Epic Trip, July 2010: Mt. Fuji!

So here's what U.B. has been not-so-patient about for months: the long-delayed blogs about our trip to Tokyo, Mt. Fuji, and Kyoto!

Since I've made U.B. wait so long, I'll start with Mt. Fuji.

I can't remember when exactly I first thought about climbing Mt. Fuji. It was definetely some time in middle school, back when I first got interested in Japan. I thought that if I ever went to Japan, Mt. Fuji would be part of the trip. I read peoples' accounts of their experiences climbing it. I sighed over the shape of it. My 12-year-old self didn't think that I would ever actually get to go to Japan, but I dreamed of Fuji.

And, somehow, I studied abroad in Kyoto for 9 months and lived in Kyushu for nearly 2 years before getting there. In Kyoto there were always so many things going on, festivals that I didn't want to miss out on or gorgeous fall foliage or plum and cherry blossoms to be appreciated. In Kyushu, Fuji was too far away, too mystical. Maybe I didn't want to break Fuji's spell. What if seeing it in person wasn't as good as all the pictures?

I needn't have worried.

Of course, in planning the trip with U.B. and family friends C and P (and the late-addition of college friend L), I forgot some things. I forgot that climbing a mountain is very different than viewing a mountain. Oh, and I forgot that I don't actually like the process of climbing (although I love reaching the top, which is usually worth the effort).

It wasn't until we were actually on the bus from Shinjuku to Mt. Fuji's 5th station (the normal starting point for most Fuji climbers, except the religious pilgrims who really want to make the trek from sea level or the climbing fanatics who want to try different routes) that I realized we wouldn't be able to see Mt. Fuji from the bus. First of all, we were going in at night, arriving at the 5th station around 8:30 PM. Also, the bus' route of approach didn't allow for a vantage point where the riders could see the mountain in all of its glory: we were going straight for it.

In thinking about the logistics of how we were going to climb Fuji, there were two options-- we could go in at night, start climbing around 9 PM, and climb straight through until hopefully getting to the summit before sunrise around 4:30 AM. Alternatively, we could get to Fuji in the early afternoon, climb part-way, stay at a traveler's hut, sleep a few hours, get up around midnight, and (again) hopefully get to the summit before sunrise. The second option would progress at a more leisurely pace and allows for some rest. From the online accounts I read, however, the huts aren't the most restful places. While they are warm (something I wouldn't really appreciate until we were on the mountain passing them by), most people seemed to find them noisy. It's not like you get your own room, there's just one big tatami-matted room that you can stake out a spot in. People are coming and going all night, so it might be difficult for light sleepers. My Fuji hiking group eventually decided to rest at our hotel in Tokyo in the afternoon (which was guaranteed to be undisturbed and restful) and straight-hike through the night.

After a couple of hours on the bus from Shinjuku, we arrived at the 5th station. Despite the late hour, the omiyage (gift) shops were still open, just in case we wanted to buy a commemorative walking stick with jangly bells. (We didn't.) After a few brief pre-hike photo ops, we were off!

Here is U.B., well-equipped and ready!

...us together, with a Mt. Fuji 5th Station Express Bus sign in the background.

The trail ahead Pre-hike, lookin' happy: Me, P, C, and U.B. Pre-hike, way-psyched!: L and I

While we had gotten some rest in the afternoon, the hike up Mt. Fuji was more difficult than I ever could have imagined. Even at 9 PM the 5th station area was relatively warm, but once we started hiking it cooled down quickly. That made stopping uncomfortable; you'd get to a group of mountain huts (strung along in clusters around the path) and sit down on a bench outside, but the cold would seep through your clothing and you'd have to keep going to warm up again.

I really wanted to give up about 3 hours into the hike. It was absolutely gorgeous: the outline of the mountain just visible to my left from moonlight, the stars shining brightly above impossibly clearly and beautifully, and lights from the town below lighting up the countryside. But I was so exhausted. (This despite my attempts at pre-hike training, which included running during the week and hiking on weekends). Seriously, just picking up one foot and putting it ahead of the other was a huge challenge. I was shuffling along and not even half-way up the mountain (and that's not considering that I'd have to get down again somehow).

I also didn't feel very well. We'd been going along at a slow enough pace to avoid altitude sickness (well, I certainly had; the more energetic members of the group were galloping on ahead), but I think changing my gaze from where my headlamp's light was bobbing a few paces in front of me to the gorgeous stars above to the softly-glowing town below was giving me something like motion sickness. I felt very out-of-shape and discouraged, and the only things keeping me going were U.B's gentle encouragement and the knowledge that if I did quit (which would be hugely embarassing, given that this was something I'd been so adament about wanting to do), I'd have to go back down to the 5th station and hang around the parking lot while waiting for the first bus of the day around 9 AM. U.B. even took the water out of my backpack to carry himself (the heaviest item by far), but my legs were as heavy as ever.

Somehow I made it all the way up. It was certainly a journey. I remember collapsing on benches in exhaustion and getting cold within a minute, despite numerous layers and polypropylene and a hat and gloves. As we got closer to the top (and it got closer to daybreak), people started coming out of the mountain huts were they'd spent part of the night. Hiking tour groups clogged the path like cholesterol emerging from cells to clog arteries, so even after I'd gotten something like a second wind, we were forced to move at a snail's pace. Eventually the groups were moving so slowly that everyone was climbing in line, waiting for the person ahead of them before taking each step forward.

Luckily, we'd left early enough in the evening to make it to the top on time for sunrise despite the slowness. (On the way back down, though, we saw the long line of unfortunate people who had miscalculated and were still waiting to get up).

When I finally did make it to the top, it was about 30 minutes before sunrise. The faster members of our group had arrived earlier and were huddled together, trying to stay warm. I soon realized how impossible that was. The wind took what little body head you could manage away, and despite numerous abandoned buildings, there was no escaping it.

It was a very long 30 minutes, and all I wanted to do was sleep. When the sunrise did come, it wasn't the spectacular vision we'd been hoping for. While it wasn't raining (thank goodness!), the cloud cover was fairly extensive. We only got brief glimpses of the sunrise when the clouds opened up for a few seconds. Here are sunrise pictures from the top:

... the smudgy-looking gleam of red below is actually the sunrise being reflected in a lake. It was supposed to be really cool.

I could barely manipulate my fingers to open my bag and turn the camera on. So here is the one pictures I have of me at the top of Mt. Fuji.

Thankfully, while the sunrise at the top kind of sucked, once we started descending it got amazing. (I think we needed to get below the layer of clouds that was obscuring the awesome view.) Part-way down, you can see the awesomeness of the sunrise reflecting on a nearby lake (with some added mist to boot).

...as it got a bit lighter, we could see smaller mountains around the lake, too.

My favorite Fuji-sunrise picture

(sunrise, lake, mountains, AND mist!):

... and a close-up of the mountains and mist:

So, in the end, the view-near-the-top was worth the hike. But don't think that I'll be doing this again. There's a Japanese saying that basically goes, "A wise man climbs Fuji once, a fool climbs it twice." And I think the rest of my hiking group (most of whom had more problems on the way down than the way up) would agree.