52 Fujis #9 – Mount Fuji

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#9 MOUNT FUJI GALLERY

At 3776 metres, Mount Fuji is pretty hard to miss from as far away as Tokyo. Way back in 2006, it was right in my backyard.

It’s even bigger close up. Especially when you’re trying to climb it.

The fun started at just past 7, at the fifth station on the Fujinomiya trail. Given the weather, climbing Fuji wasn’t the smartest idea. I figured though that because the fifth station itself was far above the rain clouds harassing the plains & the weather was supposed to be sunny the day after, I’d be fine and there was even a chance I would get a decent sunrise. That’s the only reason anyone climbs Fuji at night – to see the sunrise.

I’ve gone about two minutes before I have to stop, because I see a sign warning of something you shouldn’t do. Only, I’m not clear on that something. As I’m puzzling it out, a voice asks me in Japanese what the sign means, and I turn around to find a pair of bio-engineers from Singapore and America, who are here on a 3 month study holiday combo. They only have one light between them, and I’ll have to lend them clothes later on in the climb when the wind gets a bit much. I’m kind of grateful for the company. At least this way if I fall off the mountain, someone will be able to tell my loved ones where to find my body.

We make it to the sixth station in short shrift, and take a break there, where we discuss the menace of altitude sickness that I’m not entirely convinced is actually a big deal. We know we have stacks of time, so we agree to take as many breaks as we fancy, but we’re in high spirits. It’s not cold, there are no clouds, and we talk about the last eruption of Fuji, the one that formed the isosceles triangle of Hoeizan on our right as we continue up to the 7th station.

The 7th Station is actually the new 7th station, and is manned by the grumpiest man you have ever seen. We leave him to sulking and eat some of our rations on the benches outside. This all seems ridiculously simple so far.

The old 7th Station is where things start to become mountainous. Not so much the terrain – although that is hard going, especially in the dark – but the wind. The climb up here has been a taster of much worse to come – strong, bone chilling winds ripping across the mountain, that you can only pretend aren’t there.

Between the old 7th station and the 8th, I spend a lot of time wondering if I should turn back because I am really not feeling the winds. Really not feeling them. I talk myself into pushing on and I’m all back together again by the time we reach the 9th station, where we see a sign telling us we only have 90 minutes to the summit.

We take a long break at the 9th station, which appears closed. The stations offer a place to stay to climbers, but you usually have to book in advance. Most of the stations after grumpy man seemed closed, which wasn’t an issue, as I had no intention of staying anywhere. The problem was the complete lack of shelter anywhere on the mountain – we spent a lot of time huddling under rocks for shelter just off the trail. The winds got insane after the 8th station, and it got harder and harder to keep going. But I did.

My companions had a nice habit of powering off on ahead, while I took a couple of steps forward, got my breath, surveyed the ground for my next move, and took a couple of steps forward, got my breath – repeat ad nauseam. By the time we were only 30 minutes away from the top, they’d crashed under a landslide fence, bitterly cold, one of them a bit sick. We stopped the longest here – it was 3.30am before we got moving again, and things were tough. They did their powering on trick again, which I really didn’t mind, as I like my own company. But the cloud cover had gotten impenetrable, and the guide ropes vanished. I spent a frantic couple of minutes being able to only see a foot in any direction, trying to find the right path, all the while convinced I was going to slide down a huge invisible drop. I’m paranoid like that.

I reconvene with the bio-engineers taking another break, and give them the encouragement I need someone to give me. We stagger on for another fifteen minutes to the summit and the blue glow of dawn approaching – I’m so happy I made it I almost cry. The summit is a strange place, with (on the Fujinomiya side) a shrine as soon as you arrive. There’s a post box, and an observatory. I made my way round to the eastern side of the mountain so I could get the best view of the sunrise, my hands stinging from the cold. My gloves had gotten soaking from moisture in the air, and then frozen – every time I put my hand on something too heavily, it felt like I was getting an electric shock so I got rid of the gloves and settled for my pockets.

After the sunrise, which was magnificent despite not being completely visible, I found both my companions had fallen asleep, something I wasn’t capable of doing in the freezing wind. I left them to it, and walked around the crater to find a collection of rest areas, toilets, and shops. At the top of the highest mountain in Japan. Impressive.

At 5.30am I decide to go down the Subashiri path, which should take me down to Gotenba with few problems. My neck is aching from fatigue and my heavy bag, so I’m pleased that the path seems to be quite accommodating, even if it is made entirely of loose rocks. This means you slip and slide your way to the bottom. By the 7th station on the Subashiri path, I am no longer enamoured by the beautiful clouds and the mountains which poke their heads out of them. I just want to get home. The Japanese Army are out training on the mountain, which seems to involve racing one another down steep inclines of ash. It makes me more than a little self-conscious about my stop-start-stumble routine.

By the time I’m on the last leg of the trip to Subashiri, I just want to go to sleep, but I have to power downhill through ash. My knees are screaming after fifteen minutes, and of course, it’ll be an hour and a half before I actually get back to anything approaching civilization. Then another forty five minutes walking through a forest to get to the bus station, with countless signs everywhere proclaiming that it’s ‘just a bit further!’ when in fact, it is anything but.

What feels like an eternity later, a paved path appears: the beginning of the Subashiri trail, and there are lots of staff giving out mushroom tea (ugh) while screaming ‘otsukare sama desu!’ This is a phrase which has no direct corollary in English; you just say it to someone who has worked really hard at something. I sometimes see it in movies & anime translated as ‘Thank you for your effort’ but ‘nice one!’ might be a cooler colloquial translation. It really depends on the situation. One of the staff is eager to sell bus tickets, and to practice his English. I’m too tired to point out to him that I know where I need a bus to, and if he could just help me find the right bus I’d be happy. He lets me know the best way to get to my house, I pretend he is the most helpful man in the world, and hand him some cash.

I’m the only one on the bus, and I sleep. I get a seat on the train to Numazu, and I sleep.

I change at Numazu and I have to stand on the train back to Fuji City, where I find out I have to wait 30 minutes for a connection to my station. I get a taxi instead.

In the doorway of my beautiful apartment, I pull off my shoes to discover I have brought a bunch of ash home with me. And I have put holes in two pairs of socks. It’s been 21 hours since I left to climb that bloody mountain, so I forget all about it for the moment, fall into bed and sleep for 6 hours.

For quite a while afterwards, every single time I look up at the mountain I will think, “I’ve been up there.” If I’m being honest, it’s fourteen years later and I still find myself doing it every now and then.

Honestly, reviewing my notes from this climb, it’s a surprise I got to be old enough to think about how young and stupid I used to be. I was completely unfit, not to mention a smoker. I knew nothing about hiking, mountains or the great outdoors back then. I climbed Fuji with a whole lot of layers, a pair of leather boots, some jeans that I put tracksuit bottoms over the top of when it got cold and some extra bits from the hardware store.

I often wonder what the climb would be like nowadays, since I almost know what I’m doing now. Maybe next year.

FUJIS LEFT AT THE END OF JULY 26th, 2006 : 50/59