Inch by inch

The Japanese call Fuji-san “shy” because of the clouds that hide the peak from view most of the time (the mountain is tall enough that it generates its own weather, mostly clouds). But every once in a while, the clouds part for a minute and allow a view of the well-known profile. This particular view came from the toll highway that we weren’t supposed to be on. (The driver didn’t listen to the navigator’s directions and took a left turn against his advice and cost us $5 in tolls - but wasn't the view worth it?)

The proper way to climb Fuji-san is to start at the bottom, and climb all the way to the top through the 10 “stations” along the way (most stations aren’t much more than mile markers, but they’re absolutely necessary to break the monotony). You buy a wooden walking stick (complete with jingle bells to scare off the evil spirits) when you start, and have it branded at every station along the way to prove you hiked the entire thing.

You can, however, drive as far as Station 5. Since we weren’t Shinto pilgrims (or total idiots), we started from this halfway point (after removing the jingle bells, like all the other non-Asian climbers). Yes, our walking stick is missing the first 4 brands. But since Station 6 was closed when we got there, we’d be missing one through no fault of our own anyway. So we refuse to feel inadequate.

As we set off, it was so very romantic. There was a full moon, the path was a nice wide stroll (albeit uphill), jingle bells chimed in the distance, and the lights of the surrounding towns (including a small fireworks display) were spread out beneath our feet. We also noticed that we were hiking way ahead of schedule (there’s no real place to wait until sunrise at the top, so you don’t want to get there early), so we were deliberately ambling (putting on speed only when the jingle bells got too close and loud). In addition, there were a ton of foreign tourists on the mountain, most of whom spoke English, so we could exchange Japanese horror stories with people at the rest stops. All in all, very pleasant.

After about Station 7, it stopped being a steep hiking path and became more of a scramble over knee-high chunks of old lava – much slower and more painful. But before it got really tiresome, there was a hut with a really cool monkey brand for the walking stick. It’s the adult version of giving a kid a Looney Toons band aid, and was just as effective.


Unfortunately, even the thrill of a monkey brand only lasted so long. Somewhere after the 8th station, the climb just started to hurt. The refrain “inch by inch” started running through my mind over and over and over again as I scrambled on and on, but the lights at the top didn’t seem to get any closer. Dejection started to set in. Food and bathroom became more and more expensive (and smellier, at least for the latter). It got colder and windier. And you’re not allowed into the huts for even the length of time it takes them to brand your stick (you hand the stick in through the crack in the door and wait outside with your nose pressed up against the glass until they’re done – if you want to rest in the warmth, it’ll cost you $10 an hour).

The final straw came several hundred meters from the top – the human traffic jam. The climbers with a cigarette in one hand and an oxygen bottle in the other need to stop and take a rest, which they do in the middle of the road. If you try to go around them, the guides start screaming at you in incomprehensible Japanese (I can only assume they’re yelling at people to stay on the marked trails), so your only option is to trip the stationary people with your walking stick and climb over their limp bodies. To top it off, the sky was getting rather light, so there was a real sense of urgency to get to the top.

Sunrise at long last, viewed from the highest point in the land of the rising sun. And it was magnificent.















After many pictures, another set of brands, and some very expensive soup, we headed down (down the wrong trail due to navigator error – 45 minutes later we were again headed down, this time on the right trail). Only to find out that up was the easy part. The ascending trail travels up a spine of rock, but the descending trail follows the rock fall. It’s all covered with lava chunks buried in loose sand (ball bearings in grease), especially designed to twist ankles and blow out knees. And now it was light out so we could see how far we still had to go (and how ugly the mountain really is up close). The only amusing part was watching the 3 Americans bound down the trail with a half dead looking Japanese girl between them. They kept telling her how well she was doing as they dragged her along, but we never saw her actually move on her own.

All in all, Fuji-san just hurt. The view from the top was amazing, but did not justify the 14 hour hike over treeless, wind-swept lava. Unless it’s a religious experience, I highly recommend finding another, less popular, prettier, 12,000 ft peak to watch the sunrise from. Or even better - a hot tub with a nice view instead.

Bazilsmom: “No more mountains ever!”
XDirtPushr: “No more volcanoes ever, but do you want to climb half dome next year?”