The Ascent

J125 Saturday August 25th

Saturday was busy, as always, but it went by fast. One of my classes is a free conversation with a businessman for an hour. It's a really interesting class, because I learn a lot about Japanese life from him. We talk about everything, sports, nature, science, current events, whatnot. I've had many informative conversations with him, though none spring to mind now. It's raining as I write this, and storms always make me a little fuzzy.

Saturday night was split between two gatherings. One of the part-time teachers at my company was throwing a BBQ party on Ose beach. After work, I headed home and cleaned up. I've come to relish my semi-daily cold shower after work. It helps wash away the sweat and grit of teaching, and refreshes and invigorates me. Plus, it helps me cool down, which is always nice. I headed back out after an hour or so to Ose beach, where a small crowd had gathered.

Several students were there. Soon after I arrived my manager and some of the other teachers and staff showed up. The organizer of the party had bought tremendous amounts of meat and beer, and returned with the latter a few minutes after I got to the beach.

Someone had purchased some cheap gas lanterns. They were predominantly plastic, how they didn't melt I will never know, and whilst being lit they gave off the dizzying smell of burning polycarbon. The source of the smell was not the body of the lantern, as I had assumed, but rather some plastic loops to which price tags had been attached. One lantern didn't quite work correctly, and its fire got almost out of control. My students and I quickly doused it with the best fire-retardant system we had available; the ocean. The three other lanterns worked quite nicely, thankfully, though still there lingered the smell of burning plastic.

Two small grills had been set up, using large chunks of Japanese charcoal. We set about cooking the meat that had been purchased. The teachers started, but I grabbed a clean pair of chopsticks (someone had purchased a huge bag of some 500 pairs) and assisted. Turning and shepherding the roasting meat as best I could. In the dark of night it was sometimes difficult to judge the meat's done-ness, but thanks to some small flashlights, including my ever-useful (but dying) keychain LED flashlight, we did okay. My coworker had prepared some delicious (but different) Malaysian-style chicken to grill. I enjoyed a few pieces, but the fact that the skin was still on *and* the pieces I got weren't cooked all the way through didn't endear it to me.

After a few hours of talking and grilling I decided to move on to G-Bros. Tonight was to be the final meeting for the Fuji group, and I needed to be there. I bid the gathered crowd farewell and headed back up the cliffside switchbacks to the main roads of Hitachi. I got to G-Bros quick enough, and was surprised to see Josh amongst the gathered Gaijin.

A few of the Gang discussed and planned Fuji, but most of the group was talking amongst themselves. As always, Josh and I struck up a geek-themed conversation. We covered our mutual love of comic books, including the ingenious (and apparently not dead) work of Warren Ellis, Nextwave.

Two or so hours after I'd arrived I called it a night. The schedule for transport had been arranged, with the people going to Fuji-san meeting at the train station the next day at 1:15PM. The plan was to arrive at Fuji after sunset and begin a night ascent, so as to see the sunrise from the top.

J126 Sunday August 26th

Today was to be the beginning of...something. I cannot adequately represent with words what transpired that day. I will report the facts, the events and their sequence, even my emotions and feelings, but understand that this was an experience that went beyond what I am. I would not say this "changed" me, but it did have a profound effect on me.

I was up and about early Sunday morning. I needed to purchase supplies for my trek up the mountain. I went to Sakura City, the other big department store in Hitachi; they have a big sports store, and that would probably suit my needs.

I found a good utility knife, a LED flashlight, a signal whistle, a good light jacket, a poncho, a really REALLY nifty Camelbak waterbottle, and to my utter amazement, Power Bars. I took my time looking through everything, making sure I wasn't spending too much or too little on my gear. This stuff was going to help me survive a very difficult journey, and I didn't want anything to crap out on me. The Power Bars, especially, were a treasure to find.

I purchased these items and then went down into the grocery store in Sakrua City's basement. I purchased a few bags of dried nuts and fruit, along with a small breakfast. I rode back home on my bike, eager to prepare. I ate my breakfast/lunch, showered, and packed my bag. I decided on the following for my gear:

1 single-strap backpack
1 750ml water bottle (filled, stored in backpack's bottle bag)
1 pair blue jeans (rolled up, stored in backpack's main pocket)
1 long-sleeved button up shirt (rolled up, stored in main pocket)
1 light jacket (rolled up in storage bag, stored in main pocket)
1 pair socks (stored in main pocket)
1 pair insulated gloves (stored in main pocket)
4 Power Bars (stored in main pocket)
1 Bag of Mixed Nuts (stored in main pocket)
1 Bag of Raisins (stored in main pocket)
8 AA Batteries (stored in backpack's small pocket)
1 LED Flashlight (stored in small pocket)
1 Signal Whistle (stored in small pocket)
1 Wallet (stored in small pocket)
1 Set of Keys (stored in small pocket)
1 Utility Knife (stored in small pocket)
1 Tengui (long handkerchief, stored in small pocket)
1 pair hiking shorts (worn)
1 t-shirt (worn)
1 straw hat (worn)
1 pair socks (worn)
1 pair shoes (worn)
1 belt (worn)
1 Casio QV-R62 Camera (worn on belt)

These, and only these, things I would bring with me. I managed to fit everything into my bag, somehow. It was weighty, but well-designed to distribute weight along my shoulders. I rode down to the station with a few minutes to spare, meeting up with the rest of the gang. Ascending the mountain were my coworker, M-sensei, Dan, Clive, myself, Erin, and Jeanie, who was already in Tokyo, having left earlier in the morning.

We took a local train to Tokyo, in communication with Jeanie several times. She had been working out the train schedules in situ in Tokyo, and was passing the info along to us. We were a little turned around after a while, but we managed to parse her instructions.

The train down to Tokyo was a local. By the time we got to the city it was already 4:30PM, and our respective morning meals were fond memories. We all were getting hungry, but knew that we couldn't stop for food, or else we'd miss trains. We all soved on.

We boarded an Express train from Tokyo to Kawaguchiko, one of the towns at the foot of Mt. Fuji. Aboard this train, which is laid out much like an airliner, I sat next to Dan. We enjoyed the slowly setting sun as the train sped along. I managed to procure a pork sandwich from the food cart, and Dan was kind enough to treat me to some Chu-Hai, a lemon liquor similar to beer, but not quite. Think lemon juice and light vodka. Very...interesting.

As we neared Kawaguchiko, mountains began to appear around us. Much taller than the ones in Hitachi, these cast bold shadows on the tiny, flat valleys between their sudden bulk. Mountains in Japan are very different than the ones in America. They start very quickly, seeming to spring out of the ground. The same was true here. The train tracks wound through mountain valleys, elevated above sleepy villages and towns. The sun, already low on the horizon, disappeared behind the tall mountains, darkening the world all the quicker.

When we arrived in Kawaguchiko, it was nearly 9PM. We'd spent almost 8 hours on trains that day, and were eager to stretch our legs. The train station at Kawaguchiko resembled a huge log cabin, made entirely out of wood in a style reminiscent of mountain lodges from the Alps. It almost seemed out of place, but it had just enough Japanese aesthetics such that it fit. It was fun to look at; like a magic eye picture before it resolved itself.

The platform itself was tiny, and there was no overpass for travelers to cross the tracks. You literally walked across the rails to get out of the station. There were cross guards, though, so you never ran the risk of getting hit by a train.

We decided to start from the 5th station, a tiny cluster of buildings and looped roads that was some halfway up the mountain. It's the starting point of nearly everyone who climbs the mountain. Mt. Fuji's base is clad in a dark, dense forest. Paths cut through it, but starting from the bottom adds nearly 5 hours to an ascent, and we wanted to see the sunrise from the top of the mountain. The fact that Fuji-san's forest is a favored spot for suicides helped our decision.

We found a bus, the last one in fact, from Kwawguchiko to the 5th station. We had about 30 minutes, so we prepared ourselves. We made use of the bathroom facilities and grabbed a quick dinner from the train station's gift shop, on the verge of closing and thus limited in food selection, and from a nearby 7-11.

Waiting for the bus we ate and drank in the dark. Sitting next to our group was a young man clad in a brown leather coat and sporting a massive afro of brown curls. I had spied him earlier in the train station, and he had helped us determine the bus schedule. I had yet to introduce myself, though, so after finishing my meal I did so.

His name was Harry. He was from England and was on vacation, having spent nearly a month in Japan on his own. He'd finished high school before coming, and wanted to see the world. His original plans had been to come with a cousin and spend 6 months, but his partner pulled out at the last minute, causing him to readjust his plans. His flight back home was in a few days, and this was the last major thing he'd do before going home.

He was a steampunk enthusiast. Being one myself, our kindling friendship virtually exploded as we fell into a jovial, Victorian mode of speech.

Our bus arrived and we all boarded. Harry and I chatted on about many a subject, technology, fiction, the internet, all of it tinged with steampunk and its tropes. It was as if we'd been friends forever, meeting after a long absence.

After a 30 minute bus ride, we arrived at the 5th station. The first thing I noticed was the cool air. Kawaguchiko was warm in the way Japanese nights tend to be; slightly sticky and close, like a thick blanket. Station 5 was noticeably cooler, so much so that I decided to change into my warmer weather gear. Station 5 consisted of a looping cul-de-sac, with the main road curving back down the mountain, and broader, dirt road arcing up. The circular road described an empty plaza, and to either side of the loop were buildings. The only one open at that time of night was a souvenir shop. Lots of Fuji related kitch could be purchased, including tall, octagonal walking sticks topped with bells. These were a common purchase for climbers. At each station one could purchase a brand that was stamped on the wood's surface. Climbers would leave their bells at the summit, as a testament to their conquest of the mountain.

I changed in the back of the souvenir shop where some coin lockers were located. A dozen or so other men and women, mostly Japanese but with a few foreigners mixed in, were changing. I joined in the festivities, such as they were, and soon sported my jeans instead of my shorts. I rejoined the group outside, and we started our climb.

Recall, reader, one of my favorite suggestions for doing things in Japan. Follow the crowd. Even at night, there were TONS of people climbing Mt. Fuji. Some were like us, small groups of casual hikers. Others looked like they were getting ready to tackle Everest, their massive camping backpacks bulging with gear and their hands tightly grasping one, sometimes two, walking sticks. High tech walking sticks. With lasers.

Harry and I walked together. I soon became separated from my group, but I wasn't particularly worried. There was really only one path up and down Mt. Fuji, and it was impossible to get turned around. We started out in the dead of night, the sun having set a few hours before. The moon was out, and almost full. The path was a stamped flat road of dirt and stones, curving gently around the wide base of the mountain.

Our first spectacular view was very soon into our climb. On our right was the mountain's ever-rising bulk. To our left was nothingness. The mountain fell sharply away from the path's edge, and we could see out into the cloudy, fog-covered valley below. Between two massive spurs of Mt. Fuji we saw the shimmering grid of a small town. Clouds clung to every inch of Mt. Fuji like a veil, obscuring its true size and shape from us. These same clouds also hid the fusion of the mountain to the Earth itself, giving the illusion that the mountain itself was somehow floating in a sea of clouds. Pale trees, curving out from the soil to the left, over empty space, and then sharply up toward the sky, looked like the ribs of a mighty beast in the light of the bright, coy moon.

Up we climbed. We kept pace with my group, but soon it stretched out. Clive, M-sensei, and Dan steamed ahead, whilst Harry and I walked at our own pace. Jeanie and Erin, though not together, were somewhere behind us.

Harry and I met another group of foreigners ascending. Truth be told, there were hundreds of climbers, but these stood out in that their geekishness shone out from the dark and synched with our own. The other group was led by a strapping young man about my age named Cash. I would later learn that he is employed by my own company, though we had never met before that night on the mountain. I cannot recall the names of the other three members. Liz, I think, was one of them. As was LaShay, though I cannot be certain. Hank was the last. These names could easily be erroneous, though.

We soon left the relative ease of the dirt road and came to the first of many switchbacks. Carved into the sides of the mountain is a dizzying array of zigzag pathways. Their sides are reinforced by bulwarks, some stacked stone, others fabricated steel and wire. The going soon got tough, though Cash, in one of the rare moments where we occupied the same relative space on the trail, assured us this was nothing. He had climbed Mt. Fuji before, and knew what lay ahead.

After an hour's worth of climbing, we made it to Station 6. Every station on Mt. Fuji is unique, but all of them provide some basic services. Toilets, which one must pay for, are provided, though the disposal measures leave much to be desired. Travel food and drinks are also provided, though they start immensely expensive and steadily grow moreso as one nears the top. Many of the stations have bunk houses, open spaces where a somewhat reasonable fee (around 5000 yen, or $50) gets you a tatami mat (90cm by 180cm, or 35in by 70) worth of space to sleep. Staff also lived in small houses, old-fashioned Japanese style houses heated by tiny wood fires, to man the booths and provide assistance, should the need arise.

It was another 100 minutes to the next station, so our small English-language map said. I downed a bottle of water to keep myself hydrated. Harry noticed my difficulty breathing, and purchased a bottle of oxygen for me. A long drag of pure O2 had me on my feet again.

Around this time, I think, it ceased to be Sunday, and was magically a Monday.

J126 Monday August 26th


Up we climbed. Endless upward motion. With every step I felt fatigue seep into my bones and muscles. As we climbed, we found other smaller substations where we could sit and rest.

Up we climbed. Meter after meter. With shocking suddenness the terrain switched from hard-packed dirt to volcanic rock. The bumpy, oddly smooth rock that flowed from the mountainside felt like stone wax as we scrambled up its sharp sides. My gloves came on soon after we hit volcanic rock, protecting my hands from both the cold and the jagged terrain.

By the time we reached the 7th Station I was having doubts as to whether or not I could finish this. To say I was tired was an overstatement. My backpack's weight pulled at my shoulder, and the cold quickly sapped my strength when I summoned it. Harry's words of encouragement, though helped me. I downed more air, as well as a power bar, and we resumed our climb.

Up we climbed. Soon my every move was painful. The muscles of my legs and abdomen were worked beyond my comfort limits. My stomach felt uncomfortable, so much so that keeping food down was a challenge. I knew my body needed nutrition, though, so I rationed my supplies and fed myself slowly.

The 8th Station. Rest and food. Up we climbed.

Before I had left the station the previous day, I had searched for information on Mt. Fuji, wondering what I would experience on the mountain. The Wikitravel entry for Mt. Fuji was very informative. I also looked at the Wikipedia entry, and one piece of information therein stuck out in my mind. The first known ascent of the mountain was done in 663A.D. by an unknown monk.

As I climbed, as my body protested and I thought semi-seriously of just stopping and laying down, I thought of him. Young, perhaps. Probably no older than me. He wore a homespun robe, with maybe an undershirt. Sturdy straw sandals wrapped around his feet, probably with stout socks. He may have had a short length of rope, but probably not. Maybe he had a little bottle of water carved from a bamboo shoot.

Alone. On this mountain. No, you can't call Mt. Fuji a mountain. It's beyond being labeled something so small. Mt. Fuji is...this thing. A monster. A beast. It's not vicious or cruel. It doesn't hunt. But it's almost incomprehensible. It is so big you can't see all of it; it hides itself. Bulges of rock and clouds hide its true size and shape from you.

Alone, straddling this monster, with no equipment. No stations to guide him. No path designed by brilliant young engineers or carved by strong young workers. No help. No one. Alone. On this monster.

I felt a fire, in me. It wasn't a big, passionate bonfire. It wasn't a blaze or an inferno. It was like a little candle. But, I knew, that it would never go out. Ever. It would gutter, and there would be times I felt like I would surely die from what I was doing. But every time I did, I saw that young monk in my mind's eye.

Alone. On this monster.

I picked up my right foot, and put it in front of my left one. It was all I could do, but it was enough.

Every step became torture, but I didn't care. I was beyond it. I knew that I could survive. I knew that I had already beaten the biggest enemy I had; myself. Only I could turn around. The mountain was there, it was just a big rock. It was a beautiful rock, born in titanic violence and filled with mysticism, but it was still a rock.

There is no 9th Station. It's called the Old 8th Station. By this time the sun was nearly up, and though we could finally see the summit from where we stood, we knew we couldn't make it in time. We would climb the mountain, Harry and I, but we wouldn't kill ourselves doing it. I ducked in to a small, heated hut and feasted on a cup of instant ramen. It was the same brand I'd lived on for my first few weeks here in Japan. It was made with hot water from a small electric heater. It was the most delicious food I have ever tasted.

I used the time in the hut to shed some layers and feel less bulky. After finishing my meal I suited up again. Harry had enjoyed the outdoors, resting himself as the other climbers walked by. When I exited, we continued.

Up we climbed. This was the steepest part of the trail. The mountain's slope had slowly increased in sheerness, like a tangent line on a graphing calculator. We had neared the summit, and the switchbacks became nearly vertical. The path alternated between switchback and stair, with some parts of the trail mercifully flat.

A few hundred meters above Old 8, Harry and I watched the sun rise. Out of a sea of white clouds, so thick they obscured everything, a blood-red dawn was born. Fire leaped in slow motion from beyond the edge of the planet as the Universe moved, and I was lucky enough to intercept the photons of another beautiful sunrise. I felt then, as I do now, not smallness, but wonder at the scope of the Cosmos. Perched atop a rather large volcanically extruded jag of rock, I was witness to the motion of everything. I won't say I felt a cosmic oneness, because I didn't. I understood, or shall I say comprehended, yet again, my place in the Universe.

I recall as I write this a notion from one of my favorite manga, Planetes. One of the characters waxes poetic about where space begins. Space, it is commonly held, begins anywhere between 50 to 100 miles above the surface of the Earth. This character remarks, quite correctly, that such a distinction is merely a human delineation. There is no true vacuum in Outer Space. It is quite sparse, don't misunderstand, but there's still stuff in every cubic meter of space. A molecule or two, at least. Our atmosphere is ludicrously thick compared to space, but the difference between the two is merely a matter of density. Space, this character states, is all around us.

Standing there, near the top of Mt. Fuji, I understood this concept very clearly. As we ascended Harry and I broke through the lower ceiling of the clouds. The night sky above us was clear, more clear than either of us had ever seen. The stars shone and glittered like diamonds and sapphires above us, and even the lens of the galaxy could be seen. The mountain hid the moon for a while, and our view was unspoiled by light.

As we climbed a storm brewed far off in the distance. We were above the ground-hugging storm clouds, and well far off, so we were in no danger. Purple flashes through the clouds told of lightning. We saw far more than one would standing beneath the clouds.

I finally saw the curve of the Earth. The limb, the edge of the world, beyond which I could not see, unless I climbed higher still.

Up we climbed. The sun warmed us as we ascended. As we ascended our breaks grew longer and more frequent. Every three steps and I would catch my breath. A step up something winded me. My bottle of O2 kept me going, though, and never once did I feel truly faint from lack of air. One of the longer stops was near the top, where Harry and I sunned ourselves as we lay within a small fold of rock. Every time I would look up I would feel my hurts sing in agony "No more!". I remembered the monk, and soon ceased to look up.

Finally, there were no more steps. Without realizing it, consciously at least, Harry and I had reached the top of the mountain. I looked down at the trail below me. I saw, in the way only a mountain climber can, the odd geometry of my conquest as it swept away from me into the sky.

The caldera of Mt. Fuji is inactive, a massive pucker in the mountain that does not smoke or hiss. The highest point on Mt. Fuji is on the opposite end of the caldera from where I stood, a small weather-monitoring station. Harry and I rested in a small shop at the top, buying a souvenir with the day's date hammered into it by one of the shop keepers. I enjoyed a cup of hot tea, eager to warm and hydrate myself.

I met Dan, one of the trainees that was with me my first week here in Japan. This is a coincidence of truly epic probability, though I will not say I was terribly surprised. Merely amused with the Universe as a whole.

After we'd gathered our strength, Harry and I began our descent. We would not go to the highest point; we were too tired. We had climbed the mountain, and a dozen more meters and a photo op, while quaint, would not feel rewarding after the monumental task we had just achieved.

Down we walked. This side of Fuji-san was switchbacks all the way down. These steps, though, were swept through the volcanic rock, soil, and predominantly dust of the mountain's last eruption. This was, quite possibly, the worst part of the journey. It was very, very boring. Going was slow; if you went too fast or too slow you'd slip and fall. The view was maddening, too; an endless scope of cloud and reddish stone as far as the eye could see. Beautiful at first, but soon monotonous.

Down we walked, keeping our spirits up with discussions and songs. Down we trudged, exhausted and dehydrated. Harry had carried no water that I'd seen, and had purchased none as we climbed. I had tried to keep myself fairly well lubricated. My own water supply dwindled as we walked, my patient rationing of it used to keep my fleshy bits moist in the rare atmosphere.

We soon came to the cloud ceiling, and were wrapped in thick fingers of cool cloudstuff. Our skin was soothed by cool breezes as we walked down the mountain. The sun sizzled our skin, but the clouds kept us cool.

We saw tractors climbing the trail we were on, distributing people and supplies to the stations and staff houses we passed. Signs dotted the mountainside, providing very incorrect data as to our location and the distance to the next station.

We finally reached the end of the switchbacks, finding ourselves nearly a quarter of the way around Mt. Fuji's middle from where we'd started. Down we walked on a far gentler slope, still difficult due to exhausted muscles, along a path that gave us a fantastic view of the cloud-wreathed forests that grew along Mt. Fuji's sides. We saw horses, blanketed against the night's chill and watched by half-dozing handlers. Their small fire crackled happily as we passed, and the horses watched our crossing. We reached a crossroads of sorts, and felt slight panic when the signs we spied began to point us back up the mountain. We asked some passerby and were pointed in the right direction, down a path we had not seen given our elevation.

We reached a variant of the 6th station, more a staging point than anything else. A large crowd had gathered and were preparing for their own ascent. I used the facilities there, despite the barbaric state of the portajohn I found there. Harry and I walked ever-downward. We met a family, Midwesterners by their accents, who asked for our own tale of the mountain. They were going up as we were going down. We told them of our ordeals and wished them luck. They informed us that we were very close to the 5th Station, upon hearing which I desired to buy them all a steak dinner.

We finally found the trail we had started upon the night before. The moon-kissed forest had transformed into a more mundane one in the light of the sun, but it was no less beautiful. The haze of the night's clouds had lifted, and shimmering like mirrors set into the Earth we saw some of the lakes that arced about Fuji's northern face.

We finally, finally reached the 5th Station. It was far more crowded than the night before, with hundreds of people finishing or starting their climbs. Parents shepherded children, buying gifts and treats.

Harry bought some souvenirs as I changed and repacked my bag, sorting the trash from the rest of my possessions. The bus we had caught that took us up the mountain had included a return ticket. I got the information to the next bus that would take us back down the rest of the way. Harry and I, immensely hungry now that we were no longer walking, had a simple breakfast of toast and jam at a nearby cafe.

We boarded the bus down to Kawaguchiko at 1:30PM. In front of us were a trio of Australian travelers (one Liverpudlian immigrant, his Australian wife, and their Australian friend). I struck up a conversation with them, finding them to be positively wonderful people. They ran a tattoo shop in Perth, and were in Japan for a tattoo convention that had happened the week before. They offered Harry and I seats, which we gladly took on the packed bus.

Harry fell asleep as I talked to the Australians about many a thing. Mostly politics, tattoos, and culture. The bus ride was long, and I enjoyed the conversation. My talks with Harry had slowly devolved as we climbed up and then down the mountain, exhaustion robbing our conversation of much meaning.

When the bus pulled into the station, we all disembarked. Harry and I said our goodbyes and parted ways. He and I had shared a close bond while we climbed, helping one another and keeping our collective spirits up. He was off to Tokyo to sleep and recover, and would catch his flight home the next day. I wished him luck in his endeavors.

I chatted a bit longer with the trio of Australians, helping them find a hotel and conversing more about life, the Universe, and everything. Finally, I realized that I needed to start back home, as the journey was long and the day was almost half-done.

I boarded a local for Tokyo, switching to an express at a station partway between the mountain and the city. In Tokyo I took the Yamanote line to Ueno where I attempted to get a ticket home. My money supply had dwindled, despite my careful rationing, and I was without funds to purchase any ticket home. I found an ATM outside of the station, though, and was able to procure enough funds to buy an Express ticket to Hitachi as well as a well-deserved (and much needed) dinner. I boarded the train and enjoyed my evening meal as it zipped through the night toward my home.

I napped a bit, but fear of missing my stop kept me awake. I had purchased a notebook in Ueno and jotted down some brainstorming notes for my D&D game.

At long last, a mere day and a half (a thousand years) after I left it, I arrived in Hitachi. I caught a cab home, not trusting my rubbery legs to bike or walk my way back. I showered and felt clean for the first time in what was surely decades and, without fanfare, unfolded my futon, and slept.