First published: July 18th 2013
Richard Kinsella watches the sunrise from the summit of Mt. Fuji.
After
our brief visit to Tokyo, it was time for Richard and I to ascend Mt. Fuji.
Climbing Fuji-san had long been a goal of mine since arriving in Japan. Living in Scotland, I'd naturally gone hill-walking and climbed a few mountains in my time (especially in my teenage years, when my father and I would often travel for a day of walking around the historic Scottish countryside). This was another ambition entirely, though: Mt. Fuji is 3776 metres tall, far taller than any other mountain I'd climbed. It is an iconic image of Japan, dating back throughout its long history as a sight to be revered. I desperately wanted to see the view from the peak of the mountain.
The climb is only advised in July and August when the snow is at it's lowest levels and emergency services run at their highest capacity. For Richard - only days from leaving Japan to move home to Scotland - this was one of the final images he would see of the country.
Richard shows off his new head-lamp,
specially purchased for the climb ahead.
We opted to start at the Kawaguchiko 5th Station, the most popular destination for starting the climb at an altitude of already 2300 metres. Most climbers opt for this option rather than start from the base of the mountain, though there are many other stations. This particular route took a long distance off of the climb, and was highly recommended. The ascent would take up to seven hours to the summit. Richard and I were planning to climb throughout the evening in order to arrive for sunrise the next morning.
Waiting for the connection bus at Kawaguchiko station.
Surprisingly, a camera crew were shooting something at the base.
Richard is ready to climb.
Our first bus, leaving from Shinjuku, arrived at Kawaguchiko station in the early evening. It was already dark, and we had to wait for a little while before our transfer to the mountain. There were already plenty of other climbers around who were visibly packed and ready for the ascent. When the bus came, it took about an hour or so more before we finally arrived at Kawaguchiko 5th station at around 9pm.
Starting the climb from the Kawaguchiko 5th Station.
You'd think there would only be one way (up).
You would be wrong.
After a brief stop into the gift shop to use the toilets (and, for myself, to buy a walking stick like Richard's), we began our long walk.
At first, I was perplexed to notice a multitude of signs pointing in different directions. Surely the only way was up, right? We followed the path marked as leading to the summit, being taken by most of the travellers. Even that was a strange sensation, as the start of this route was actually along a slope which lead down the mountain. Nevertheless, there were many other people walking this way, and we decided to trust in the signs to lead us to our destination.
Richard stops to examine the "soil".
Already we were well above the clouds, and the view of the cities on the horizon were obscured by a thick blanket of them. In the evening, the entire area was unusually quiet for Japan, save for our footsteps and the occasional traveller we overtook or who overtook us. A few other travellers were heading down from the summit, presumably having climbed earlier during the day. The temperature was somewhat cooler, too: the high altitude offered a welcome respite from the intense temperatures we'd felt in Tokyo.
A lamp near the start of our climb. Mostly, the route was simply dark.
There were very little lights on the climb, and mostly we were relying upon Richard's headlamp to show us the path ahead. My torch was proving useless as the beam lacked any power and the unit simply too cumbersome. For a while, there was no one else around, and it seemed we were well ahead of the rest of the travellers.
The "soil" on the ground, if it could be called that, was basically the remains of volcanic ash. On these lower mountain slopes, there was plenty of vegetation, though that soon gave way to vast expanses of grey and rock without any signs of life. The higher we climbed, banks of deep snow started to be seen just to the sides of our path. The temperature was getting cooler and it was starting to feel a bit like winter.
At first, there had been no noticeable drop in air density, and everything seemed to be going pretty well. Richard and I chatted away contentedly, though we were always aware of some sharp, precarious and unmarked drops to our side. Certainly the careless climber could have quite the severe fall.
Taking a break at one of the rest huts.
Scattered up the side of the mountain were occasional resting houses for travellers to use. Many of these charged a fee for space in a small room, while some served food and drinks. Richard and I had prepared much of our own supplies back in Tokyo before leaving, and so we felt no need to purchase anything - save for a few drinks at the vending machines. All around us, more and more travellers were starting to congregate. It seemed that, while we'd stopped for our ten minute rest, quite a few people had caught us up. Our ascent began to appear much more populated.
At one of the stations, Richard tried to drink a can of Red Bull he'd bought in Tokyo only to discover that it had been punctured in his bag. With the spray shooting out like a mini-geyser, Richard had to drink it the only way he could: through the side of the can.
Richard is forced to drink Red Bull in an unconventional manner.
Before long, we found ourselves lost within a huge queue of traffic. It was unclear whether or not we had caught up with travellers ahead of us, or if we'd simply been overtaken en masse without noticing. Regardless, we were caught in the slipstream of a big queue travelling up a narrow pass. We were moving at a snail's pace, with people only a few centimetres in front and behind. For a mountain the scale of Fuji, the route we were on was completely congested. Our journey began to slow down considerably.
A huge trail of fellow climbers leaves us trapped in the slipstream.
Before long, however, the path opened up again. As we entered the higher altitudes, many people started to stop for longer periods. The air was thinning out, and Richard and I had both started to walk in silence, unable to talk due to the need to conserve our breath. More and more people were struggling to climb, and consequently we managed to push ahead. Our steps were heavier, though, and I began to feel the onset of a headache (which Richard thankfully saved me from with his aspirin). We were moving slower than earlier, and stopping much more regularly - at one steep point, almost every few steps. Still, we persevered, and before long - ahead of many of the others behind us - we made it to the summit of the mountain around 3am.
The mountain summit took the shape of the circumference of the deep crater that leads into the heart of Fuji-san (which is, after all, a volcano). It was still dark where we arrived, but snow was everywhere - so close at times that we could reach out and touch it. We wandered around the summit admiring the stars, clambering over rocks and stopping by a row of vending machines and benches for several cups of coffee. We were acclimatizing to the low oxygen density but the summit was freezing, and we were both feeling heavy and tired after our lengthy climb.
Around 4am, the dawn began to noticeably set in. Sunrise was imminent, and we made our way to one of the ridges to try and get the best view.
On the summit as the sky begins to get lighter.
While I focused on trying to capture still images, Richard wanted to capture the moment on film with his video camera.
Richard prepares his video camera to capture the sunrise.
With so many clouds on the horizon, we waited patiently for the sun to arise above them.
Just after 4.30am, it came into view.
Daybreak.
Watching the sunrise whilst wearing Richard's hat.
The two of us stood, cold and shivering, with hundreds of other climbers on the summit as we watched the sunrise on the opposite side of the mountain. Transfixed aces in the crowd started to glow with the radiant orange glow of early sunlight.
It was absolutely breathtaking.
Fellow climbers watch the sunrise.
The ridges of the summit.
Looking into the crater at the summit.
Seeing snow in July was a bizarre sensation.
Both Richard and I were starting to feel absolutely exhausted. It had been one hell of a trek, and we were feeling it. We lingered around our spot on the summit for a long time simply admiring the view.
Not looking our best.
Richard captures his farewell message for his students and colleagues on Naoshima.
Eventually, when the sun had been up for around an hour or so, we felt re-energized enough to begin moving down from the ridge we were on the lower sides of the summit. There were far more people around that I had anticipated, all of whom looked equally as tired as we did.
Admiring the view on the peak of Fuji-san.
Victorious.
(Luckily, a nearby pair of Japanese woman volunteered to photo us together.)
Fellow climbers rest before the long descent down the mountain.
We decided to get a head-start on the descent. Many people were still lingering and eating breakfast which they had packed. Richard and I, sadly, had eaten through the vast majority of our supplies. Eating just a few little nibbles, we began our long descent to the bottom of the mountain.
A view from the summit.
A sleepy Richard and I gather our bearings.
And long it was. The zig-zag pattern was trance-inducing; a different route to one we had climbed and far flatter, perhaps designed not to strain weary travellers. Regardless, it was a long walk and still a little steep - people were constantly falling over (ourselves included).
Beginning the descent.
Unbeknownst to us, we had taken a much longer route than necessary to get back down to Kawaguchiko 5th. We were actually heading for a different station entirely, situated further down the mountain. We travelled down as fast as our tired legs would carry us, having heard that the walk down from Fuji-san was far shorter than the walk up. Sadly, that proved not to be the case.
Good photo ops aplenty.
On and on the zig-zag pattern went. People were falling over all around us. We stopped briefly at a couple of stations for cup noodles and toilet trips, but for the most part we were powering down. Yet the end seemed to never come. Each possible ending to our path seemed to just lead to more path. We walked for hours feeling like we'd made almost no progression.
On the plus side, the views were stunning. More scenic beauty was appearing on the horizon as we say the natural forested areas on the slopes of the mountain. A mist was coming over us that day, and the weather was gently warming as we descended - still not as hot as on the ground in Tokyo. It was a long walk, but for the most part, a very beautiful one.
A... horse? There were a surprising amount of these around the fifth station.
After what felt like an eternity and a long detour through a forest to correct ourselves, we finally found ourselves back on the path to Kawaguchiko 5th station. With the mist all around us, we stumbled upon horses and many new travellers heading to Fuji-san in the early morning, making their way to begin their own climb. I couldn't help but feel like they'd missed out greatly by travelling during the day and missing the beautiful sunrise only a few hours earlier.
At long last, we staggered into Kawaguchiko 5th station sometime around midday. We were both knackered. We made our way to purchase bus tickets, before finding a cafe and indulging in a beef gyudon lunch (thin beef strips on a bowl of rice) with orange juice. As you can see from our photographs, we were in no mood to be awake.
A sleepy brunch.
After filling our bellies, we made our way back to Shinjuku station on the bus. This bus would take us directly to our destination, and we couldn't be happier. Richard passed out in the seat next to me almost instantly. Poor guy.
Travelling back to Shinjuku before the long journey home begins.
In Shinjuku, we opted to take the Shinkansen straight home - though Richard, regaining consciousness - decided to pop into Uni Qlo for a final time to pick up some 'One Piece' shirts from the clothing chain. Leaving in just a few days, this was his final chance to purchase these shirts which he'd intended to for some time. Barely awake but determined, we picked up the shirts and staggered to the bullet train hub.
It would take about four to five hours for us to get back to Kagawa, but we hoped we would be able to sleep on the train to work off some of the exhaustion. Sadly, I ended up sitting next to an enthusiastic old Japanese woman who could speak English and was determined to practice her skills with me. When she finally left the train after an hour's difficult discussion later, I conked out completely.
A lot of people I've spoken to who have also climbed Mt. Fuji have said that it was an incredibly difficult and exhausting climb which left them tired for several days afterwards. To be honest, I didn't think it was that difficult. The greatest challenges are simply the length of the walk and the cold temperatures, though if you prepare for those and account for the climate changes you should be fine. Of course, some people will be more susceptible to altitude sickness than others, which luckily both Richard and I managed to escape. There are a few areas where you'll need to physically clamber over rocks, which can prove difficult (so much so I had to put my torch away). It did leave me feeling a bit achy in my joints for a couple of days, but it certainly wasn't as bad as I expected.
Overall, it was an amazing experience. Any physical hardships on the way were well worth it for a beautiful sunrise view and an exhilarating sense of achievement that I can look back on. To come to Japan and not climb Fuji would be a real shame. I'd advise it to anyone who thinks they can hack it.
For Richard, I hope it was an excellent farewell to the country he'd lived in for three years.
Done.
