Mr. Fuji and the Deer-Pig

Location:
Japan

Mt. Fuji

By Kaz

The spectacular dominance of Mount Fuji on both the landscape and in Japanese culture leaves little doubt why, in Japanese, the san suffix is added to the mountain’s name in the same respectful regard as it is to people’s names. It’s an active volcano, and I know Fujisan is alive because I think it tried to kill me.

I’d heard how so many people, from kids to old ladies, make the journey to the top of the icon during the short eight week snowless season, so I doubted the stories of hellish climbs. I took it tongue and cheek as several people warned me the climb would be a challenge. I didn’t foresee it being too hard, but at 3,776 meters, I also knew it would be more than a walk in the park. We followed the guide books and stuffed our backpacks with everything we might possibly need for an eight hour accent and for about a four hour decent. So confident in the impending mission before us, I thought it would be nothing to climb the smaller, Mt. Kachi-kachi in the morning before our departure up the big one. It only took a couple hours, but the intense August humidity drained us pretty well. The trail was muddy from rain, and its occasional steep inclines were subtle foreshadows to the real quest that awaited us.The clouds parted just as we approached the peak of the lesser mountain allowing us a glimpse of Fujisan. It was a monster of a mountain--a perfect pyramid engulfing the horizon. The beauty of the moment wasn’t lost on us, but a sense of fear and awe began to grow deep in the pits of our stomachs. Around noon we boarded a bus from Kawaguchiko in Yamanashi Prefecture to take us halfway up the beast. It was a bit of a cheat, but otherwise it would take days. Heavy rain and wind pelted the windows, and a fellow climber broke our apprehensive silence.“Two people died yesterday climbing.” I tried to laugh off his comment as my concerns shifted from worrying about my own ability to trying to keep up the spirits of my climbing partner.

“Suddenly a storm came and one guy got hit by lightening and died.”

Thanks for the encouragement, Buddy, but keep it to yourself. I nodded politely despite my thoughts.

“The other one got blown clean off the side of the mountain by the wind. Watch yourself up there. Last year a tent with four guys in it was blown off the side and tumbled all the way down. For half and hour they banged into rocks on the way down, trapped inside their tent, breaking every bone in their bodies. So, watch yourself up there."

Thanks for the tip. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for the lightening strikes too.My girlfriend gave me a worried look as our busmate continued.

“You got oxygen tanks with your, right? ‘Cause you can’t breathe up there. Watch it ‘cause three people died last…..”

At the Fifth Station departure point, where tour buses unload smiling energetic climbers and scraped up near-dead physically and emotionally deflated ones, our ears were already plugged from the altitude. The sudden drop in temperature sent chills through my bones.We bundled up in winter gear we thought wouldn’t be needing for several more hours. Thick, wet fog blew right through us. For a second the summit flashed through the clouds giving us a glimmer of hope. It was huge, but its brief sight ignited our adrenaline. The tour groups pulled on their rain wear and strapped on bells to their hiking sticks. We hurried ahead to avoid the crowds.

“Why do they all have bells on their sticks?” My girlfriend asked.

In Canada we sometimes carry a bell when hiking to scare away bears. Were there bears on Fujisan? The first couple hours were easy and encouraging—a clear, wide, gradual incline. The dense fog created a mysterious aura. It was strange how random patches of fog suddenly engulfed us in dark wet mist, quickly turning the daylight to near blackness. From the start we needed our headlamps and mine didn’t work properly. Perhaps I shouldn’t have bought them at the 100-Yen shop. The freezing rain hit us hard from all angles. Bells eerily rattled around us, seemingly lost in the fog like wandering ghosts. I felt we had good momentum, but already my partner was in need of rest. She struggled on her knees to catch a solid breath in the thin air. The bells of tour groups passed us. Through the cloud cover I caught some motion on the inclining hillside to our right. It wasn’t a bear, but some kind of creature. It was hairy like a dirty sheep dog, but with an upturned pig nose and horns. I was definitely scared of the alien mountain dweller, but not for fear of personal injury, but because of its shocking ugliness.

Gradually the weather improved and as the steepness increased, blue sky emerged. Slightly behind schedule, but with uplifted spirits, we arrived at the Sixth Station. I asked about my encounter with the creature, but I was only answered with puzzled looks questioning my sanity. Our condition was generally good except for deep chills. The steaming hot instant cup of rammen soup offered at the rickety rest area perched on a Cliffside were very tempting, but I refused to give in to extortion and shell out 600 yen for the same soup I saw at the 100-Yen shop. We ate a couple energy bars and gulped back a sports drink. Like kids on a sugar buzz, we were up and eager to go. This isn’t so hard. We can do this.The next leg to the Seventh Station left us lagging well behind the tour groups. Our continuous breaks had killed our high, and staggered our momentum. The sun was down and with a thousand meters to go, we were getting seriously tired and cold.The path was now narrow and getting rocky. In many sections we had to set aside our hiking poles to climb on all fours. We often needed the assistance of a heavy metal chain that runs along the path. I could imagine how one might be blown off the volcano if he didn’t hold on during one of the many powerful wind gusts. It also served as a lifeline guiding us in the right direction in the dark and fog, and giving us something to pull ourselves up and over tricky passages with. Both our rain pants, also from the 100-Yen shop, had large rips in them from the jagged boulders we had to negotiate. The hike had become a climb. Our pace was deliberately gradual to avoid getting altitude sickness, so our slowing speed didn’t concern me yet. Running a little late just meant we might not get too long of a nap before waking in time to see the sun rise.

To our great disappointment, we were informed that after the Seventh Station, the climb would get hard. I hadn’t imagined it would be as difficult as the last couple hours, and shuttered at the notion it would get worse soon. My heart went out to my mentally unprepared partner as she became unable to support herself for more than a couple minutes at a time, painfully forcing out only a few steps before collapsing on the rocks in a heap of exhaustion and tears. She tried for me, and she tried for herself, but she simply didn’t have any more gas in the tank. On a rare flat patch of gravel, I cleared the biggest stones and laid down the vinyl sheet we brought for this occasion. I had thought it unnecessary to pay for the privilege of having a warm snooze on a futon in one of the station’s rest houses. I’d been told they are too overcrowded and noisy with other climbers to sleep. It was becoming apparent however, the alternative choice was a mistake. On top of the world, without a sign of life or vegetation, the howls of the icy wind invoked images of the deer-pig. Curled up in the fetal position in a vain attempt to keep each other warm, we gradually slid down the incline, and small stones dug into our sides. Relieving my worries of our ability to continue more than her own, my girlfriend’s exhaustion anesthetized her. The distant ringing of bells and occasional passer-bys kept me conscious. At least the deer-pig monster would be warded off. Regardless of Fujisan’s best attempts to kill us, we rose after a twenty-minute nap with new found energy, albeit in a mild dose. The cold of night and wind pained us as much as it forced us to keep moving. Our best efforts to carry on were soon halted though, as again my companion’s will and strength fell short. Begging to quit, she was convinced she simply could not go on any more. We had almost zero progress over the last several hours. For me, this created a mental defeat much worse than any physical pain. She was incapacitated, yet what options did we have? The past few hundred meters had been so steep and rocky, that it would have been a deadly error to attempt to return back the same way. There was only one way up, and one way down. We were at the point of no return, with the summit closer than the base.

“Let’s go. It’s time to go.”

I forced myself to forego my compassion. She looked at me with tears that were nearly contagious. How can you be so cruel? I could see her thoughts on her face and it broke my heart.

“I can’t move.” She pleaded.“Well, if you stay here, you’ll die.”

I deliberately overdramatized the situation. Upon second thought, I may have been right.

“You can go. I’ll meet you at the bottom.”

Both of us knew her proposal was impossible.

“If we don’t keep moving we’ll freeze.”

I used my remaining energy to force some urgency into my voice.

“We came to climb this mountain, and we are not giving up.”

Too weak to argue, her cries eventually yielded to progress. After a few failed attempts to stand, we were on our way. Aiding her and managing both backpacks as we fumbled through the dark in endless ascension, I felt like I was carrying the world to the stars. With two more stations until the top, my goal of watching the sun rise over Japan from the peak of Mount Fuji had been dashed. The altitude had stopped my watch, but I knew the sun would be rising soon. The night sky had been a treat. We happened to be climbing during a spectacular meteor shower. We could also see flashes of lightening, and fireworks from a festival far off in the distance beyond the rice fields terracing the base. From far below and high above, we were rewarded for our hardship.

Both our heads were inflated with air pressure. My skull pounded and my ears rang. I had eaten only a single energy bar in the last fifteen hours, and my remaining water was nearly frozen solid. With legs dangling over the rocky volcanic edge, we submitted to exhaustion once more. The bitter cold wind shattered any hope of sleep though, and we needed to keep a grip on the chain to make sure we weren’t blown off the side. In an instant the cheers of distant climbers jolted us. With the moon still high, the crown of the rising sun had began to awaken a new day. A stunning red glow illuminated an ocean of cottony clouds beneath. The weight of my body was forgotten as it felt like we were flying. The deep chills of the night faded to the warmth of day. Baron and lunar, the black ash and rock were revealed. Above and below us on varying points in the path, others clapped at nature’s grandest show. Truly a miracle that happens every day, yet its seaming rarity made the climb all worth while.

We took our time and let the warmth of the sun be absorbed into our tortured bodies, forced down another energy bar, and shed some layers of clothing. It was a new day, and a new beginning. About six hours later we finally passed through the red gate marking the entrance to the summit. An hour nap at the top resurrected my ailing partner and gave me a chance to explore the fascinating crater carved out of the peak. I welcomed the strong August sun on my face as I hiked around the massive charred pit. Unfortunately my high spirits didn’t last long. A sudden bout of altitude sickness grasped hold of my head. A couple of puffs on an oxygen canister helped a little, but I figured the best medicine would be to get down the mountain as quickly as possible.The descent was a different path, wide and deep with sand as if trudging through snow. Long playful leaps into the soft surface dropped us down a thousand meters in no time. The same distance had taken a day-and-a-half to climb. The steep sandy slope down would have been impossibly exhaustive to try and use as a path up Fujisan. That’s when I realized altitude sickness can affect you on the way down as well. Just like my girlfriend on the way up, I completely collapsed with fatigue. It struck without warning--an overwhelming dizziness and nausea. There on the soft sand and under the warm sun, I was powerless to continue. My dead weight slowly carried me slightly down the incline, but I only moved voluntarily to vomit occasionally and attempt to revive myself with oxygen puffs. I lied paralyzed only a few hundred meters from the bus pickup site. The sun blistered my exposed legs, but the pain didn’t compare to that in my head, so I offered no resistance. It took every bit of remaining strength, both physically and mentally, to move along just a few meters. Determined to continue, and not wanting to disappoint my partner, I gripped the side of the mountain for support while my caring companion propped me up. It was futile. I fell unconscious over and over again. Fever and chill took alternating swipes at me. My girlfriend assured me I could rest as long as I needed, and sat patiently at my side for hours. I slept face down in the sand for some time. With head still throbbing, I could feel soothing fingers caressing my scalp as I awoke. I was far from well but my nurse’s loving nature motivated me to try and stand, and finish what we had started. Her method of compassion proved just as effective as my method of anger.

Over thirty hours after we left, we arrived back at our hotel. The mountain sickness was gone, and to our surprise, we didn’t feel too bad. A solid breakfast and a few hours sleep was all we needed to regain ourselves. The deer-pig never showed itself again, but I caught an image of its ghastly mug on a magazine in the hotel lobby, so I knew I hadn’t been hallucinating. We had revealed our ultimate strengths and weaknesses to ourselves and to each other. We had defeated the mountain, and our reward was a humbling pride and a bond strengthened by overcoming adversity together. What proved more important than not giving up on the climb, was not giving up on each other. For some, climbing Fujisan might not be quite the ordeal that it was for us, but no doubt, the living mountain’s undeniable power leaves a profound affect on you. It cultivates a respect within yourself, and leaves you to appreciate why they call the mountain, Mister.

Further Information

Travel tips: Pack well! enough food and water for 24 hours. Dress in many layers and dress warm. Be prepared for all weather conditions including heavy rain and very high winds. This is a serious climb. Bring oxygen canisters, head lamps, climbing poles, etc.

Must see/do at this place: Make to the top in time to see the sun rise (about 4:30am)

You should avoid here: The huts that exploit your desperation by selling you cheap dollar-store (100 Yen shop) goods at extortionist prices.