Mt. Fuji Climb: July 2000

Recollections from my First Hyakumeizan

It’s been 19 years since I first climbed Japan’s most iconic peak, so this Mountain Day I thought it fitting to wind back the clock and revisit my first Nihon Hyakumeizan—or 100 Famous Japanese Mountain.

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Commemorative group shot before starting the climb.

“Do we need a torch?” called out George, my Australian flatmate with whom I’d been sharing an apartment for the past few months. “Yes,” I replied hastily—after all, we were going to be climbing through the night. Speaking of which, at the time I only owned one of those old 9-volt battery torches, which gave out about halfway up the mountain. A tad annoying, especially since I’d forked out 500 yen for the battery at a convenience store en route—a tidy sum back in the day.

Let’s just say George was a bit of a hiking novice, though this would also be my first big hike in Japan. I think the most outdoorsy clothes he owned were an Adidas tracksuit, a flannie (flannelette shirt), and a pair of sneakers. Also joining us was his girlfriend—‘Marie’ (can’t recall her real name)—who was visiting from Australia. Like George, Marie only packed a pair of runners and similarly hadn’t given much thought to wet weather gear or warm clothing.

Intrepid trio from left David, ‘Marie’ and George.

It was nearing the end of June, and George and I were making final preparations for our Mt. Fuji climb. At the time, we were both working part-time for the first iteration of the now-defunct NOVA eikaiwa school in Amagasaki City, just outside Osaka. Requesting a day off at NOVA was nigh impossible, so to leave on a Friday we had to swap shifts with other teachers and work their weekend at a later date. Hence the reason for its moniker—NO VAcation.

To give George his dues, he was the one who organized the climbing tour, as frankly I wouldn’t have had a clue how to go about it. This was the year 2000, the internet was still in its infancy, and in those days most travel arrangements entailed fronting up to a travel agent and booking face to face. Without at least a rudimentary grasp of Japanese or a local to drag along, even something simple like booking a short trip was insanely more difficult.

The travel itinerary seemed pretty straightforward, if not a little hectic. Perhaps best summed up by this email I dispatched shortly after the hike:

“Well it’s hard to describe, but climbing Mt. Fuji was probably one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. For a start, on Friday morning (June 30th) we got up at 5:30 am and arrived at the start of the hike at 4:30 pm. We started walking at 6:00 pm to be at the top around sunrise … so basically, it took about 10 hours to reach the summit, including a bit of a stopover.”

The email also mentions that we didn’t arrive back in Osaka until 9:00 pm Saturday night and were ‘awake’ for about 40 hours!

Taking a breather on the way up.

The 500 km bus trip to the Fuji-Subaru Line 5th Station seemed to take forever, the monotony only punctuated by the occasional michi-no-eki roadside rest area. Each time we pulled into one of these 24-hour public service stops, we had to confirm (usually via hand gestures) how long the break would be. It wasted a minute or two and probably drove the driver nuts. Apart from the three of us, the tour group was mostly Japanese, but it was a friendly atmosphere—especially after gathering for the obligatory group photo with Fuji-san in the background.

Arriving at the Yoshida Trail parking lot, I felt pretty pumped—until I realised we had to sit tight for 90 minutes before we could start climbing. Even though it was a day shy of the official climbing season, the place was bustling. The restaurants were chock-full, and the shops were doing a roaring trade as climbers stocked up on supplies. I’d brought a 2-litre bottle of water along with plenty of snacks, so I felt set.

Without much ado, we were off. The first thing that struck me was the pace. In the beginning it wasn’t too bad, but from the 6th Station onwards it became excruciatingly slow. With everyone walking lockstep up the zigzag trail, it resembled a gigantic conga line. There was no way to slip ahead nor much chance to pause, but at least the weather was cooperating. By the time we reached the 8th Station around 3,100 metres, the nighttime chill was setting in.

Permafrost near summit of Mt. Fuji.

After about five hours of solid—albeit sluggish—climbing and countless ⁎ganbatte!⁎s, we finally arrived at our rest hut sometime before midnight. If I recall correctly, we scoffed down a quick meal, queued up for the toilet, and made our way to the sleeping quarters. I don’t think before or since I’ve had such a tormented sleep.

The first challenge was the interlocking head-foot/foot-head layout, with two people assigned to each tatami mat. Roll over and your feet ploughed into your bedfellow’s head—and vice versa. Second was a throng of snorers loud enough to wake the dead. All I could do was pray silently for the nightmare to end. George got a smidgen of shut-eye. I didn’t get one iota.

Around 4:00 am, with the rest of our crew seemingly reinvigorated, we were again on the move. Luckily, the final stretch from the 8th Station to the summit takes less than 90 minutes. However, it’s the most congested part of the climb, as the Yoshida and Subashiri trails converge. Racing against the clock, we hoped to catch the sunrise. One small hitch: the mountain was now cloaked in pea soup fog. Not only that, but Marie’s pace had slowed, and grumbles could be heard about her and George’s now-damp clothing and dwindling water reserves.

The summit was genuinely cold. After trying to take a few quick snaps, Marie and I headed for the warm confines of one of the summit eateries. Laughing about the crazy drink prices is one fond memory. Meanwhile, George wandered off to check out Mt. Fuji’s main crater—later claiming he came close to toppling in. After some shenanigans, it was time for the trio to start the descent.

Descent via the Yoshida Trail.

For me, this was the most enjoyable part of the hike. Skating down the volcanic scree in my hiking shoes was a blast, and I soon left the other two in my wake. Apparently, their sneakers didn’t fare so well, and it was much later when George and Marie finally turned up at the 5th Station parking lot. The nice part was that after dropping a few hundred metres, the view cleared up—revealing a wonderful panorama. It was here that it struck me how high we had actually climbed—literally a feeling of being on top of the world.

Wrapping things up: at that point, I’d only been in Japan a short while and couldn’t quite get my head around the summertime onsen thing. The thought of taking a steaming hot bath on what was already a stifling day seemed bizarre, to say the least. So after a quick shower, I made my way to the restaurant for a bite to eat before psyching myself up for the long road trip home. I don’t recall much of the drive back to Osaka—needless to say, I was more than slightly buggered and slept most of the next day.

The climb wasn’t bad by any means—we were just a bit luckless with the weather. If the question is, would I climb Fuji-san again? Quite possibly, but I’d definitely steer towards one of the less crowded routes, such as the Gotemba Trail.

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