I arrived in Tokyo, Japan in 1976 as a fresh-faced United States Navy Journalist. And literally, the first site you see from Japan’s capital city is the iconic, Mount Fuji. Fuji-san is the tallest mountain on the island of Honshu and it stands prominently just 60 miles southwest of metropolitan Tokyo. Probably the most sacred of all Japanese symbolism, it is highly revered and instantly recognizable in art, literature and ancient mythology.
Mount Fuji is referred to as a strato volcano which in essence means large, cone-shaped with steep sides created from the accumulated layers of lava and ash. Its last eruption was in 1707, so in August of 1977 it had been dormant long enough; I figured I’d give it a try.
I started up from the parking lot around four in the afternoon I wanted to time it out so I could catch the sunrise early the next morning. They have several way stations along the route where travelers and hikers can rest and refresh with green tea or maybe a bowl of ochazuke. Each way station stop also had brand stamps for your walking stick. I got a few from early stops but eventually just wanted the brand for reaching the summit. They also provide sleeping racks for a quick nap and will wake you up and get you on your way in time to see the sunrise.
Climbing at night, alone, is not recommended but friends who had pledged to meet me there, didn’t. And during the long hours of the climb I would occasionally run into others also on the pilgrimage. About 1:30 in the morning I met a nice couple around way station 6 who were from the Netherlands. One elderly gentleman I briefly encountered earlier in the evening just trotted right by me. He was a way station supply laborer apparently on his daily journey. He must have been in his 70s, and carrying at least 100 lbs, an amazing sight to see. Here I was in my early 20s and straight out of boot camp; carrying maybe an extra pair of socks and a flashlight and this guy just humped right past me. I probably had altitude sickness, yeah that’s it; altitude sickness. Hey, it’s a mountain. 12,388 feet and every one of them…up!
I stopped one last time at way station 8 about 3:30 in the morning and a sleepy, but friendly Japanese couple offered up some hot tea. I took advantage of a wooden rack and shut down for about an hour before getting nudged to get up unless I were to miss the sunrise. Stumbling the remaining twenty minutes to the summit, I froze. It was breathtaking…like I was dreaming. It was truly, a once in a lifetime, unforgettable experience.
After about two hours of walking a few trails around just a portion of the rim, I took the express route down. It was a slag run down the slide area side of Mount Fuji.
You literally run down the mountain. Each step is about 15 to 18 feet and you gain so much momentum, it’s hypnotically freaky. You lean back lifting your legs from the slag and are propelled downward. You can’t stop even if you wanted to. Gravity hurtles you down the mountain. It took me about an hour and forty minutes to reach the parking area. So fun, but an exhausting trip that I will always cherish Mount Fuji.
