Hitogomi: Why Japan’s Mountains Feel Busier Than Ever

The Rising Tide of Hikers in Japan

A few weeks ago, I shared why I’ve decided not to complete the Hyakumeizan, Japan’s celebrated list of 100 mountains. While that choice came from a mix of personal and deeper reflections, one word keeps coming back to me on the trail: hitogomi (人混み)—crowds.

For anyone who hikes in Japan, hitogomi isn’t merely a seasonal inconvenience; it has become an unavoidable hallmark of many popular mountains, particularly those on the Hyakumeizan list. In recent years, the numbers have only grown.

From my own experience, it’s been a mixed bag: from those rare, blissful moments of having a summit entirely to myself to sharing the trail with a constant flow of people. No matter how strategic or fortunate you are in avoiding crowds, they inevitably appear sooner or later. There was a time not so long ago when carrying a tent meant I didn’t need to worry about booking ahead—but those days are, unfortunately, now long past, with an increasing number of mountain huts requiring hikers to reserve a tent site in advance during busy periods. For thru-hikes, this adds an additional layer of complexity, as it did when planning my Northern Alps traverse last summer.

While COVID-19 temporarily put a damper on mountain traffic, it was just that—temporary. As restrictions eased, mountain climbing saw a sharp rebound, with more people than ever taking to the trails. The reasons are many: a renewed appreciation for the outdoors, increased domestic travel, a greater focus on health and fitness, and social media’s role in showcasing Japan’s dramatic alpine scenery. The result is that places already popular—think Fuji, Kita-dake, Tsubakuro, or Yari—have become downright packed, especially on weekends and holidays. At their worst, some trails feel more like slow-moving human conveyor belts than serene natural escapes. For those of us who hike to get away from the bustle of city life, the irony is hard to miss.

Mt. Fuji deserves a special mention—not only as Japan’s tallest peak, but also as its most notorious for overcrowding. When I climbed it at the turn of the millennium, I was shocked by how packed it was—a situation that has only worsened over time. Only in recent years, it seems, have the authorities finally begun to apply the brakes. Last year saw just over 200,000 visitors—a drop of more than 100,000 from its most crowded years. Unfortunately, the only viable solution on the table appears to be placing a greater financial onus on climbers through higher climbing fees.

On a typical summer weekend, the Yoshida Trail resembles a queue for Tokyo Disneyland more than a mountain path. Climbing Mt. Fuji has become less about communing with nature and more about logistics, as prefectures now experiment with reservation systems, trail fees, and crowd control to manage the overload.

Avoiding the crowds on Fuji? Honestly, it’s nearly impossible during the official season. Which raises a larger question—is it still possible to find solitude in Japan’s mountains?

While it’s getting harder, there are still ways to escape the crowds. Some are officially sanctioned; others tread into the greyer edges of mountain etiquette.

Official Strategies

Start Early: Camp or stay at a hut, preferably close to the summit, and aim to be on the trail by 4 am if possible.

Sleep in Your Car: If the trailhead has parking, arriving the night before and sleeping in your vehicle can get you a head start and first steps on the trail before most.

Hike on Weekdays: If you can avoid weekends or public holidays, even popular peaks can feel manageable.

Go Off-Season: Shoulder seasons (late spring or early autumn) are quieter, though they come with their own risks.

Weather Conditions: Hike in light rain or less-than-perfect weather. Many hikers won’t head out unless the forecast is clear. Sometimes a misty morning can bring magical conditions—and if you really run counter to the forecast, you might end up with stunning views to boot.

Unconventional Tactics

Camp at the Trailhead: Especially where no hut exists, wild camping at the trailhead, the local train station, or even some distance into the trail can be effective. This practice isn’t always condoned, so discretion and leave-no-trace principles are vital.

Explore Lesser-Known Trails: Some Hyakumeizan have multiple approaches; often the longer, less direct routes see far fewer hikers.

Seek Out Non-Hyakumeizan Peaks: Japan is overflowing with quiet, beautiful mountains that don’t have the burden of being on a list.

Of course, not everyone has the flexibility to hike mid-week or seek out remote trails. And there’s no shame in choosing a popular peak—after all, these places are crowded for a reason.

Beyond tactics and strategies, it’s worth remembering why we seek out the mountains in the first place. For many—especially those living in Japan’s dense urban centres—they offer something increasingly rare: space, silence, and peace. It’s in those quiet moments, watching the sunrise touch the ridges or hearing the wind and birdsong, that I feel briefly detached from the rush of everyday life.

Crowds make those moments harder to come by. And that’s ultimately what pushed me away from the Hyakumeizan—not out of snobbery, but to protect what I value most in the mountains.

The surge in hikers also brings up some real environmental concerns. More foot traffic means more wear on trails, strain on local resources, and pressure on wildlife. As we search for solitude, it’s worth staying mindful of the impact we’re leaving behind.

My time in Japan’s mountains has been deeply rewarding. They’ve taught me patience, humility, and resilience—but more than anything, they’ve helped me understand the value of solitude. Not as loneliness, but as something essential and deeply renewing.

With hiking’s rising popularity—a positive trend overall—I find myself increasingly drawn to lesser-known trails and quieter peaks, seeking a deeper, more authentic connection with Japan’s mountains on my own terms, away from the hitogomi, and back to the reason I started hiking in the first place.