I was going through piles of old school reports and newspapers when a pixilated photograph of Mt. Fuji's red barren earth appeared somewhere between yellowed documents. How it was mixed up with forgotten memories beat me because I knew it would take me many years to forget my bewildering encounter with Japan's tallest mountain. And picture or no picture, I knew I'll always be reminded of Fuji's majesty, and of one crisp August night when three friends and I set off to conquer a 3776-meter volcano, and failed.
Almost three years ago, just before my year-long exchange scholarship in Japan ended, three equally inexperienced girl friends and I signed up for a climbing tour of Mt. Fuji. I thought it was the perfect way to say farewell to Japan before fellow exchange student Michelle de Guzman and I headed back to the Philippines. Finally, we'd be able to trudge on this famous landmark, look at the world from above, and greet the sunrise.
red earth anyone?
just before sunrise
red earth anyone?
just before sunrise
With Mich and two other friends Grace Corollo and Verna Villanueva, I eagerly took a train to Shinjuku, one of the busiest stations in Tokyo. There, we hopped on board a Chuo Highway bus that drove us halfway up the mountain, the point of origin where tour buses and tourists taking different routes converge. Our hiking excursion officially commenced at Mt. Fuji's fifth station, a rest stop nestled in between the foot and the summit. It was a small community in itself and, with climbing season drawing to a close, was even more packed with tourists raiding restaurants, souvenir shops, and rest rooms.
It was a welcoming sight after the two-hour drive up in the darkness. The cool mountain air felt refreshing. It was as if the autumn breeze had never left. It took us a few more minutes to buy the necessary oxygen cans and walking sticks. And by 11 pm, clad in warm clothes and carrying more supplies than what was required, we set off towards the top, silently praying that we live to tell the tale.
Verna on her way up
Of Mistakes and Walking Sticks
Whatever cardio exercises Grace and Michelle did certainly paid off as they aced the rocky trails of the 6th and 7th stations and went on ahead leaving a breathless me resting in one of the 7th station’s mountain huts. It was already past one in the morning and while I was tempted to sleep in one of the 5,000-yen-a-night huts, I really couldn’t afford it with only 2,000 yen on my wallet. Not bringing enough cash was just the first in a series of my mountaineering blunders.
Having taken so many pictures and spent an awfully long time at the rest stop, my climbing buddy Verna and I proceeded to climb on boulder upon boulder of red mineral formations in the dark. We were relying only on our cheap flashlights and walking sticks, the latter proving to be a total rip-off when it started bothering my chances of grabbing one strong rock then another. All the impossible humps and bumps I've encountered in the past paled at Fuji's natural obstacle course. There I was, a perplexed climber practically crawling on all fours and constantly watching for cliffs and surprise dead ends. It was fun. I mean, I love hiking. But with 3 liters of water and a bag full of carbo-loaded goodies and extra clothes (big mistake) on my back, it was hardly the adventure I had in mind.
this is lovely
Michelle and Grace gaining ground
Amid difficulties though, Verna and I managed to bask in Mt. Fuji's cool otherworldly surroundings. We ate on the rocks, named constellations adorning the sky, and even made friends with half-naked (gasp!) mountaineers. We passed by torii gates and even saw Japanese locals praying and paying homage to the shrines. August is Obon month, the time of year when the Japanese pray for the souls of their departed ancestors. The Buddhists believe that once a year the spirits come back to the realm of the living to rejoin their family. Such is known in Japan as the Festival of the Dead and Mt. Fuji, being a sacred mountain, had been a regular prayer sanctuary ever since.
By the time we reached the 8th station, I was drenched in my own perspiration. It turned out I was wearing too many layers of clothing. Still on foot at almost 10 in the morning, the plan to reach the peak before sunrise had obviously flunked. The sun was baking us like gingerbread and, much to our dismay, the small SPF lotion the four of us collectively paid for was in Grace’s bag. I was clearly out of shape. It was all I could do not to melt with embarrassment as a couple of lithe octogenarians briskly walked past me without so much as a wheeze. I saw two grade school girls with their father up ahead wearing the flimsiest of summer regalia. Wait a minute, didn't I just saw them struggling way behind us?
bye, bye, Fuji...till we meet again
A Bundle of Regrets
Of course, all the troubles would've been easily forgotten had we reached the top. But we decided against moving forward upon realizing that with 5 hours to spare until our bus left, we needed to get back to the fifth station fast. Just a few paces past the 8th station, we saw Grace and Michelle walking towards us. They didn't make it to the summit either but were able to have a 3,660-meter mark stamped on their walking sticks. It wasn't in my nature to regret but it was just too close. Having reached the 3,559-meter mark, I was about two hundred meters away from reaching my goal! It simply wasn't the way to end a grueling excursion.
Battling Fuji’s harsh barren environment wasn’t exactly the finest of encounters. I swear I had seen enough mountain minerals to last me a lifetime. But then I never felt more at peace than when I sat on the rocks and gazed at a sky full of stars, or when I watched a world in darkness slowly bathe in splashes of sunrise hues. Walking side by side thick puffy clouds I realized that Mt. Fuji, with its near-perfect cone and snowcapped peaks, was always amazing to look at. To climb it though was another story, a story I was hoping to finish someday, somehow. Only next time ending it right where it should be.
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