“You are wise to climb Mount Fuji once, but a fool to climb it twice.”

Last weekend was the antithesis of relaxing but in hindsight, it was worth it, i guess. The foggy drive to the fifth station of Mount Fuji (2200 meters) took most of Saturday’s daylight hours. There were 8 other JETs (English teachers), almost all newbies, so it was nice to have some people in my situation to talk to. We started our climb at 730 PM and immediately got above the clouds. The moon was rising and the sky was teeming with stars, which is supposed to be symbolic of something since the principal forced me to mention it in my speech that Monday.

The ascent comes across 10 stations where one can sleep, buy supplies (like nicotine vitamin water and cans of oxygen), and get one’s Mt. Fuji walking stick branded with the station name, design, and altitude, all at exorbitant prices. About halfway up, the climb became a sort of queue due to the huge tour groups whom left in the afternoon emerging from their mountain huts after a few hours rest. At 2am we passed the last station and had only 300 meters left. However, the line was insane; it was like waiting to get on a rollercoaster at Six Flags, except you were on a giant pile of lava rock.

Two-hundred-thousand people climb Mt. Fuji every year. The climbing season lasts approximately 2 months. Everyone wants to get to the top at the exact same time, just before sunrise, because that’s when you’re supposed to get there. So considering it was a weekend and we were on the most popular of the four routes to the top, I figure we climbed with about 2,000 - 3,000 others. This number seems absurd but it was literally a 5-kilometer queue up a monotonous, igneous and ash incline. It was a totally ridiculous and uniquely Japanese experience.

The climb itself wasn't that tough on the muscles, especially since you're forced to go slow, but it was still a lot more difficult than I expected. A feeling of nausea and a headache got worse throughout the ascent. I’m not sure how much of it was due to the altitude, lack of sleep, or the fact I ate only rest-stop junk food that day and no real dinner. But at 4am we made it to the top, 12,338 feet, and immediately set about the summit for a place out of the wind where we could huddle together for warmth. The blackness of the eastern sky was already starting to give way to lighter hues. Yet it was only a tease, the sun didn’t rise until 530, an agonizing wait of body shivering and teeth chattering.

But then the tiniest red sliver of sunlight pokes through the clouds. Your cheer merges with the hundreds of others who suffered along with you. The sun doesn’t come from the horizon but gives the illusion of coming right out of the clouds, a scalding red disk in the middle of a sea of white. And thus the Land of the Rising Sun. I’ll never look at the Japanese flag the same way again.



The way down was miserable, but at least it was warm. Forty five minutes after sunrise I was down to a t-shirt. The view down is of scores of identical switchbacks descending into oblivion. I began to run just to get it over with. And that was that.

thanks joel for the first photo and emma for the next two. The last is of the less crowded way down