Walking in the Clouds

---

Now for the main event: my ascent up Mt. Fuji. After enduring a day in which my nerves prevented me from eating much of anything, at 6:00 in the evening, my friend Lou and I climbed into the bus that would take us to our destiny. This was not a normal bus ride, but one that would take us half way up Fuji, before depositing us at the Fifth Station some 6,000 feet from the base. The wind was whipping around quite a bit, and we were grateful for the coats and gloves that we had the foresight to bring. There were several dozen people milling around, chatting, drinking beer, and generally waiting for the night to get a bit closer before beginning the climb. In the distance, I heard a man shouting that all climbers must have a walking stick, and I quickly obliged. I realized it was an intelligent decision when we began to climb the slippery slope.
Before heading off, we decided to have a quick meal of noodle soup. I did my best to finish off my bowl, fighting against my nerves because I knew the warmth was sorely needed.
The early going was fairly easy; there weren’t too many people yet, and I had lots of energy from sitting in trains and buses all day. We made our way to the 6th station, and then the new 7th station, and by then my adrenaline started to give out a bit. Lou, being the good friend that he is, unhesitatingly allowed for my frequent need to stop without few complaints. We hit the regular 7th station, and then I knew it was just a short distance more to the 8th station where there were places to sleep for a few hours.
Struggling up the last stretch, I collapsed into the 8th station at about 11:00. However, before we were granted a place to rest, we were gouged 50 bucks, a fairly steep price for a mattress and pillow, squished between people on either side. Needless to say, I didn’t sleep very well. In fact, I am not sure I slept at all. The clock hit 2:30, and all the lights turned on. We had to leave right then if were going to make it on top in time for the summit. The problem was I was a bit too well rested, and my body fought against me with every step up the mountain. At the ninth station, realizing that I wasn’t going to make it on time for the sunrise, my friend and I agreed to part ways. He headed straight up and made it in plenty of time. As for me, I soon felt better, and slowly but steadily made my way up to the summit. As luck would have it, on the final stretch, hundreds of people suddenly appeared and my progress was sharply curtailed. With the finish line in site, I grudgingly made my way up the final few hundred feet to the summit over the space of about an hour. I made it! I had climbed 6,000 feet, and I was 12,000 feet in the sky. The clouds, which I had walked through on the way up, were now beneath my feet. The wind swirled around the summit at dozens of miles an hour, and I shivered from the cold in the middle of July, but I was there. To commemorate the occasion, I visited the post office on the top of the mountain and sent my mom a postcard. Then, Lou and I climbed to the very highest point, a weather station established a long time ago before we began the punishing trip down the mountain. I fell more times than I care to count. The walking stick and me were obviously not in sync. At around noon, we finally made it to the bottom and collapsed on the bus that would take us back home. I don’t think I was ever so glad to have terra firma beneath my feet that didn’t angle sharply upward and downward. I have climbed the mystical mountain, so now I can go home, confident in the knowledge that I have summited Japan’s mightiest peak.

---