Fuji-San: Climbing the Giant Ice Cream

May 14, 2018August 4, 2019 Peter 0 Comments

Many years ago now, I famously applied and failed in a previous quest to live in Japan. Fast forward four years and I’m finally here, living the Japanese Dream in Tokyo Wonderland. It wasn’t all plain-sailing though. There was a bachelors degree, an horrific interview and three years of simultaneously loving and hating life in China to battle through first.

Lets rewind four years. I’m in Edinburgh, Scotland and I’m interviewing for a reputable teaching scheme in Japan. I should be clear here, although I decided I wanted to move to Japan, in the grand scheme of things I had no idea about Japan or even a legitimate reason of substance. Despite having had numerous part-time jobs during my high-school and student years, I’d somehow managed to avoid ever participating in a real job interview. This was only going to lead to disaster. To cut a long study short, I managed to mention the war, Hiroshima and the 2011 tsunami and earthquake which devastated parts of Japan in my interview. I really left myself with less of a chance of moving to Japan than the possibility of a limbless man recreating the Mona Lisa. Six months later I moved to China…

One question I was asked, however, was ‘Where would you like to go in Japan?’ I hadn’t researched anything in particular for this question but there was one big reason I wanted to go to Japan – to climb Mount Fuji. For many, that may not seem like a legitimate reason for moving to another country but I had and continue to have, a strange attraction to Fuji. I’m not about to start rambling to you about some form of weird attraction that you’ll only find in the deepest, darkest corners of the internet, but for me, Fuji possesses a kind of mythical quality that I can’t describe. Whilst Japan is a hugely mountainous region, Fuji rises from the ground like a giant, almost totally isolated in it’s grandeur, unlike other mountainous parts of Japan. Fuji dominates the scenery around it and rises majestically, in it’s conical form, sculpted perfectly by Mother Nature herself.

On a clear day, Fuji is visible from Tokyo which is about a two hour drive from the foot of the mountain. I haven’t been lucky enough to see it yet from so far out but in the crisp, clear, winter days to come, I’ll be looking out with bated breath. The first time I went to Fuji was in April of this year. Although it’s not possible to climb the mountain at that time because of the temperature and snow capped peak, the surrounding areas are very beautiful and a refreshing break from the claustrophobia of Tokyo. My first impression was, ‘Oh shit.’ I knew I would climb over the climbing period during July and August and when faced with Fuji, rising 3700m into the sky, I could see no way of possibility getting to the top. Due to its conical shape, the peak of the mountain looks almost vertical and it’s hard to imagine getting to the summit without climbing apparatus. Whilst I like to climb the occasional mountain, they usually tend to require nothing more than a pair of running shoes. As the day went on, it became easier to appreciate the sheer size of Fuji and how much impact it has on the surrounding area and Japan in general. I have three year old students who can’t put their own socks on, but even for them, Mount Fuji holds a special significance in Japanese culture. It helps that I also have Mr Potato Head, Fuji-themed socks to spark their interest even further…

So, on a late August afternoon, I climbed aboard a bus from Shinjuku station to Mount Fuji’s fifth station. Whilst it is possible to climb Fuji from the very bottom, the majority of climbers start from the fifth station which is around 2300m above sea level. Although this is higher than I’ve ever been in my life (whilst on two feet), in reality there are only around 1400m to the summit from the start point. We took the option of climbing overnight, beginning at 8pm rather than being extortionately ripped off to stay in a crowded mountain hut for a couple of hours. I had also never climbed at night before which filled me with fear, but in reality, the trails are very good. So as long as you’re careful and have some form of head-torch, the climb is very safe. Mount Fuji is made up of ten stations and by 9pm we had reached the sixth station, already. From that point on, the trail begins to rise rapidly, going from a steady incline to a more vertical incline but it’s still a relatively simple hike. For me, the climb between stations seven and eight were probably the most difficult. This is, effectively, the only part of Fuji that you have to climb. After 12 years of playing rugby and drunkenly falling down stairs at house parties, my knees are verging on dodgy, crumbling messes. During this section you need to climb over large, cliff-like rocks rather than the volcanic gravel trail prevalent on the rest of the mountain. It is also very accessible but whilst my hiking companion seemingly found it simple enough to stay upright, my abysmal lack of balance and sometimes raging winds required me to use my hands at times, also. I became a very nonathletic Spiderman. If you’re like me, bring gloves to protect your hands and you will have no problems. And your web blasters…

I should point out that at this stage, I was terrified. Whilst it was relatively easy to climb up, the incline was extreme and I wondered how the hell I was ever going to get back down without smashing my head off every rock on the mountain, as my huge body rapidly rolled to the bottom. It turns out most of the fears I had on the way up were totally irrelevant as the downward path is both different and incredibly easy. In short, don’t worry. By midnight, we were seriously ahead of time and had reached the eighth station at 3100m – only 600m from the top. Until this point, I had actually been climbing in a t-shirt but it was starting to get very cold. Only adrenaline and climbing had protected me for the previous hour or two. Luckily I had packed five extra layers and the further we climbed the more clothes I gradually slipped on. Think of it like a prostitute at work, but in reverse. Sadly also, nobody was paying me for this shit.

Having a rest at the eighth station. Notice how we’re still happy and gloves aren’t necessary yet…

During this section of the climb, it was now seriously cold. As long as you kept moving, it was bearable; even pleasant. As soon as you stopped, however, no amount of layers could protect you despite myself looking like the North Face had sponsored Mr. Blobby. A big problem we also had was that we were running out of mountain. At the rate we were going, we would’ve been at the summit by 1.30am, a mere three and a half hours until sunrise. I could only assume that it would be colder at the summit and I didn’t fancy recreating the end of Titanic, except in reverse at 3700m above sea level as some strangers mistakenly referred to me as ‘Jack.’ Bearing this in mind, we decided to find a sheltered spot between the eighth and ninth stations and rest for an hour out of the wind. The mountain staff are surprisingly strict with climbers, to the extent that many climbers could be put in danger. At every mountain hut they will sell Pot Noodles and sometimes other hot food but you’re basically forbidden from coming inside unless you pay the full night’s accommodation fee – around 8000yen. Or £55-£65. Exchange rate depending on what Theresa May’s fair government has cocked up that week. There is plenty of space to shelter climbers from the winds, which are fairly extreme, but I could see it from the other side of the spectrum. Why should they aid mad bastards like us, who chose to climb overnight and encourage others to do the same long term, thus reducing customers and profits? People were so cold that they were hiding in toilets just to stay warm which prompted the addition of a ‘mountain toilet guard’ at one bathroom shack. What I will say is that, you will never take as many unnecessary shits as you will whilst climbing Fuji, simply to get out of the cold and sit down somewhere warm for 5 minutes. Ok, maybe 10…

After an hour long break, we began our ascent to the summit at around 1am, knowing full well we would still be there early, however, staying still was no longer an option. Whilst I couldn’t feel a lack of oxygen in the air, I could feel that with every step and every bend in the trail, it was definitely getting harder. We both reached the ninth station around 2am which is only about 300m from the summit. We were both feeling tired but good and the summit was (probably) in view. All was going well until around 150m from the end. In the space of around ten minutes, my friend went from being slightly tired to physically ill. Headaches and nausea included. Until this point, he had more or less set the pace the whole way but it suddenly fell on me to become Sam and push Frodo up Mount Doom to finally destroy Sauron. Or, reach the top of Fuji. It’s the same thing really. Me being me, I hadn’t actually researched altitude sickness at all, hoping everything would just be ok. With that (lack of) knowledge, I figured it was best to push him to keep climbing the mountain and stop him from falling asleep; not really sure if I was helping him or slowly killing him. Every five minutes or so, we would rest for another 5-10 minutes, inhaling the oxygen we’d thankfully invested in pre-hike. By this point, I could see other experienced climbers, who were also clearly struggling and you could tell that everybody was a little bit wrecked. It’s kind of like watching that drunk guy leaving the pizza shop at 4am with his food. He’s walking so slowly and trying so hard not to fall onto the road but you know, somehow, he’ll make it home.

The last 150m took us around an hour – a massive difference compared to the rest of the hike – and we reached the summit around 3.15am, thankfully as the summit huts and shelters were opening up. A total climb of around six hours plus our rest period isn’t bad going. I got a massive buzz off it, so much so that I couldn’t even feel the cold anymore. I was even cheery, something I very rarely am, even at sea level. It felt good to climb higher than I ever had before and although I wouldn’t say it was particularly difficult, it was a massive challenge and a totally new experience. I left my friend in a sheltered hovel while I scoped out the summit and tried to find somewhere we could rest until sunrise. I ended up paying an extortionate amount for the best Pot Noodle I’ve ever had in my life before going back to reclaim my friend. Thankful that he wasn’t dead, we hung out for an hour in a summit hut, which was wonderfully warm. Whilst he battled to stay awake, clutching a roasting hot green tea, I took the chance to socialise with some other climbers and hope none of the shack’s employees asked me to buy anything. Around 4.30am, it was starting to get light out and we headed outside to watch the sunset. My friend was still in a precarious state and by this point, after being in the warm indoors for over an hour, the effects of the climb had truly worn off. All you could feel now was the cold. So cold, in fact, that I couldn’t enjoy the Kit-Kat which I’d carried up the mountain, specifically to eat at the summit. My optimism went from, ‘Yay, sunrise time,’ to ‘When the fuck is the sun going to come up?’ in the space of about three and a half minutes. My friend took a seat on the edge of the mountain, whilst I moved around the summit, desperately trying to keep warm. The volcanic crater below is both simultaneously impressive and terrifying and not something you want to stray too close to on the windy summit. As the sun began to rise, I returned to my friend who had made his own little addition to the mountain by regurgitating the curry-rice we had consumed before the climb. It’s always good to give back to nature.

The sunrise was a beautiful sight but I was so cold that it was hard to appreciate in a full capacity. It was the first time you get a real sense of how high you actually are, however, and the mountain ranges you pass through on the way to Fuji are dwarfed in comparison. I could see a small mountain I’d climbed four months earlier to get a good view of Fuji itself and it was like a pimple on the body of the world. Fuji is, well, something else. We began our descent about fifteen minutes after sunrise due to it being fucking baltic and my friend very quickly recovered as we began to descend. The views were wonderful for the first 25 minutes until the descent became potentially the most boring thing I’ve ever done in my life. Two and a half hours descending a path that is both repetitive and slightly too hard on the knees to be comfortable was so monotonous. By the time I got to the bottom I was thoroughly miserable, both due to tiredness and sheer boredom and felt sorry for my companion who had to put up with my foul mood.

Above: The stunning sunrise and other climbers observing the view.

Below: Waiting for my wonderful cup noodle in a climbers hut at Fuji’s tenth station and having a well deserved lie down on a very cold mountain top.

Would I climb Fuji again? The short answer is, I don’t know. Whilst it wasn’t particularly difficult, the cold does really hamper your enjoyment of the experience. Only if I stayed in a hut and could appreciate Fuji’s enormity and views during the day, would I consider doing it again. Climbing overnight was less congested but I could honestly see shit. The feeling of elation and adrenaline I experienced on the final moments before and after reaching the summit though, is something I’ll never forget. I flash-backed to that interview room all those years ago, accomplished in the knowledge that I’d achieved one of the biggest goals I’d ever set myself. But for now, it’s sayonara Fuji!

See more pictures below!