February 16th 2019, the Saturday following Valentines Day, and the mood is… whimsical. But god no, not for any delayed VD events/gifts (which I’ve always thought detracted from the general niceties that should be happening in a relationship across the other 364 days FYI). No, I was feeling giddy about a god damn mountain, after bagging my £280 flight from Paris > Tokyo and discovering a few google searches later that I, a humble town dweller who has never “bagged a Munro” or set foot on Ben Nevis – could climb Japan’s TALLEST mountain. I was in my prime; “planning” in detail for an event over 6 months away, with no real structure or financial commitment; my imagination was RUNNING in heeled shoes.
Eventually this over-zealousness levelled off. As the working week set in, the calendar suddenly felt relative comparative to my planning and I still had over £5000 of saving to do. Reality hit and the little strut I’d adopted for the public sphere fell through too, but the idealist remained. I was going to climb Mount Fuji. Just why I became so ardent about carrying out this activity I still can’t say, indeed Japan had many more things to offer a “history buff” and tofu-lover. Furthermore, Mount Fuji was a 2-day activity at most from what I’d read, and here I was angling for 2 months of this country…
Fast forward to our… second day in Tokyo, with me reminding Fraser at every second opportunity that we “need to climb Fuji before the season ends on September 10th, we have to”, “you do remember that the season ends SePtemBer 1oTh RiGhT?” By the time we actually booked anything, even I hated myself – small lie, I have many character flaws. Thankfully however, one such flaw is a tendency for meticulous planning when the time calls for it, and with regards to Fuji this was necessary.
WHY:
The Mountain sat approx. two and bit hours outwith Tokyo, demanding 2 trains, and 2 coaches to reach our start point; the 5th Station, which begins part-way up the mountain and is where most climbers start the easiest of the 2 ascending trails; Yoshida. Secondly, the average human starts to experience symptoms of altitude sickness at 2000m (Mt Fuji; 3776m) and is ofttimes a sucker for a gid sunrise. Solving both of these issues, it was widely recommended that in order to adjust to the pressure and secure a spectacular morning view that you book accommodation in one of the several huts available further up. These promised a place to rest our heads, a meal, and shelter from the elements for several hours until it was time to climb once again. Being a novice, I felt this was best. For my savings account however, it was not. The hut would set us back just under 8000yen (£60); 4000yen (£30) for the coach to and from the mountain; a further 1000yen (£7) for the bus to and from the 5th station; another 1600 yen for the two trains there and back; 1000yen payment for mountain services (begrudgingly paid but I got a cute fuji key ring in return); and finally the added cost of Fraser and I splitting the price of a single head torch. All in all, over £100 went towards this experience excluding food costs but I’ll save you the details of my dietary habits for those 2 days.
We reached the 5th station on the 5th of September approx 4pm, with instructions to reach our hut before 8pm, held off for about 30 mins to adjust to the altitude, pee, and facetime Fraser’s dad for good wishes. Then we set off.
The first 2.5 hours ascending to our hut for the night were easy going, but as per Japan -fucking hot. We knew the summit would be 5 degrees maximum so had dressed more so for that part, not anticipating the heat prior to – 30 degrees hahahaha. However, these two glistening Scots kept the pace, passing every age and nationality imaginable – except Scots of course – and pretty soon it became clear that this event transcended divides of any sort. We were all on same path, suffering the same fatigue, dehydration and anticipation for the summit. Groups of elderly soldiered on at a slower pace just for us to encounter them again at the summit almost 10 hours later; an american couple bickered about the path down; “baby i told you, the easiest way up is usually the hardest way down, which is why we’re coming down this way” (they weren’t supposed to be coming down that way). And frequently we met nationalities where nothing could be exchanged between us but a hopeful smile.
At least an hour in and we had reached a point at which we were visibly above the clouds, and before long we reached our hut just as dark began to creep in. It wasn’t much, truly a place to rest your head – where toilets were flushed by you squirting a bottle at your own mess and the beds were a tatami mat with a sleeping bag. The meal however was a stunning veggie curry – possibly one of the best meals I had had since entering the country – finished with a green tea. Settling in for the night, we went to the deck outside to brush our teeth, looking down at the darkened trail from which we had just arrived. Small bright lights flickered in the distance signalling that there were, in fact, people still working their way up the mountain in the pitch dark. I’d return to the deck once again at midnight to pee, looking out again at a trail of bright lights continuing to ascend. Indeed, people do choose to climb these trails completely at night as I had read, and without the help of a hut (financially wise) but still I was surprised, Fuji drew the most determined bastards apparently…
Unable to sleep – partly from excitement and partly from the zombie-esque snoring of the guy next door – I nudged Fraser awake; afraid that the trails of people still coming up the mountain would create traffic on the route up. Begrudgingly he accepted and we rose again at half midnight for the next part. By now the layers were serving their purpose instead of hindering and on went the head torch (Fraser’s head not mine) to start the next five hours uphill. Within the first 20 minutes I would fall face first with perfect comedic timing signalling the need for a change of tactic – we were using one head torch for two people. From this point on, I would take the head torch and walk behind Fraser shining a light on us both and we would aim to stay behind anyone else with a torch. This is what happens when you’re too stingy to buy two torches instead of one, be warned all stingy bastards dreaming of Japan (more on this later because £W£O£W£ Japan).
It was a LONG five hours. Constantly finding comfortable footing just for it to be stolen again a few paces later. Additionally every thirty minutes or so the altitude would kick in and we would need to break at a random place until the cold set in again and we needed to move for warmth. But again we weren’t alone and the face of every passer by held these same feelings very visibly.
About 800 metres from the summit we hit a standstill, that busy line working its way up the mountain whilst we had “slept” lay before us as predicted, and now every few shuffles were followed by a few minutes of waiting. Picture that image from the top of Mount Everest that came out earlier this year, you know the one, with the full queue of climbers at the top of the world’s tallest bloody mountain!? Yep, it was exactly like that. A bit of an anticlimax to say the least, but we made it to the summit at approximately 4:55am, positioned ourselves for the show, and I sank my teeth into a snickers.
The next part, as you can imagine, went quickly and without a hitch. The sky bled from navy to red, and then to a mixture of pink and orange before hitting light blue. Pictures were attempted at all stages of this event but were hindered considerably by the violent shuddering that Fuji’s summit temps provided; the grimace on my face attesting to this. Nothing however, could detract from this beautiful moment. Fraser and I could laugh at each other struggling with the camera and frozen claws; there was a high degree of harmony across the crowds that had gathered; and finally the cost and struggle all felt worth it.
Until this tosser of a woman whacked out her phone and took a loud and unnecessary call.
You can’t have it all amarite – which is a lesson probably best learned by booking your non-refundable coach trip for 8 hours after you return to the foot of the mountain, because you want to make the most of the lakes at the bottom…
I want to extend my sincerest apologies to the little town of Kawaguchi for the many swears uttered in relation to it, and for the beauty I wasn’t able to find in those 8 hours. It was not your fault.
Fu***ing off; a personal tale of travels, triumphs and travesties. 