Peak Japan: Climbing Mount Fuji

There is a common saying about Japan's tallest mountain:

"A wise man climbs Fuji once. Only a fool climbs it twice."

There's another tradition that everyone should climb Mount Fuji at least once in their lifetime (perhaps with the intention to become wise, if there's any merit to the saying). Making the trek myself has always bee on my unofficial "bucket list" of things I wanted to do in Japan. Last year I scheduled days to attempt the climb -- twice! -- but was thwarted each time by inclement typhoons. This year, the climb was absolutely going to happen.

A few weeks before my own attempt, my coworker, Shaun, climbed Mount Fuji for the first time under the expert guidance of another coworker, Oscar. They made an incredibly entertaining and insightful podcast episode about the entire process (which you can listen to here). I took a lot of good advice from Shaun about what to pack for the climb, which Troy, his dad, and I were going to do overnight -- starting in the evening and continuing throughout the wee hours of the morning to arrive at Mount Fuji's peak in time for sunrise. There's even a Japanese word for this: goraiko.

Troy's dad had planned his trip to encompass two weekends, giving us two chances to make this climb. It was a good thing he did -- the first weekend, Typhoon Nari swept over the Shizuoka/Yamanashi prefectural area, scuppering our first plan. Take four, then, for the following weekend.

So on Friday, August 2, I packed up my bag -- Shaun had generously loaned me his hiking gear, which included a spiffy hiking bag, poles, a headlamp, a water pack with a hose extension, and a "good luck" can of oxygen -- and headed in to work early. After working, essentially, a full day, I then caught a bus from Shinjuku that took the three of us directly to Mount Fuji's 5th Station (2,300 meters/ 7,500 feet).

People begin their Fuji climbs from one of four trails -- Yoshida, Subashiri, Gotenba, and Fujinomiya. The Yoshida trail, which we were doing, is the most popular. More on the consequences of that later. After getting off the bus at the 5th Station, we finished layering up, grabbed a quick pork bun as a snack, and paid a semi-mandatory ¥1,000 conservation fee (for which we received a rather nice wooden charm that was then stamped with our date of departure, perfect for subtle bragging rights in the future).

And then, headlamps on and poles at the ready, we were off. At 8 p.m it was already pitch-black, and the only noise was our heavy breathing and the crunch of our booted feet on the loose gravel and ash on the trails. Although the first several hundred meters are deceptively flat, we then began a series of switchback trails up the mountain toward the 6th Station. It was like trying to climb an endless sand dune: Hard to get good purchase on the path, and you spent a lot of extra energy and calf effort just to propel yourself up. Not my favorite experience, though it did get a bit better once I figured out a good rhythm for my breath, footsteps, and poles.

We did pass some other climbers, both Japanese and not, though not many at the lower altitudes. Before long we came to the 6th Station and one of the first 14 "mountain huts," which are basically glorified one-story shacks on the side of the mountain that sell overpriced food and water, have pay-to-use porta-potties, and interior floor space for people who made reservations to sleep or exposed benches outside for the rest of us plebeians. We generally took a few minutes at each mountain hut to have some water, adjust straps, maybe nosh on a granola bar, and (at least in my case) marvel at the glorious, star-filled sky above.

I never remember how much I miss the stars in the city until I realize how many are invisible in all the light pollution.

As we climbed, flashes of far-off lightning flickered at the corners of our vision, though the weather on the mountain remained dry and cool. Fortunately none of us were experiencing any altitude sickness, a bit of good luck that continued throughout the trip. As we got higher, the rest areas outside the huts got progressively more crowded, and you could occasionally hear the sharp hsssssst of someone popping open a can of oxygen. We took a 30-ish minute cat nap outside Station ...7, I think, but as soon as you stop moving it gets quite cold and we soon pushed on.

Around 2 a.m. we reached the 9th Station, with sunrise -- scheduled for 4:43 a.m. -- still a ways away. We had wondered if there's be time to take a break, but one look at the endless bobbing trail of headlights leading up to the summit quickly convinced us that we needed to get into that queue immediately if we were to have any chance of making the peak for sunrise.

This is where the crowding of the Yoshida trail comes into play. Literally, for the last two hours, we were shuffling steps at a time up the mountain, constantly colliding with other hikers. At this point the trail was mostly uneven "steps" of warped volcanic rock: The perfect recipe for falling or twisting an ankle if you weren't careful. I can't say the constant threat of being shoved, unintentionally or otherwise, off my perch was terribly relaxing, and I spent a lot of the final hours in a state of constant tension. It didn't help that, as you got closer to the top, people kept stopping up the entire line to take pictures of the gradually lightening sky or that there were workers shouting at people to just "move forward and take any available space, go gogogogo!"

But we did it. With minutes to spare we reached the rim of the crater and ran to get a spot at the edge where we could sit and watch the sun break through the distant clouds.

As the sky lightened, I looked off to my left and saw an unbroken line of people still making their way up:

But we had made it! And for an hour or so we just sat at the rim, looking out over the vastness below us and generally just being exhausted.

Then it was time to explore the crater!

Not gonna lie...it's pretty barren. Feels a lot like how I imagined Mars would. We walked about 30 minutes around the crater, up one last punishing (mentally, if nothing else) incline, and then got in line to stand at Mount Fuji's actual highest point -- all 3,776 meters of it.

We are all holding cans of Asahi (which means "morning sun") beer, but I promise we didn't drink them until we got back down. 

Queen of the Mountain!

And then...when you just wish it was over...you have three grueling, grueling hours down seemingly endless exposed switchbacks of loose shale and ash. Utter murder on the knees and ankles. I literally had to snake my way down, periodically stopping to shake small rocks out of my shoes. You're covered in dust, which is blown back into your face from the people in front of you, and while I had remembered to put sunscreen on, I still ended up with a big burn on the back of my neck and on the backs of my hands. Never was I so happy to walk on a horizontal surface, and never was that last flat stretch -- so pleasant the night before -- so hellish.

Either way: Fuji climb achieved. Wisdom achieved? I'll get back to you on that...

For those of you who are interested in climbing Mount Fuji, you can read a comprehensive guide by the JT's own Oscar Boyd at https://features.japantimes.co.jp/climbing-mount-fuji/ .