An Englishman, American And Canadian Are Halfway Up A Mountain...

I finished work at 5:40, excited from talking about climbing Fuji all day, and met Will from my branch halfway up the Toyoko Line. We dumped our work stuff in a locker in Shibuya and headed to the bus stop in Shinjuku. We didn’t reserve tickets for the 7:50 bus as we were told the phone line was a nightmare and sometimes it was Ok. Otherwise there was a train which was a bit more but fine nonetheless. At the bus station at 7:08* we found out the scheduled bus was full but there was another one that would take us nearby. At 7:10! We ran and just got on the National Express – no jolly hostess, sadly - taking up the last two seats.

When you climb a mountain that high, and with all the risks involved (a few people die every year) you start to question everything as a sign. Did the bus fiasco point to a good night ahead or a warning?

Two hours passed quickly and we arrived at Kawaguchiko Station (nearest Lake Kawaguchi – the biggest of Fuji’s ‘Five Lakes’). A small public bus took us the rest of the journey, up to the 5th Station.

The 5th Station is 2305m up, and the summit is 3776m (a very good piece of knowledge for Pub Quizzers amongst you), so a hefty climb through the dark. I kept quiet about the few splats of rain on the side of the bus as we ascended, although, thinking about it now, it could have just been cloud that we passed through. I should explain that most of the year round, you can go to the 5th Station for walks, but higher than that is closed off, except for the Summer Season which finished three days after our attempt, so this really was the final chance. Four more Stations were spread out until you reached the Summit – each with food, drink, toilets and a place to lie down if you wanted to walk during the day and then wake up for the sunrise.

I was given three pieces of advice for climbing Fuji. Firstly, take one more layer than you think you’ll need – it’s freezing. Secondly, pace yourself; as it’s obviously colder the higher you go and the longer you sit around, don’t peak too fast**. Thirdly, and the most useful albeit hardest to control, choose a good day. If the weather’s bad, it’ll be the most miserable thing you’ll ever do: all you’ll see is grey and you’ll be wet and cold. All my friends have had bad luck this year so I really had my fingers crossed. It didn’t help that the forecast was for a ‘slight chance of thunderstorms’. Another sign?

Halfway up a mountain I wasn’t expecting a decent layout of shops, but there were a few restaurants, newsagent and other stores. It was already quite cold so I put on a long-sleeved t-shirt over my ‘Snakes On A Plane’ t-shirt, worn in celebration of its release that week. See, I can substitute advice for any given situation – don’t wear too many layers inside or you won’t feel the benefit outside was apt for climbing a mountain.

The climb started a 30 minute walk away, along the side of Fuji. The path was very narrow and pitch black. I took Jody’s two big torches when she left, and gave one to Will. We had no idea how long the batteries would last so we picked one each and wished each other good luck. The sky was incredible – I’ve never seen so many stars in my life. Thousands, all clustered around the Milky Way. It was a beautiful sight, and filled me with optimism about the night ahead. It also clicked that if I could see stars, it meant no clouds. Things were looking up. Except me, it made me dizzy. The air was already thinning out.

The path split and we took the slope up. The incline became gradually steeper but still quite an easy walk. About thirty minutes later, we reached the 6th Station and had a rest. We talked to some other people – there was a whole mixture: Japanese, Western, old, young, groups, solo – and realised what everyone else had; we were walking way too fast and would climax way too fast. But it’s a strange predicament – do you rest lower down and get anxious about the climb ahead, or go full steam while you have more energy but face the cold later on?

At this point, we met a Canadian guy who we recognised easily from the bus. Recognised easily because we laughed that he was in a polo shirt and shorts. And was on the hefty side. Alex had come to Japan for a week during his Uni holidays with his two friends – one who had steamed on ahead being a mountain-climber, and the other who had given up. In fact, so many people turned around all through the night; I would’ve thought descending against the crowd from over halfway wouldn’t be worth it but obviously many people disagreed with me***. In the end, I lent him my scarf, a jumper, chocolate and a lot of encouragement. It was pretty clear that without us, Alex would never have made it. He was pretty unfit, but Will wasn’t far behind so we had to stop a lot. That was Ok because it took up the large amount of time we had to waste somehow. But all he had in his bag was one bottle of water and a wind-breaker. Who attempts something like this so unprepared?

Further and further up, the climb became more difficult. Every 100m or so walk, the path turned in a zig-zag formation and it was pretty imperative to rest at most of the turning points. A strange phenomenon was occurring – the slightest step and your heart would pound, a splitting headache would begin, and you’d be out of breath. However, as soon as you stop, you’d feel none of the above. The thin air was so deceiving on your physical well-being. I do think that the gym every night helped me out; Will and Alex were struggling a lot more than me. I didn’t really have any serious problems to speak of, whereas they really were having a hard time.

After the 7th Station, the rain fell. My ‘pac-a-mac’ came in very useful protecting my bag and myself and we walked through a lightning storm which was spectacular. It would’ve sucked if it had lasted long but luckily it all stopped after only 10 minutes or so. As you may guess, the weather really was on our side.

Cutting the majority of the walk short, the rest was difficult but not impossible. Some points were properly scrambling 60degrees-ish up rocks. However, the air was so clean and clear that it was hard not to feel invigorated by it all. The problem came after the 8th Station and Original 8th Station; the latter at 3360m.

Without much left to go, and nearly seeing the end in sight, it shouldn’t have been a hard part of the journey. However, with all the people who walked during the day and stayed in the huts overnight, the trail suddenly became ridiculously crowded. So much so that I found myself in single file shuffling forward at a snail’s pace. Suddenly, without even realising it was happening, things went bad.

It all gets a bit dark and deep for the next segment. Poetic, I’d like to think:

I lost my soul. All I remember is feeling like an empty vessel unidentifiable in a thousand others, on an aimless and purposeless pilgrimage to nothing of any importance. Yet shuffling onwards and upwards.

One of the only coherent thoughts I remember having was that for every step up meant another step down later on; I couldn’t even begin to contemplate descending.

The only way I think I can describe how I felt on that last stretch is through a crazy analogy. But bear with me. In ‘From Dusk Til Dawn’, Juliette Lewis’s character is lost. She has no comprehension, of time, location or emotional whereabouts. She has given up hope, and cannot contemplate the future let alone the next second. Suddenly, a glimmer of light, literally, and with it, hope. Her breathless, tired dialogue reflects this hope.

I know it sounds extreme, but that really was how I felt. I had no perception of height, time, or temperature. I was physically and mentally exhausted. But turning around and seeing the slightest variant of black, the darkest of dark blues I’ve ever seen, at the horizon gave me the final burst. It shook me out of my zombified state and awoke me. (You have to really look.)

I left Will and Alex behind as I couldn’t face the shuffling; I had to pull myself out of the monotony and propel forward. I took the, as we now call it, “real man’s route” – scrambling up big rocks, away from the drudging crowd.



Finally, I reached the top and was instantly re-energised. I wasn’t even that cold and in total had only four layers on – I was expecting it to be much colder. Phil-San, Action Man. The sky was incredible. Will, followed by Alex, made it soon after and we all celebrated. The view suddenly took on more life and soon the colours had shifted from dull to beautiful. In fact, due to the slow-down of the climb at the end, I reached the top at exactly when I wanted to. The signs had all pointed to ‘yes’ after all.



From seeing only silhouettes of my fellow climbers, everyone around suddenly had a face of their own, and regained individuality. I don’t know if I was cold so that my eye was watering, or it was emotional, but a tear definitely fell. I’m undecided.


(Well, you said you wanted more pictures of me. I don’t even look that tired – give me an Oscar!)




Suddenly, the sky began to glow, as if on fire...



“Wow’s” from all around, as the Sun finally burst free from the horizon – it really was the perfect weather after all. This is my favourite picture:



We went into the big hut/restaurant and ordered over-priced but much-deserved bowls of ramen. The sun raced upwards fast, and soon it was shining on my face, even quite warming.


We saw the crater briefly, but I shared most people’s sentiments about whether to do the 1-hour walk around the top. Bluntly put: not a chance in hell.



And so began the descent. Looking down the mountain, the first thing that struck all three of us, and I’m sure countless others, was how dirty and ugly it was. Just brown rock. It was almost nicer in the dark not to know. The way down was much quicker, but in some ways tougher. The rock was extremely crumbly so you slid with each step.




Will and Alex walked sloooowly so I had to go ahead. It would’ve taken me two hours to get down but waiting for them at certain points added on another hour. We passed through the cloud which was incredible, and finally saw plant-life. iPhil kept me company for the first time this adventure and I really appreciated the comfort.


I loved the ‘Emergency Shelter’ – not only does it look like something from LOST but how impractical is it unless you’re within 5 minutes distance if there really was an emergency.

I talked to an old Japanese lady who was practically hunched over, but this was her 6th time! Unbelievable!

Finally at the bottom, I realised where I was... where the path split towards the start of my climb. Which meant I still had another 30 minutes walk ahead. 'Sucked' is the word which describes that moment best. Still, it was cool to see what I had walked past the night before. This mountain also looked like something from LOST or Jurassic Park.

Sweetly, strangely and bizarrely – for the last 30 minutes or so, a Japanese boy of about 14 walked by my side. We never made eye contact or said anything but he kept my pace and stayed close. When I slowed down or deviated, so would he.

Back at the 5th Station – the boy followed me to a vending machine, got confused and went on his way – the bus took us to Kawaguchiko Station and then a train took us back to Tokyo – the journey lasted a ridiculously frustrating 4 hours. All I wanted was to be either under a hot shower or in bed.

Since then:

My calves have hurt ever since, but imagine a 6 hour Stair-master followed by a 3 hour walk, and it’s not difficult to see why. Also, most people have to bin their shoes after. But guess what?... my Etnies made it!!!

I love you all, and if you wanted to come to Japan, I’d be waiting with arms wide open. But I will never climb Fuji again. As the famous saying of the old wise man goes:

You’re a fool if you’ve never climbed Fuji. You’re twice the fool if you climb it more than once.

I know exactly what he means.

*Exact, I know, because that’s the time on the ticket.
**Always good advice, whether climbing a mountain or not.
***One of my friends that did it last year said that she saw 6 US marines give up. That may just be the best anecdote of all time?