Mt Fuji
Early August, 1999
a Friday afternoon
My former husband and I were living at his Air Force assignment in the Tokyo area and decided that the base recreation department's sponsored trips to Mt Fuji sounded like a LOT of fun. He was an experienced mountain climber, and I was intrigued. Though his two step-children (then about 12 and 9 years old) were visiting and I was inexperienced, we were not worried because 80 year old men and women make this walk up the mountain every day with two gallons of water strapped to their backs. How hard could it be? Besides we had very knowledgeable guides, and felt ready to conquer anything!
We met at the base rec center at the predetermined time for our safety briefing, and checked our four backpacks to be sure we had packed all the suggested items: extra socks, hiking snacks, bottled water, a small first aid kit, flashlights, and jackets. We even brought a change of clothes to leave on the bus in case we were completely nasty after all that walking. The plan was this:
Leave the base by bus at 5pm to drive two hours to the fifth station on Mt Fuji, where most expeditions begin. Begin climbing the mountain at 7pm, arrive at the summit in time to watch the beautiful dawn, then return to the 5th station to regroup before busing back to the base. Simple, easy... HA!
But I'm getting ahead of myself. The safety briefing was useful and informative... what to do if you start to feel short of breath, how to use cannisters of oxygen that could be purchased at stations and huts along the uphill path on the mountain, etc. We were raring to go. The ride out went quickly despite our excitement for the adventure that lay ahead. At the fifth station, we purchased bamboo walking sticks - a souvenir that we'd pay 100 - 300 yen at each station along the way to have branded (to mark our progress). For those of you who have never climbed fuji-san, I'll give you a synopsis of the trek...
From the fifth station, you walk a gradual, almost imperceptible, down hill grade around the side of the mountain for the better part of a mile (I'm estimating all distances here). Then the path turns up towards the summit. You begin this by walking a steep zigzag path back and forth across the face of the mountain. Somewhere around the 7th station, the path stops being a smooth but steep incline and becomes sharp rocks one must climb like large stairs. Once there, when the path is no longer an easily define gravel walkway, there are chains and ropes to mark the edges of where it is safe to climb. Further up, the 8th station has two parts to it. At the 2nd part (I believe) the downhill path begins. So you climb up past both parts of the 8th station to the summit then back down to the 8th station to go the other (safer) way down the mountain.
At first, all was good. We started out with a group of about 200 people so we didn't even need to use our own flashlights. There was the most beautiful display of lightning in the distance... it took my breath away! I pointed this out to my husband and the kids. He sucked in his breath and suggested we abandon the climb. I pointed out the 200 people around - including people who'd climbed Fuji many times - who were unconcerned, and we pressed on. Why, oh WHY, didn't I listen???
As soon as the path changed from down hill to UP, my young step-son began to beg for mercy. I love children, and ordinarily I even love this one... but this telling will be very uncomplimentary towards him. Without sound effects, it's hard to convey what really went on that night so you'll just have to use your imaginations. Here... using your most high-pitched nasally annoying voice, sound this out as loudly as possible: eeeeeaaaaaaaawwwwwwwwwuuuuuuuuuu. Now repeat that. Go for a walk. Each time you take a step, STOP long enough to sound that out, taking time to really enunciate every part of it. Bring friends with you. Make them wait each time you take a step while you make this noise. See how long they tolerate it before they beat you to a pulp.
I was irritated. Which (naturally) made my husband mad at me. The squabbling coupled with the whining and constant stop-start progression pissed off the older child. We were unhappy campers, so to speak.
Halfway to the sixth station, it began to rain on the mountain. It was a thin, misty sort of drizzle that slowly but surely crept into our clothes and our packs. In a very short amount of time, due in part to the rain and in part to the altitude, the temperature changed from nearly 70 degrees to hovering just above 40. While we did bring jackets, we did not bring COATS. And I also learned that night the difference between water RESISTANT and water PROOF. My jacket, for instance, was water RESISTANT. It didn't take long for my stylish and sporty little Tigger-decorated thing to become about one hundred pounds of sodden mess on my back (all weights are estimated, too). My husband and I broke down the kids packs and distributed the weight of their things between us. The packs, too, were soaked, so I now had about one thousand pounds of sodden mess strapped to my back.
Let me pause a moment in the story to say I HATE THE FEEL OF WET DENIM.
To continue...
Our socks were soaked. Our shoes were soaked. Our jeans were soaked. Our coats were soaked. Our sweatshirts were soaked. Our t-shirts were soaked. Our underthings were soaked. Our skin was pruning. The rain and wind were picking up intensity, and it was barely over 40 degrees. We plodded on, undaunted. Ok, well... maybe a *little* daunted.
As the path turned from gravel to rock, we broke out our flashlight to find footing on the rain-slick stones. The good news at that point was that we were not the only fools out on the mountain. The bad news is that we were not the only fools out on the mountain. Where the path narrowed through the huts of the 7th station, mountain climber traffic backed up. There was a line half a mile long of idiots standing out in the rain. Wait a minute or two, take a step. Repeat. Like lemmings waiting in an unbelievably long line at an amusement park. Except there was no cool ride at the end. Just more climbing and waiting. Standing there I had plenty of time to observe and appreciate the beauty of the mountain. It was scary, too. On one side of the trail, only a few feet beyond the ropes, the mountain fell away. A serious misstep could conceivably be a last mistake ever made (9-1-1, anyone?). We huddled. The rain fell harder.
At the 2nd hut past the 7th station, the temperature dropped even lower and we knew it was decision time. It was nearly midnight. The storm was terrible. We were miserable. We paid the equivilant of $50 US (each) for four rain suits. Keeping dry was a joke at that point... far too late for that. But they'd help hold in body heat and keep the wind off of us. We stripped out of as much of our wet things as possible (I had a fairly appreciative audience of middle aged Japanese men) and slipped into clear plastic pants and jackets. And then... up or down? Should we press on to the 2nd half of the eight station to find the down hill trail, or risk climbing down over those rocks? We decided to risk the climbing down the dangerous uphill trail. We kept our minds firmly on the 24 hour a day hotel at the fifth station, on warm showers and warm beds, on soft pillows, and foot rubs. Down we went, through the crowd, carefully picking our way down over the rocks.
Shortly after we cleared the crowds waiting to reach the 7th station and were finally alone again, two or three of our flashlights died. Whee! (by the way, if you really want the full effect of this story, read it aloud and have someone make that whiney noise after each and every sentance...). The rest of the trip down went without further incident... Just two adults and two children, climbing down a treacherous and steep trail, soaked through, chilled to the bone, and with very little light to see our way.
At the 5th station, we walked with relief and gratitude to the door of the all night hotel... to find it closed and dark and locked. SHIT. The storm was fully on us then, and had been for some time. We could barely see 20 feet in front of us. There was a public restroom not far off the hotel, and we went there thinking at least we could get out of the rain. To our surprise, we weren't the only ones. Most of the facilities were standard Asian "squats" but there was one single western style toilet in the ladies room and (goddess be praised!!!) it had a heated seat! YAY! Of course, we had to take turns sharing it with (approximately) 6 Aussies, 12 assorted Japanese, a couple of Germans, and the odd Brit and American. I wish I had a camera, because until you've been there you can't really know what it's like to see 20+ people huddling for warmth around a toilet.
My ex left us to see if the buses were unlocked. There, we'd find dry clothes and a warm soft place to sleep. Sadly, they were closed up tight, but the luggage compartments underneath were NOT. So we said our sayonaras to the toilet crowd and waded out to the parking lot. I say "waded"... Though we were on the side of a mountain and the water was rushing furiously, it was still more than ankle deep. (I'm not exaggerating this.) Our clothes were in bags under the bus (YAY!!!). One by one we climbed into the nasty luggage compartment and shimmied out of our rain gear and wet things and into whatever dry clothes we'd thought to bring. At least I got out of the wet denim! It was COLD, still, but dry.
Some time just after 1 or 2 am someone got ahold of the bus driver who's been dreaming peacefully in the hotel. He came out and unlocked the bus, and turned it on so we'd have some heat. After slipping off our socks and rolling up the legs of our last pairs of dry pants, we ran out of the luggage and up onto the bus. There we sat for another 10 hours or so waiting for the rest of our tour to return so we could leave (as scheduled) at noon. If you've never sat for 10 or 11 hours on a bus that's not going anywhere, I don't recommend you try it. Any time we needed to pee, we had to slip off the dry socks, roll up our pants, slip into the soaked and freezing cold hiking boots, throw wet clammy plastic over ourselves, and madly dash 100 yards or more to the bathroom we'd been huddling at several hours before. WHEE!
Little by little our tour group returned. A few had made it to the summit and reported it to be the worst mistake they ever made. The down hill trail was almost completely washed out. They had less than two feet of mud to walk on. A misstep to one side and they'd fall down the face of the mountain. A misstep to the other side and they'd be swept off their feet in the muddy river rushing past.
The buses pulled out on time and the weary travellers fell to sleep. Naturally the kids, having slept all morning, were wide awake and anxious to get the hell off that bus. I couldn't wait for that two hour drive to be OVER! Sadly, things had not yet begun to go my way...
As it turned out, that was the worst storm to cross the Kanto plain in more than 100 years (according to Japanese news casts). Every road between the mountain and our base was flooded and closed. We tried route after route, circling and back tracking over and over for HOURS. At one point, we even spent more than 90 minutes in a tunnel under a lesser nearby mountain. I don't know about you, but idling in a tunnel full of auto exhaust, I'm not my most comfortable. And it's a particularly uncomfortable place to be trapped when all the roads around you are under water. The two hour drive back to the base took more than 11. We didn't get back until nearly midnight, after the four of us had been on that damned bus for more than 22 hours.
The happy ending? We all survived, and got t-shirts commemorating the attempt.