The hut operators provide a 2:30 a.m. wakeup call each day so hikers can heave themselves up the rest of the mountain in time to see the sunrise. However, between the hard bunk, the banging of the bathroom door outside, the arrival of new guests, and the endless parade of overnight hikers stomping past the hut, sleep proved elusive for most of us. We finally gave up the charade a little after 1 a.m. and after waking Aaron from a sound sleep, we bundled up in layers, laced up our boots, strapped on our headlamps, and slipped out into the cold to merge with the masses headed up the trail. The climb was rockier and steeper than the day before, and the path was narrower, usually with just enough room for two people to walk side by side. The crowd actually worked to my advantage; it was like bumper to bumper rush hour traffic on I-95, so we were forced to stop every few meters. I could catch my breath without slowing anyone down. The trail got narrower still, forcing us to go single file in some sections. All of the switchbacks made it seem like we were in line for a ride at some particularly sadistic theme park. This was especially frustrating for Jim, who had energy to spare and desperately wanted to pass the large Japanese tour groups clogging up the path. I simply enjoyed the chance to breathe and look back down the hill at the endless undulating snake of headlamps bobbing in the dark. As time continued to tick away, the increasing strength of the frigid wind and the first hints of brightening skies in the east added an urgency to our efforts to reach the top.
Nearly two and a half hours after leaving the “hotel,” we finally passed through the torii gate marking the shrine perched on the summit of Mt. Fuji. Victory!! All around us were hordes of people milling about, stomping frozen feet, slurping Cup Noodles, and prepping their cameras to catch the perfect shot of the sun’s first peek above the horizon. All I cared about was finding the person who could brand an authentic sunrise stamp into my stick, thereby confirming that I had in fact completed this monumental undertaking. I stood in line behind scores of other people with Fuji sticks, not to get a brand, but a disappointing series of kanji characters made by whacking a henna-covered stamp into the side of my stick with a hammer (an admittedly much faster process than branding, which I can kind of understand given the ever-growing line of customers). It left a wet impression that I was warned not to touch (despite the fact that it was placed precisely where I’d been gripping the stick for the entire climb), and looked nothing like the sunrise brand I could have purchased down by the 7th station. Arrggghhh!!
Being fairly drained by the bitter cold winds buffeting us on top of Mt. Fuji, we chose not to take the hour-long walk around the crater rim, therefore missing the actual highest point (directly opposite where we were standing), the weather station, souvenir shops, and Japan’s highest post office. In fact, after a short consultation in which Aaron with his fancy camera was the only dissenting vote, we decided that goraiko, the coming of the light, would be just as impressive from the descending trail as from the summit. So at 4:55 a.m., thirteen minutes shy of the official sunrise, Jim and I got our picture taken at the summit, then turned around and made for the exit.
Initially, I was grateful that the descending trail was not the same as the ascending trail—I was not looking forward to scrambling down all those viciously sharp rocks I had just climbed up. The trail started out as a wide, gently sloping path blanketed in thick volcanic dust. Messy but soft, and the easiest way to proceed was just to jog down. I stopped to get pictures of the sunrise along the way, keeping Jim in my sights ahead of me and Aaron behind me. Before long, the dusty trail became littered with lava rocks, much like you’d find in the bottom of a barbecue grill or lining flower beds (shocking to find lava rocks on a volcano, I know) and jogging became less of a viable option. A few rocks scattered half-buried in the dust turned quickly into endless mounds of unstable, shifting, rolling, sliding deathtraps, just waiting for an unsuspecting hiker to make a misstep. Well, before long I did, and down I went, landing flat on my back, my surgically repaired knee bent so my foot touched my butt for the first time in two years, and my camera catching most of my weight on the right side. After verifying that no limbs were broken, I tucked the now useless camera in my backpack, slurped a calming drink of water from the rapidly dwindling supply in my Camelback, and cautiously made my way down around the next bend where I found Jim waiting. After learning of my fall, he stayed closer to me on the increasingly steep zigzagging descent. Physically, I had to stop way more often than he would have liked, because my legs just weren’t going to hold me up another step. I ate peanuts, beef jerky, and M&Ms, hoping to get enough of a protein/sugar rush to calm the uncontrollable shaking in my legs. An hour or so into the descent, with nothing in front of us but an infinite number of switchbacks covered in treacherous rocks, and an increasingly warm sun blazing overhead, I had drunk all of my water (no one told us there would be nowhere to buy water on the downhill side, or I would have gladly paid $6 a bottle to restock before leaving Fujisan Hotel). Two more falls marked the end of my emotional stamina, and I had to take yet another break on the side of the trail, crying miserably.
Getting no sympathy from Jim, and noticing that he was becoming increasingly upset with my frequent stops, I urged him to just go on down the hill and meet me at the bottom. He refused, and since Fuji showed no signs of an imminent eruption to put a fiery end to my misery, I was left with no alternative but to suck it up and try to manage a steadier pace. I can’t say the speed improved much over the next hour, but despite some graceless, lunging slips, there were no more falls, which slightly improved my emotional state. After a call from Patrick (yes, DOCOMO cell phones work on Fuji), who had already reached the bottom and was waiting with Pat and Angela at the 5th station, we determined that we were about an hour from being done with this whole mess. Increasingly thirsty and trembly, each downward step was sheer agony, and the Fuji stick was finally put to good use. With Jim supporting me on one side, and the Fuji stick on the other, we made it to the point where the ascending and descending trails merge, and scenery began to look familiar—almost there. We passed the horses we’d seen on the way up (I refused to pay $120 to ride one the rest of the way down), where we received another call from Patrick wondering where we were. Apparently still about 30 minutes away, so I begged him to please buy us bottled water and Aquarius to have the second we walked off the trail. He also mentioned that Aaron had made it to the bottom. Really? He didn’t pass us. Hmm. Unfortunately, he had taken the wrong fork in the descending trail, and ended up on the other side of the mountain. Not wanting to embark on a three hour drive to pick him up, Pat told him to find the train station, and we’d see him at home.
Remember I mentioned when we started our climb yesterday that we were initially going downhill? I thought going back up that section would really suck on the return trip, hikers being tired and all. Never in my life have I been so glad to walk uphill. The gradual incline took the pressure off the screaming muscles in my thighs and calves, my toes were no longer jammed up against the inside of my boots, and as I saw the corner of the 5th station buildings peeking over the treetops ahead of us, I was able to hobble faster to the end of this miserable journey. We passed dozens of people who were just starting out, looking fresh and clean, and as excited as we had been yesterday—I figured seeing my bedraggled condition would discourage some of them, but they continued happily on their way. Finally catching sight of Patrick walking toward us with dewy bottles of water in his hands brought a fresh round of tears, this time a combination of exhaustion, gratitude, relief, pain, and even a bit of elation at having conquered Mt. Fuji. After a short rest and guzzling two bottles of much-needed liquid, the five remaining members of our party struck out for the parking lot and the waiting van which would carry us off that blasted mountain. Save for a revitalizing stop at McDonalds, the ride home was decidedly more quiet than yesterday’s journey.
Back at home, we rolled out of the van and went inside to face the menacing staircase separating us from the hot shower that we hoped would soothe aching muscles and wash off the gritty film of volcanic dust. Afterwards, a nap and cocktail of Advil and Tylenol didn’t do much to ease the soreness, so I endured an agonizing climb back down the stairs to soak in the tub. Still not finding much relief, I resigned myself to another night with little rest.
Before succumbing to sleep, Jim and I rehashed our Fuji adventure once again--the good, the bad, and the ugly. Despite the agony, I am happy (or will be) that I did not miss the opportunity to climb Mt. Fuji while we were in Japan. I don't think I'll be tackling Everest, and I have certainly abandoned our hare-brained, pre-climb scheme to go back to Fuji next year and start from the very bottom. If they ever offer cable car or helicopter rides down from the summit, I might be convinced to climb Mt. Fuji again (after all, I never did get my coveted sunrise stamp), but the devil will be wearing a fur-lined parka before I ever agree to walk/slide/fall back down that hellacious pile of rock.
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