You'd Better Think
A word of advice. Before you contemplate how wonderful, exciting
and essential it is to go climb Mt Fuji during your stay here
- go and get yourself a CAT scan.
Recently a group of 16 JETs and extras gleefully set off to experience
the wonder that is Fuji. We left early on Saturday morning for
a long bus ride. Our spirits were high. We laughed , we joked,
we bought our Onigiri and Pocky's at the truck stops. Life was
looking swell.
We arrived at the 5th station and started our walk at 5.30pm.
The sun was still shining. We were already above the clouds. People
passing on their way back down didn't look too bad. (I now know
they were probably comatose and walking on auto-pilot).
By 8pm we reached the 8th Station. We were to stay for a few
hours sleep. This wasn't likely to happen. The people working
at the station told us to be quiet in the sleeping area. This
didn't stop them from having their own little party downstairs.
I didn't sleep at all.
Vile Fumes
Then there was the toilet situation. Think "Trainspotting" and
multiply it by 10. I have NEVER seen toilets so vile. Holding
your nose was imperative, but it still didn't stop the dry retching
and the eyes stinging from the ammonia fumes. Of course it could
not be helped. Half way up a mountain it's a bit difficult to
have a nice flushing cistern. One couldn't even go behind a bush
- there aren't any.
By 11pm we headed off again. Being one of the last w/ends of
the season to climb, it was needless to say, a bit crowded. Try
1000's of people crawling up like a never ending ant trail. People
had bought these big sticks that they were having branded at each
station. They had little bells on them and flags. The novelty
wears off. If I heard one more little tinkling bell I was going
to shove that stick........
We kept climbing, and climbing, and climbing. It was like a bad
road movie. The kids in the back seat, `Are we there yet?' It
was dark. We had our torches glowing. The breaks were short. If
you were at the back of the group, by the time you reached the
group break, it was over. Some people didn't really break at all.
I must say, the stars were extraordinary. We were extremely lucky
to have the most perfect weather possible. There was no wind (like
there usually is), there was no rain (also usual). Pointing out
the constellations: "Is that the saucepan? Where's the Big Dipper?"
"How the **** should I know?"
It started to really hurt. They made us worry about the altitude.
The lack of oxygen at that height. That was fine. Everyone could
breathe OK. It was the muscles beginning to ache. The lactic acid
building up. Scoffing down some M&M's to get a sugar rush. Guzzling
down the water, but not too much that would require you having
to use those toilets again.
On Top of the World
Then the sunrise came. The people let out a cheer. The sun literally
popped up into the sky. There had been a glowing pink announcing
its imminent arrival and then "Pop". Quite anticlimactic I must
say. "Is that it?" sprung to mind. I fear however that with my
frame of mind and general fatigue I could have seen a UFO and
been equally as unimpressed.
I was still at least 40 mins from the summit. I had to stop.
I rested at a Toori gate and contemplated stopping right there.
Just heading back down after the sunrise and sufficient rest.
I could not go on. Then something takes over you. Whether it's
your pride at not wanting to be the only one in your group not
to make it, or whether it's just your own will power not letting
you stop. I dragged my ass up the last bit. I nearly cried at
the top. Pure exhaustion and relief that you've made it. Believe
me, no matter what you may hear from people - climbing Fuji is
not a ****ing Sunday stroll. It's hard. Those gung-ho adventure
buffs that ride their mountain bikes may tell you it's easy. They
lie.
Since I was one of the last ones up there, my rest break was
sufficiently short at the summit to give the illusion of not having
happened at all. We had to get down yet. It was going to be a
long way down. Some people found it more difficult getting down.
Slipping and sliding on loose rocks. Personally it was easy. I
imagined I was snowboarding and I swished the whole way down.
Hallucinating? Probably.
At the end of it all, we had walked and climbed for 16 hrs. 13hrs
if you take out the sleep that wasn't a sleep. In the home stretch
you get this burst of adrenaline. It's nearly over. You now know
why those people you saw yesterday didn't look so bad. They see
the end in sight.
Eventually we all get down. We're dirty, we're smelly. We need
to brush our teeth. We did it. The bus takes us to a local Onsen
and we could die right there. I planned to sleep on the bus the
whole way home, but of course this didn't happen. You know that
feeling when you are beyond exhaustion? You can't sleep. You're
so wired. You've been awake for 2 days without the assistance
of any narcotics. Just waiting for the crash.
The next day I called in sick. There was no way I could move.
Every muscle, muscles I never knew I had, were crying at me. I
slept all day. My office laughed at me. `You climbed Fuji? Oh,
you must be tired'. No s***.
I'm glad I did it. It was certainly a memorable experience and
you do feel a sense of achievement, but never again. There is
apparently a saying about Fuji - "A wise man climbs it once. Only
a fool does it twice." How apt.
My Tour Group Guides
We went with a tour group. Obviously with the many thousands
of people climbing that weekend it was difficult to keep track
of everybody. I understand this completely. To identify our group,
we all had a bright blue piece of plastic string that we had to
affix upon our person somehow. When it's pitch black outside,
I can tell you, this is particularly useless.
Going up in the dark, one guide was at the front, one brought
up the rear. This worked quite well for the most part. Near the
top, as I mentioned, I contemplated crawling under a rock and
not moving. I was exhausted and couldn't move. The only thing
that really got me going was I knew it was my responsibility not
to get detached from the group. I didn't trust in the fact that
any of them would meet up with me on the way down.
I was right, considering the fact that the descent takes you
down the other side, on a different track. Therefore, if you decide
to stop, you are essentially on your own the whole way back down.
When I'd made up my mind to keep pushing on, I got this burst
of adrenaline from somewhere and I charged forward,(at least for
the next few meters). While trying to catch up with the rest of
the group, I saw the guide ahead of me. The rear guide. The one
who was supposed to know if anyone had fallen behind her. Let's
just say she was surprised to see me tagging along up behind.
She waited for me and then we climbed the last 20mins together.
The Group Scatters
Once everyone had made it to the top there was this kind of feeling
that it was over. I don't think we seriously considered the `going
down' part as being equally as important. Now that it was also
day time it kind of gave a more easy going atmosphere to the whole
excursion. Everyone just trudged back down at their own speeds,
some faster than others. We certainly didn't maintain any group
pack. There was one guide bringing up the rear, but the front
person literally ran down as if she had somewhere else she forgot
she had to be. Nobody really cared either way. It was nearly over
- aside from the 4-5 hrs still ahead.
Once we all met up in the carpark back at the bus, we waited
for the stragglers. I was the last one up, but one of the first
ones down. Everyone made it back within a reasonable time difference
of each other, except one girl. It soon became abundantly clear,
she wasn't just slow, she was missing. We lost someone up there.
We had a full tour bus, 16 Gaijin holding up the bus, getting
increasingly worried. We had to explain to the rest of the bus
what was happening, or more to the point, that we didn't know
what was happening. They had all been looking a bit perplexed,
wondering what the delay was. The tour company leader didn't tell
them anything. Once we told them, they were all very sympathetic
and understanding. They all sat back in their chairs and didn't
complain. I certainly couldn't imagine that happening back home.
Some of the Japanese men got out to see if they could help.
Lost in Fuji
Those JET's who had organised the trip went and began the initial
search. They got a few announcements called out and so forth.
They began talking to those officials in charge. This is where
things get a little worrisome. They do not seem to have any reliable
methods of Search and Rescue in place. They didn't have appropriate
communication systems (eg. CB radios) between the stations. They
used Keitais, calling their friends. Not at all a professional
Search and Rescue operation. They didn't have people available
for search parties, rangers and the like. God knows about medical
evacuations and getting people down on stretchers or anything.
You had to contact the police and they were as useless as tits
on a bull. Everyone stood around waiting, thinking someone else
was doing something and nobody doing anything. We didn't know
if she had of been hurt or just lost.
The tour company wasn't much help either. They were talking to
the people in our group and asking them if they had rung the other
stations, if they'd rung the police. I would assume that they
would have a responsibility to do these things for you. It's their
tour company that someone got lost on. It's especially difficult
to have to conduct all this in Japanese, luckily we had people
in our group who were proficient enough.
In the end everything turned out fine. The girl came wandering
out. She'd taken the wrong track down, retraced her steps and
then waited for awhile, unaware that the rest of the group had
already gone past that section.
The thing is, it was actually quite an understandable mistake
that she made. I had been walking down with 3 others and we had
stopped at this fork in the road and questioned each other, confirming
we knew the right track. It would have been easy to end up in
another Prefecture, having walked down the wrong side of the mountain.
As far as I'm concerned that is something that the tour company
should have advised us on. At least made sure that everyone knew
the right way, and that it wasn't just `down'.
Do It Yourself
In the end, when you climb Fuji, you are on your own. You and
your friends. Stick together. Look after each other. Take it seriously.
We thought afterwards, that those of us who had organized the
trip, one of us should have brought up the rear, one up the front.
Of course this is no gaurantee either that things won't go wrong,
but ultimately we have to be responsible for ourselves up there
and protect our friends. You can't rely on tour companies to do
that for you.
Take the right clothing, wet weather gear. Take plenty of energy
food and water. Don't lug with you anything that isn't needed,
just a little day pack with the essentials.
I would recommend that you do your own head counts of your friends.
Try to stay together. Help each other, encourage each other up.
Have meeting points both on the way up and down at regular intervals.
It's not a speed contest. You don't have to set any record times
in getting up there. We were being pushed to make it for the sunrise.
The fact is, we were above the clouds even before we'd left the
carpark. The sunrise was going to be magnificent anywhere along
the way. I'm quite happy I was leaning against a Toori gate near
the top when I saw the sunrise. I didn't have to be anywhere else.
Overall I think we're all glad we did it. I ached for 2 days.
I feel like an Obasan. My fellow office workers just looked at
me and smiled to themsleves. I asked a few of them if they had
ever done it. No. Not one of them.
Climb Every Mountain
We foreigners tend to think it's this easy little hike up a hill
and that everyone does it. It's not true. It is a mountain. There
is a real risk of getting altitude sickness. I saw one Japanese
girl vomiting, but then again that may have been from passing
the loos. All of us were fine. With the slow speed of the climb,
due to the thousands there, we had time to acclimatize all the
way up. I certainly couldn't have gone any faster. What exactly
is the point of rushing anyway?
At least it was an experience that none of us will forget in
a hurry. There is that sense of accomplishment I think we feel.
When you think you can't possibly go on and it's only your mind
that drives you on.
Quite amazing.
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