Tin Lizzie Japan/ Mt. Fuji

It was me and Maureen, the new high school English teacher in my town. I did not want to think about tackling the climb up Fuji by myself. An avid hiker, Maureen decided it would be a good way to end her first summer in Japan. She had visited the mountain once before, when she was a teenager, but was forced to turn back due to altitude sickness. We both were ready to attempt our own goals, so off to Fuji we went.

We left Tahara around 8:30 in the morning on Friday, estimating our arrival at the start of the climb to be around 1:30 or 2pm. But as fortune had it, we ended up just to the Fuji station at a little after one. Not too bad, still plenty of climbing time before dinner... we'd just catch the 1:30 bus to the fifth station. This is where the climbing begins, at the 2400m altitude mark. Of course the 1:30 bus was cancelled because climbing season was nearing the end (the guide we used to research this failed to mention the possibility). So we had to wait for the next bus which left at 3:45pm. The bus takes about an hour and forty minutes, pushing our starting time to half past five. We knew there were huts that served food further up the mountain, but if we couldn't climb that far before they closed, we had no chance.

I thought I was going to cry. This was my only chance to climb Fuji before leaving in the spring. I had trained by climbing the local Mt. Zaou several times beforehand, I had fought a fever just the Wednesday and Thursday before (it finally broke while I was packing Thursday evening), and we had reconciled leaving our third climbing buddy, Chris, back in Tahara (he also was quite sick). Not to mention the cost of the trains just to get to this point. I was determined, but we had to be realistic.

A ray of light: there were several lower stations where we could eat and stay. We were set.

Armed with a cartoon course map marking the stations and the average time it takes between each, we took the first steps up the treeless slope. It was indeed 5:30pm and we figured that if we could keep the pace of the map, then we could make it to the first 7th station in just 90 minutes. We made very good time and arrived at the station just as the sun tucked itself away for the night. This first bit of the climb was so beautiful, I couldn't help but stop as often as possible to soak it all in. The low clouds made the colors seem more intense. Bright red lava stone mixed with heavy black shifted and slid under my feet. The only foliage was content in scattered freckles of green shrubs, yellowing at the ends.

Keeping good pace, we made it to the lower seventh station just as night fell. So we went inside to a dinner of curry rice and a conversation with a group from Osaka. The group was comprised of retired elementary school principals and they were giving us pointers on our pace and such. They were really friendly, even gave us a bottle of water. But then it was bed time, we had to get up early afterall. The part of the hut were everyone sleeps is basically just a small rectangle with a large wooden shelf. One long futon and cover stretches the length of the floor and another along the shelf. The small buckwheat pillow is the only distinction from one person's space to the next. I can only imagine what it would be like full, packed along the floor like sardines and another row of people above on the shelf-like structure. Luckily, this hut wasn't full.

We woke up at one, or we at least got up at one. It was too cold to really sleep. And we headed out to start climbing again. The night climbing atmosphere is beautiful and memorable. The sky was so clear I could see the Milky Way. And as we looked up the mountain, all you could see was the single file of flashlights bobbing along a zigzag trail. The jingle of bells from the walking sticks was the only sound I could hear. Many paople were climbing in order to see the sunrise from the top, but as the air got thinner, fewer people were talking. Most were just focussing on getting to the top. After passing the eight stage, I began to get a bit sick. I assume it was altitude sickness, but I did not get the trademark headache or dizziness. But since I had a fever just the day before, I should not have been surprised. But I continued on, my pace a little slower.

When sunrise came, I was about twenty minutes behind my climbing partner, who was just ten minutes from the top. However, because my position was about 100 meters (altitude) lower than the summit, I was actually able to watch the sunrise. Had I been further up, the mountain would have in the way since the rest of the trail moved up the west side of the mountain. Fortunate was I, to stop and rest on a rock while watching the incredible red disk that is the Japanese sun, float slowly through the clouds below. First just a sliver like a finger nail, then the full round glow rising against the clear color washed sky above. I was frozen in awe of the moment until I became aware of my also frozen body. "I must keep moving..."

The sun didn't help warm things up this high, and I just got sicker. I was already halfway past the last station when the sun rose, and now I was even closer, maybe 50 meters(altitude) from the top. But each time I took a step, I almost fainted. I had been climbing blindly, using just the guide rope since the sun rose. So close to the summit, yet I had to stop. My friend was waiting at the top, so I asked a Japanese couple to tell her I wasn't coming. The girl was a quite enthusiastic and responded with a genki "aimasu yo!" (we will meet your friend!) I started heady back to the station below, where I waited in a sick stupor.

It was difficult to express my excitement and joy about reaching the top, or at least close enough to count (going to the 3725m mark out of 3776m is making it all the way in my book) . I still had to concentrate on making it back down. As we descended, it just got hotter and hotter, reminding me that the Japanese summer was really still present. I don't know which was more difficult, up or down. Up was cold and tiring, a drawn out constant challenge. Down was hot, while I was sick and slightly disoriented, and the path was crowded. But the challenge was the steep rock slope itself. Think baseball: imagine a barely safe slide into homeplate. Can you feel the tingle in your feet as they slip away from their balance and your body drops toward the earth? Now imagine that slide lasting a ceaseless three hours... this is the decent down Fuji. My motivation was in the notion of an ice cold ginger ale at the bottom. It would help settle my stomach they way water was not. Of course, there wasn't any ginger ale in the endless row of vending machines at the bottom. But hey, I did it, right!

It felt surreal as we headed back to Tahara by bus, then local train, then train, then train again, and finally the five minute walk to my apartment. I was so hungry when I got in, but my fatigue sent me straight to sleep. Looking at a picture of Fuji an artist gave me a while back, I imagine a stick figure me at the very top. It was quite an experience.