opinios

A bit of a longer post than normal, skip to the photos on 35 degrees if you can't be arsed reading the whole thing.

Climbing to the top of Mount Fuji through the night to watch the sunrise is one of those things that most foreigners have on their list of things to do before they leave Japan. I don't know if all of them manage to tick it off, but I definitely did this weekend, and I would have to say it was one of the most rewarding things I have ever done.

And one of the most brutal.

Getting reliable information on climbing to the top of Mount Fuji out of season is like trying to convince your buddy Albert that he will need to take warmer clothes when hiking at 3,700 metres: damn near impossible. The information on the city of Fujiyoshida web site claims to list official information on things like buses, toll gate open times and the like. But it conflicts with the times that officials tell you over the phone and again with the signage on the way up to the fifth station. Anyway, if anyone else tries the climb during the month of September, the toll gate is definitely open til 9:00pm. I can't vouch for any other month of the year - try calling the Kawaguchiko tourist information centre to check. Not surprisingly, you can't believe everything on the internet, no matter how pretty a font it is written in or how official-looking a page it is retrieved from.

Officially, the summer season for climbing the mountain closes on the last day of August, and with the close of season comes the close in support for the thousands that still want to do it - including public transport. In September the last bus from Kawaguchiko to the fifth station during the month of September leaves at 1:20 in the afternoon. Considering the severe state of disorganisation that we were in at 9am on Saturday, getting to the base of the mountain from Tokyo by 1:20 was distinctly out of the question, and for a while there it looked questionable as to whether we would get there at all. But luckily I was able to apply my irresistable charm to some friends who live in Fujiyoshida (Martine we owe you one!) to arrange a last-minute ride to the fifth station, and from there everything else fell into place.

Finding that fine line between not carrying too much but not having too little is a tough one. I pretty much used everything I packed so was pretty happy with the selection. There are a few lists out there of recommended things to take on the hike, but here is another one (I fit it all into a 35 litre backpack). I started off in shorts and t-shirt as it was a mild night, but that was to change after the seventh station.

Matt's list of things to take to climb Mount Fuji:

Gore-Tex waterproof and semi-windproof pants and jacket

Thermal underwear t-shirt

Neck warmer (bought for the Hokkaido ski trip last winter)

Fleece

Those snowboarding gloves I bought last winter

Cargo pants (a bit too trendy but very useful because of the pockets)

Beany (Australian for "woollen hat")

Spare t-shirt to change into the next day

Thick socks that I forgot to wear on the way up but turned out to be useful for changing into the next day for the ride back to Tokyo

Petzl head-flashlight (plus spare batteries)

Broad-rimmed hat ("Terry Towelling" style, for the trip back down in the morning as UV rays up top are harsher than below the clouds)

Sunscreen

Sunglasses

A 2 litre bottle of water plus a couple of 500 ml sports drinks

Scroggin (fruit and nut mix often referred to as "Trail Mix" by North Americans)

Video camera

oni-giris that we bought on the way

goggles (I didn't take them but wish I had)

At about 7 pm on Saturday our friends dropped Nick, Al and me at the fifth station, said goodbye and good luck, and drove back down to the warmth and comfort of the real world, leaving us stranded in the soullessness of the car park.

Being such glorious weather and given the number of people that climb Mount Fuji even after the season is officially over, we were counting on the restaurants at the fifth station to be open. They weren't. And all we had was a grab bag of oni-giri, some chocolate bars and a kilo of scroggin.

We managed to text-message some other friends who were going to join us for the climb to ask them to bring some bentos for dinner for us (it involved walking half way back to the toll gate and holding the phone up high in the air to get reception). Unfortunately, they were even more disorganised than us and didn't make it to the fifth station until the next day. So we were stuck with a less-than-ideal dinner as preparation for the big climb. The signs were ominous.

One of the difficult things to consider was what time to start off - we wanted to arrive at the top in time for sunrise, but not too early. Shivering our nuts off at the summit for two hours wouldn't have been the ideal prelude to that golden ball rearing its head to mark the start of a new day.

But waiting around in the car park at the fifth station listening to the running engine of a bus certainly wasn't an option either, so at about 8 pm we began the short walk to the sixth station in the hope that a more peaceful place to kill time would avail itself. It was an easy stroll, and just around the corner we huddled down in such a recess, away from the wind and with a stunning view of the city lights below. It was then that we wished we had a pack of cards, as we were about 9 hours from sunset with only 5 hours hiking ahead of us.

Much to our surprise, even though the fifth station had been a ghost town, the rest of the mountain was still alive all through the night. Entrepeneurial mountain hermits were selling overpriced Snickers bars, instant coffee, cup noodles and futon space, and the price went up proportional to the elevation (500 yen for a Pocari Sweat near the top!)

Rest points further up the mountain gradually became dictated by the increasing numbers of tour groups - there is nothing more frustrating than being stuck behind a group moving at snail's pace, with their ridiculous souvenir Mt Fuji wooden staffs jingling bells. And the rocks became more and more treacherous, too. Not to the point of having to do any actual climbing, but considering it was the middle of the night it is no wonder people die every year making the climb. I just kept feeling incredibly lucky that it wasn't raining.

Each stage got relatively steeper and our bodies fought hard against fatigue, sleep and the increasing cold, but the stretches were pretty much in keeping with the estimates on my map... except for the last leg. The suggested ninety minutes for the slog from the eighth station to the summit took us about two and a half hours; admittedly we had to contend with the crowds (and I thought we would avoid them going off-season!) But a "false peak" shattered our hopes when we thought we were nearly there, and in the wind it just felt like it was going on and on forever.

When we finally reached the summit it was upon us before we realised it (after the previous letdown we were naturally a bit skeptical). And wasn't it worth it - when hiking by torchlight we hadn't paid any attention to the view behind us, but when we arrived and turned around it took our breath away (what was left of it, anyway).

I have to say a few words about young Albert: even though the foolish bastard did come ridiculously unprepared for such a climb (he thought that his Eastern Canadian heritage was enough to get him by without a hat, gloves, jacket, scarf...) Luckily Nick and I had some excess clothing to save his freezing arse, but at least give the man credit for making it to the top in a pair of shorts!

We got our pole position for the show that was about to unfold, and the pictures tell the rest of the story. Sure, being in a plane is a similar view, but it's not quite the same as feeling like you're on the top of the world, surrounded by a dense cloud cover that extends as far as the eye can see. As it ever so slowly unveiled itself for the shivering, red-eyed masses, our sun looked every bit the heavenly entity that so many cultures have worshipped it as over the years.

When the sun was high in the sky, highlighting the fluffy cloudscape in bright yellows, we wandered over to take a peek inside the crater. The wind was intolerable though, volcanic dust flying through the air like miniature wasps with our eyes as their target. I can see why people bother to lug goggles all the way up just for the time they spend on the summit. We decided to pass on making the 60 minute trek around the edge of the crater and started our descent, still on a high and in awe of the view before us.

Once out of the dust the only distraction I had from the magnificent view was that karaoke favourite "Top of the World" running through my head.

The descent to Kawaguchiko was quick (2 and a half hours) but the terrain is not as fun as many like to report. There are plenty of nasty rocks to break up the momentum from sliding through the gravel, and although physically we just had to slog it out, the view of the clouds stayed with us for an amazing two hours before we hit the cloud line to distract us from annoying rocks and near tumbles. Albert and I took time out to appreciate the view for one last time while Nick pressed on ahead, and when we passed into cloud everything became enshrouded in mist and the magic that it creates.

Nick had beat us to the bottom and was looking as weary as we felt. But there were high-fives all round as we congratulated each other, headed to the nearest restaurant for a ramen and beer breakfast to celebrate, and consequently passed out at the table.