The Incredible Adventures of Matt and Julie: Fuji-san!

(Just in case this narrative did not get circulated to everyone, here it is again):

Background info: Fuji-san (aka Mt. Fuji--富士山) is 3,770 meters (12,000 ft.) above sea level. She is the tallest mountain (volcano) in Japan and is the most-climbed mountain in the world (or so I've been told). There are 10 stations on Fuji-san and the 5th station (Kawaguchiko) is a popular spot for many native Yamanashians to start their ascent to the top. From 5th station, it typcially takes between 5 and 7 hours to reach the summit and about 4 hours to descend back to 5th station. If you were to climb Fuji in her entirity, it would probably take you about 20 hours round trip. Climbing season is typically from July-August and Fuji-san is closed to climbers in the winter (unless you are crazy and like to climb in snow). The Japanese people (at least in Yamanashi) have a saying about climbing the mountain: A wise man climbs Fuji-san once. A fool climbs her twice. Keep this all in mind as you read about our exciting adventure atop Fuji-san.

Waking up at 9 am on Saturday morning, Matt and I had much to get ready before our trip to Fuji-san. We made pancakes and eggs for breakfast (we figured a hearty meal would be good before our climb) and then made bags of trailmix (dried bananas, sunflower seeds, walnuts, raisins, other various nuts) and packed our backpacks with extra (warm) clothing and huge liter bottles of water. Picking up my pack, I found it to be very heavy but I figured all the items inside were necessary for the climb (including a few bandaids--just in case). We left our apartment in Ryuo at 2:30, picking up our friends Beth and Thomas along the way. We drove to Fujiyoshida but missed our turn off and ended up in Shizuoka (the prefecture south of Yamanashi). After some frustration and a few wrong turns, we ended up back in Yamanashi and found ourselves at the bottom of the mountain. Paying our fee for parking at the 5th station (Kawaguchiko), we started our ascent towards the middle of Fuji-san. Along the way, we encountered a wild boar in the middle of the road! Beth and I initially thought it was a dog but seeing that it was a boar, we immediately gasped and watched it lumber into the forrest. Needless to say, I felt a bit more nervous knowing I would be hiking (partway) in woods inhabited by these huge, fat, grotesque-looking creatures. But we continued our climb in our little k-car (and with 4 people, 4 backpacks and a tiny engine, I'm sure you can imagine that it took us about 30 minutes to reach our parking spot). As we drove up to Kawaguchiko, though, we saw the sun going down and in the dusk before nightfall, we were privy to beautiful mountain views and watched the clouds roll in over the towns and cities in the valleys below. It was beautiful and made us all the more excited to climb at night.

Finally arriving at Kawaguchiko around 6:30pm, we got out of the car, put on a few warmer clothes (it was already getting chilly) and walked up towards the main plaza (where other JETs were waiting to start their climb). As we walked up the road, we gazed up at the mountain top. Matt commented that it didn't look so bad; I, on the other hand, having never climbed a REAL mountain like this, thought it looked laborious and ominous. But beautiful, very beautiful. We met up with the other JETs and decided to wait to start climbing for a while. We perused in the gift shop, spying items we may want to buy after our climb, and then had a quick snack before leaving. Beth, Thomas, Matt, Jason, Frederick and I began our walk toward the gate at 7:45pm. The first part of our adventure was smooth-sailing, and we took a few moments to take scenic pictures and to gaze in awe at the beautiful full moon reflecting light off the tops of so many waves of clouds. Words can't describe the beauty we saw at the beginning of our trip (and throughout our climb, really). Clouds sitting atop other, smaller mountain peaks, tiny lights twinkling through open patches indicating life living in some small town, placid lakes gleaming in the night sky.

After taking many pictures and ooo-ing and ahhh--ing, we continued. We eventually got separated from our party of adventurous climbers, and Matt and I followed the rocky, gravely path up to the 7th station. Matt, being in good physical shape and having a knack for pacing, kept at a good speed, while I, huffing and puffing after 15 minutes of climbing, began to feel as though I would never make it up this mountain. At times, Matt, grabbing my hand, would literally pull me up the steep inclines. At one point, when I was getting discouraged, he told me he would get me up this mountain if he had to pull me all the way. I thought this both charming and disheartening at the same time. But, after an hour or so of sometimes strenuous paths and loose rocks, we made it to the 7th station. Meeting up with some other JETs (as well as Beth and Thomas), we decided to take a little break and eat a snickers bar. Let me tell you, the taste of chocolate, caramel and peanuts never tasted so good! I think it was the most glorious candy bar I have ever had. As it was getting a bit colder outside, the four of us decided to take a break inside the warming hut and to eat a hearty bowl of ramen. This was also delicious and helped warm us up and gave us good carb fuel. As it was approaching 10pm, we started to feel tired and I looked at Matt's drooping eyes and knew that we were in for a long evening. But after digesting for some time, we decided to continue our ascent. Not 5 feet from the exit of the warming hut, we found, looming down on us, a steep incline full of fallen boulders and possibly delapidated stone steps (it was hard to tell). Turning on my headlamp, I started to slowly inch my way up this trecherous embankment (actually, it wasn't so trecherous--but it wasn't anything that I had expected to do). However, I found that picking my way through rocks and at times crawling on all fours was a more enjoyable and rewarding way to climb (no matter how difficult it was at times). I would much rather be climbing over boulders than slipping through a sea of small lava rocks (which we eventually encountered at the top).

At each station that we passed, we took a small break, paying 100 yen to use the disgusting bathrooms (squat toilets are terrible in the wilderness), buying more water, and talking to other JETs. Around 8th station, we were slightly held up by a group of Japanese pilgrims (or a tour--who can say) who were making their ascent single file (and quite slowly, might I add). Our group took one look at each other, hoisted our packs onto our backs, turned on our head lamps, and began to climb parallel to the pilgrims (passing them all on the righthand side). Thank goodness we didn't get held up behind them, I thought. We might have never made it to the top.

Also, at this point, I staretd to get a slight headache. Drinking more water definitely helped, but the effects of the altitude were certainly wearing on me. My breathing became a little heavier, even though I felt okay, and my heart was definitely pounding harder, even when we were resting. At times, I had to climb very slowly, taking a few steps, resting, taking a few more, and so on. And, by this time--almost 11:30 or midnight, my leg muscles were beginning to show signs of fatigue. I've never quite experienced "the burn" like I did while climbing up Fuji-san. You use muscles you don't even know were there. But it was easy to forget your aches and pains once you looked over the mountain's edge at the valley below. After 8th station, we rarely used our headlamps again. The moon was so bright and brilliant that it lighted our way like a search light. My white tennis shoes were glowing as if we were under a black light--this is how bright and full the moon was. And the clouds--you see pictures from airplanes and mountain tops of seas of clouds and distant city lights, but until you are actually on a mountain, viewing these wonders of nature for yourself, I don't think you can truly appreciate the beauty of the earth. We were so high at one point that we were sure we could also see the curvature of the earth and even witnessed a storm, underneath our elevation, moving from east to west along the ground. Wow.

After we became separated from our other fellow climbers and were on our own, Matt and I developed a rhythm to our climbing. He was always a few meters ahead of me but would wait at the turns to see that I made it up to his point. We caught up to and passed many fellow JETs, some sleeping, some resting, and eventually made it to 9th station. With only some Japanese travelers resting with us, we took a quick reprieve from climbing, posing for pictures at the altitude marker--3,250 meters. Only 500 meters to go! Having a little more troupble breathing, I had to stop and rest more often (if that is even possible) and to drink more water (which I was slowly running out of). Matt started to feel a little out of breath, but continued on, for the most part, as he had done before. We continued climbing, sometimes traversing huge bolders, sometimes slowly plodding up steep, gravel embankments. In the dark, as I was looking up the mountain, wondering where on earth was the top, I could make out the faint sillohuette of a wooden gate. Perhaps this meant we were nearing the top! Of course, getting my hopes up, I started to climb a little faster. This was a mistake. I had to quickly slow back down to my turtle pace and reach the gate in my own good time. When we finally got there (meeting up with Beth, Thomas and Frederick), Matt took my picture (I was hugging the wooden pillar with both gladness and exhaustion) and then I snapped one of him (he looked much more awake and spunky than I did). We entered through the gate, talked with Frederick for some time, and then we continued to climb, going slowly around the switchbacks and slipping ever so often on loose rocks. As we continued to climb, not knowing where exactly the top would be, we found that breathing was becoming more of an issue. I think one of the weirdest feelings in the world is to know that you are breathing (and breathing heavy) but to feel as though you aren't getting enough air. So, we slowed down even more, frequently resting for a few seconds, and our ascent fell to a snail's pace at points. Looking up the mountain during one of these brief rests, I could see the twinkle of head lamps snaking up the mountain. Inside, I felt that we had to be close. At this point, Matt and I wanted so desperately to be at the top, to bunker down in a warming hut, to get an hour or two of sleep before sunrise, and to replenish our water. So, we continued up the mountainside, panting and resting--each step bringing us closer to the 3,770 meter mark.

Around 2 or 2:30pm, we encountered 2 ominous looking lion statues in front of another wooden gate. Painted white, these statues gave me the chills as I passed between them. But looking up, I couldn't see any lights--this was not just another rest stop--another 10th station--this was the top!!!! Climbing the last set of stairs to the summit, Matt and I felt both exhilerated and exhausted. Reaching the summit, we gave each other a congratulatory pat on the back and started to walk around, trying to find a warming hut for us to rest in. As we walked down the path (level ground finally!!!), we saw tents pitched and people sleeping against the huts--but not inside. Feeling uneasy about this (and finally noticing that there was no smoke coming from the roofs of these tiny stone houses), we came to the sad conclusion that the huts were not open. Thus, we would not be getting any warmth, any rest, or any water. This, I probably do not need to say, was a bummer.

So, after looking around, glancing at the crater, and meeting up with some of our fellow climbers, we found a place beside a hut and, putting on the last of our warm clothing, decided to try to take a nap for an hour before sunrise. However, the longer we sat still, the more we shivered--you could hear the rattling of our teeth as we laid on the cold ground, trying to warm ourselves. It was around this time that Matt began to feel extremely nauseous. He told me that he had been getting waves of nausea as we were climbing the last few feet but that he hadn't thought anything of it. But now, as we sat shivering and freezing at the summit, with no shelter or water, his nausea had come around full swing. After sitting there for a few minutes, I realized that we needed to get up and move around, to stay warm. My toes and my fingers were starting to ache and Matt's breathing was slightly irregular. So, dragging him up from his resting place, we started to walk around. But with each step, he felt worse and worse and with each step I became more and more frozen. It was only 3:45--sunrise was not until 4:30 or 5am. At this point, I began to feel a bit uneasy. And all Matt wanted to do was to get off the top of the mountain and to get back home. Unfortunately, we didn't know the correct way down--were we supposed to descend the same way we came up? But I thought I had heard that there was a specific descending route. And there was no way I was going to go it alone with Matt--especially since he was feeling so sick. I, at least, had enough brains left to realize that would be a very unsafe and dangerous situation. As we took a break, resting on a rock ledge, I stopped shivering. This also made me very uncomfortable--I was worried about getting hypothermia and I knew that when you stop feeling cold after being frozen, this is not a good sign. So, we got up again and began walking. We paced up and down the main path, unable to enjoy or cherish the beauty of the view, unable to make the hour trek around the crater, unable to do anything but to live through each minute, to wait until the sun began to peak her head over the dense cloud cover. Needless to say, it was the longest hour of our lives.

Finally, the darkness, which had been such a part of our climbing lives, began to lift and we could see, faintly on the horizon, the dim purplish fuzz outlining the clouds. We found a place to sit, to witness this event--the event we struggled up a huge volcanic mountain to witness. As the sky began to take on a rainbow of colors and the sun's rays began to poke up through the clouds, we tried desperately to keep our minds clear, to shut out the numbness and nausea, to take in the beauty unfolding before us. And even though we were unable to completely divorce ourselves from our physical suffering, we were able to admit that this sunrise, on top of a 12,000 foot mountain, was the most beautiful and awe-inspiring scene we had ever seen in the course of our lives. Finally seeing the sun peak her head over the cloud--the brilliant reddish-yellow of her dazzling surface--drew out an "ahhhhh" from the people congregated on Fuji's summit. As the sky brightened and the light began to fall on Fuji's surface, I looked at Matt's face--pale and sickly looking. He tried to smile but quickly turned and told me that he needed to get off the mountain now. Taking him seriously, we found our friend Jason perched high on a rock. He snapped a few pictures of us (for posterity--to prove we were really there) and then we began our descent--going down the same way we came up. The sunrise atop Fuji-san, though brief for us, will be something forever engrained in our memories.

The descent. What a nightmare! We started to climb down the unstable lava rocks around 5:30 or 6am (it's hard to remember--I think we were all a bit delirious). Matt started to book it down the mountain, running and dodging climbers still trying to make it to the mountain top. Jason and I, taking a much slower and cautious pace, rested at times and took pictures of the sun-soaked mountain side. Beautiful. I hadn't noticed the the dirt and rocks on Fuji-san were primarily red and the bright sunlight bouncing off the mountain's surface cast a cheerful and oven-like glow over everything. As we continued our trecherous decent (trying to hold onto tiny ropes and chains so as not to slide down the face of the mountain), we noticed a bulldozed path about 500 feet from us--with tons of people descending. Hitting ourselves on the head for choosing the incorrect path, we finally made it down to 9th station, picked up the resting Matt and beelined it over to smoother pathway--thinking this would be much more preferable to the other route. Boy, were we wrong!

The "real" descending route was wide and smooth, but it had the slight fault of being extremely slippery (consisting mainly of ground up lava rocks with no grip) and after slipping and sliding down the side of the mountain for about 30 minutes, we felt exhausted, dehydrated (party due to the sun beating down on us on all sides), and sore. At one point, we had to sadly leave our friend Jason meticulously climbing down the mountain. His knee was giving him a lot of pain and so he had to zigzag down the steep paths--taking care not to slip and hurt himself. Since Matt was still feeling terrible, we went on ahead, half jogging, half falling down the steep declines and taking only brief rests at each switchback turn. I can't exactly remember when I started to feel as though I would never reach the bottom but I think it was after the marker that read " 4.5 km to 5th Station." It seemed like hours ago we had passed a sign reading "5.0 km to 5th Station" so when I saw that progress was hardly being made and that my body was starting to reject the steep declines and various pressures I had to put on it to get me closer to our final destination, I started to cry. Yes, I cried on Mt. Fuji. But it was brief (I didn't want all the other hikers to notice my weakness) and I continued my slow descent. Matt , feeling much better by 7th station, tried his hardest to encourage me, to tell me that I was doing great and that we'd be there in no time. However, I was pissed off, tired, hungry, thirsty, and I felt as though my legs would turn into jelly at any moment. So, despite his kind words and encouragement, I was set on loathing this mountain for the rest of my life. I cursed it and kicked the small rocks and had a fit as I continued to brace my body and descend.

We reached somewhat level ground around 8am. I was so thankful for this, but it came too soon. After ascending a small hill (which was a pleasantly easy and comfortable climb), Matt and I realized that we still had at least another 30 minutes to do until we reached Kawaguchiko. I almost lost it. But, to spare all the whiney details and the curse words, we eventually DID make it down to 5th station, where we promptly bought 2 bottles of Pocari Sweat (a sports drink) and collapsed on the rocky plaza ground, thankful to have made it down the mountain alive. After waiting for 2 hours until the other two members of our carppool made it down the mountain (by the way, we made it down in around 3 hours time--and were the first 2 gaijin off the mountain), we began to feel much better and even felt the desire to take a picture in front of the mountain peak. We made a long and tiring drive home, where we entered our suana of an apartment, took showers, and crashed on the futon for about 2 hours. I have never felt so terrible in all of my life as I did after climbing that mountain. And I can't remember the last time I went to bed at 8pm and slept for a full 10.5 hours. But I did on Sunday night. And on Monday, I was at work, bright and early--tired, sore and sunburnt, but alive. And with a great story to tell.