Fujisan

3776 meters. Japan’s tallest mountain. Tall enough to make breathing difficult. Tall enough for altitude sickness to be a concern. We were going to conquer this beast. We would stand atop of Japan.

The typical way to climb Fuji is to start at the fifth station and spend the night at the 8^th or 9^th. Then to wake up in the middle of the night in order to reach the summit by sunrise. As the book I have about hiking in Japan phrased it, “To see one symbol of Japan from atop another symbol of Japan.” This was the plan.

Originally, we had assembled a decent sized group for this adventure. However, as the level of challenge and the high probability of bad weather set in, people began dropping out one by one (or rather two by two it seemed), until by Thursday night it was down to just Colin and me. Unfavorable weather was practically a guarantee at this point. But we were determined. This was our only chance to climb Fuji and we would bring lots of warm clothing and rain gear and take precautions and hope for the best.

We went down to Tokyo on Friday night and took a bus to Fuji 5^th station on Saturday morning. The weather was looking to be on our side. It was overcast but not too cold. Saturday’s climb was surprisingly short. We made it to the 8^th station in slightly over 3 hours, and that included many stops to rest and catch our breath. At this point we were over 3000 meters and we could see above the clouds.

We ate an early dinner at the mountain hut and were in bed by 7 pm. Slightly before 1 am, most people in the hut woke up for the pre-dawn trek to the peak. Laying in our sleeping bags, we could hear the wind howling and occasionally when the wind died down, we could hear the rain falling. Colin and I looked at each other with some hesitation, but decided that we had come all this way and we would brave the storm.

Thus, we got up, got dressed an insane number of layers, exchanged a hug for good luck and stepped outside. With flashlights and headlamps we bared down against the elements and began the slow ascent of the last 600 meters or so. On and on we walked in the darkness, eventually the predawn light was enough that we could see a bit around us. However, the clouds were so thick that we would often lose each other in the mist. Eventually, it grew overwhelming. Approximately 5 minutes away from the summit, drenched to the bone, upon finding out that there would be no place for rest or a warm drink at the top, and seeing that there was no sunrise to be seen, I turned us around. I figured without anything to see, we were close enough.

On the walk back down, we stopped in a mountain hut to rest. From the altitude, the weather, the exertion, Colin had become somewhat ill and didn’t want to go on. We decided to stay there and nap. It was 5:30 am when we got to the hut, and approximately noon when we put our mostly wet clothes back on and headed out into the howling wind again.

The descent took much longer than I thought it would, partially because we walked very slowly, partially because we walked down the ascending route. We returned just in time to catch the last bus back to Tokyo. And much later, still somewhat wet and exhausted, we safely made it home.

There’s a Japanese expression “He who climbs Fuji once is a wise man. He who climbs Fuji twice is a fool”. This gets thrown around a lot. And after this weekend, I finally understand it. I’m glad that I went on this hike. However, it was not exactly a pleasant hiking experience (well, Saturday was, but it was greatly overshadowed by Sundays misfortunes). And I think I’d probably be a damn fool if I were to do it again.