Fuji-san

They say that you are a fool if you have never climbed Mt Fuji, and double the fool if you have climbed it twice. I am not sure what climbing it once makes you, but here goes.


Fuji-san is the highest point in Japan, and it is the ambition of every Japanese to see the sunrise from its summit. 300,000 thousand people thus climb the 3776m mountain each year, most of them during the 6 or so summer weeks when the summit is clear of snow and when the mountain huts (called 'stations') along the route are open, offering shelter and refreshments for the weary pilgrims. If you do the math, 300,000 people per year works out to several thousand per day during the peak season. And, indeed, the trail to the summit was crowded with people going up and others coming down.

For some reason, a large fraction of the climbers were Japanese-Brazilian Nissei and Sansei. Ever since Japan relaxed its citizenship/visa rules a few years ago, large numbers of these Japanese-Brasilians have been coming to the old coutry to live and work. They form a large ethnic minority in Japan now, with a distinct look, speech, and body language. With them, they have also brought some cultural gifts from the New World, including Capoeira - an foreign martial art that's rapidly growing in popularity in martial-arts-rich Japan. The cultural exchange goes both ways, however, and apparently there are now over 60 taiko groups in Brazil. It would be fascinating to learn more about Brazilian taiko, which must be a distinct branch of the tree complete with its own style and history. But I am straying from the main feature of this post...

The trail to the summit. Packed with Brazilians.

We began our expedition with a quick (relatively speaking: Fuji-san is almost as far away as Tokyo!) Shinkansen trip and a lengthy bus ride up to Station #5. Station #5, at 2400m, is as far as you can go by road and it's where most of the people coming from the Kansai area of Japan start their climb. Our slog uphill began with a downpour and what sounded like thunder but in the end turned out, much to Hideyo-san's relief, to be artillery exercises on the Japan Self-Defense Force range down in the valley.

Emerging out of the clouds.
Took me hours to stitch together in Photoshop, so make sure to click on the image to get a closer view.

In order to get to the summit for sunrise it is necessary to complete the latter parts of the climb in darkness. Most people start off in the afternoon, stop for a meal and a few hours of sleep at one of the mountain huts, and then continue again after midnight. We did likewise, although we declined to pay the insanely high fee for a piece of mountain hut floor space and instead braved the elements, along with several dozen fellow misers, in the lee of the hut at station #8. The cold and the constant stream of climbers on the trail in front of us kept us awake, but the army boys down in the valley kept us entertained, now adding occasional parachute flares and machine gun fire to the ongoing artillery barrage.

Around 1 AM, whether because of the cold or otherwise, we decided it was time to push off again. After an hour or so we arrived at the hut at station #9, where we stopped to warm up with a beautiful bowl of curry and some friendly atmosphere. Yep - if you are doing Fuji from the Kansai side, you should definitely skip station #8 and press on straight to #9.

Climbers taking a break inside hut #9.

After the hearty meal it was time to go forth again, for the clock was ticking towards sunrise at just before 5AM. As we walked, below and above us the lights carried by the hundreds of fellow climbers marked the zig-zagging trail up the mountainside. I will skip the cliche analogies about necklecess and the like here, and just say that it was a beautiful sight.

Not far to go now. (Where have I heard that one before...)

Time exposure of climbers' lamps below us. The whole trail, both below and above us, was marked by literally hundreds of tiny, moving points of light.

Climbers immediately below us and the city of Fujinomiya in the distance.

Racing the sun to the summit.

Sunrise was to be at just minutes before 5AM and we made to the top with just moments to spare. And while the whole eastern rim of the caldera was covered with people, we found a slightly higher, sparsely-populated wonderful little knoll a bit to the back, from where we had a fantastic view both of Mr. Sun, and of the awaiting crowds.

...and here it is!

And then, after a bowl of noodles, a short walk along the rim of the caldera, and a much-needed 30 minutes of sleep, it was time to go back down again.

Inside the caldera

Panorama towards the south. Suruga Bay in the centre and Izu Peninsula under the clouds on the upper left. Click on the image for a better view

Starting the long walk back down

They say that the enormous crowds on Fuji take away from the experience. But having been prepared for this, I felt that, on the contrary, it had been magical to be walking at night as part of the stream of pilgrims trekking to the summit to witness, together but separately, the first rays of the new day. And while they are probably right in saying that to climb Fuji twice makes you a fool, they are certainly right in what they say about those who, having been offered the chance, have declined to climb the mountain.

Fuji-san

They say that you are a fool if you have never climbed Mt Fuji, and double the fool if you have climbed it twice. I am not sure what climbing it once makes you, but here goes.


Fuji-san is the highest point in Japan, and it is the ambition of every Japanese to see the sunrise from its summit. 300,000 thousand people thus climb the 3776m mountain each year, most of them during the 6 or so summer weeks when the summit is clear of snow and when the mountain huts (called 'stations') along the route are open, offering shelter and refreshments for the weary pilgrims. If you do the math, 300,000 people per year works out to several thousand per day during the peak season. And, indeed, the trail to the summit was crowded with people going up and others coming down.

For some reason, a large fraction of the climbers were Japanese-Brazilian Nissei and Sansei. Ever since Japan relaxed its citizenship/visa rules a few years ago, large numbers of these Japanese-Brasilians have been coming to the old coutry to live and work. They form a large ethnic minority in Japan now, with a distinct look, speech, and body language. With them, they have also brought some cultural gifts from the New World, including Capoeira - an foreign martial art that's rapidly growing in popularity in martial-arts-rich Japan. The cultural exchange goes both ways, however, and apparently there are now over 60 taiko groups in Brazil. It would be fascinating to learn more about Brazilian taiko, which must be a distinct branch of the tree complete with its own style and history. But I am straying from the main feature of this post...

The trail to the summit. Packed with Brazilians.

We began our expedition with a quick (relatively speaking: Fuji-san is almost as far away as Tokyo!) Shinkansen trip and a lengthy bus ride up to Station #5. Station #5, at 2400m, is as far as you can go by road and it's where most of the people coming from the Kansai area of Japan start their climb. Our slog uphill began with a downpour and what sounded like thunder but in the end turned out, much to Hideyo-san's relief, to be artillery exercises on the Japan Self-Defense Force range down in the valley.

Emerging out of the clouds.
Took me hours to stitch together in Photoshop, so make sure to click on the image to get a closer view.

In order to get to the summit for sunrise it is necessary to complete the latter parts of the climb in darkness. Most people start off in the afternoon, stop for a meal and a few hours of sleep at one of the mountain huts, and then continue again after midnight. We did likewise, although we declined to pay the insanely high fee for a piece of mountain hut floor space and instead braved the elements, along with several dozen fellow misers, in the lee of the hut at station #8. The cold and the constant stream of climbers on the trail in front of us kept us awake, but the army boys down in the valley kept us entertained, now adding occasional parachute flares and machine gun fire to the ongoing artillery barrage.

Around 1 AM, whether because of the cold or otherwise, we decided it was time to push off again. After an hour or so we arrived at the hut at station #9, where we stopped to warm up with a beautiful bowl of curry and some friendly atmosphere. Yep - if you are doing Fuji from the Kansai side, you should definitely skip station #8 and press on straight to #9.

Climbers taking a break inside hut #9.

After the hearty meal it was time to go forth again, for the clock was ticking towards sunrise at just before 5AM. As we walked, below and above us the lights carried by the hundreds of fellow climbers marked the zig-zagging trail up the mountainside. I will skip the cliche analogies about necklecess and the like here, and just say that it was a beautiful sight.

Not far to go now. (Where have I heard that one before...)

Time exposure of climbers' lamps below us. The whole trail, both below and above us, was marked by literally hundreds of tiny, moving points of light.

Climbers immediately below us and the city of Fujinomiya in the distance.

Racing the sun to the summit.

Sunrise was to be at just minutes before 5AM and we made to the top with just moments to spare. And while the whole eastern rim of the caldera was covered with people, we found a slightly higher, sparsely-populated wonderful little knoll a bit to the back, from where we had a fantastic view both of Mr. Sun, and of the awaiting crowds.

...and here it is!

And then, after a bowl of noodles, a short walk along the rim of the caldera, and a much-needed 30 minutes of sleep, it was time to go back down again.

Inside the caldera

Panorama towards the south. Suruga Bay in the centre and Izu Peninsula under the clouds on the upper left. Click on the image for a better view

Starting the long walk back down

They say that the enormous crowds on Fuji take away from the experience. But having been prepared for this, I felt that, on the contrary, it had been magical to be walking at night as part of the stream of pilgrims trekking to the summit to witness, together but separately, the first rays of the new day. And while they are probably right in saying that to climb Fuji twice makes you a fool, they are certainly right in what they say about those who, having been offered the chance, have declined to climb the mountain.