The Fuji Trilogy

Dear Penelope,
Thank you for the lovely shawl, but I'm feeling much better now, thanks. Hopefully your next craft project will be a little less morbid.
Much love,
Laertes

Some rejected titles for today's post include:
Return of the Fuji
Mt. Fuji: At World's End
Fuji Revolutions
Mt. Fuji'll Always Know What You Did Last Summer
The Aeneid

So, to pick up where we left off, the trek down the mountain was starting to get to me. I wasn't wearing a watch, but it seemed like we were going for hours, and still no 5th station in sight. My legs kept moving, but I don't know how they did; I was beyond exhausted. Also, by this point the weather was truly getting treacherous -- the rain still poured down, only now with the added excitement of close-range thunder and lightening! Have I mentioned how barren the landscape was? How utterly devoid it was of anything taller than a small shrub? Have I mentioned just how much taller and lightning-rod-like that made me feel, walking in the middle of it? Next to K-san, I should add, who was using a metal walking stick (he borrowed one of his grandmother's -- don't ask >.>) to help steady himself down the trail? I pointed out the folly of this to him several times, as the flashes got closer and closer, but each time he waved me off and told me not to worry. I had just finished one such conversation with him and was turning my head back toward the trail when, off to my right, I watched a lightning bolt hit the slope about 200 yards away from us; so close that I could see the ground light up with a white-orange flash. I made a sound not unlike a shriek (thankfully, it was completely drowned out by the deafening crack of thunder) and curled up in a crouching fetal position. K-san didn't say anything -- he just turned, looked at me, looked at his walking stick, and proceeded to straight-arm chuck the stick over his head. Both of us watched silently as it flew in a graceful, tumbling arc across the sky, before landing with a thud some yards away. And then we both hauled ass outta there.

From what I know of outdoor survival skills (which admittedly isn't much), I know we should have stopped and found a low-lying area (yeah, lots of those on a mountain >.>) and sat on our packs and tried to not make complete circuits with our bodies until the storm passed, but keep in mind that a) it was pouring; b) it was soon to be getting dark; c) we were exhausted, hungry, and soaked; and d) the last bus off of the mountain was leaving in about 30 minutes. Also not forgetting that e) we still didn't know where the 5th station was. So, yeah, we didn't stop. After a bit though, the trail made a turn to the right, and there, finally, in the distance, shining like a beacon of hope, was...a little white sign (yeah, I was hoping for the station, too >.<). Informing us that in order to get to the 5th station, we should follow the rope next to the trail. Without actually saying how far away the station was. But at that point, who the heck cared? It was a sign of civilization at last!

Thus encouraged, we continued down the trail, Theseus-like, straying not from the gossamer thread left for us by some gracious modern-day Ariadne. **is shot** Yeah, so anyway, as we kept walking, we started to see more promising indicators of life (i.e. more footprints, tire tracks, etc.), until finally, we rounded a bend and lo and behold, there was a station! A beautiful ratty little beaten-down mom & pop station! **cue golden beams of light and the Hallelujah Chorus** And we still had five minutes to spare to make the bus! The relief I felt was almost palpable! Well, it was until K-san asked the lady inside where the bus was, and she told him that it was down the trail further...at the 5th station. Turns out this was the 5.5th station. I think I died a little inside when I heard that. >.< But, the lady helpfully added, maybe we could make it if we ran...

While I appreciated the woman's suggestion, there was no running left in me. There was no energy left, period -- I think the only reason I was still upright and moving at all was from residual adrenaline and force of habit. So K-san sprinted off down the trail to try and catch the bus (did I mention that I think he's part cyborg?), and hopefully convince the driver to wait for me. I did my best to shuffle quickly, but my legs were shaking, my knees were screaming, and my shoes were still chock full of rocks from the slide down. Somehow, though, I made it to the real 5th station, and saw that the bus was indeed waiting for me (thank you, K-san!!!). It was a little embarrassing, climbing on in my soaked and disheveled state, especially since I was holding everybody up, but I was too exhausted to care. As I went to sit down, though, the driver made a general announcement over the loudspeaker to please remove rain gear before sitting on the seats. Uh, yeah, totally talking to K-san and me. >.>; So we did, but doing so caused a mini tidal-wave to go surging toward the front of the bus. Not that the driver could complain, though; we were just following his instructions.

About 40 minutes later, we made it to Gotemba station. I was still soaked, as well as carrying about five pounds of Mt. Fuji in my shoes, so we found the nearest convenience store and I changed in the bathroom. Then, we went to McDonald's and had our first hot meal in two days. Then we went to the station to take the train home. But when we got to the ticket area, something seemed a little odd -- all of the departing/arriving train signs were blank. Perplexed, we asked the station people what was up. Apparently, the rainstorm we had just slogged through had wreaked a bit of havoc on the train lines in the area -- so regretfully, no trains until further notice. I am not making this up.

At this point, I kind of wanted to cry a little bit. But instead, I went and got some coffee and some chocolate, and while that didn't make everything better, it still kinda helped. As we waited there to see if things would start running again, we weighed our options: We could try to find a hotel in the area (expensive), we could find an internet cafe or karaoke room to sleep in (uncomfortable), we could try to take the bus to the shinkansen station on the other side of town and get to Toyohashi that way (also expensive), or we could wait and hope that the tracks would clear in time and that we could make it back to Aichi before last train. We went with the last one. And for the first time that day, Fuji-san decided to stop smiting us. We had waited about an hour and a half, total, but finally the trains started up again, and we managed to get our asses back to Okazaki. At, like, 12:30 a.m. And then I had to ride my bike home from the station. **facepalm** And then I passed out for about a day.

Woke up to find that all of the muscles in my body were mad as hell at my treatment of them, and were therefore trying to kill me. Took to making little groaning-granny noises any time I had to climb stairs in the next three days. Got most of the knots worked out by the next weekend. Still give dirty looks to the commemorative Mt. Fuji walking stick now propped up in the corner of my bedroom. >.>

So there you have it. Told you it was a long story. And what's the moral of this story, boys and girls? Don't leave things in the fridge.[/Bebop] Or mess with Poseidon's kids, but that's another story...

Now, some photos:
This is me looking thrilled about reaching the top

Remember -- VOLCANO!

Another view of the crater

The highest point in Japan (3776m)!

Me, on the highest point in Japan! Again, ecstatic.

(Sadly, I don't have any pictures of the epic phail that occurred after this. You'll just have to use your imagination.)

Right. This post has been brought to you by the ouroboros, the letter ω, and the number ∞.

**sigh** Push the button, Frank...

The Fuji Odyssey, Part II

or, How to Succeed in This Mess Without Really Dying

When we last left our heroes, they were huddled together in the dubious shelter of a mountain hut -- cold, tired, hungry, bereft of funds, aching of limb, squishy of sneaker...

Okay, so maybe it wasn't quite that bad, but-- well, no, that's actually a pretty accurate description. >.>; We had found a place to sleep that was out of the elements, but mountain huts are far from what one would call opulent. The layout was simple: one room where people took their shoes and equipment off, one room where you could eat (the kitchen was closed when we got there, though; luckily, we had food of our own), and one large room for everyone to sleep in. Think bunk beds. Think bunk beds, but more as stacked wooden platforms that ran along the entire length of the walls, with no individual partitions between people. Not exactly private, but I had it better than some -- I was on the end, so I had a wall on one side, and people I knew on the other. Coulda been worse. And when it started pouring outside around 10:00, the hut really didn't seem so bad at all.

The original plan was to wake up at about 1:30 a.m., so that we could start hiking by 2:00 and make it to the summit in time for sunrise at 4:30. Around 1:00, though, it started to downpour again, and at 2:00 it still showed no signs of stopping. Hiking up a steep and rocky mountain in the dark was going to be bad enough, but hiking up a steep and rocky mountain in the dark during a deluge was something that no one wanted to attempt. So we slept in until 5. Missed the much-vaunted sunrise, but I don't know how much we would've seen of it anyway, what with the cloud cover and all. Luckily, the rain had stopped by the time we woke up; unfortunately, our stuff didn't dry at all overnight, though. I luxuriated in the sensation of dry socks for about five minutes before I had to put my wet shoes on again, and we were off.

Once again, I did okay for the first 30 minutes, but after that, everything just became a blur of rocks and shuffling feet and lack of oxygen. No altitude sickness, which they warn you about; the problem was just that I had to keep stopping every few feet to catch my breath. I was going sooooo sloooow. Children were passing me. Old guys smoking cigarettes were passing me. Grandmothers with stooped backs and white hair were passing me. I thought I was in pretty good shape, what with riding my bike every day for a year, but no. I had to stop at every station. Every time the switchback switched back, I had to stop. I told J & S to go on ahead -- they were trying to be nice and wait for me, but they're both experienced backpackers (who are disgustingly fit, I might add) and they weren't going to have any fun if they had to babysit me the entire time, so I told them I'd meet them at the top. Poor K-san, though, trudged along with me, and wound up carrying my pack. Again. >.<

At long last, after who knows how many hours (actually, I think it was about four), we finally reached the last tori gate, and scrabbled our way to the top. By that point, I think I was happier that I had reached a relatively flat surface than I was about making the summit. So I collapsed on a bench in the gift shop/restaurant hut while K-san took a look around. J & S saw my sprawled, tattered carcass on their way to the post office and bounded over to say hi and make sure I was still alive. Which I was, strictly speaking. Not terribly responsive, but alive. Yay.

It bears mentioning that there are more things on top of Mt. Fuji than one might think -- to wit, a shrine, a gift shop, a weather station, a restaurant, various tori gates and signs, several lavatories, and a post office (mail service twice daily). Oh, and also a HUGE FREAKING CRATER. Because Fuji-san is also a VOLCANO. Yeah, that's definitely the kind of place I'd want to set up shop. >.>; Granted, it hasn't erupted in a few centuries, but that doesn't mean it won't; it's dormant, not dead. Not trying to sound paranoid or anything, just sayin'...

Meanwhile, back on the mountain, J and S had to start their trek back down since J was leaving Japan the next day and they had to get her stuff from Gamagori. So K-san and I wandered around for another hour or so, eventually climbing our way to the highest point in Japan (3776m). And there was much rejoicing. Okay, not so much; really, I just looked around and snapped a few photos, because I was beyond exhausted. And I still had a mountain to climb down. Luckily, K-san had heard that the Gotemba trail was easier on the descent (**foreshadowing like whoa**), so around 11:00 we started back down. Our bus wasn't leaving the 5th station until 4 p.m., and all of the guide books said that the descent should only take about three hours -- plenty of time, right? >.>

The way down was a little easier at first, if only by virtue of gravity. Then the challenge became making sure you could stop yourself before you went ass-over-teakettle. Because the Gotemba descending trail, while less steep than its counterparts, is comprised almost entirely of scree. Round, slippery scree that is comparable in size and action to ball bearings under a person's feet. This is especially enjoyable for people who have had surgery on both knees, and who are currently paranoid about not requiring additional orthopedic medical attention while in a foreign country that is such a big fan of stairs. >.> So no, I wasn't able to go very fast. Luckily, though, the trail started to flatten out around the eighth station, and we started making better time. Until we got to station 7.4 anyway, when it started to rain yet again. I am not making this up.

So at station 7.4, we donned all of our rain gear. At which point, the rain promptly stopped. But we weren't falling for it this time (heh-heh -- in your FACE, Fuji-san)! Uh, yeah. Anyway, we stopped for a minute at the 7th station, and we saw some other climbers there who were taping over their hiking boots with, like, duct tape. We thought it a bit strange, but figured that maybe all the climbing had worn through the soles of their shoes or something. In any event, we left them to their taping and continued on our way. Shortly thereafter, though, the reason for all the taping became clear: the Gotemba trail, after the 7th station, turns into what is called a "sand slide." This is a complete and utter misnomer. A more accurate name would be the "shin-deep igneous gravel 45-degree Slope of Death." At every step, you sunk in past your ankle. There was no point in stopping to get the rocks out of your shoes, since they would only fill up again. Actually, it was kind of better to not empty them -- at least then they would reach a rock-saturation level of sorts. Walking down the trail was pretty much impossible, too; you had to adopt this weird skating sort of gait. Once you got going, though, it wasn't so bad. Of course, Fuji-san couldn't have that, so the clouds moved in and it started to rain again. **sigh**

I wish I could express how alien everything looked just then: visibility down to a few yards, due to the darkening clouds and mist and rain; and nothing but the grey gravel slope visible within that. No trees, no birds. No sense of place or time or movement, just the endless slide down, down, down, past pain, past exhaustion, past thought. K-san commented to me about how it looked like something out of a manga, but to me it seemed more like an ancient Greek trial or curse; a bleak, never-ending trail for the one foolish enough to take Fuji-san lightly...

And so ends Part II in this substantially-longer-than-originally-intended story. Next time -- The End! No, really!

And now, your well-deserved pictures:

Outside the 9th station (ascent)


Looking up from the 9th station


Jizo on the mountainside

And now a word from our sponsor...

Hey there! Just a quick note to let everybody know that I haven't forgotten about the other half of the story, I just haven't been home very much in the past couple of weeks. First Osaka, now Tokyo -- lots of fun, but not much quality time for posting. On the bright side, though, I've got a backlog of exciting things to talk about! As soon as I get the time to write about them, anyway... ^_^; I will do my best to fill you in as soon as I get home! Gomen ne!

Who knew Fuji-san was Greek?

hubris (hyōō'brĭs) -noun
Overbearing pride or presumption; arrogance

Sing in me, Muse, and through me tell the story...

I know I haven't posted in a little while, but this should more than make up for it. This post looks to be big. Huge. Of epic proportions, even. So pack a lunch and pull up a chair; this could take a while.

Right. So, one of the things that I absolutely had to do while I was in Japan was to climb Mt. Fuji. Granted, I'm not much of a mountain-climber -- most of my mountaineering experience involves driving around Colorado -- but something about Fuji-san called to me. Maybe it was the symbolism. Maybe it was the symmetry. Maybe it was the cool walking stick that I heard you could buy at the bottom and then have branded with station stamps on the way up. Whatever the reason, I had to do it. After all, thousands and thousands of people climb Mt. Fuji every year -- as I told my friend K-san, how hard could it be? So after much poring over travel books and looking at websites and fretting over dates and figuring out who wanted to come, I finally made the trip to the hallowed heights of Fuji on Monday. And realized that hubris is alive and well and living in Japan...

Things started out well (don't they always?) -- I met K-san in Toyohashi at 11:00, and we were at Shin-Fuji station by 2:30. There, we met two more friends, J and S, who were also making the trip with us, and we all took the bus to the Fujinomiya trail 5th station, arriving there at 4:30.

At this point, it's necessary to give a little background info about how people usually climb Mt. Fuji. First of all, there are four main trails up the mountain: the Kawaguchiko-Yoshida (most popular and closest to the Tokyo area), the Gotemba (longest distance from the 5th station to the summit), the Subashiri (most...similar sounding to...Subaru?), and the Fujinomiya (closest to Aichi prefecture and closest 5th station to the top (and, unbeknownst to me at the time, the steepest trail up the mountain **foreshadowing**)). Also, most climbers start at the 5th stations of all of the trails; I don't know why exactly -- maybe stations 1 through 4 really suck. In any event, most people start climbing in the evening from the 5th station, stop somewhere around the 8th station to rest for a bit, and then start climbing again around 2:00 a.m. to reach the summit in time for the sunrise at around 4:30. Then they climb back down the mountain and usually make it home in time for lunch.

This sounded like a good plan to us. So we situated our packs and ourselves and started up the slope at about 5:00. As we passed the station shop, I saw they had those much-coveted walking sticks for sale, but at 1000¥ each, it was more than I wanted to spend (I was trying to save money for my trip to Osaka this weekend). So, I continued on, stickless. Due to my energy and excitement, I was making pretty good time...for the first 50 meters or so. After that, my lungs seemed to operate in the same manner they usually do, but to no apparent effect; I had to keep stopping every five minutes just to catch my breath. By the time we reached the 6th station, I was already lagging behind, and so K-san was kind enough to buy me a walking stick there. After resting for a couple minutes, we set off again.

The weather started to get really weird the further we went up. It had been overcast when we started that day, but we seemed to break through some of the cloud cover as we ascended. After that, though, we could see tendrils of mist racing up the mountain, and once they reached us, the rain wasn't far behind. Luckily, I had brought a rain suit with me, but I only had time and energy enough to put on the jacket (over my backpack). This turned out to be a good thing, since my backpack was not exactly waterproof. In exchange, though, my shorts and shoes (Converse all-stars, baby!) got soaked. So by the time we reached the 7th station, I was squelching and practically panting at every step. But at least by then the rain had stopped. At that point, K-san volunteered to carry my pack (along with his own), so that I might have a better chance of not dying before we reached the top. And it did help a lot, but I still wasn't able to go all that much faster, and I felt like a total ass for making him carry twice the weight.

It was almost 8:00 and completely dark (except for the occasional flashes of lightning >.>;) by the time we reached station 7.5, and once there, we had to decide whether or not we would be staying the night at that station's "mountain hut." The name describes what it is pretty accurately; climbers can stop there to take a break (potty, photo, or otherwise), buy exorbitantly priced supplies, or, as in our case, find a place to sleep for the night. For the low, low price of only 5000¥. Each. >.< When I started this little sojourn, I had figured we would likely hike through the night and stop somewhere along the trail to rest. However, I hadn't planned on overnight rain. So, we shelled out the cash and crashed for the night...

And thus ends Day 1 of the "Super-Awesome Scale Mt. Fuji Adventure." Stay tuned for the stunning conclusion, when the Sungod blots out the day of their return. Believe it!

And because you've been such good sports, some photos:


The view from the 6th station.


Aaand from the 7th.