Mount Fuji - Part II
Preface: This Fuji post is absurdly long, so I decided to separate the details and descriptions of my experience into a separate post (see below, Part II) with a short summary in my last post (see the previous post, "Climbing Mount Fuji"). I essentially recorded these memories in order to preserve them for personal reasons, but then decided to make them public in the slight chance anyone out there really does want to know more about what the hike is really like (in full detail) or about my personal experience. This is all you would want to know about climbing Fuji and more, however, so I would recommend skipping over this post if you are short on time, and just read “Climbing Mount Fuji”.
For those of you who decide to continue, please enjoy and hope this is helpful if you ever decide to “do Fuji” (or Fuji-san, in Japanese)!
Preparation
I spent much of last week researching our options for how to get to the mountain and what we needed when we got there. The best resource I found, though, was probably the collection of important warnings and good advice* from my friend Chris, who told me all about his Fuji climb the weekend before and went through his packing list and pictures with me.
For those of you who decide to continue, please enjoy and hope this is helpful if you ever decide to “do Fuji” (or Fuji-san, in Japanese)!
Preparation
I spent much of last week researching our options for how to get to the mountain and what we needed when we got there. The best resource I found, though, was probably the collection of important warnings and good advice* from my friend Chris, who told me all about his Fuji climb the weekend before and went through his packing list and pictures with me.
As you know, we had already planned this trip once, too, so I had already gotten a little info under my belt. By the time we picked the new travel dates for the trip, we had already established we were going to go with a tour company, mostly because it is cheapest and easiest option for getting there**. So, my first thought was - of course - to use the same tour company from last time and simply have them transfer the payment (that they still owed me) to the new weekend. After the last tour company cancelled our Fuji trip due to the typhoon red-alerts two weeks ago, they told me it would take a MONTH to refund the money we had paid because they were issuing so many refunds (something "I just had to accept and be patient with"...oh, the rarely seen bad-side of service in Japan). Unfortunately, the plan didn't go as smoothly as I would have liked...they were all booked for when we wanted to go.... as were three other tour companies Takiko helped me call. When we finally found a 2-day tour package out of Umeda (Osaka, instead of Kobe this time) through a different company, we took it right away. The one good thing that came out of calling all the tour companies was that we harassed the one I originally booked from so much that they somehow found a way to make it possible to refund my money a whole 3 weeks earlier (so we could use it for the next tourgroup we were booking from). The dates worked better than last time for my neighbor Miwa, too, so she decided to join Kelly, Lena and I on the adventure.
The Sojourn Begins
I spent Friday packing everything I needed, running errands, and spending time with Jane in between (Friday was our last day as neighbors - she’ll be in Osaka for the next month before moving to London...sad!!). Based on previous experiences (remember Denver, Kat?!), I didn’t trust myself to get up on time to make the train, so I spent the night at Kelly’s house. I probably didn't get to her house until around midnight, but we made sure we were packed and ready to go before getting to bed. Fuji really is a big mountain and the hike should be taken seriously, but it really felt like we were getting ready for a vacation to Thailand or something with all of the preparation and excitement leading up to the weekend trip.
Kelly woke me up around 3:30am, just before my alarm, and we breakfast before walking to the Harimacho Sanyo station to get a cab to Higashi-Futami Station (in time for the first train of the day at 5:03 am). We changed to the JR line once we hit Akashi and met Lena on the Rapid. The trip to Osaka
was short. When we got there, we followed the map and instructions to our tour's meeting point, near Umeda station, where we also met-up with our 4th group member, Miwa. When we checked in, they assigned us to bus #2 (of 3 packed buses) and we were off. It wouldn't be a true Asian tour if the guide doesn't talk loudly into a microphone for most of the beginning of the trip; we were welcomed and given tips from our guide, but I didn't understand all of it. Our tour guide, Kuzuya, was pretty young (23 years old) but he seemed nice. He warned us on the bus that it was important to be rested, and that someone on the last trip who refused to sleep threw up 4 times because he was so frail by the top of the mountain. Ugly mental images of being sick on a mountain inspired us to take the advice and we slept most of the time. The ride from Osaka to Fuji took a total of 7 hours with three short rest-stop breaks. I got in into one little fight on the bus***, but otherwise, the ride was peaceful and it was a treat to stop in Nagano for lunch, with it’s cascading, green, and mountainous landscape.
The Fifth Station
The bus dropped us off at the 5th station on Mount Fuji around 1:30pm, with a 2,305m head-start up the mountain. There are two main trails that lead to the summit on Fuji, broken up by “stations” (or groupings of small buildings where you can get your hiking stick branded, rent a bunk to rest on, and buy some really expensive food or drinks). Station 5 is the main starting point for the treck to the summit, however, so it was pretty packed with tourists, including excited hikers ready to go (like us), and
those exhausted beings, covered in mud, who had just made their way back down.
The Sojourn Begins
I spent Friday packing everything I needed, running errands, and spending time with Jane in between (Friday was our last day as neighbors - she’ll be in Osaka for the next month before moving to London...sad!!). Based on previous experiences (remember Denver, Kat?!), I didn’t trust myself to get up on time to make the train, so I spent the night at Kelly’s house. I probably didn't get to her house until around midnight, but we made sure we were packed and ready to go before getting to bed. Fuji really is a big mountain and the hike should be taken seriously, but it really felt like we were getting ready for a vacation to Thailand or something with all of the preparation and excitement leading up to the weekend trip.
Kelly woke me up around 3:30am, just before my alarm, and we breakfast before walking to the Harimacho Sanyo station to get a cab to Higashi-Futami Station (in time for the first train of the day at 5:03 am). We changed to the JR line once we hit Akashi and met Lena on the Rapid. The trip to Osaka
was short. When we got there, we followed the map and instructions to our tour's meeting point, near Umeda station, where we also met-up with our 4th group member, Miwa. When we checked in, they assigned us to bus #2 (of 3 packed buses) and we were off. It wouldn't be a true Asian tour if the guide doesn't talk loudly into a microphone for most of the beginning of the trip; we were welcomed and given tips from our guide, but I didn't understand all of it. Our tour guide, Kuzuya, was pretty young (23 years old) but he seemed nice. He warned us on the bus that it was important to be rested, and that someone on the last trip who refused to sleep threw up 4 times because he was so frail by the top of the mountain. Ugly mental images of being sick on a mountain inspired us to take the advice and we slept most of the time. The ride from Osaka to Fuji took a total of 7 hours with three short rest-stop breaks. I got in into one little fight on the bus***, but otherwise, the ride was peaceful and it was a treat to stop in Nagano for lunch, with it’s cascading, green, and mountainous landscape.The Fifth Station
The bus dropped us off at the 5th station on Mount Fuji around 1:30pm, with a 2,305m head-start up the mountain. There are two main trails that lead to the summit on Fuji, broken up by “stations” (or groupings of small buildings where you can get your hiking stick branded, rent a bunk to rest on, and buy some really expensive food or drinks). Station 5 is the main starting point for the treck to the summit, however, so it was pretty packed with tourists, including excited hikers ready to go (like us), and
those exhausted beings, covered in mud, who had just made their way back down. After looking around and stretching out after the long bus ride, we changed into our hiking clothes in a large tatami room. We had lunch in one of the cheateus before putting all the unnecessary baggage on the bus and meeting the group to meet our trail guide. THe guide briefed us on some rules and information about the hike before setting off. He told us that we would be taking the Kawaguchikoguchi Trail Route, with a different descending route, and warned us to stay together, and always behind him. The guide was probably in his 50s or 60s, but he had a charming, wise and commanding air about him that made me trust him.
We started the hike around 5pm. The first bit of the trail went fast, as we walked in to
two single-file lines. We walked along a dirt path and through some beautiful forrested areas. The four of us stayed at the back of the group so we could stop to take pictures of the sunset and colorful sky. It was unfortunately too cloudy to get a clear vision of the mountain chain surrounding Fuji, however, scenery I didn't realize was even there until after returning home and looking at a friend's Fuji pictures (we both took pictures in the same spot near Station 6, but the background in his almost looked like a different hike all-together). The lights from the cities below flickered on in waves, as two separate firework shows (probably from local festivals) went off in the distance. The moon shone so big and bright before us that it felt like we could almost reach out and touch it.
The Sixth Station
It was not long before we reached the 6th station (2,390m), a small building flanked with port-a-potties on one side and a flat lookout point over the cliff. We were given a few minutes to stop adn rest, as the guide took roll for the first time (“Ma-Ki-Ni-Sa-Ma?!”) before continuing. Our path was still a smooth stretch of mud, stones and gravel, winding back and forth up the slowly-increasing slope. Still staying towards the back of the moving line of people,
we saw a man from our tour having trouble walking (his grandson was supporting him) about 30 minutes after leaving the 6th station. Kelly selflessly offered him her walking stick, saying he needed it more than her, while she bounced up the hill to the music on my iPod Shuffle. As it grew darker, the lights of the next stations beamed down at us from the top of the hill. The original plan on the tour itinerary was to stop at the 8th station to sleep for a few hours, and I was sure it had to be the furthermost hut we could see. It’s bright lights glared down at us. I would soon learn, however, that the 7th Station actually consists of 8 huts, and this was only the highest of the group (getting to the 8th staton would take a while).
We started the hike around 5pm. The first bit of the trail went fast, as we walked in to
two single-file lines. We walked along a dirt path and through some beautiful forrested areas. The four of us stayed at the back of the group so we could stop to take pictures of the sunset and colorful sky. It was unfortunately too cloudy to get a clear vision of the mountain chain surrounding Fuji, however, scenery I didn't realize was even there until after returning home and looking at a friend's Fuji pictures (we both took pictures in the same spot near Station 6, but the background in his almost looked like a different hike all-together). The lights from the cities below flickered on in waves, as two separate firework shows (probably from local festivals) went off in the distance. The moon shone so big and bright before us that it felt like we could almost reach out and touch it.The Sixth Station
It was not long before we reached the 6th station (2,390m), a small building flanked with port-a-potties on one side and a flat lookout point over the cliff. We were given a few minutes to stop adn rest, as the guide took roll for the first time (“Ma-Ki-Ni-Sa-Ma?!”) before continuing. Our path was still a smooth stretch of mud, stones and gravel, winding back and forth up the slowly-increasing slope. Still staying towards the back of the moving line of people,
we saw a man from our tour having trouble walking (his grandson was supporting him) about 30 minutes after leaving the 6th station. Kelly selflessly offered him her walking stick, saying he needed it more than her, while she bounced up the hill to the music on my iPod Shuffle. As it grew darker, the lights of the next stations beamed down at us from the top of the hill. The original plan on the tour itinerary was to stop at the 8th station to sleep for a few hours, and I was sure it had to be the furthermost hut we could see. It’s bright lights glared down at us. I would soon learn, however, that the 7th Station actually consists of 8 huts, and this was only the highest of the group (getting to the 8th staton would take a while). After about an hour, we reached the start of the 7th Station. Lena and I had our hiking sticks branded at two of the huts (the second hut branded an emblem of Fuji, reading 2,740 meters - my favorite!). We watched the man who did the first branding make the symbol on our sticks using a long, branding iron (like they use on cows), that he pulled out of the hot coals also being used to heat a large, copper kettle hanging from the ceiling (presumably used for heating water). The scene was identical to what we would witness when receiving our four other “hanko”, or stamps/brandings, on our sticks; the man crouched next to the coals with a long branding iron adn a large copper kettle hanging from above.
By the time we made it to the Toriiso Hut, the 7th hut in the 7th station (or the one I had previously incorrectly guessed to be the 8th hut), we were realizing how hard this hike was
going to be. The 2L bottle of water in my bag was feeling heavier and heavier, and the location of the tour groups behind us could now be tracked by the rows of head lamps slowly moving up, up, up the mountainside. The terrain was getting rougher, too, with more large boulders (that you literally had to climb up - I ripped my Capri pants on one), and hordes of tourists who were starting to cause stop-and-go foot-traffic.
By the time we made it to the Toriiso Hut, the 7th hut in the 7th station (or the one I had previously incorrectly guessed to be the 8th hut), we were realizing how hard this hike was
going to be. The 2L bottle of water in my bag was feeling heavier and heavier, and the location of the tour groups behind us could now be tracked by the rows of head lamps slowly moving up, up, up the mountainside. The terrain was getting rougher, too, with more large boulders (that you literally had to climb up - I ripped my Capri pants on one), and hordes of tourists who were starting to cause stop-and-go foot-traffic. The restrooms were another issue. I had stopped for the toilet twice already, paying 100Yen for each time, but I thought it was better to keep hydrated than avoid the fee. The toilets were like the ones in Thailand, western-style with no flush (you had to use a hose to squirt water down the drain). There were signs all over the stalls that all used toilet paper should be put in the cardboard boxes next to the toilet, too, rather than throwing down the toilet itself. I guess it makes sense that they wouldn’t have good plumbing 2/3-way up a volcano, but it was pretty gross to see a box of used toilet paper next to you and it made the bathrooms smell awful. In Japan, it is also common for mens' restroom doors to stay open; you can usually clearly see the urinals from outside (not kidding). I previously thought this was a bit funny. It seemed a bit less shocking, however, whem I was waiting in line for the co-ed bathrooms on Fuji and men literally just walked up and pulled down their zippers to use the urinals, right next to the women standing in line for the stalls. It made me wonder whether or not dehydration would really be that bad if I meant I didn't have to go to the bathroom so much.
The Seventh Station
The next stretch was maybe just under 100 meters, where we reached the Toyokan Hut, the last in the 7th station chain. Our guide told us this is where we would be “spending the night”. After everyone had been led into a large room and had finished fighting for space on the tatami floor, we were handed wrapped bentos (box-lunches) with white rice and seaweed. We were told not to eat them; that they would be our breakfast at the summit. The women on the tour were then told to form a line, and we were escorted to the back room where we would be sleeping (“spending the night” equated to about 45 minutes of rest). Kelly and Lena both had to go to the bathroom, so Miwa and I were supposed to save them spots next to us, as we joined the line and Kelly and Lena headed outside. In the back room, we walked down a thin passageway with two "bunks" on either side, really just large wooden planks that you see when college or frat kids try to make their own bunks
or a second floor (kind of like the ski boys’ room in Rand during my freshman year). The Japanese man leading us motioned for Miwa and I to climb up the furthest little, metal ladder on the left. Rows of bodies were already laying on the top loft to our right and straight ahead, the soles of their feet facing us. We crawled upthe ladder, saying we were four and arranging our space , really realizing just how small it was. The man told us to move over even further, and Miwa said two of the people still weren’t there and that we were saving the spots. That didn't go over very well; the man told us flatly that we couldn't save any space and that we should move over. I had to go to the bathroom again, so I left my luggage behind with Miwa and went to find the girls, who were sitting in the tatami room alone, waiting for us. They were now lining boys into the sleeping room and had just told Kelly and Lena that there wouldn't be enough room for them to sleep there. I felt really bad, but there wasn't much I could do and I already had a spot, but the girls were pretty mad. They decided to just wait out the time in the tatami room, so I went back to my place in the back sleeping room and 
squeezed in between the stranger to my left and Miwa to my right. We each had a small, bean-filled pillow that smelled of dust. I tried to sleep on my back (arms crossed over my chest, vampire-style), but both of the women on either side of me where completely touching both sides of my body and Miwa and I were sharing a blanket. They place was seriously CRAMPED!
The Seventh Station
The next stretch was maybe just under 100 meters, where we reached the Toyokan Hut, the last in the 7th station chain. Our guide told us this is where we would be “spending the night”. After everyone had been led into a large room and had finished fighting for space on the tatami floor, we were handed wrapped bentos (box-lunches) with white rice and seaweed. We were told not to eat them; that they would be our breakfast at the summit. The women on the tour were then told to form a line, and we were escorted to the back room where we would be sleeping (“spending the night” equated to about 45 minutes of rest). Kelly and Lena both had to go to the bathroom, so Miwa and I were supposed to save them spots next to us, as we joined the line and Kelly and Lena headed outside. In the back room, we walked down a thin passageway with two "bunks" on either side, really just large wooden planks that you see when college or frat kids try to make their own bunks
or a second floor (kind of like the ski boys’ room in Rand during my freshman year). The Japanese man leading us motioned for Miwa and I to climb up the furthest little, metal ladder on the left. Rows of bodies were already laying on the top loft to our right and straight ahead, the soles of their feet facing us. We crawled upthe ladder, saying we were four and arranging our space , really realizing just how small it was. The man told us to move over even further, and Miwa said two of the people still weren’t there and that we were saving the spots. That didn't go over very well; the man told us flatly that we couldn't save any space and that we should move over. I had to go to the bathroom again, so I left my luggage behind with Miwa and went to find the girls, who were sitting in the tatami room alone, waiting for us. They were now lining boys into the sleeping room and had just told Kelly and Lena that there wouldn't be enough room for them to sleep there. I felt really bad, but there wasn't much I could do and I already had a spot, but the girls were pretty mad. They decided to just wait out the time in the tatami room, so I went back to my place in the back sleeping room and 
squeezed in between the stranger to my left and Miwa to my right. We each had a small, bean-filled pillow that smelled of dust. I tried to sleep on my back (arms crossed over my chest, vampire-style), but both of the women on either side of me where completely touching both sides of my body and Miwa and I were sharing a blanket. They place was seriously CRAMPED! I tried to take a picture of the conditions, but it didn't work without the flash and I didn’t want to wake anyone up. I contemplated not writing this, because I know this next bit can come across as offensive or seem disrespectful (which I don’t mean it to be), but the closest comparison I could conjure up when looking at the rows people across from me was the sleeping bunks in Nazi concentration camps (or a movie about the conditions on slave ships); just person after person crammed in as tight a space as possible. It was definitely different than anything I have experienced or think I would in America, and I was surprised to later learn that other cabins are the same. Especially considering a night at the cabins cost between $30 and $50 per guest; we did pass other huts with futons that looked much better, though!
After the "rest", our tour group re-assembled in the tatami room, donned our heaviest layers, and took roll call again. We headed out just after 11pm.
After the "rest", our tour group re-assembled in the tatami room, donned our heaviest layers, and took roll call again. We headed out just after 11pm.
I was following the other group members, but I had to stop for a minute when we got outside. The view was amazing! I just spent a minute taking in the scene from above, a million stars twinkling and waving at me, while the Big Dipper (北斗七星）seemed so close that it could have reached down and scooped me up to the top of the mountain. I can see stars from Akashi, but it has been a while since I have seen a full night’s sky, and I really appreciated the minutes I could spare, drinking-in the beauty and brilliance of the view. As I was about to depart and join the group, I noticed one more thing: a white pillar to my right. It was the marker of an International Peace Site! There is one at Concordia Langauge Villages, just outside the gates at the Norwegian camp I worked at (in Bemidji, MN), and another at the Japanese-style Peace Gardens near Lake Calhoun (in Minneapolis). It made me smile with nastalgia and pride, as I continued on my way with warm thoughts providing a little extra fuel in each step.
On the Way to the Eighth Station
The next stretch of the trail was probably one of the the hardest of the whole trip. Kelly twisted her ankle after about half-an-hour and her flashlight ran out of batteries (it was pitch black now, the trail only visible by the hundreds of flashlights and headlamps from the other climbers). I am not sure what happened to Miwa and Lena's flashlights, but my headlamp was now pretty much the only light we had for the 4 of us. We tried to stick together, but it was so crowded and there were a lot of boulders, so you had to really manuvuer and pay attention to where you were going. The guide warned us not to hold on to the metal chains on the sides of the path because if someone fell, you could go down with them, but there would occasionally be a metal rod sticking out of a stone with no chain that I could use to hoist myself up. Lena and I went at about the same pace, trying to take shortcuts around the crowd (literally called “sheep” if you read guides about doing the climb during the tourist season), but we would wait every couple minutes for Kelly and Miwa to catch up before moving on.
The next stretch of the trail was probably one of the the hardest of the whole trip. Kelly twisted her ankle after about half-an-hour and her flashlight ran out of batteries (it was pitch black now, the trail only visible by the hundreds of flashlights and headlamps from the other climbers). I am not sure what happened to Miwa and Lena's flashlights, but my headlamp was now pretty much the only light we had for the 4 of us. We tried to stick together, but it was so crowded and there were a lot of boulders, so you had to really manuvuer and pay attention to where you were going. The guide warned us not to hold on to the metal chains on the sides of the path because if someone fell, you could go down with them, but there would occasionally be a metal rod sticking out of a stone with no chain that I could use to hoist myself up. Lena and I went at about the same pace, trying to take shortcuts around the crowd (literally called “sheep” if you read guides about doing the climb during the tourist season), but we would wait every couple minutes for Kelly and Miwa to catch up before moving on.
The 8th station (3,100m) consists of 4 small huts together. We arrived at the first of the 8th station huts, Lena and I got our stamps and then followed the guide’s orders to sit to the side so we could take roll again. We found a rocky area to settle on and I pulled out my pack, going through a good amount of dried mango and almonds to get more energy. It was getting really cold. I was wearing a scarf, hat and gloves, but the bitter wind and cold temperatures seared through the thin cotton gloves, so that my fingers were numb and I didn’t want to stop for too long****. Kelly’s ankle was getting pretty bad at this point, too, but she also hadn’t eaten much or slept, so she didn’t want to take any medicine for it. Given the situation, we all decided it would be a good idea for her and Miwa to get a head start on the group so they could take more time getting up the next hill (probably the largest station-to-station climb), and that we would meet them. Well, Lena and I realized soon after the other two were gone that the reason we were doing roll call at the first 8th station hut was because the guide was going to lead us on a short-cut, up a different trail (the main one now so crowded that it seemed more like a stand-still line to the ladies room, rather than a path to the summit of a mountain. Lena and I sort of panicked for a second when we realized Kelly and Miwa were too far ahead for us to call to them and they would expect us to meet them, but we decided to tell Kazuya (the younger tour guide in charge of our bus) what had happened and ask for advice. It turned out that the shortcut led to the same station we were going to meet the girls at, so Lena and I parted from the rest of the tour (with permission), finding Kelly, Miwa, and the rest of the group waiting for us when we reached the top. Guess it was a good shortcut!
When we left the station hut this time, the guide led the entire group (having learned our lesson) up another short-cut, the smoother but zigzagged "descending route" of the Kawaguchikoguchi Climbing Trail . Again, there were no lights on the trail and we could no longer see the lights from the stations below from our position, literally in the clouds. The four of us stayed at the back of the group like we had in the beginning, Kelly moving slower and slower as the air grew thinner and her asthema flared. When we stopped at the next resting point, outside of the Fujisan Hotel (3,360m), the guide told us that we needed to move faster (despite the fact that the group was moving quite slow). I think that was the final blow.
When we left the station hut this time, the guide led the entire group (having learned our lesson) up another short-cut, the smoother but zigzagged "descending route" of the Kawaguchikoguchi Climbing Trail . Again, there were no lights on the trail and we could no longer see the lights from the stations below from our position, literally in the clouds. The four of us stayed at the back of the group like we had in the beginning, Kelly moving slower and slower as the air grew thinner and her asthema flared. When we stopped at the next resting point, outside of the Fujisan Hotel (3,360m), the guide told us that we needed to move faster (despite the fact that the group was moving quite slow). I think that was the final blow.
Above us, we could now see lights in the distance that we could only assume they meant the summit was getting close, but it was too late. Kelly was already struggling between the pain of her ankle and the shortage of breath. Hurrying just wasn't an option. With emotional acknowledgement of her condition and realizing her energy (that she also needed for the trip down) was quickly depleting, Kelly decided that she could not make the rest of the climb. We all stood with her for a moment before parting ways, Kelly heading in one direction to the hotel (to discover a sleeping situation similar to what Miwa and I had previously encountered), while the remaining three women in our group went the other way, resuming the ascent up the final stretch to try to catch-up with our group. I later realized that we were standing at "the 8th Edoya", just below the large torii (Shinto gate), ironically close to the the top, at the time.
Trouble at the Top and the Last Stretch
We never actually went through the official ninth station (around 3,400m), but I saw it’s lights shining on the "regular path" in the distance, a steady and slow-moving river of headlamps, as croweds of fellow hikers made their way to the top. We left Kelly at 3:15am, and were all really feeling the burn of exhaustion from climbing for the last 8 hours; not to mention the 7 hours on the bus prior to that. Being stubborn, however, we continued on. In hindsight, I would say the fact that we had come so far, even though we still had over 300 meters to go and less than 2 hours until sunrise, gave us the motivation to push on. Under different conditions, I probably would have thrown in the towel at this point. The others in our tour group had gone on, leaving us with only my headlamp in the heavy fog; it was impossible to see more than 5 feet in front of you. I was leaning heavily on my walking stick now, not talking to Lena or Miwa, using all my strength to propel my body forward with each turn of the path. While we weren’t talking, we did do frequent checks to make sure we were all present and OK("Lena? Hai! Miwa? Hai!"). Then, somehow, Lena and I were separated with Miwa. We could hear her yelling to us, asking us to stop and wait, but I didn’t think I could stop at that point and get back up; my body was moving so slow, crippling under it’s own enormous weight and the air was too thin. Lena was the same. I looked over and saw her using her hiking stick like an oar, slowly pulling up her whole body and moving it forward with each stroke, both hands gripping the handle tightly. We were dizzy, but we had to keep going. To check-in and so she could hear my voice, I yelled back to Miwa, doing sound-location checks over and over again, until suddenly, I was screaming her name but she wasn’t responding. Despite ourselves, we stopped. I was worried. I could now only see the fog in the beam of light in front of me, but Miwa didn't have a flashlight at all and was alone. There were cliffs close to teh turn of each zigzag, but I tried to avoid thinking bad thoughts. I looked around and realized it wasn't just Miwa that had disappeared; I couldn’t see lights anywhere, only an outline of Lena in the darkness and fog everywhere. It reminded me of a Japanese mountain version of the Blair Witch Project: being in the middle of nowhere, not being able to see, and screaming for someone you know is out there somewhere with getting a repsonse. We waited a few more minutes, before deciding Miwa was probably fine and that we needed to keep going. Our time was running out and we still had a slim chance of seeing the sunrise if we moved.
Trouble at the Top and the Last Stretch
We never actually went through the official ninth station (around 3,400m), but I saw it’s lights shining on the "regular path" in the distance, a steady and slow-moving river of headlamps, as croweds of fellow hikers made their way to the top. We left Kelly at 3:15am, and were all really feeling the burn of exhaustion from climbing for the last 8 hours; not to mention the 7 hours on the bus prior to that. Being stubborn, however, we continued on. In hindsight, I would say the fact that we had come so far, even though we still had over 300 meters to go and less than 2 hours until sunrise, gave us the motivation to push on. Under different conditions, I probably would have thrown in the towel at this point. The others in our tour group had gone on, leaving us with only my headlamp in the heavy fog; it was impossible to see more than 5 feet in front of you. I was leaning heavily on my walking stick now, not talking to Lena or Miwa, using all my strength to propel my body forward with each turn of the path. While we weren’t talking, we did do frequent checks to make sure we were all present and OK("Lena? Hai! Miwa? Hai!"). Then, somehow, Lena and I were separated with Miwa. We could hear her yelling to us, asking us to stop and wait, but I didn’t think I could stop at that point and get back up; my body was moving so slow, crippling under it’s own enormous weight and the air was too thin. Lena was the same. I looked over and saw her using her hiking stick like an oar, slowly pulling up her whole body and moving it forward with each stroke, both hands gripping the handle tightly. We were dizzy, but we had to keep going. To check-in and so she could hear my voice, I yelled back to Miwa, doing sound-location checks over and over again, until suddenly, I was screaming her name but she wasn’t responding. Despite ourselves, we stopped. I was worried. I could now only see the fog in the beam of light in front of me, but Miwa didn't have a flashlight at all and was alone. There were cliffs close to teh turn of each zigzag, but I tried to avoid thinking bad thoughts. I looked around and realized it wasn't just Miwa that had disappeared; I couldn’t see lights anywhere, only an outline of Lena in the darkness and fog everywhere. It reminded me of a Japanese mountain version of the Blair Witch Project: being in the middle of nowhere, not being able to see, and screaming for someone you know is out there somewhere with getting a repsonse. We waited a few more minutes, before deciding Miwa was probably fine and that we needed to keep going. Our time was running out and we still had a slim chance of seeing the sunrise if we moved.
I remember Lena making some comment while we were standing there about how great it would be if we could just “dissaparate” to the top and that she knew how Harry must have felt when his scar seared (joke for all you Harry Potter fans out there - actually a pretty good analogy, though). We later confessed we were both thinking the same thing at the time: that we wouldn’t recommend this hike to anyone. That maybe it wasn’t worth it after all. But then again, that was only until we reached the top...
In the thick of the roughest patch of our journey, as Lena and I accepted that we were not going to find Miwa and that we needed to keep going if we wanted to make it to the top for the sunrise (or at all), we propelled ourselves forward. With our heads down and using all our energy, we marched past other tour groups, none of which seemed to be our own, and moved on steadily. At one point, I thought I saw the yellow ribbon tied to the pack of one hiker (our group’s sign in case a bag or person got lost), but I couldn’t be sure and their pace was slower than ours, so we kept going past them. I was still dizzy and not able to walk straight. All I could see was the red-colored ground that was now gaining pigment as the sun came closer and closer. Even as the fog lifted slightly and we emerged above the thick layer of clouds, it was still difficult to see in front of you, however. I continued to conceptrate on the ground. We traveled higher and higher, the sky growing lighter. At this point, Lena and I realized we weren’t going to make it*****. Defying the impulse to accept our defeat, however, Lena and I continued, mumbling about how the sunrise was going to be beautiful anyways and agreeing to share a tank of oxygen when we reached the top.
And then, suddenly... we saw a cabin! The sky was now turning a misty cobalt blue color, the sun closing in. We stopped another hiker that was resting on the side if that was the top. He told us it was. It was the top! WE HAD MADE IT! In the middle of the glory, reality came crashing back down on us as Lena and I looked around and realized the upward-sloped path continued further. We asked the same hiker where it led and the man explained that it was another 15 minutes or so to the very top, to the summit, or crater. At those words and with an outburst of surprising adreneline and excitement, Lena and I were jumping up and down, screaming and hugging each other. And then, we were off.
Exhilarating Achievement and the Final Stamp
Lena and I grabbed each others' hands and pulled each other forward as we somehow summoned the strength to run the last stretch of rusty red-colored path. The first thing I noticed as we reached the final point was the open, flat area (still covered by a misty, cloudy haze) and drastic change in landscape compared to the steep inclining hill we had been staring at for half a day. Now able to look a
round and see without the headlamps, I noticed garbage strewn about, from the flat area we were on down onto the sides of the steep hill that disappeared beneath the thick clouds ******. The sun was not up yet, but it was getting light enough to see around, and I suddenly realized how many other climbers were also present. Glansing down the mountain's side, I could see the brightly covered rivers of windebreakers and winter hats that belonged to the hundreds of our fellow hiking companions, flowing upstream. It was almost 5am, and the descending route was already facing a large crowd of hikers who had reached the top, but had little faith that the brilliance of the sunrise on such a cloudy day would be worth staying for and were already
going back down. How could you work that hard for so long and not stay for a few more minutes? They probably wanted to beat the crowds, but it reminded me a lot of those people who skip out of movies early to beat the parking lot traffic, only to miss the hidden scenes that they sometimes include mid-credits (or surprising twist at the end of the movie). Anyways, it turned out that the sunrise was ironically beautiful and it's a shame all those people lacked the patience to wait for it.
In the thick of the roughest patch of our journey, as Lena and I accepted that we were not going to find Miwa and that we needed to keep going if we wanted to make it to the top for the sunrise (or at all), we propelled ourselves forward. With our heads down and using all our energy, we marched past other tour groups, none of which seemed to be our own, and moved on steadily. At one point, I thought I saw the yellow ribbon tied to the pack of one hiker (our group’s sign in case a bag or person got lost), but I couldn’t be sure and their pace was slower than ours, so we kept going past them. I was still dizzy and not able to walk straight. All I could see was the red-colored ground that was now gaining pigment as the sun came closer and closer. Even as the fog lifted slightly and we emerged above the thick layer of clouds, it was still difficult to see in front of you, however. I continued to conceptrate on the ground. We traveled higher and higher, the sky growing lighter. At this point, Lena and I realized we weren’t going to make it*****. Defying the impulse to accept our defeat, however, Lena and I continued, mumbling about how the sunrise was going to be beautiful anyways and agreeing to share a tank of oxygen when we reached the top.
And then, suddenly... we saw a cabin! The sky was now turning a misty cobalt blue color, the sun closing in. We stopped another hiker that was resting on the side if that was the top. He told us it was. It was the top! WE HAD MADE IT! In the middle of the glory, reality came crashing back down on us as Lena and I looked around and realized the upward-sloped path continued further. We asked the same hiker where it led and the man explained that it was another 15 minutes or so to the very top, to the summit, or crater. At those words and with an outburst of surprising adreneline and excitement, Lena and I were jumping up and down, screaming and hugging each other. And then, we were off.
Exhilarating Achievement and the Final Stamp
Lena and I grabbed each others' hands and pulled each other forward as we somehow summoned the strength to run the last stretch of rusty red-colored path. The first thing I noticed as we reached the final point was the open, flat area (still covered by a misty, cloudy haze) and drastic change in landscape compared to the steep inclining hill we had been staring at for half a day. Now able to look a
round and see without the headlamps, I noticed garbage strewn about, from the flat area we were on down onto the sides of the steep hill that disappeared beneath the thick clouds ******. The sun was not up yet, but it was getting light enough to see around, and I suddenly realized how many other climbers were also present. Glansing down the mountain's side, I could see the brightly covered rivers of windebreakers and winter hats that belonged to the hundreds of our fellow hiking companions, flowing upstream. It was almost 5am, and the descending route was already facing a large crowd of hikers who had reached the top, but had little faith that the brilliance of the sunrise on such a cloudy day would be worth staying for and were already
going back down. How could you work that hard for so long and not stay for a few more minutes? They probably wanted to beat the crowds, but it reminded me a lot of those people who skip out of movies early to beat the parking lot traffic, only to miss the hidden scenes that they sometimes include mid-credits (or surprising twist at the end of the movie). Anyways, it turned out that the sunrise was ironically beautiful and it's a shame all those people lacked the patience to wait for it. My breathing was getting better, and my body was starting to adjust better to the altitude. I noticed that, while most people looked between 20 and 45 years-old and were Japanese, there were a lot more older people than I expected and absolutely no children. Come to think of it, I actually didn't see a single child above the 5th Station, which is probably a good thing. I think that course is way too intense for children.
From where we stood on the summit, we could see a path straight ahead, veering to the right, which I guessed was the circular path aroun
d the crater, but we had not looked into or seen the actually "hole". Cloudswere drifting in and out of the area, temporarily blocking our view of the scene. I knew we were close, though. We moved carefully forward, knowing there was a slightly possibility of stumbling towards (or into) the crater if we weren't paying attention (the same way there are cliffs just beyond the marked path on the way up the mountain that you can fall down if you're not careful - the "hole" actually is a big drop-off).
From where we stood on the summit, we could see a path straight ahead, veering to the right, which I guessed was the circular path aroun
d the crater, but we had not looked into or seen the actually "hole". Cloudswere drifting in and out of the area, temporarily blocking our view of the scene. I knew we were close, though. We moved carefully forward, knowing there was a slightly possibility of stumbling towards (or into) the crater if we weren't paying attention (the same way there are cliffs just beyond the marked path on the way up the mountain that you can fall down if you're not careful - the "hole" actually is a big drop-off). We wanted a better look of the area we were in, so Lena and I climbed up the large, black boulder we were standing next to (which looked like a giant pumice stone). When we reached the top, the ground was covered with molten pebbles, like rusty red an
d black rubies. In front of us stood one small and one slightly larger wooden torii (Shinto gate) , with coins jammed into the worn, wooden sides (a religious tradition meant for wishes). We both took out coins and shoved them into the thin grooves, saying a wish to ourselves*******. And then I turned around and saw it: the crater.
d black rubies. In front of us stood one small and one slightly larger wooden torii (Shinto gate) , with coins jammed into the worn, wooden sides (a religious tradition meant for wishes). We both took out coins and shoved them into the thin grooves, saying a wish to ourselves*******. And then I turned around and saw it: the crater. It really was just a big hole or valley in the middle of the volcano, and definately didn't go as deep as I expected. The inside was mostly black with streaks of white on the sides (that I thought was snow at first). The clouds were rushing in and out of the crater, blocking visibilily too frequently to get good pictures just yet, so we took some pictures with the torii and decided to explore.
Lena and I walked around for a bit, taking pictures with the signs I had made ("Hi Mom & Dad... I'm on Fuji", "We Love Perez", etc) and then settled on a rock where we could rest for a minute and eat the box lunches we had been given as breakfast. I had to go to the bathroom again, so Lena agreed to wait and watch our bags as I went over to the small block of buildings (the final - or 10th - station), passing hordes of hikers that had just reached the top and a tall, stone marker, marking proof of the location in carved kanji, on my way.
The 10th station is a much-celebrated collection of probably 5 or 6 little buildings and a shrine that were constructed largely using wood, tin-siding and the molten rocks as bricks. It reminded me of a Hobbit village the first time I saw it, actually. When I arrived at the first little hut, the building with the only bathroom, a long line stood waiting for me. I followed the people waiting for what seemed like forever (literally elbowed my way back at least half the length of a football field) and took a place at the end of the ridiculously long line. Who knows how long I was standing there, but as I came closer to the front, I suddenly caught sight of Miwa, who was wandering around in the crowd and looking distressed. I motioned to get her attention and she came over, having just reached the top. She was excited to have made it, but was really worried about having lost the rest of the tour 
group. After I agreed that we wouldn't spend too much time looking around and would head back soon, she sat on a nearby rock and waited for me to use the restroom. I finally got inside the building with the restrooms and was waiting at the front of the line, I kept my head down as an embarassingly rude American, about my age, was yelled at the payment window guard. He was only a few people behind me. Basically, the guy was refusing to pay the 200 Yen fee to use the facilities, mocking the guard, and very loudly and bluntly insulting the Japanese culture. I had had about enough of his yelling and was ready to jump to try to help diffuse the situation (maybe by translating or something, especially since the non-English speaking staff was being so polite and the American was screaming insults at them. Before I could intervene, however, the guy stormed off, yelling back to the window that he was going to "pee on their walls and sh**t 
on their streets for trying to cheat him!" I hate to say it, but he probably did just that. Fuji is known for having human fecese left shortly off the path. Despite that, sometimes I just think my country needs to work on it's global marketing. Geez.
After I had used the restroom, I rejoined Miwa and we found Lena. She was still sitting on the same rock with the bags, shivering and requested that we move around for a bit; it was too cold to stay in one spot. The three of us walked around the crater area for a few minutes, but Miwa was getting more nervous about finding the tour group. We had been warned the descent takes 4 hours and our bus would leave at 10am, with or without us, so she wanted to start the trip down. Lena and I agreed, but decided to
go get our hiking stick branded with the final stamp before we left. We walked over to the station area and were told to go to the shrine. We found the branding station and shrine at the far end of the crowded buildings.
After waiting in line and paying, two monks hammered the final symbol into my stick with a large hammer, steel symbol and wax. The final stamp itself cost me 500 Yen (about $4.50), but it was worth it, considering what it represented (and they gave me a small prayer tolken and brochure in addition). I looked at my hiking stick, which was now lined with branded memories of the last 12-hours of toil and sweat, feeling a great sense of accomplishment creeping over me. And what an excellent souvineir! I tried to get extra brochures for Miwa and Kelly before leaving the shrine, but the monks wouldn't let me take more than one. I guess if you want one, you have to make the trip yourself
(or maybe pay an extra 500 Yen... but I didn't ask).
As we emerged from the shrine and through the crowds, more large groups of people were forming towards the edge of the outlook in front of us, as soft whispers and astonished "ahhs" burst from the crowd and grew louder and fuller, excitement mounting as the sun finally crept out from underneath its cloudy, cushioned hiding place. The view was spectacular! Warm, golden rays of light bounced off of the pure white clouds below us. It was 5:55am. I could have stood there watching the sun for hours, but Miwa was practically pulling Lena and I back to the path at this point, and we really did need to go. We snapped pictures as we walked back towards the path, taking in the view and trying not to run anyone else in the dense crowd over. We took one last look at the crater area once we got to the opening and away from the dense crowds, and then, we were off again; gingerly starting the descent on the same path I had almost passed out on just two hours earlier.
The Road Home Again
The trip down moved much faster than the trip up. We were tired, but we now had the bright light of the early morning sun to guide us through the thinning-fog and clouds, while our bodies were better adjusted to the atmosphere and thin air. We met up with our tour group, resting on the side of the dirt path, after about 30 minutes after leaving the summit. They guide asked us if we were OK and if we made it; he seemed relieved by our appearance.
Within another 20 minutes, we had made it back down to the large stone torii and to the hotel where we had parted ways with Kelly earlier in the morning. The guide went to get her, but she was not happy when she came out, having experienced some sexual harassment from the men in the hut (others who didn't make it up the final stretch) and a terrible sleeping situation (similar to the one we encountered during the 7th Station "resting" stop). Looking up from the hotel, we could now clearly see the summit from where we stood, not believing how difficult that final stretch had been and how close Kelly had come. Under normal situations (flat terrain and normal oxygen levels), I could run it under 
20 minutes, but the final hike had taken Lena and I a flurried 2 hours to complete.
When it was time to move again, the guide told our group that we could pass him and descend down the mountain at our own pace, but that we all had to start at the same time. I noticed he now had a bandana wrapped around the lower part of his face in a triangle-shape (like a cowboy), and I would soon learn why; the wind and dust was unbearable on the way down. The descent definately takes less time (a third of the time you spend going up, actually), but it does require a lot of energy and it should be noted that there really, seriously, are no restrooms on the way back down. The path itself (if it can be called a path), is covered with heavy, red-tinted sand and rocks (I picked up a couple blue ones and some small black, pumice stones as souvineirs). The crowds walking around us were less dense than the day before, but there were still too many people for comfort. In addition, someone would fall every few minutes, so predictably in fact, that it wasn't
even worth betting on. I went down a few times early on, then Miwa, then Kelly and then Lena. I swear Kelly jinxed me at one point, saying I would fall next, and of course, I went down. I was doing alright for a while, digging the heels of my New Balance tennies into the thick sand and supporting each step with the guidance of the walking stick, but I suddenly just slid backwards, catching the fall with the palm of my hand as I hit the ground. It wasn't painful, but when I assed the damage of the fall, I found I got a little rock stuck in the palm of my hand. I tore the rock out and rinsed the cut off with water. After continuing for a few minutes more, I looked down at my hand again and realized the surface of my palm was covered in blood (it looked worse than it was), so we all stopped to search for a bandaid. Otherwise, we didn't stop at all.
The End
When we finally hit the only weather shelter on the trail (an open, empty brick building) and could no longer see the peak, we looked down and could make out the 6th station below us. It seemed close, but it took another 45 minutes to reach it from where the shelter stood, going back and forth along the zigzagged path, now concentrating on nothing but getting back. It was about this time and the reality and exhaustion from the previous day hit us hard. None of us were talking, but rather charged forward, aggressively digging the white, rubber heels of our tennies shoes into the dark soil. Heads down, minds focused. When we finally reached the 6th Station hut (around the place we had first seen the festival of the night before), we relished in the satisfaction that we were making progress and didn't have far on the way back. The path is covered with heavy,
to go. We passed the hills, overlooking the towns (probably only just awakening after the festivals the night before) and went through the forest (which I had found so enchanting the first time, with large twisted boughs and overgrown roots venturing out over our path once). My body was getting too heavy to appreciate as much on the way back, though; my nearly-empty pack weighing me down. I was still wearing the extra clothing I had packed, and my water and food supply was pretty much depleted. We passed a stand with horse rides (to take you to the end) for rent, and when we hit a cobblestone path, I thought we were there. Just to make sure, I stopped a passing family of tourists and asked them how far it was to the 5th station. To my dismay, we still had just under a mile to go. It could have been 20 miles for how that made me feel. Just then, rain drops started to fall on our heads. I put on my rainjacket, but no longer cared about my hair or gear; I had now been hiking down this beast of a mountain for over three hours and wanted to be done. I wanted to get off the mountain as soon as possible.
When we finally reached the 5th station (our final destination), Lena and I
(Kelly and Miwa were still behind us on the trail) went into the first public building we could find so we could use the bathroom (a steal at only 50 Yen per person). I took off some of my wet clothes and cleaned up a bit, feeling completely exhausted and barely able to walk (it was actually a good thing I still had the walking stick). We then went to the designated meeting spot to meet the rest of the group, but we discovered the bus was late. To kill time, I went to the giftshop and bought small Fuji-shaped cakes as souvineirs for my coworkers (giving omiyage, or gifts, is a tradition in Japan - you are expected to do it whenever traveling). By the time the bus arrived an hour later, we were wet, felt crushed by the crowda of tired tourists trying to get out of the heavy rain, and were seriously ready to leave. The bus had apparently gotten stuck in traffic, but I was so barely fully conscious anymore; I hardly cared about anything once I sat down on the bus.
Cleaning Up at the Onsen
The people in front of me put their seats back again, but I was too tired to care or argue this time (although I didn't dare close the curtain, knowing I wouldn't get it open again...). Luckily, our tour package included a trip to an onsen , or hot springs, perfect for relaxing, rejeuvinating, and washing off the grime after the long hike. Shizuoka is actually famous for hot springs (especially the "rustic",
outdoor ones), which makes sense considering it's also famous for a huge volcano. When we pulled up at the onsen, we realized immediately that it would be packed. Our tour had three buses full of people in itself, and we were joined by two other tour groups. Because of all the people, we had to wait in line for the showers (for probably 30 minutes (nude), and the baths were packed, but washing off the sweat and fatigue felt good. After cleaning off in the shower (you need to be completely clean before you get in the bath), I soaked in an outdoor pool for a few minutes. Feeling more refreshed, we all changed into clean clothing and grabbed dinner before getting back on the bus.
I read my book for most of the way back to Osaka, drifting in and out of sleep and getting out a few times to stretch at highway reststops. We made brief stops in Kyoto and Namba (a district of Osaka) to drop people off before reaching our final destination, Osaka's Umeda Station. As the bus screeched to a halt, people patiently waited for each other to disembark (probably too tired to clamor over anyone), and within 15 minutes, we had our luggage, the bus was gone, and we were boarding a train back to Akashi. And less than 48 hours after we had left home, it was over.
Reflections...
I said it in my last post (you know, the short, manageable one about Fuji) that the hike was harder than expected, but I really do think this climb was the most physically challenging experience of my life (even moreso than the Marathon in March!). I have always enjoyed jogging and trained for the marathon for a long time, even narrowing down my timing down to the minute to have a better idea of what to expect, and by the end of the marathon (only 5 hours, compared to the 17 sleepless hours in constant motion on Fuji), I was in robo-mode and felt like I could run forever. The lack of that kind of prep, paires with the shortage of oxygen on Fuji and possibly getting altitude sickness, made the experience more trying for me.
Don't let me scare you off, though. Climbing a mountain as big as Fuji is a serious thing and should be treated as such... but it's a lot of fun and worth doing once. I did really enjoy bouldering, when I could, I have always wanted to look into the crater of a volcano, for some weird, personal reason, I consider Fuji essential to my Japanese exerience (it IS a symbol of this country!), and Fuji wasn't a bad way to (coincidentally) commemorate my first full year here. So while I will warn (again) that the hike is a challenge, I recommend it!
Thanks for sticking through this... that's all until the next adventure, folks.
*Chris was right about the route being difficult. At the same time, I really shouldn’t complain. Before there were modern trails and roads (although rugged as they are), it took a full three days to make it to the summit of Mount Fuji. The volcano has been dormant for 199 years, but (the Japanese version of) ancient Buddhist belief states that the mountain was home to the great Kami-sama, or Gods. Therefore, the mountain acted as a gateway between the heavens of the Gods and earth (and karma could be earned by making a pilgrimage to the summit). I have seen pilgrimages many times in Japan (especially on Mount Koya and Mount Shosha), but only recognized one person with the characteristic triangle-shaped hat and walking stick. He was, however, not wearing white or with any other pilgrims (and everyone had walking sticks), so I think the hat was just for show or possibly from a previous pilgrimage and being used just for the sun protection.
**During "traditional holiday seasons” in Japan (summer, winter & spring), there is a train deal called the juhachi seishun kippu, where you can have 5 days unlimited travel on Japan Rail (JR) trains for only about $120 total. The only catch is that the fastest train you can take with the ticket is the Special Rapid. When going to Shizuoka Prefecture (where Fuji is), the train would take over 9 hours and does not go at night. The S.Rapid does not go north of Nagoya (about half-way), so the second leg of the trip would be on local trains. Our original plan was to use this ticket, but after realizing how much time it would take (as well as all of the additional, smaller costs that were covered by a tour that we hadn’t thought of), we decided the train deal wasn’t worth it.
***The "bus brawl" (well, more of a situation) started when the people in front of us put their chairs all the way down – the only people on the bus to do so – and I literally didn’t have enough room to sit straight forward without my knees jammed into the seat in front of me (and I’m not that tall), let alone the fact that I obviously couldn’t use the pocket on the back of my seat. What really made me mad, however, was that the woman and I shared a window curtain, which fasted (open) next to me, but met the next curtain, next to her. The woman (in her 20s) held the curtain closed (by leaning against it) so that I couldn’t pull on it for the entire ride. Given that we were driving through Nagano and the heart of Japan, I was really intent on taking in the scenery and this was an unnecessary and rude annoyance. When she wanted to look out the window, the woman would open the other curtain next to her, still holding mine shut. I had to lift up the curtain and hold it to look outside. She did it on the way back, too, especially when she say Fuji for the first time and started jumping up and down in her seat. I was offended by how rude she was with the seats and curtains and not impressed by the fact that she went hiking with more make-up on than I see on most girls wear at the clubs. Let’s just say we weren’t great friends by the end. The real issue, however, was when the old man behind me told me (harshly and in Japanese, thinking that I couldn’t understand) to, “keep the damn window shut. Seriously.” I turned around, gave him a look and bellowed, “seriously” back at him in Kansai dialect. Then I turned back around, sitting forward, and said, “How rude!” in Japanese. I saw a few heads turn to look at me in surprise, and that was the last time he or anyone else said anything to me on the bus.
****Temperatures are about 10 degrees Celsius cooler (about 18-20 degrees Farenheit) – can be as much as 20C at the top (36-40F).
*****If you are familar with dance beats (8-counts), we were taking a step about every 4th count (and 1, 2, 3, step... and 1, 2, 3, step).
******When you go to Kyoto, it is not unrealistic to visit five UNESCO World Heritage Sites in one day. Japan has a lot of designated world heritage sites. Much to the surprise of many people I have talked to, however, Fuji is not one of them. There has been an effort to get the mountain registered since 1994, but so far it has been denied due to the massive amounts of pollutions (basically garbage and –literally – human waste strewn about the trails). They call it a “pack-in, pack-out” system. Seems ironic that some department or ministry wouldn’t offer helping with providing garbage bins for this area, which in many ways, is viewed as a symbol of the country.
*******I just read a quote about wishes from one of my favorite authors that reminded me of the torii: “Few people know so clearly what they want. Most people can't even think what to hope for when they throw a penny in a fountain.” - Barbara Kingsolver. Is that true? I kind of feel selfish when I make wishes, because I feel like I always have too much to wish for, but end up wishing for something I really want. All winter, all of my prayers and wishes focused on finishing the marathon, for example. At the same time, all you really have to do is look at a newspaper to realize there is a lot of opportunity for change in the world. I can hardly fathom others seeing the same and not feeling compelled to want to wish for others’ betterment if they had nothing personal in mind.
on their streets for trying to cheat him!" I hate to say it, but he probably did just that. Fuji is known for having human fecese left shortly off the path. Despite that, sometimes I just think my country needs to work on it's global marketing. Geez.After I had used the restroom, I rejoined Miwa and we found Lena. She was still sitting on the same rock with the bags, shivering and requested that we move around for a bit; it was too cold to stay in one spot. The three of us walked around the crater area for a few minutes, but Miwa was getting more nervous about finding the tour group. We had been warned the descent takes 4 hours and our bus would leave at 10am, with or without us, so she wanted to start the trip down. Lena and I agreed, but decided to
go get our hiking stick branded with the final stamp before we left. We walked over to the station area and were told to go to the shrine. We found the branding station and shrine at the far end of the crowded buildings.After waiting in line and paying, two monks hammered the final symbol into my stick with a large hammer, steel symbol and wax. The final stamp itself cost me 500 Yen (about $4.50), but it was worth it, considering what it represented (and they gave me a small prayer tolken and brochure in addition). I looked at my hiking stick, which was now lined with branded memories of the last 12-hours of toil and sweat, feeling a great sense of accomplishment creeping over me. And what an excellent souvineir! I tried to get extra brochures for Miwa and Kelly before leaving the shrine, but the monks wouldn't let me take more than one. I guess if you want one, you have to make the trip yourself
(or maybe pay an extra 500 Yen... but I didn't ask). As we emerged from the shrine and through the crowds, more large groups of people were forming towards the edge of the outlook in front of us, as soft whispers and astonished "ahhs" burst from the crowd and grew louder and fuller, excitement mounting as the sun finally crept out from underneath its cloudy, cushioned hiding place. The view was spectacular! Warm, golden rays of light bounced off of the pure white clouds below us. It was 5:55am. I could have stood there watching the sun for hours, but Miwa was practically pulling Lena and I back to the path at this point, and we really did need to go. We snapped pictures as we walked back towards the path, taking in the view and trying not to run anyone else in the dense crowd over. We took one last look at the crater area once we got to the opening and away from the dense crowds, and then, we were off again; gingerly starting the descent on the same path I had almost passed out on just two hours earlier.
The Road Home Again
The trip down moved much faster than the trip up. We were tired, but we now had the bright light of the early morning sun to guide us through the thinning-fog and clouds, while our bodies were better adjusted to the atmosphere and thin air. We met up with our tour group, resting on the side of the dirt path, after about 30 minutes after leaving the summit. They guide asked us if we were OK and if we made it; he seemed relieved by our appearance.
Within another 20 minutes, we had made it back down to the large stone torii and to the hotel where we had parted ways with Kelly earlier in the morning. The guide went to get her, but she was not happy when she came out, having experienced some sexual harassment from the men in the hut (others who didn't make it up the final stretch) and a terrible sleeping situation (similar to the one we encountered during the 7th Station "resting" stop). Looking up from the hotel, we could now clearly see the summit from where we stood, not believing how difficult that final stretch had been and how close Kelly had come. Under normal situations (flat terrain and normal oxygen levels), I could run it under 
20 minutes, but the final hike had taken Lena and I a flurried 2 hours to complete. When it was time to move again, the guide told our group that we could pass him and descend down the mountain at our own pace, but that we all had to start at the same time. I noticed he now had a bandana wrapped around the lower part of his face in a triangle-shape (like a cowboy), and I would soon learn why; the wind and dust was unbearable on the way down. The descent definately takes less time (a third of the time you spend going up, actually), but it does require a lot of energy and it should be noted that there really, seriously, are no restrooms on the way back down. The path itself (if it can be called a path), is covered with heavy, red-tinted sand and rocks (I picked up a couple blue ones and some small black, pumice stones as souvineirs). The crowds walking around us were less dense than the day before, but there were still too many people for comfort. In addition, someone would fall every few minutes, so predictably in fact, that it wasn't
even worth betting on. I went down a few times early on, then Miwa, then Kelly and then Lena. I swear Kelly jinxed me at one point, saying I would fall next, and of course, I went down. I was doing alright for a while, digging the heels of my New Balance tennies into the thick sand and supporting each step with the guidance of the walking stick, but I suddenly just slid backwards, catching the fall with the palm of my hand as I hit the ground. It wasn't painful, but when I assed the damage of the fall, I found I got a little rock stuck in the palm of my hand. I tore the rock out and rinsed the cut off with water. After continuing for a few minutes more, I looked down at my hand again and realized the surface of my palm was covered in blood (it looked worse than it was), so we all stopped to search for a bandaid. Otherwise, we didn't stop at all.The End
When we finally hit the only weather shelter on the trail (an open, empty brick building) and could no longer see the peak, we looked down and could make out the 6th station below us. It seemed close, but it took another 45 minutes to reach it from where the shelter stood, going back and forth along the zigzagged path, now concentrating on nothing but getting back. It was about this time and the reality and exhaustion from the previous day hit us hard. None of us were talking, but rather charged forward, aggressively digging the white, rubber heels of our tennies shoes into the dark soil. Heads down, minds focused. When we finally reached the 6th Station hut (around the place we had first seen the festival of the night before), we relished in the satisfaction that we were making progress and didn't have far on the way back. The path is covered with heavy,
to go. We passed the hills, overlooking the towns (probably only just awakening after the festivals the night before) and went through the forest (which I had found so enchanting the first time, with large twisted boughs and overgrown roots venturing out over our path once). My body was getting too heavy to appreciate as much on the way back, though; my nearly-empty pack weighing me down. I was still wearing the extra clothing I had packed, and my water and food supply was pretty much depleted. We passed a stand with horse rides (to take you to the end) for rent, and when we hit a cobblestone path, I thought we were there. Just to make sure, I stopped a passing family of tourists and asked them how far it was to the 5th station. To my dismay, we still had just under a mile to go. It could have been 20 miles for how that made me feel. Just then, rain drops started to fall on our heads. I put on my rainjacket, but no longer cared about my hair or gear; I had now been hiking down this beast of a mountain for over three hours and wanted to be done. I wanted to get off the mountain as soon as possible.When we finally reached the 5th station (our final destination), Lena and I
(Kelly and Miwa were still behind us on the trail) went into the first public building we could find so we could use the bathroom (a steal at only 50 Yen per person). I took off some of my wet clothes and cleaned up a bit, feeling completely exhausted and barely able to walk (it was actually a good thing I still had the walking stick). We then went to the designated meeting spot to meet the rest of the group, but we discovered the bus was late. To kill time, I went to the giftshop and bought small Fuji-shaped cakes as souvineirs for my coworkers (giving omiyage, or gifts, is a tradition in Japan - you are expected to do it whenever traveling). By the time the bus arrived an hour later, we were wet, felt crushed by the crowda of tired tourists trying to get out of the heavy rain, and were seriously ready to leave. The bus had apparently gotten stuck in traffic, but I was so barely fully conscious anymore; I hardly cared about anything once I sat down on the bus.Cleaning Up at the Onsen
The people in front of me put their seats back again, but I was too tired to care or argue this time (although I didn't dare close the curtain, knowing I wouldn't get it open again...). Luckily, our tour package included a trip to an onsen , or hot springs, perfect for relaxing, rejeuvinating, and washing off the grime after the long hike. Shizuoka is actually famous for hot springs (especially the "rustic",
outdoor ones), which makes sense considering it's also famous for a huge volcano. When we pulled up at the onsen, we realized immediately that it would be packed. Our tour had three buses full of people in itself, and we were joined by two other tour groups. Because of all the people, we had to wait in line for the showers (for probably 30 minutes (nude), and the baths were packed, but washing off the sweat and fatigue felt good. After cleaning off in the shower (you need to be completely clean before you get in the bath), I soaked in an outdoor pool for a few minutes. Feeling more refreshed, we all changed into clean clothing and grabbed dinner before getting back on the bus.I read my book for most of the way back to Osaka, drifting in and out of sleep and getting out a few times to stretch at highway reststops. We made brief stops in Kyoto and Namba (a district of Osaka) to drop people off before reaching our final destination, Osaka's Umeda Station. As the bus screeched to a halt, people patiently waited for each other to disembark (probably too tired to clamor over anyone), and within 15 minutes, we had our luggage, the bus was gone, and we were boarding a train back to Akashi. And less than 48 hours after we had left home, it was over.
Reflections...
I said it in my last post (you know, the short, manageable one about Fuji) that the hike was harder than expected, but I really do think this climb was the most physically challenging experience of my life (even moreso than the Marathon in March!). I have always enjoyed jogging and trained for the marathon for a long time, even narrowing down my timing down to the minute to have a better idea of what to expect, and by the end of the marathon (only 5 hours, compared to the 17 sleepless hours in constant motion on Fuji), I was in robo-mode and felt like I could run forever. The lack of that kind of prep, paires with the shortage of oxygen on Fuji and possibly getting altitude sickness, made the experience more trying for me.
Don't let me scare you off, though. Climbing a mountain as big as Fuji is a serious thing and should be treated as such... but it's a lot of fun and worth doing once. I did really enjoy bouldering, when I could, I have always wanted to look into the crater of a volcano, for some weird, personal reason, I consider Fuji essential to my Japanese exerience (it IS a symbol of this country!), and Fuji wasn't a bad way to (coincidentally) commemorate my first full year here. So while I will warn (again) that the hike is a challenge, I recommend it!
Thanks for sticking through this... that's all until the next adventure, folks.
*Chris was right about the route being difficult. At the same time, I really shouldn’t complain. Before there were modern trails and roads (although rugged as they are), it took a full three days to make it to the summit of Mount Fuji. The volcano has been dormant for 199 years, but (the Japanese version of) ancient Buddhist belief states that the mountain was home to the great Kami-sama, or Gods. Therefore, the mountain acted as a gateway between the heavens of the Gods and earth (and karma could be earned by making a pilgrimage to the summit). I have seen pilgrimages many times in Japan (especially on Mount Koya and Mount Shosha), but only recognized one person with the characteristic triangle-shaped hat and walking stick. He was, however, not wearing white or with any other pilgrims (and everyone had walking sticks), so I think the hat was just for show or possibly from a previous pilgrimage and being used just for the sun protection.
**During "traditional holiday seasons” in Japan (summer, winter & spring), there is a train deal called the juhachi seishun kippu, where you can have 5 days unlimited travel on Japan Rail (JR) trains for only about $120 total. The only catch is that the fastest train you can take with the ticket is the Special Rapid. When going to Shizuoka Prefecture (where Fuji is), the train would take over 9 hours and does not go at night. The S.Rapid does not go north of Nagoya (about half-way), so the second leg of the trip would be on local trains. Our original plan was to use this ticket, but after realizing how much time it would take (as well as all of the additional, smaller costs that were covered by a tour that we hadn’t thought of), we decided the train deal wasn’t worth it.
***The "bus brawl" (well, more of a situation) started when the people in front of us put their chairs all the way down – the only people on the bus to do so – and I literally didn’t have enough room to sit straight forward without my knees jammed into the seat in front of me (and I’m not that tall), let alone the fact that I obviously couldn’t use the pocket on the back of my seat. What really made me mad, however, was that the woman and I shared a window curtain, which fasted (open) next to me, but met the next curtain, next to her. The woman (in her 20s) held the curtain closed (by leaning against it) so that I couldn’t pull on it for the entire ride. Given that we were driving through Nagano and the heart of Japan, I was really intent on taking in the scenery and this was an unnecessary and rude annoyance. When she wanted to look out the window, the woman would open the other curtain next to her, still holding mine shut. I had to lift up the curtain and hold it to look outside. She did it on the way back, too, especially when she say Fuji for the first time and started jumping up and down in her seat. I was offended by how rude she was with the seats and curtains and not impressed by the fact that she went hiking with more make-up on than I see on most girls wear at the clubs. Let’s just say we weren’t great friends by the end. The real issue, however, was when the old man behind me told me (harshly and in Japanese, thinking that I couldn’t understand) to, “keep the damn window shut. Seriously.” I turned around, gave him a look and bellowed, “seriously” back at him in Kansai dialect. Then I turned back around, sitting forward, and said, “How rude!” in Japanese. I saw a few heads turn to look at me in surprise, and that was the last time he or anyone else said anything to me on the bus.
****Temperatures are about 10 degrees Celsius cooler (about 18-20 degrees Farenheit) – can be as much as 20C at the top (36-40F).
*****If you are familar with dance beats (8-counts), we were taking a step about every 4th count (and 1, 2, 3, step... and 1, 2, 3, step).
******When you go to Kyoto, it is not unrealistic to visit five UNESCO World Heritage Sites in one day. Japan has a lot of designated world heritage sites. Much to the surprise of many people I have talked to, however, Fuji is not one of them. There has been an effort to get the mountain registered since 1994, but so far it has been denied due to the massive amounts of pollutions (basically garbage and –literally – human waste strewn about the trails). They call it a “pack-in, pack-out” system. Seems ironic that some department or ministry wouldn’t offer helping with providing garbage bins for this area, which in many ways, is viewed as a symbol of the country.
*******I just read a quote about wishes from one of my favorite authors that reminded me of the torii: “Few people know so clearly what they want. Most people can't even think what to hope for when they throw a penny in a fountain.” - Barbara Kingsolver. Is that true? I kind of feel selfish when I make wishes, because I feel like I always have too much to wish for, but end up wishing for something I really want. All winter, all of my prayers and wishes focused on finishing the marathon, for example. At the same time, all you really have to do is look at a newspaper to realize there is a lot of opportunity for change in the world. I can hardly fathom others seeing the same and not feeling compelled to want to wish for others’ betterment if they had nothing personal in mind.
Last but not least: Here are the essentials:
- Layered clothing (was glad I had Dryfit & consider long underwear)
- A waterproof flashlight or headlamp with batteries (the headlamp was ESSENTIAL)
- Hiking boots recommended, but we packed sturdy, comfortable, broken-in tennis shoes
- Plastic bags (for garbage)
- Thick Socks (brought 2 pairs and was glad I did!)
- Gloves (would recommend ski gloves – my fingers were numb with the cotton ones)
- A warm hat that covers your ears
- A scarf (would also recommend a handkerchief for protection from dust on the descent)
- Raingear (brought a poncho; saw people with full suits)
- A good jacket (like the shell of a ski jacket – I had my NF windbreaker and layers)
- A comfortable backpack to hold everything (used my North Face from college)
- Small heat packets (called hokairo in Japan) for the top – had some left from winter
- Toilet paper (brought some packets of the kleenex they give out as advertisements here)
- Basic first-aid stuff (you WILL fall on the way down, I needed bandaids)
- Snacks (lots of sugar and carbs – brought a lot of Soyjoy and dried fruit)
- At least one packed meal (ex: inarizushi, or tofu-wrapped sweet rice)
- Water & energy drinks (it was HEAVY at first, but I used all of it)
- Sunglasses
- Money
- Hiking Stick (it’s the best investment you will make & a great souvenir) *you can buy a stick at the 5th station for 1,000 Yen and have it branded at each station (10th is the top) for an extra 200 yen. I wouldn’t recommend the hike without the support*
- Camera
- Insurance Card
- Cell phone (reception was in-and-out & my batt. ran out fast due bc the phone was searching)
- Change of clothes for the trip back and onsen the next day – you can leave it on the bus
- We didn’t pack oxygen, but they sell small tanks for cheap at sports stores or for about 840 Yen at the 5th station. BUY IT! After the hike, I learned that because of the altitude at the top, there are only two-thirds the level oxygen at sea level. Both my friend and I were dizzy and short of breath at the end of our ascent. I almost didn’t make it and was swaying as I walked, using my stick for support. People told me it wasn’t necessary, but it’s better to be safe (literally) than sorry. Bring a small oxygen tank with you.
- Layered clothing (was glad I had Dryfit & consider long underwear)
- A waterproof flashlight or headlamp with batteries (the headlamp was ESSENTIAL)
- Hiking boots recommended, but we packed sturdy, comfortable, broken-in tennis shoes
- Plastic bags (for garbage)
- Thick Socks (brought 2 pairs and was glad I did!)
- Gloves (would recommend ski gloves – my fingers were numb with the cotton ones)
- A warm hat that covers your ears
- A scarf (would also recommend a handkerchief for protection from dust on the descent)
- Raingear (brought a poncho; saw people with full suits)
- A good jacket (like the shell of a ski jacket – I had my NF windbreaker and layers)
- A comfortable backpack to hold everything (used my North Face from college)
- Small heat packets (called hokairo in Japan) for the top – had some left from winter
- Toilet paper (brought some packets of the kleenex they give out as advertisements here)
- Basic first-aid stuff (you WILL fall on the way down, I needed bandaids)
- Snacks (lots of sugar and carbs – brought a lot of Soyjoy and dried fruit)
- At least one packed meal (ex: inarizushi, or tofu-wrapped sweet rice)
- Water & energy drinks (it was HEAVY at first, but I used all of it)
- Sunglasses
- Money
- Hiking Stick (it’s the best investment you will make & a great souvenir) *you can buy a stick at the 5th station for 1,000 Yen and have it branded at each station (10th is the top) for an extra 200 yen. I wouldn’t recommend the hike without the support*
- Camera
- Insurance Card
- Cell phone (reception was in-and-out & my batt. ran out fast due bc the phone was searching)
- Change of clothes for the trip back and onsen the next day – you can leave it on the bus
- We didn’t pack oxygen, but they sell small tanks for cheap at sports stores or for about 840 Yen at the 5th station. BUY IT! After the hike, I learned that because of the altitude at the top, there are only two-thirds the level oxygen at sea level. Both my friend and I were dizzy and short of breath at the end of our ascent. I almost didn’t make it and was swaying as I walked, using my stick for support. People told me it wasn’t necessary, but it’s better to be safe (literally) than sorry. Bring a small oxygen tank with you.
posted by Brenda Ann Elizabeth McKinney @ 5:17 AM
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