulk of climbers that would presumably start their descent soon after watching the sunrise, I started downhill with some of the students (still not having located my friends Uli and Rudi), more or less sliding down the gravel slope. It didn't clear up too much after all, so we were only able to catch a few of the morning sun's rays breaking through thick cloud cover after having left the top, but it was an impressive vista nevertheless. What was not so impressive though was to see the slopes of Mt. Fuji in daylight - nothing but brownish-grey volcanic rock and gravel, only interspersed with the occasional patch of green further down the mountain. Adding to the desolate impression were the piles of collected rubbish to be found near all of the huts.

Surface of the moon? Nope - the slopes of Fujisan

One of the guys that had specially brought some can beer didn't feel too much like drinking anymore - while I got away with just feeling a bit nauseous, he had apparently misjudged his capabilities and now had to leave some of the beer on the slope of Japan's holy mountain. Meanwhile I started feeling better considerably with every few meters that we descended toward sea level. Initially thinking that the way down would be so much easier, I soon felt my knees hurt - and was thankful for the walking stick that brought at least a little relief -, and even after the path leveled out, joining the Yoshida trail that had led us up the mountain, it never seemed to end. After an eternity we finally spotted the parking lot of the Kawaguchiko 5th Station, where we sat down flat on the pavement, never wanting to get up again. A little while later my friends finally appeared, in an equal state of exhaustion, but at the same time proud of the achievement. It took a while longer to finally gather everyone, so we could start our return trip by bus.

Getting in line for the descent

Many hours later, in the early afternoon of August 22nd, 2008, I found myself showered and with a glass of Yebisu beer in my hand standing on our balcony, looking toward Mount Fuji in the distance and being happy to having completed the task, but also relieved that now I could marvel again at the mountain from a safe distance and the comfort of my apartment. It is fascinating to think that this perfectly shaped cone could look so magnificent against the backdrop of the setting sun on a cold winter day, but could look so desolate when viewed up close. Ever since I have followed the saying you often get to hear in Japan when conversations turn to Japan's highest mountain: A wise man climbs Fuji once, and a fool twice. But who knows, once enough time has passed, I might turn out to be a fool after all...