What’s It Like Climbing Mt. Fuji?
My story of climbing one of the world’s most famous mountains
Article & Photos by Marcus Bird
I’ve been told many things about Fuji, the mountain plastered over tons of Japanese paraphernalia, and the image synonymous with Japan. Apparently, you can not only see above the clouds from the top, but on a bright day see to the very ends of the country. This being my first such expedition, I don’t know what to expect.
“I want to see the rocks,” one of my climbing mates said to me earlier on the bus. She is Ana, a tall, energetic Spaniard from Madrid. “Well, if you like rocks and ash, then you are fine,” says Mike, my other climbing mate. We make an odd set of climbers; two lanky Canadians, a Spaniard and a Jamaican as a subset of a larger group of mostly Germans with a few Japanese in the mix. Marco is the leader of this expedition. Short and well built, he is a seasoned climber, having scaled the mountain a few times, even having participated in a competition that challenges competitors to run up the mountain in the fastest. He hands out waivers. “On this mountain there is a significant risk of serious injury or death,” he says to me. As I sign the paper, I wondered what I was really getting into. I live in Tokyo, and the bus ride is about three hours from Shinjuku, which is Tokyo’s most central ward.
Mount Fuji is split into different levels called “stages”. We were told we would start at the fifth stage, the most common starting point for climbers, which leads to the ninth and final stage at the top of the mountain. We would arrive at eight-thirty p.m, giving us about eight hours to catch the four a.m sunrise. Two and a quarter hours into the bus ride, we heard a voice over the intercom. It was Marco’s. “If you look to your left, you can see other people already climbing the mountain. Those lights are from their headlights.” Everyone in the bus looked to the left, and sure enough, a tiny trail of lights extended upwards in an irregular snaking pattern against the massive backdrop of a pitch black Fuji. The mountain loomed like a beast in the night, waiting to be conquered.
At the fifth stage I bought a headlamp and some gloves, snapped a group picture with my fellow climbers, and we were off. A dense set of trees would give a light and friendly start to the journey, with simple paths and conversations with new faces to occupy time. Soon, the trees disappeared and only rock remained, slightly illuminated by the light of the moon. A long week of work had left me weak and a bit dehydrated, and by the sixth stage I felt twinges of dizziness and my hands trembled. This worried me, because I didn’t want to be a Fuji casualty, at least not so early. The black hulk above me loomed, its towering size mocking me. I pressed on. Two tuna sandwiches and half a liter of water later, I felt much better.
There were many ways to pass the time as we navigated dangerous crevices, tricky man-made paths and terrain that required the careful use of headlights and proper hand-eye-foot coordination. Some fellow climbers kept me laughing as they ranted diatribes on the 80’s cartoon The Smurfs. I kept myself busy tweeting from my iPhone, frequently hydrating and monitoring my breathing. As I passed the different stages, I noticed a few ‘casualties’ of the mountain, sitting exhausted on the side of the main path, some even using oxygen tanks to breathe properly. Many were in heavy winter gear, complete with thermal garments, gloves and hats. In just my green cargo shorts and a blazing orange running shirt, I felt like a true, Jamaican mountain man. This was to be a short-lived thrill.
Most people that have climbed Fuji will tell you that it is not absolute danger that makes the ascent difficult, but distance. After I passed the eighth stage, an old knee injury flared up, making each step painful with several hours left in the climb. I removed my camera from my unipod and started hobbling up the mountain using it as a climbing stick. Whenever I looked up, the spiraling lights of the climbers kept going, going, going. I felt that I was walking into the sky itself. Fuji felt endless.
Marco held up a green fluorescent light for a few moments in the air; a signal for the group to stop. A few people were snapping pictures at a mountain signpost that indicates distance. I balked when I saw it. Another 2.6 KM to go. The landscape had changed from jagged rocks to loose volcanic soil. What had been an interesting set of pathways that varied between flat terrain and a little bit of climbing had transformed into a constant incline. Sleep clawed at me like a ravenous predator. The voices of my fellow climbers became a dull buzz in my ears. Now I was seeing the true face of the mountain, and it wasn’t smiling. I began mumbling to my climbing crew, tired and flagging like me. Ana’s verbal fire had quieted, and even Mike, this being his sixth climb, was winded.
“Name as many Denzel Washington movies as you can,” I said to Mike. He muttered a few answers and then we switched to Marlon Brando. Then Tom Cruise, Julia Roberts, Morgan Freeman and a host of other actors. We cycled through countries and capitals, playing word games and asking riddles, anything to take our minds of the relentless incline. Our speaking games faded into a stark silence, broken only by sighs and grunts. The real world was far away, and I, a speck on the face of a massive mountain was dreaming of plush white pillows and a warm shower.
Time disappeared.
The stiff metal of my unipod in my hand and the crunch of volcanic ash under my feet was all I could sense. Glancing upwards was painful. After another two hours of walking up the slope, the long stream of headlights from other climbers still went up further than I could see. I began growling at myself as if no one was there, telling myself to keep going. “You can do this!” I barked, as more sparks of pain shot up my knee. When the first streaks of morning blue pierced the sky I could finally see my goal; the summit. It was still roughly thirty minutes away. My water was finished and I had no more food. My knee screamed. I kept going.
At the top, hundreds of people huddled together like over-sized penguins, eagerly awaiting the coming dawn.
Their shady silhouettes were all I could see against the sky’s early canvas of dark blue. A frigid wind made my fingers numb, and my eyes fought to stay open. Bundled up in a scarf, thin undershirt, fleece jacket and pajama pants, I wasn’t the textbook image of a mountain climber, but there I was, sitting on loose volcanic rocks, looking out at a majestic view of Japan from the top if its highest mountain. Then I saw it: a pinkish yellow dot on the horizon which swelled into a magnificent vista of the sun reflecting on a sea of creamy white clouds. With the last of my breath, I pulled out my prize; a massive Jamaican flag. Waving it proudly with the sun behind me, I smiled. I had made it.
There is also a video of this journey available for viewing on Youtube, click here to view it.
Marcus is the author of three novels, Naked As The Day , Sex Drugs & Jerk Chicken and Berlin Vanilla, all available on Amazon. If you liked this article please hit ‘recommend’ or please share the article.
Follow Marcus on twitter & instagram @marcusbird and @birdimusprime
