Climbing Mt Fuji

To climb Mt Fuji... apparently one of those things that someone who lives in Japan just has to do. Me? I'm not much of a mountaineer/hiker, unless you count a strange fascination with Mt Everest as a criteria. Perhaps not. Regardless, I had to mark it off my Japan list now since I would not be able to climb it again -- officially, the climbing season for Mt Fuji is during the summer months because otherwise you're dealing with life threatening gale force winds and plummeting temperatures.

Mt Fuji is Japan's highest mountain, weighing in at 12,389 feet (for comparison, Mt Everest is 29,029 feet) and has vast cultural importance in Japanese art. Up until now, my experience with Fuji included all of the following:

1) Admiring from afar
2) Admiring it in art or cute Fuji-san cookies
3) Flying over it in a Growler
4) Flying next to it in a helicopter

The short 15 minute flight, if that, to get to the summit may have colored my view on the ease a bit. As far as I know, I don't possess the power of flight so that meant I would have to join the common folk and climb that thing.

I've heard that Mt Fuji "isn't that bad", but I suspect that this is stated by people who wear American flag print boxers (fact -- I've seen them) or a lady I saw wearing work slacks and a fashion scarf. Others, more worldly in the way of climbing, alerted me to the fact that I should probably wear actual hiking boots and maybe buy those trekking poles. Internet sleuthing also alerted me to the fact that things cost at least four times more in the Mt Fuji universe than they do in the regular Tokyo universe (100 yen coffee now costs 400 yen).

Seeing as I owned nothing related to climbing (refer to my first paragraph), I promptly purchased two trekking poles, a pair of expensive hiking boots, canned oxygen, a weird Japanese jelly drink, a sun hat (I saw a lot of people in clinic who had massive sunburns) and rented a few sherpas.

Traditionally, you are supposed to climb Mt Fuji overnight to witness the sunrise (please google for lots of awesome photos), but since I was alone I figured climbing during the day was acceptable.

Thus prepared, I parked at Fuji-hokuroku parking lot, hitched a bus, and started my journey to the summit along one of Fuji's four most popular trails, the Yoshida Trail. The bus actually helps you cheat a little since I was promptly taken to the 5th station, where I posed for this photo. My passive expression makes it seem like this was the "after" photo.

Despite owning a DSLR, I decided I didn't want to take on the burden so I used my iPhone for about three total pics. Don't worry, I'll ruthlessly steal from other people's photos to give you an idea of the suffering I endured or I'll just describe it in cliche agony for your own reading pleasure.

The first portion of the hike is incredibly easy... imagine a lovely stroll through the neighborhood with your significant other after a particularly filling dinner of pesto and red wine. Within twenty minutes I made it to sixth station. Piece of cake, I thought to myself, allowing only a brief moment of doubt as I looked up and saw the endless switchback trails to the top obscured in clouds. No matter.

The route between the sixth and seventh station was a bit harder. Now I was dealing with a likely 30 percent incline in not-so-solid footing of volcanic rock. However, my trekking poles did me well and I passed by everyone with ease. The landscape was becoming more volcanic with each step -- the green forest was slowly transforming into a uni-colored vision of gray rocks.

I made it to the seventh station by about an hour, impressed with my speed and thinking rather arrogantly that I would probably summit by three hours if I was slow (there are nine total stations). For those not in the know, the average summit time is about six hours -- it's approximately 6km. I'm too lazy to convert that into miles.

After the seventh station I realized a sad fact: the rock climbing portion had begun. Though I was not required to utilize my non-existent belaying skills, I was required to crawl my way up a path randomly decided amidst the hardened volcanic lava from years past. Maybe it was getting a little harder, I thought. I looked upward to see a rather depressing amount of switchbacks still leading into a layer of clouds. Ughhh, I groaned silently.

Around the eighth station I used my portable oxygen bottles. Though I think the altitude sickness I experienced was mild at best, I mostly wanted the oxygen to gain some of my breath back. The effort it took to walk about ten steps seemed to raise my heart rate up to about 180 beats per minute. Oh how I wish I had a portable SpO2 monitor!

The picture below is some weird sign that makes it seem like you've climbed to the summit, but a quick look upward reminds you that no... you've only yet begun your journey. Sucker. My forced smile is evidence.

Eventually I made it to the 8.5 station. Why is it the 8.5 station? My only guess is that it's used to demoralize you because you're told it's only 900 meters left to the top... but this is a magical 900 meters that somehow quadruples to a 3600 meters. I was also beginning to get slowed down by tour group hikers, and as I began to imitate a hunched over 90 year old Japanese woman by walking approximately one step per 30 seconds, I thought hard about quitting. The loud boom of thunder next to me from a gathering storm further turned my mind against me. The only problem was that I had nowhere to go except up. Literally. The way back down was treacherous. It recalled memories of an Officer and a Gentleman.

So I took it one step at a time and eventually I made it to the summit in about 3 hours and 45 minutes!

Just as I was sitting down to enjoy some pretzels, a cloud of snow, wind and pain was wrought upon us. My fingers were already going numb so I made the way back down as quickly as I possibly could. I wanted to go to the "real" tallest point, but the pain of the wind, sleet and limited visibility was too much.

An interesting note about the way down... it was literally just as one would imagine climbing up Olympus Mons on Mars would be. The redness, the volcanic stones, the pain and torture of just wanting to get home... all things that remind me of Mars (not that I've been there). To clarify, the way down is different from the way up.

I made it back down, with a total trip time of a little under 6 hours. Granted, I did not purchase the tourist gimmick of the hiking stick to get stamped at each station and because the weather was bad at the top I literally could not see anything (also, losing my fingers to frostbite wasn't an acceptable outcome), so these things may have contributed. Otherwise, as the old saying goes, "He who climbs Mt Fuji once is a wise man, he who climbs twice is a fool."