Let’s digress for a moment. I’ve always loved mountains (and also lakes, seas, and oceans). I’ve seen Mt. Fuji from afar a number of times -- by plane and also on the bullet train (Shinkansen) from Nagoya to Tokyo – and always been mesmerized by its classic beauty. When I was in Germany recently, Peter Amberger said that he was hoping to climb Mt. Fuji after speaking at our Tokyo International CAD/CAM/CAE Conference. He asked if I’d like to join him. I had no idea that Peter was an accomplished climber and I also had heard that thousands of people "hike" up Fujisan every summer (it’s closed the rest of the year for reasons of possible severe weather). Peter also further incented me by saying (correctly) that if I didn’t go up with him then my procrastination would mean that I would never do it. OK, so I was hooked. My prep was a couple weeks of 15 minute-a-day bike riding. I underestimated this one – the prep and the climb itself -- big time! I’m starting to understand this fact the night before when I hear of how much hiking/climbing experience Peter and Takeda-san really have.

Takeda-san, Michino-san, and Kasuya-san pick Peter and me up at the Shinagawa Prince Hotel at 4pm on Saturday, 19-July. We drive about 2 hours to the town of Gotemba (by Japanese standards a small village… but with probably 100,000 occupants, I’d call it a city). We search out a place to have dinner, and stumble on an interesting combination of spaghetti noodles cooked inside a potato pancake. Then a quick stop at a convenience store to pick up some 2 liter water bottles plus "cup of noodles" for our planned summit breakfast (to be cooked on the propane camping burner in Takeda-san’s backpack).

From his experience, Takeda-san has selected the southern-most of four courses that ascend Fujisan. Our course is called "Fujinomiya" and originates about 30 minutes northwest of Gotemba at 2380 meters elevation. All four courses start at about this same elevation, but Takeda-san has selected Fujinomiya because he says, before we start, that it is one of the easiest. Later he fesses up that Fujinomiya isn’t really one of the easiest, but that the easiest course (Yoshida) often has too much traffic (more on this later).

So we drive from Gotemba to our starting point, the 5^th station of Fujinomiya. We haven’t figured out why it’s called 5^th station as we didn’t see any stations 1 through 4. I guess there are stations that originate at near sea level and carry the very avid hiker to the end-of-the-road at 5^th station. Earlier we had asked Takeda-san if there might be a problem finding parking places at the 5^th station. He said "mondai nai" – no problem. Well, we get to the 5^th station only to find that all parking lots are full and we have to turnaround and find a place on the "linear parking lot" along the entrance road. After backtracking about 1.5 km (1 mile) and about 100m vertical (putting the summit that much further away!) we squeeze into a curbside spot.

So after getting on our gear we walk up to station 5. In retrospect, this was the "hiking" part – the rest would be far more strenuous than my definition of hiking and would be more analogous to the incline angle of climbing a stairway – so I’m going to forever call it "climbing Mt. Fuji". Let me try to set the scene. Looming over us, now in the twilight of 9pm, is the body and then the summit of Fujisan. I can see the weather station at the top but can’t really judge how far away it is. Well, it’s 1400 meters up. Add to that the 100 meters we’ve hiked and that’s 1500 meters or almost 5000 feet. During the hours to come, I find myself trying to find a physical calibration to this. How ‘bout this… we will climb the "staircase" of what amounts to 5 Empire State Buildings (or Sears Towers or World Trade Centers) stacked on top of one another. What I’ll find out later to my chagrin, is that we’ll also have to climb back down (!) these 5 skyscrapers.

OK. So we start climbing, led by Takeda-san with me in the second position. Takeda-san sets, what for me anyway, is a torrid pace. After our first rest stop at station 6, Peter suggests that we go at a pace at which we can last hours on end without loosing breath. This becomes the saving advice for me. I find that if I just put foot-in-front-of-foot very slowly and steadily, right on the edge of but not quite loosing breath, then I can keep it up. Peter further suggests going even a few meters out of our way to avoid "stepping up" whenever possible, as this requires extra energy. With these clues, I find that I step-by-step my way for about 15 minutes, take a 2 minute break, and then continue on.

Since I’m the oldest and least in shape, I’m the pacing item. Takeda-san and Peter could make this climb at twice my pace. Michino-san likes my pace, as he’s (typical of many Japanese) short of sleep in the past few days and at each 15 minute break leans his head over and takes a cat nap. Kasuya-san is a two-pack-a-day smoker and therefore also likes my uphill pace (more later about my downhill pace, or lack of same). I take solace (rightfully or not) in the fact that I’m the oldest at 49, with Peter 44, and our three Japanese friends in their late twenties or early thirties.

Climbing at night as we did is clearly the way to conquer this mountain. Our ascent lasted from 9pm to 3am. The weather got a bit nippy, I’d guess 5 deg C (40 deg F) as we neared the top, but given the exertion level the temperature is quite comfortable. And actually I would say that getting to the top was surprisingly uneventful and with the simple mantra of foot-in-front-of-foot somehow mindlessly doable. So much so, that there isn’t much newsworthy to say about the ascent, except that the "huts" along the way at each station (plus a couple substations) were far from my imagined cute little alpine Heidi huts. The stations are tiny rundown shacks dug into the hillside. Each station has one shack where they sell water and Coke (at about 3x street price) and also brand your walking stick plus another shack where you can "sleep" in rather horrid conditions. Our night on Fujisan is during the high traffic season, so people are also lying in sleeping bags as the path passes through each station. I’m happy that Takeda-san knows how this should be done and plans for us to avoid this no doubt sleepless sleepover. Better to climb up, look around, climp down and then sleep two night’s worth once you get back to the hotel.

By the way, I did buy a walking stick (about $7). After 30 minutes with it, Peter was nice enough to let me use his telescoping ski poles. Much lighter and better grip. Kasuya-san used my stick and therefore, as he lugged it the mile up and mile down, it is my pleasure to have gifted the stick to him.

A word about the terrain. Barren. We started just about at the treeline and then things turned immediately to a lifeless mixture of volcanic ash, small volcanic stones, the occasional larger granite rock, and an underlayer of hard volcanic structure. Each step put you in about a 3-5 inch layer of this volcanic "dirt" mixture. Again, rather far removed from the alpine meadows of my preconception.

I had read on the Internet that it’s best to not keep looking to the summit as you ascend. Following this advice, I’m actually surprised when we get there (the "top" of course). No time to even prepare to be elated. But somehow my body knew. Rather than exhausted, though, I’m surprisingly refreshed. We take some neat pictures of us and a holy arch in the foreground and the moon silhouetting the mountain in the background (the photo earlier of the team -- but the camera doesn't capture the depth of contrast). By the way, we were also super lucky to climb on a night with full moon and clear skies. Flashlights although used were a bit superfluous.

So we rest (Michino-san sleeps) for about 20 minutes and decide we should now go to the east side of the crater rim for viewing the sunrise. To our continued string of good luck, we beat the crowd there and get the very best "seats" right at the outer rim with a pile of stones at our back to block the wind. We have to wait till about 4:30am for the sunrise and by this time, without the previous exertion, things are getting rather cold. Here’s where I should have heeded my wife’s advice and wore my silk underclothings. Instead my shirts are fully soaked in sweat and despite the warm windbreaker, I’m very chilly.

Thankfully, Takeda-san breaks out the propane burner and heats water for Japanese tea (ooo, that was good) and then the "cup of noodles". The noodles are actually a hearty mixture of soup, noodles, egg, shrimp, vegetables, and pork. So we sit almost comfortably (those volcanic rocks are not at all soft), with a hundred or so fellow climbers and wait for the sunrise.

I say a hundred or so climbers. That is the output of our Fujinomiya course. But wow, the other courses! On the Yoshida course there is literally a traffic jam to get to the top. There are people lined up 4 abreast for several hundred meters down the Yoshida path. I’d guess that at least 500 people on that course didn’t make it in time to see the sunrise. As we make our trek around the crater rim (takes about 1 hour) we estimate that several thousand people are on the top of Fujisan. Unbelievable! Lines for the bathrooms are probably 50-100 people long. Fortunately, if you have standup action to do then the protocol allows you to cut in (is this a universal protocol?). But anyway, there are enough people up here to hold an interesting rock concert. Some are even older than I am. We didn’t see many younger than teenagers, and we concluded that even on the somewhat easier courses it is just too strenuous for children. On the other hand, we did see that first night and also the next day a lot of children (and even pets) that made a partial journey to the 6^th station. In any event, even Peter concluded that the large number of people that conquer this mountain is a true testimony to the holy and magnetic pull of Fujisan and to the dogged determination of the Japanese culture.

A further clarification of the stations. All courses seem to start with 5^th station and end with 10^th station. Ours had stations 6, 7, 8, and 9 plus two smaller substations between 6 and 7.

Back to the chronology. The sunrise is like out of a picture (or more accurately, moving picture) book, but slower and faster. Slower in that we first start seeing a noticeable lightening of the eastern sky at about 3:30 but it takes another hour until the sun starts peeking above the horizon. Then it’s fast. First we see a red sliver… in our case below a thin layer of clouds that we had not before noticed… and then voom, in a couple minutes it’s a full red ball (just like on the flag) and then in five minutes it’s its blazing yellow self.

After repacking our gear and refuse (not to be left on the mountain), we begin walking around the crater rim. By-the-way, my friend Takeda-san did some research and found that the last eruption of Fujisan was in 1707 A.D. The crater itself is a hundred meters or more deep. In a flat area on one side, we see a whole field of eco-conscious graffiti. By this I mean that about 100 figures are depicted by use of stones. You see peace symbols, country names, love phrases… you name it. By now my camera is out of film, but I trust that my friends captured this interesting sight.

The crater rim itself has a bit of vertical up-and-down to it, so we add about another 100 vertical meters to our journey and remind ourselves how fast one gets out of breath with going up rather than walking on the flat. As we get to the westernmost and steepest slope of Fujisan, Peter gets ambitious and stands on an overhanging rock with a free fall below of several hundred meters. Then he does a bit of rock climbing to beat us to the actual summit. We’re starting to understand that this man is a real mountain climber (I only found out afterwards that Peter had climbed more than just one or two mountains – and I let him talk me into this!). So we stand in line (of course) to have our picture taken at the summit marker.

OK, great accomplishment, right? Well, yes. But as I now find out, we’re only half finished. We have to go down. No problem, right? Wrong. Going down is not at all tough on breathing and heart rate, but it is murder on your joints and on your upper thighs. A bit like doing that skiing exercise where you stand against a wall and squat for a minute or so. But what really takes a beating are your feet. To top it all off, the descent even adds some slight danger, as you’re constantly prone to slipping on the loose volcanic powder. As we progress downhill, my biggest worry is that I might fall and stupidly break an arm or something. I find out that my balance is not so great, but fortunately I have good reflexes that convert each slip into merely an ungraceful stumble.

But now I am clearly the one that holds back the whole team. In addition to my paranoia about slipping, my feet are also killing me and I’m thirsty as hell. OK, you get the picture… I liked the ascent and the time at the top, but I’m hating this downhill stuff. To add to the fun, the Sunday crowds are arriving and loads of people are going up the course the same time we’re trying to come down. And by now it’s very sunny and getting hot. We even saw a couple guys carrying mountain bikes on their shoulders climbing up the mountain (it must take them 9 hours or more to get to the top)… then, we presume, then will do a mountain bike descent of Fujisan. Crazy to go up like that, and also crazy to come down because of the boulders strewn all around this mountain.

Normally one would expect to make it down the mountain in 2-3 hours, but with me as the pacing item it takes us 4 hours. A word here of praise and appreciation for my team members. At all times they made sure that someone stayed behind with me to make certain that I made it safely. And we all collected again at the rest stations. Great guys in every respect.

As we get further down the mountain, the crowd going up just grows. It’s clear that the traffic jam we saw on Sunday morning will even be surpassed on Sunday night/Monday morning. With my feet absolutely aching, I’m wondering what the heck is the appeal of this mountain. There is clearly some holy attraction (to believers and non-believers) with this volcanic cone in the sky.

Needless to say, I’m starting to think that we’ll never get down this friggin’ mountain (OK, my attitude is starting to deteriorate a bit). I forgot about the substations 6b and 6a and therefore I thought we were all the way down the mountain but we still have two stations, and 1 hour, to go.

But we make it. I guess there was no other choice. Going up you can always decide to stop going up, turnaround, and come down. Going down, if you aren’t having fun all you can do is keep going down and hope the misery ends sooner rather than later.

But going down for us means also walking the 1.5 km or so to our car (actually a rented minivan). On the trek down our Fujinomiya course, Peter was encouraging me that once we made it to 5^th station then the little walk to the car will be "angenehm" (pleasant). Hmmm, not for me. But enough complaining. Dragging, but (or is it "dragging butt"?) alive and at least mentally invigorated by the accomplishment, I make it to the car, a liter of water, and Band-Aids for my blisters. We all relax for 15 minutes or so and change into dry, clean clothes (the cuffs of my pants – as well as my ears, I later discover – are filled with volcanic dust).

We jump into the van ready to get to a restaurant for a good lunch and ultimately to our hotel to recapture the night’s sleep we’ve lost. But as soon as we get on the road, we’re a victim of gridlock. Whereas on Saturday evening cars were linearly parked about 1.5 km along the road, that snake now extends about 4-5 km. And the big buses coming up to 5^th station can’t get past both the curb-parked autos and the lane of cars departing downhill. We’re at a dead standstill for about 90 minutes before the gridlock finally breaks up. But Peter and I are learning the Japanese art of patience (they’re unbelievable at this!), and we join Michino-san in a nap (this man can sleep anywhere, anytime). Actually just before this, we had both remarked how our bodies/minds had totally missed the fact that we had lost a night’s sleep. But payment was due, and we both enjoyed our nap (all the way to Tokyo) and the 12+ hours sleep on Sunday night.

So in reflection, what can I say about climbing Fujisan? Without a doubt, the most strenuous physical activity of my life. But not to be missed (or procrastinated about), by anyone who has the chance to do it. Pray in advance for the luck we had… not too cold, not too hot, no rain or lightning storms, not too much traffic, full moon, clear skies, and a glorious sunrise. [If I had to do it again, I’d also pray for a helicopter ride back down!] Remember, foot-in-front-of-foot. "Share" the experience with trusted friends who will watch out for you. Remember -- before, during, and after -- the loved ones at home that steadfastly encourage you to make it happen. Fujisan… a mountain that is strangely barren and featureless and at the same time powerfully beautiful and magnetic.

Humbled by it all,

Wayne McClelland