Location:
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Honshu, Japan
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Range:
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N/A
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Elevation:
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3,776 m (12,389 ft)
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Route:
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Yoshida trail (吉田ルート)
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Japan Hyakumeizan (日本百名山)
Japan Sanreizan (日本三霊山)
Overview
Mount Fuji or Fujisan is without a doubt the most iconic mountain in Japan: the mother of all meizans and the supreme sanreizan (the most hallowed of the three holiest mountains of Japan). Famed for its symmetrical cone and a place of pilgrimage for centuries, Mount Fuji was inscribed on the UNESCO World Heritage list as a 'sacred place and source of artistic inspiration' in 2013. As a volcano, Mount Fuji is dormant, not extinct: its last major eruption was in 1707, and there are concerns that it could blow its top again in the not-too-distant future.
Route Planning
The official climbing season for Mount Fuji is restricted to the summer months of July and August, when the mountain huts are open and the summit is typically free of snow. There are four main approaches up the mountain: of these, the Yoshida trail (吉田ルート) starting from the Fuji Subaru Line 5th Station (富士スバルライン五合目) is by far the most popular. There are numerous mountain huts that line the trail, and separate paths for ascent and descent - handy given that the trail gets exceedingly busy, particularly at weekends.
Log
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| Source: http://www.fujisan-climb.jp/en/m3oati0000002egu-att/Yoshida2014_English.pdf |
Log
It is drizzling when we set off from the fifth station. There are nearly forty of us - rather a large group. Securing accommodation independently on the mountain at the height of the season is no mean feat, so we decided to sign up with a Japanese group and let the organisers see to the logistics on our behalf.
'Make sure you bring a head torch and lots of spare change for the loos,' advised a friend who'd conquered Fuji a couple of weeks before. 'Also get a wooden staff or climbing stick when you're there - but bring a glove in case of splinters. The Fuji-themed nursing cover is optional - I think the little 'peak' is meant to go over baby's head and not mummy's ahem.'
What I'd omitted to pack was a waterproof cover for the rucksack, but thankfully the drizzle eases off just as I start to fret about that. Somewhat unexpectedly, we find a couple of stands giving out free chocolate bars as part of a promotional stunt at the sixth station. I saunter up and collect a Lotte 'Ghana' bar - because you never know when the extra rations might come in helpful. The slopes are still verdant here and, when the clouds lift, there are decent views of the Fuji Five Lakes area.
It is at the sixth station that the ascent really begins. Our guide gathers us round for a briefing - in Japanese only - on how best to tackle the climb: 'slowly' seems to be the key message, as he mimes taking one gingerly step after another - a bit like Marcel Marceau exploring a glass surface. 'Look at that,' says A, gesturing at the walkers thronging the trail ahead. 'From above, they must look like so many multi-coloured sprinkles swirling round the lollipop of the mountain.' 'Looks more like a refugee trail to me,' quipped M, whose sense of childlike wonder perhaps needed a bit more priming.
This is me sporting the imperial Japanese flag on my climbing staff, somewhere between the seventh and the eighth stations. 'It's meant to be ironic because I'm not Japanese,' I say to a couple of quizzical Yanks. 'A bit like me waving the Confederate flag.' Which doesn't seem to reassure them. We've come to a halt as someone in the group has succumbed to altitude sickness, so alternative arrangements have to be made for them. Several others in the group have brought oxygen canisters, and are gulping greedily from them as if their lives depended on it. I feel a little winded myself, although I suspect this has more to do with all that physical exertion instead of the thinning air... I hope I am not wrong.
We reach the 'Fujisan Hotel' - rather a grand name for a pretty basic mountain hut - sometime after dark. Located at the eighth station, the Fujisan Hotel is about 3,400 m above sea level. Dinner is a rather disappointing nondescript curry, washed down with a half decent lager. We are then bundled off to the dorms to try to get some shut-eye before the final push to the top in the wee hours. Perhaps it is all that fresh air, I am out like a light the moment I hit the mattress.
Sometime around two in the morning, the group is roused to prepare for the climb to the summit. It is a clear, cold night, and I find myself shivering in my fleece as we wait for the group to assemble. When we set off, you can see the twinkle of head torches up and down the mountain like a string of luminous pearls. We trudge up the scree slope in silence. It is still dark when we reach the torii gate of the Kusushi shrine, marking our arrival at the summit.
There are eight peaks around the summit crater of Mount Fuji, and our guide decides to take us up the highest one - the Kengamine peak (剣ヶ峰) (3,776 m) - for the sunrise. I find the final ascent a bit of a slog, but then we're there, jostling with the rest of them beneath the old weather station to catch the sun peek over the horizon. It's light by this time, but when the sun itself appears - a blazing ball of red in the eastern sky - it seems a strangely special moment, as if this didn't happen every day. But then I suppose it isn't every day that one watches the sun rise on Mount Fuji!
'Make sure you bring a head torch and lots of spare change for the loos,' advised a friend who'd conquered Fuji a couple of weeks before. 'Also get a wooden staff or climbing stick when you're there - but bring a glove in case of splinters. The Fuji-themed nursing cover is optional - I think the little 'peak' is meant to go over baby's head and not mummy's ahem.'
What I'd omitted to pack was a waterproof cover for the rucksack, but thankfully the drizzle eases off just as I start to fret about that. Somewhat unexpectedly, we find a couple of stands giving out free chocolate bars as part of a promotional stunt at the sixth station. I saunter up and collect a Lotte 'Ghana' bar - because you never know when the extra rations might come in helpful. The slopes are still verdant here and, when the clouds lift, there are decent views of the Fuji Five Lakes area.It is at the sixth station that the ascent really begins. Our guide gathers us round for a briefing - in Japanese only - on how best to tackle the climb: 'slowly' seems to be the key message, as he mimes taking one gingerly step after another - a bit like Marcel Marceau exploring a glass surface. 'Look at that,' says A, gesturing at the walkers thronging the trail ahead. 'From above, they must look like so many multi-coloured sprinkles swirling round the lollipop of the mountain.' 'Looks more like a refugee trail to me,' quipped M, whose sense of childlike wonder perhaps needed a bit more priming.Sometime around two in the morning, the group is roused to prepare for the climb to the summit. It is a clear, cold night, and I find myself shivering in my fleece as we wait for the group to assemble. When we set off, you can see the twinkle of head torches up and down the mountain like a string of luminous pearls. We trudge up the scree slope in silence. It is still dark when we reach the torii gate of the Kusushi shrine, marking our arrival at the summit.Would I do it all again? As the saying goes: 富士山に一度も登らぬ馬鹿、二度登る馬鹿 - a wise man will climb Mount Fuji once; only a fool would do so twice!
Fuji Sunrise
The following pictures are a celebration of sunrise or goraiko (ご来光) - the 'coming of light' - on the summit of Fuji (we were pretty fortunate to have had a relatively clear morning!):
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Nearby Attractions
Fuji Five Lakes
Every spring, the area also hosts the Fuji Shibazakura Festival (富士芝桜まつり), in which fields of blooming phlox are landscaped into striking designs.
