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
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