9/10 July 2010

I set off for my assault on Fuji-san with a great deal of trepidation mixed with anticipation. Mid-afternoon, our party of 6 gathered at the bus ticket ofice in Shinjuku: me, Jo and Oli, Renate and her friends Ulla and Keysha. Nervous excitement made me clumsy and verbose; I slipped and fell twice on the wet pavements, and was rabbiting away continously as we sat in the waiting room.


It had been raining lightly most of the day and as our two hour bus ride took us south-west into the heavily-wooded hills cut with deep bottomless gorges, tattered cloud gathered in the valleys. As the daylight faded the weather deteriorated and the wind got up. By the time we turned off the main road at Kawaguchiko we felt quite alarmed at how much the trees were whipping about. The bus wound up and up and up, climbing to the end of the road (at 2,300 metres), where there were a few retail and eating establishments clustered around a car park. It was already dark when we dived through heavy rain into the shelter of the nearest shop, where we spent about an hour acclimatising and getting all our gear on.


The other twenty or so bus passengers were also hanging out there and many of the gaijin were very poorly equipped, some with jeans and trainers, and quite a few had clearly come without waterproofs as they were all kitted out with the same flimsy ones from the shop there.


After about an hour it seemed that as one we all girded ourselves and made for the exit, having realised that the conditions were not about to improve. With head torches on, we peered around the dim car park and I hazarded a guess at where the climbing route might begin. Luckily I got it right as everyone else followed me unquestioningly. At first the track went a little downhill and then levelled off so we wondered when the ascent would begin, but after about 10 minutes we came to a fork and a signpost with 'Fuji Summit 6km 385 minutes' pointing right. The Lonely Planet guide says the climb is approx 4.5 hours but the signpost turned out to be far more realistic, at least for us.


The trail led up through some trees for a while at a fairly gentle gradient and apart from the howling wind stealing breath from our mouths it felt very comfortable. We came to a hut, which I think was the 6th station, and then the real climb began. Again, we all lurked around outside for a few minutes wondering if we really ought to be making the attempt in such inclement weather, then as a single body we scurried from the shelter of the building and started up the zigzagging path. For an hour or more we wound our way up the mountain's flank, and I was pleasantly surprised by the quality of the trail as it was wide and not loose underfoot as I had expected, and there was always a head-height wall on the upper side of each switchback to protect us from the full force of the blasting wind.



We reached the first of seven huts that make up the 7th station, and it took a good hour from the first to the last. We stopped at one to refuel on pot noodles and miso soup, and were not happy to hear that we must eat them outside. We found the best respite from the blast was in the outdoor loo and clustered in there for some time, while the windows rattled under the onslaught. At least the toilets didn't smell and even had warm seats!



It took about another two hours to reach the 8th station, at 3,100m.

This section was memorable for rugged slippery rocks that seemed almost melted together, perhaps by volcanic heat. The metal chains on either side were very handy to haul myself up, and I used my hands many times though my fingers were turning numb as my long since soaked gloves chilled them. By now, due to altitude, I was beginning to feel quite nauseous and my breath became laboured. Renate and I seemed to be the only ones suffering, unless the others were better at hiding it and less inclined to moan about it! We stopped briefly outside most huts we came across but there was no room at the inn. At one of the 8th station buildings we asked if we could pay for a futon for an hour and were told that only 3 were available and only at full 'stay' rate of Y5000. We found the staff at most huts were not very friendly, which is not usual for Japan, though I wonder if that is because they get fed up with rude gaijin.


Finally, around 10pm it stopped raining and we had clear skies at last, though there was lightning in the distance on the Izu peninsula. Stars peeped through the remnants of thin cloud. I wondered if I would see any shooting stars and, lo and behold, within a few minutes I saw one, and a fantastic one at that, lasting about two seconds and travelling a long way across the firmament. I shouted out in glee and a few other people around me looked up to see what the fuss was about. Another minute later there was one more, which some others saw too. On either side of the ridge there were deep and large patches of snow in gullies. The crescent moon reclined on a bed of cloud for a while, with the rest of the disc also visible faintly.




At the upper 8th station we were finally offered a decent welcome and were enticed inside for a cup of cocoa and the offer of twenty minutes rest.

We did not want to get up again afterwards but heaved ourselves to our feet as we were stiffening up. The lights of the 9th station still looked a long way up but the path had become reasonable again, with a gentler gradient, steps, and not too many loose stones. Finally we made it to the last hut before the top, and suddenly hordes of people appeared. They seemed to be attached to a tour group and had perhaps been resting in the huts for some time, prior to setting out for the final push before sunrise. Though the new influx of climbers hindered progress, it suited me anyway as my pace had become slower and slower. I was taking perhaps 30 steps at a time and then having to stop and bend over as I fought to settle my breathing and control the nausea. The bottlenecks in the narrowing trail provided enough pauses for me to make steady progress and as the sky began to lighten I could make out the torii gate that marked the objective.





I began to seriously doubt that I would make it to the summit before the sun got above the horizon because there was so much colour in the sky but I pressed on and resigned myself to my fate. At least, I reasoned, I was on the correct side of the mountain to witness sunrise if not from the very top. All the same, I felt very relieved when I turned a corner and saw the final approach to the torii, quickening my pace like most around me.


I felt mild elation and extreme relief when I stepped onto the large flat viewing area at the trailhead, tempered by discomfort in the extreme cold of the bitter wind. We were so fortunate that the timing worked out well and we didn't have to wait more than 10 freezing minutes before the sun broke cover and flashed through the patch of cloud that had already provided many amazing photographs as it became lit orange and pink.

Once the sun was fully up I couldn't bear the cold any longer and pleaded to get off the mountain as quickly as possible, not even caring whether we took any group photos. Most of us felt the same way and we set off in search of our chosen track down, the Gotemba route. Unfortunately I struck off down one busy path eagerly, with the others in train, and found out after a few hundred feet that it was not the right way, so we all had to traipse back uphill. Enquiries set us on the correct trail, and we skirted round about a quarter of the crater's perimeter before we came to the marker telling us to dive off over the side and begin the descent.

I felt some rue that we had not actually managed to go to the highest point on the crater's edge, therefore being perhaps 25 metres or more short of attaining the highest point in Japan (later, Nick gave me a really hard time about it, but nothing could have kept me up in that cold and altitude any longer than I needed to be). It was about 5:15 by the time we left the top and we were hoping to make the 9am bus back to Gotemba station; according to the guide book that was easily achievable.

The path down started as a loose rocky track that was just steep enough to have us skidding out of control if we tried to take it too fast. Most of us fell at least once anyway. The view from up there served as a great reminder that we were two miles high.

The precarious trail went on for what seemed ages but it was perhaps an hour and a half before we made it to the first of several 7th station huts. We were surprised to find that we were the only ones making the descent, as I had assumed this was the prime downward route climbers used. Probably for the best, given the difficult track. The hut had only opened for the season that day, but we received a very warm welcome and went inside to drink our insipid, lukewarm cup of cocoa gratefully.

Twenty minutes on from there, at around 3,000 metres, we finally came to the beginning of the Sunabashiri sand run that I had read so much about in the guide book. At first I wondered what all the fuss was about: 'natural high' etc. Though the path was volcanic sand it was not particularly deep and was scattered with rocks that made it hard to take the 3 metre leaps described in Lonely Planet. Oli and Jo set off with alacrity and I followed hot on their heels as we attempted to run and jump our way off Fuji. The other three were more hesitant and soon disappeared behind us, though eventually Ulla caught us up and remained with us, as we rested from the exertion of all that leaping.

After a kilometre or so the sand got a lot deeper and spread across the whole mountainside, and we really could make rapid progress down the steep slope. For a while it was exhilarating

but the novelty wore off as the constant pressure on my toes began to become painful. It took us well over an hour and a half to cover the descent from 3,000 metres to the car park at 1,500 metres and I knew without looking that it would cost me at least one toenail.

During the latter stages of the sand run we encountered some hardy souls who were jogging slowly upwards. In all we passed a couple of hundred and I think that they might have been military as I later saw some SDF jeeps parked and we saw a base in Gotemba. Some ladies in a gift shop informed us that they did the run up Fuji every Sunday. I can't imagine how fit they must be to run up there and on a sandy surface to boot.

We had missed the 9am bus by miles so stopped off for a cold drink. I shed as many layers as possible in the fierce heat but knew that I must not remove my boots until I was safely on the bus. We limped the final few hundred feet to the bus stop and I changed gratefully into my flip-flops and some clean clothes. The 10am bus soon got us to Gotemba station. We had to leave Renate and Keysha a long way back as I don't think that they ran down any of the Sunabashiri at all.

On the comfortable train back to Tokyo we all nodded off at various times during the 90 minute journey, though I didn't feel as tired as I expected after being up all night and exerting myself so severely for 13 hours. In fact, I was amazed that my legs were not completely seized up after 5 hours of downward strain (even next day they were pretty much OK). Back in the city I trudged wearily from Azabu to the apartment in sweltering temperatures with a certain sense of the surreal. After a quick shower I sank gladly into bed: Nick had taken Emily off to Toy Kingdom for the day to allow me a chance for a nap. I got two hours before they came home and felt fine until after dinner when I flagged badly.