After our morning taisō, I mentioned to my Japanese co-worker my plans to climb Mt. Fuji. She cheerfully replied with the traditional salutation, “Ganbatte,” which she explained meant, “Try hard” — and I immediately thought — no problem. Trying hard applies to most everything I do, like trying to eat right, trying to keep my blood pressure and cholesterol down, trying to exercise regularly. However, that night, as I looked in the mirror at my out-of-shape, overweight (and late model) body, “try hard” seemed maybe too hard. I began questioning my motives — my wife thought I was crazy.
Each season, about 250,000 people, from all around the world, come to hike Fuji. My interest began after seeing an announcement posted at my work of a group forming to go. I signed up. At our first meetup, like everyone else going, I was asked to tell what made me unique and why I wanted to climb Fuji-san. For the first part, I answered, I’m not really unique. I’m just an average (62-year-old) guy. Most people in my group said they wanted to hike Fuji for the tremendous experience, but that wasn’t my only or most compelling reason. I felt near to the point in life where body no longer follows along with mind’s whims. My honest answer to the million-dollar question was: I want to prove to myself that I can do it.
I started my fitness preparation at T-51 by walking seven kilometres to the Navy Hospital where I worked. I did this twice a week. There’s no place on Okinawa that compares to Fuji’s terrain, but I calculated the distance required of my training route to match the equivalent energy I’d exert climbing the mountain. Using a calorie burn rate for an average person (like me), that equated to walking 32 km at a moderate pace. But! A wholly different combination of muscles and range of joint motion are at work when walking uphill and downhill. To emulate this effect, I took the stairs at work instead of using the elevator and, on Saturdays, I doubled my route to about 16 km (I never got around to doing 32).
Don’t worry about getting to Fuji. That’s the easy part. We took a bus to Station 5. I recommend dressing in layers. At the Yoshida trailhead, the temperature was 20°C. The top was around 0°C. I carried water and snacks in my small backpack, but food and drink (and toilet use, yes, it’s 200 ¥) can be purchased along the way at any of the many huts scattered along the trail. We started climbing at 10 a.m. Not long after we got underway, our group broke up into units of twos and threes as people settled into their pace. We stopped for a breather whenever we needed. Altitude sickness is caused by lack of oxygen to the brain. Best way to avoid it is to climb slowly, so the body can acclimate – or do as my friend did, although he sounded like Darth Vader as he sucked on his canned oxygen.
We got to our lodge at station 8 in six hours. Half our group was already there and on their second round of beer. The proprietor showed us our accommodations. Imagine the cabin at the summer camp you went as a kid, only without the bunk beds, but instead, there are 200 sleeping bags lined along the walls, overlapping like sardines in a can, and everyone sleeps on the same side to avoid breathing in his neighbour’s face. And when one person turns over, like dominos, everybody else follows suit. Worst of all, imagine Darth Vader spooning you while snoring like a jet engine. The curry dinner was good.
At 1 a.m., after zero sleep, I sat outside in the cool night air and sipped a cup of hot coffee. I was tired but anxious. We merged into the steady stream of hikers marching up the mountain. The trail here became steeper and soon narrowed, forcing the foot traffic into single file. We rested when the line stopped, which was brief but, thankfully, often. I wasn’t fatigued so much, but my knees and thighs were starting to ache. In the darkness, time seemed to pass slower. I checked my watch: 4 a.m.
Above me, the parade of flashlights disappeared into blackness as a higher cloud bank shrouded the mountain. We kept going – and going – and I was beginning to worry if we’d get to the top in time to see the sun rise – and then, we finally broke through the haze. Under starry skies, like candles, a horizontal line of flickering flashlights marked the peak of the mountain. I soon joined the multitude of people there, brushing welcoming shoulders and sharing happy smiles with strangers in a celebration of exhilaration.
Afterwards, I headed away from the crowd and walked along the rim of the crater. Near the edge, I found a solitary spot to sit and watchfully wait, my concentration focused on the east. I spent the next moments in humble reflection of how fortunate I was to be here. I thought of my parents and my brothers.
Before long, the night began to slowly dissipate, drawing its curtain aside so the day could enter. Purplish waves rippled throughout the bronze, panoramic sky, leaving behind in their wake a palette of colours turning subtly radiant. On the far horizon, pillows of cotton-candy clouds appeared, becoming steadily brighter – suddenly, a prick of bright light pierced the sky, revealing behind it, the tiny yellow pupil of the sun’s opening eye. Amazing. Truly.
What goes up must come down. A wide path zigzagged down the backside of the mountain making for an efficient no-frills exit. The loose, gravelly surface was extremely slippery, wreaking havoc on my knees. My thighs were burning. People with hiking poles seemed to be getting along fine as they sashayed past me. I wished I’d walked the stairs at work more often.
At the bottom, Vader saw me coming and hobbled over. We compared experiences. His stick was covered with stamps. Mine had the Station 5 mark near the bottom and only one more at the top – which fit my story: the one in-between them, of how an average guy like me climbed Mt. Fuji to prove to himself that he could – and did.
As we walked to our transport, another tour bus was unloading passengers into the parking lot. A man my age nodded and smiled as we passed by. Climbing Fuji is a unique, tremendous experience. I plan to do it again on my 70th birthday (yeah, same reason). I smiled back at the man, and as I do to all who try, I wished him, Ganbatte!
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