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Published: July 29th 2009
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The 1st Group. Canadians on the left Yi and Angela. Dutch on the right Jeff and Kelvin.Ah, Mount Fuji, the tallest mountain in Japan at 3776 m. One reason I decided to climb it is that one of my favourite restaurants back home is called Fujiyama. Also, after a few days of only Tokyo, I was itching to get moving. I planned it out perfectly. I would take a direct bus from Shinjuku to Kawaguchi-ko fifth station, the most common starting point for the climb. I would rent a locker and deposit my stuff there. I would begin the 8 hour climb at 9:30 pm and I would arrive at the summit for sunrise the next morning. This would would enable me to skip the $65+ mountain huts. The next day I would rest and recuperate at the fifth station after the 5 hour descent. Then finally, I would catch a night bus to kyoto to save on a night's rent. Perfect plan no?
The first sign of trouble came as I picked up my bag at the Tokyo tourist info office, having just received all of the bus and climbing info. I experienced a stabbing pain under my right shoulder blade. Apparently that muscle had worn out a couple days earlier when it had been
heavily used to support my pack while trying to find my hostel for hours (see June 24 post). So I decided to wait a day, despite the forecast of rain for the next night.
The next day, in typical Asher fashion, I arrived 2 minutes before the bus left. The trip up to the fifth station was beautiful. Once we left the urban landscape, we were suddenly driving through mountain towns, fog and tunnels. I took a few picturs, slightly annoyed at the gentleman behind me who took pictures by the second leading to a near constant stream of sound.
When I arrived at Kawaguchiko-fifth station, it was night, it was cold, the station was mostly closed, except for one shop playing this happy Japanese song on repeat. I found the locker and started to unload, noticing three items, to my increasing horror, in rapid succession. One, my cell didn't work up here. I'd expected it to work, given that it's a popular tourist destination, and being on Fuji, well it's sort of high up. Meanwhile the payphones didn't even call out internationally. Second, the restaurants were closed and I hadn't eaten dinner. Third, I couldn't find my
camera. Then I knew. I'd left it on the cute airplane style tray attached to the seat on the bus. I'd had my camera out, ready for pictures. It was my first real "Asher moment" of the trip. And comical as that might be, I was pretty upset at the time. Feeling cold, hungry, camera-less and phone-less I was not in the mood for Fuji.
But, I took care of each problem in turn. I bought nuts and dried fruits, which I combined with one of my "emergency (perhaps read 'Asher moment')" protein bars for a filling enough dinner. After a few fruitless attempts to explain my camera situation to Japanese attendants, I stumbled upon a Japanese-American who translated for me. Only in Japan: not only did they find my camera, but they would deliver it to the fifth station on the next bus up the following morning. So, I bought a disposable camera, put on my pack, turned on the flashlight and started off.
The trail was completely dark because it was overcast. While I started out alone, before long, I caught up with some Japanese climbers. The first stop was the Sixth Station, maybe 45 minutes
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Bathroom Stall later, where I met a couple of Dutch tourists as I caught my breath. It began to rain lightly and get colder - so I put on an extra layer and took out my poncho. The details of the next couple hours are already a bit hazy in memory, but the experience was something like this: complete darkness except for your own light, the lights of other hikers and the lights at stations and mountain huts far above and below you. That's it. You have no idea where the top of the mountain is, much less the bottom. The air is thin but breathable at 10,000+ feet. The rain turned constant, but still tolerable. I was very friendly, meeting locals and foreigners alike. Eventually, I roped together a Canadian couple with the Dutch friends I'd made (see picture). The actual climb was difficult and slow-going. The rain made everything slick. The trail alternated between steep switchbacks and scrambles where you needed the occasional hand to pull yourself up. The light rain and the exhaustion of the climb forced everyone to take a slow pace. It's funny, I might have often thought "I'm tired, I'm cold, my legs hurt, my shoulders
hurt, my lungs hurt" but I never actually thought "I don't want to be here", not even in the next couple hours.
It really began to rain, a serious downpour with the rare flash of lightning far off in the distance (but importantly, with no accompanying thunder). The wind picked up too. I was getting soaked - my shoes became cold swimming pools, my pants drenched, my two layers of gloves soaked completely through, and my bandana so wet under my poncho hood it was making me colder. The trail began to thin out as people took refuge in the mountain huts. From our little group, the Canadians bowed out first. The Dutch and I continued up. Each mountain hut we passed became more and more enticing, though they consisted of noting more than a warm room with some mats on the floor (for $65 a stay, be it 5 minutes or 5 hours). Still, the only respite from the ascent were benches in the rain outside these huts. And we needed breaks. Unwilling to either shell out $65 or sit sivering in the rain, we took refuge in the heated bathroom beside the hut. Actually meant for the
people staying in the huts, we were of course kicked out before too long. At the next rest stop, I suggested we take our next break in the bathroom stalls (see picture) - they wouldn't (know to) kick us out of there I reasoned (actually, the next day someone told me she'd heard two guys dripping wet taking refuge in a couple of the stalls).
After the eight station, 90 minutes from the summit, my leg cramped up and my flashlight began to work intermittently, before failing altogether. I had little energy left, I was shivering too much and my lungs burned. I was worried about getting sick. I told the Dutch guys to go on ahead without me as I couldn't keep up with the. I planned to stop at the ninth station (the final one before the summit). But, as fate would have it, the nith station was closed when I finally got up there. Still, free to go on my pace, I felt a bit better, more so when the first brushstrokes of dark blue appeared in the cloudy horizon. Finally, the rain let up. The last hour was very hard: step step pause, step step
pause, ad infinitum. To boot, I was beginning to be passed by the people who'd climbed half the mountain the day before, slept in a hut, and were finishing it now that the rain let up. Still, there were a few cute moments. A Japanese woman and I kept passing each other as we each stopped for rests at different times, offering smiling encouragement as the other passed. There was also the girl who flew past me going the other way in single-minded determination to get to a hut (you should have seen the look on her face. If her own grandmother was in the way...). Finally, there was the two male travellers I proclaimed my love for when they informed me that there was hot food at the top.
Light continued to paint the sky as I neared the top (see pictures). When I finally got to the top, the sunrise was, well, exquisite, enhanced by the ooo's, ahhh's and bonzai! cries from the Japanese crowd. For the record, I just made it to the top for sunrise, about 8 hours after I left, grateful to Kelvin for pushing me on. At the top I enjoyed the aforementioned
hot food (udon and beef something). I also heard from local Japanese who had climbed the mountain 20 times, saying that was the worst storm they'd been up through. It was good to hear.
For the trip down, I roped together a new group of Japanese and an American from Philly. It was a rapid descent, hard on the knees and shins, as you spent as much time sliding on your feet as you do actively walking. The American girl being a bit of a downer, I enjoyed talking with the Japanese guy (who could speak English quite well) and his cheery wife (through translation). He told me the story of some idiots who decided to ride a log (? - lost in translation) down the mountain recently, killing themselves and some unforunate person in a mountain hut. You could see why it was tempting. With the volcanic mountain now in full light, I could see what I'd been climbing - essentially, a gigantic mound of rock and dirt, like a galactic scale anthill. There was clouds far below us and the air was warm but still thin. At the bottom, 13 hours after I left, 3 km total
of vertical distance up and down later, in the bright morning of the next day, we ran into a number of tourists walking on the level-trails. I stuck up my nose at them with pride.
p.s. I found my camera at the bottom, right were they said it would be. I also found nowhere to take a nap at the very busy 5th station. But I did find an onsen (a sort of Japanese spa centered around a hot spring bath), which I had all to myself.
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Judi
non-member comment
What an amazing adventure!
Hi Ash -- it's amazing to read about your experiences! Your climb of Mount Fuji sounds exhiliarating, challenging, and trying. I'm so impressed, and thank you for sharing your experiences. As for "Asher" moments, don't let anyone fool you -- some people just hide their moments better than others. I like ALL of your moments! You are really on an incredible adventure. Seems like as much as you will learn from being in all these places, you are likely to learn just as much about yourself. Take good care of my nephew -- he is a terrific guy. Enjoy yourself, and I look forward to reading your blog. Love, Judi