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How Not To Climb Mount Fuji
Fuji-san
Saturday September 3rd, 2005, will always be a day of infamy in my memory.
Having children who can read is annoying and having children who can read your e-mail is even more so. Inevitably the Boy Scout Troop 15 e-mail concerning the annual Mount Fuji climb came and Jeremy happened to notice it in the in-box…whereupon he shrieked with joy and got down on his knees and begged us to be let him participate. Now the annual Fuji expedition is actually for Boy Scouts, but they extend the invitation to the Cub Scouts as a courtesy, never really expecting any would actually be foolish enough to go for it. This should have been our first clue. We put Jeremy off while we considered it and he kept up his campaign for an entire 10 days. He claimed it was the one thing he wanted to do more than anything and how he wouldn’t rest in peace until he had climbed Fuji (yes he is a tad dramatic but he comes by it honestly,…) He continued on about how he knew it would be the hardest thing he had ever done but it would be sooo cool to see the sun set from the very top. He actually said “I wont give up even if it costs me my life, mom” (not exactly comforting that, but as I said he is dramatic). Given all this begging and pleading and shrieking I made two serious errors of judgement…first I believed him and second I agreed to take him.
Now let me say that I had no great desire to hike Fuji anyway and was looking forward to a relaxing weekend in my new house, sleeping in and perhaps doing my nails should I feel especially energetic. Rising at the crack of dawn and embarking on brutal physical exertion is never something that I would anticipate eagerly. But what kind of mother would deny her son a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to achieve something as memorable as climbing Fuji???
He attempted to talk some other scouts into accompanying him but sensibly, they all refused. As did their parents. When we finally replied to the e-mail and tried to register for the expedition it became obvious that we were in fact the only people stupid enough to try it. Not only were no cub scouts going, but no boy scouts were going either so they had cancelled the pack climb. This should have given us pause but somehow we didn't quite grasp the significance of this turn of events. Now let me add at this point that Peter had actually done the climb with a friend in July and didn't think it was that strenuous an endeavor. Jeremy had accompanied us on hikes in Hong Kong and he positively raced up and down Mount Takao last fall, so we assumed he had it in him. We have wonderful memories of eating teriyaki flavored soba noodles and drinking beer at the top of Mount Takao and I will allow that perhaps this delicious carb-infused memory colored my judgement somewhat.
Now let me point out that as of August 31st, the official hiking season is over and the Japanese government does not recommend climbing Fuji anymore. Unbeknownst to us, they shut the base station huts and actually try to close off the various trails to deter would be hikers. The threat of avalanches and blizzards are apparently too great after end August and any inclement weather can prove fatal. Never-the-less people do do it because apparently during the official season it is so crowded that you actually have to wait in line at various points in the trail!! So the first weekend in September was still relatively safe but I would not be comfortable delaying it further. And since this is (hopefully!!??) our last year in Japan this would be our last chance to try it. I began to research the climb on-line and to investigate what supplies were required. There are some truly hilarious accounts of people’s Fuji experiences…(my personal favorite was the American guy who assumed that since the Japanese over-prepare for everything {he has appoint here} they must be exaggerating the rigors of the climb and the equipment required to do it successfully. As he stated: in Colorado people actually run marathons at higher altitudes than Fuji”, so he wore flip flops and drank vodka the entire time. This is also the same guy who came down a different trail than he went up and thus arrived panting and exhausted 13 hours later approximately 200 kilometers away from his car…but I digress).
We determined that proper hiking footwear was in order and that it had to be thoroughly broken in first, to give Jeremy a serious shot at success. So off we went to a sporting goods store that specialized in hiking. This of course is no mean feat in Japan…finding the store, finding someone who speaks English, giving up on that and pantomiming climbing actions to a stupefied sales clerk, who them promptly directs us to the soccer section. Ultimately we persevered (though we did lose the baby at one point and found her happily curled up in a tent in the camping area, which happened to be right beside the hiking section, so it all worked out). We bought him appropriate footwear (and me too of course… shopping is shopping need I say more??) and made him wear them to school all week to prevent blistering and have them mould to his feet. We bought him a 2 liter capacity water bladder pack with a hose for constant easy hydration (silly us, one has to actually wear the bladder pack in order to have an adequate supply of water handy but more on that later). Having read about the myriad complaints of altitude sickness, I insisted Peter buy oxygen canisters and head lamps for easy illumination should we be hiking in the dark. Peter found all this ridiculous of course as he is much more in line with the flip flop fellow, but I persevered.
I also managed to program our destination into our GPS Navigation system, which again is quite a coup as it must be programmed in Hiragana characters (if I could do this of course, I wouldn't require an English navigational system in the first place…) and then translated into Romanji, which is a version of the English alphabet spelling of the Japanese words for the town and prefecture. Keep in mind that all “L”s and “R”s are reversed as a matter of course, rendering words like Ramen into incomprehensible parodies of themselves like Larmen. Once this is taken into consideration, you merely have to know your prefecture and ku to input an address. Which of course means you need an English map; which is impossible to find. To add to the general irony, for some inexplicable reason, vowels are spelled out giving them Japanese pronunciation, so for example, the Japan Railway system known as the JR appears as Jaeiarre in the navi. I opted to input the Fijuinomiya train station into our system thereby ensuring that we would reach the correct town at least. However Fujinomiya which makes perfect sense normally, becomes Foogeenomeyaa Eki in navi-speak. But DO NOT get me started on the absurdities of the English navigation system sold here in Japan for a mere 400,000 yen.
The plan was to arise at 4:30 am and drive to the base of Mount Fuji’s 5th station in the lovely town of Fujinomiya. This is at approximately 2400 square feet above sea level and though it is not the easiest ascent, nor the closest to Tokyo it is technically the shortest distance to the summit and the highest base station. We intend to begin our hike at 7:00 am. We got up, awoke Jeremy and had him wear the layers of clothing we had set out grabbed our food supplies and off we went. After approximately 2 hours of driving we arrive in Fujinomiya and begin the 26 kilometer trek up to the 5th station. Shortly into this leg of the journey we stop at a Family Mart (a 24 hour convenience store located oh about every 15 feet throughout all of Japan) to purchase a few more snacks and some walking sticks. Jeremy decides to accompany Peter into the store and as he prepares to get out of the car he casually asks “Dad, where did you put my hiking boots?” Peter stops and replies “I didn't put them anywhere…aren't they on your feet??” At this point I feel my blood run cold and turn round to look in the back seat only to discover that Jeremy has his lovely new hiking socks on but is absolutely shoeless. I am quite beyond speech at this moment and can only bark….”Do not tell me you got into the car without your boots !! Do not tell me you got into the car with no shoes whatsoever!!” His eyes grow even larger and rounder and fill with tears as the horror of it all hits him.
“He immediately tries the pass-the-buck defense tactic common to all 9 year olds “But Dad I told you to put them in the car. Why didn't you? Mom, Dad forgot my shoes and now I can’t hike Mount Fuji and it’s all his fault!!!”… gulp, sob moan, turn green.
It is here that I stumble from the car and attempt to light a cigarette, only to remember that I quit the week before. I take slow, deep breaths trying to remain calm while ugly veins throb in my head and I feel uncontrollable rage rising throughout my body. Visions of mutilated children and husbands dance in my head (I of course blame Peter as he is the one who lets the boys frequently hop in the car with bare feet and feels this is quite appropriate for short jaunts to the store, and thus it is all his fault).
I simply cannot contain my rage and begin to shriek “How could you not put your shoes on??? I expressly told you 3 times this morning to put your boots on and get in the car!!!” How can you forget to wear shoes??? Did we buy you brand, new hiking boots so you could hike Mount Fuji without them???” I utter more fruitless reprimands, all the while hating myself, in an effort to find some explanation for this ridiculous, irresponsible, typical 9 year old behavior, which of course just makes the situation worse…and Jeremy has now thrown himself face-down in a puddle on the parking lot tarmac (barefoot) and is sobbing quite uncontrollably which garners a lot of attention from the demure Japanese passing by on their way to the Family Mart. Knowing I am not helping and yet unable to stop I rant and rage until Peter finally clamps a hand over my mouth (note: this is permitted ONCE in a marriage and he has now used it up).
I try to calm down and we begin to regroup. We briefly consider driving back to Tokyo to get his boots and then turning around and fighting expressway traffic all the way back here, but decide that this is just too exhausting to even contemplate doing on top of a 10 hour minimum hike. It is too late in the season to consider rescheduling for another weekend and the kids have other activities planned for upcoming weekends. It is now or never, so we inquire in the Family Mart if there are any stores about that sell children’s shoes and at what time they might possibly open. (this is easy to act out by the way...just drag your barefoot nine year old into the store and point at his feet while uttering Sumimasen…shoese?? Then point at an imaginary watch…see how easy that was??) This being Japan we fear that stores may not open until 11:00 am but we happily receive directions to a Jusco department store not too far away. And fully expecting to get lost on the way we are not too worried since we now have 3 hours to kill. Imagine our delight when we a) find the Jusco quite easily on the first try a mere mile down the road and b) it open at 9:00 am instead of 11:00. We eat half our food supply in the parking lot and are then able to purchase a pair of running shoes that fit Jeremy. At this point we don't care if they are hiking boots, have decent treads or are made from endangered rainforest manatee hide. As long as they will stay on his feet they will do. We congratulate ourselves on our good fortune and buy another flashlight and some yummy fried chicken for later and are off again. We arrive at 5th station at 11:00 am and begin our belated hike.
Now a little precious tidbit of hard-earned information…The climb begins at the fifth station and the summit is at the 10 station, so ostensibly there are 5 more stations in between that you need to pass. Now these stations become precious landmarks and as you sight the next one you pick up your pace and gleefully count how many more hours you need to survive before encountering the next form of rest area or food stop. Intrepid climbers be aware…some fool added a 7.5 station so when you get here you are not at 8…you are merely at 7.5 for some inexplicable reason and need to continue another three hours to reach your anticipated destination. Ok??
Now we are happily climbing the rough terrain (it is really more scrambling than climbing at some points) and are only to station 6 when Jeremy begins that old car refrain “ Are we there yet?” As we reach station 6 we decide we are not hungry and our water supplies are still fine so we march on by and do not even stop to purchase anything at this lovely, open base station that sells noodles!! (except for the little man who burns a station 6 stamp into your walking stick and then demands 5oo yen for it). We continue on heading for station 7 and are halfway there when Jeremy decides he must go to the bathroom. Now in America a little boy peeing on the side of a mountain would be no big deal really, but in Japan Mount Fuji is a holy and sacred sight and defacing Fuji-san with urination would probably create an international incident of such proportions that we just cannot allow it. We instruct him to hold it till station 7 which should be appearing soon.
HA! Station 7 takes another 3 hours to achieve and so we begin distracting him with humorous anecdotes and encouraging him to continue the so far relatively smooth hike. When we finally attain station 7 it is to discover that not only if the base station closed, but the toilets are locked!! Peter’s cub scout training kicks in and he does something revolting involving an empty water bottle which I don’t even want to discuss. Which we then proceed to carry with us for the duration of the ascent and descent in an effort not to pollute sacred Fuji-san. We continue on towards what we fully expect to be station 8 but which of course is really station 7.5 and of course is shut tight and contains no bathrooms. Jeremy now begs us to buy him some noodles to eat. Now having spent approximately 5 years living in Asia and begging our children to develop a taste for real noodles or any pasta other than Chef Boyardee, we are thrilled to hear this! So we stupidly promise him some warm noodles at the next station stop. Needless to say we still expect to find open stations since the season has only been officially closed for about 24 hours and the mountain is still quit busy. Once again I can only say HA! At this point I happen to glance to my right (and it is a rather treacherous part of the trail just past the station hut) and imagine my surprise as I sight a package of Marlboro cigarettes and a red lighter just lying there looking at me! I quickly take note of the exact location for future use but refrain from pocketing them. I imagine some poor oxygen-deprived fellow gasping for breath and deciding to quit then and there and tossing them skyward as he continue his trek. What a fool…
We achieve station 7.5 and happily flop onto a bench to rest whereupon Jeremy promptly falls asleep. We let him rest for about 15 minutes and then wake him bold-facedly lying while explaining that he has been sleeping for an hour and we must continue…”Isn’t this fun?” we ask hopefully. I can not print his response. We continue for about 15 minutes when it becomes clear that Jeremy has no interest whatsoever in climbing Mount Fuji or in fact even being with his parents on a lovely, sunny Saturday when he could be at home lying prone and playing Gameboy. Peter then makes the insane offer to carry Jeremy for a while. Thus laden like a mule with Jeremy’s backpack, his own, both water packs and our cold weather gear, Peter trudges on up the mountain carrying Jeremy in piggyback fashion . Two and three year old Japanese children happily scamper by us on their way to the summit and shout encouraging words like” Gombatte” (good luck) and raising their fists in victory signs while saying “fighto” which Jeremy takes as a personal reproof and returns with a scowl and more tears. We continue until station 8 finally appears at which point we look down and realize that we can actually see our car in the parking lot below and it looks awfully close considering the effort and distance we thought we had covered. No matter, in perky unflappable, American spirit we cajole, flatter and ultimately bribe Jeremy to begin walking again. We make up funny songs, we try to invoke his usual natural competitive spirit in a race and we alternate giving him shots of oxygen from our canisters. We remind him of “The Little Engine That Could” and much to our embarrassment we find ourselves making little determined chugging train noises. Some where between stations 8 and 9 I remind Jeremy that he wanted this “more than anything” and should not give up. Whereupon I am treated to a scornful look and the words “Mom, I was lying! Don't you know anything?” That this never occurred to me before may surprise you but it is nonetheless true. To prevent me from falling off the mountain Peter quickly grabs my arm in a steadying motion. I continue walking wondering how I could have been so naïve. Jeremy now lays down in the middle of the trail and begs to be left behind. “Pick me up on the way back” he pleads (and I actually consider this but am fearful we may never find him again in the dark…perhaps not a bad thing, but nevertheless we decide to continue as a group). We finally resort to outright bribery “Jeremy if you can make Station 9 mommy will be so proud of you that maybe you can go to ToysRus and get a new toy!” Peter chimes in “and not only that, but Daddy will give you 2000 yen towards a shopping spree!” which if you know Peter at all tells you just how desperate we had become. We are completely shameless in our methods all to no avail. Jeremy bursts into tears and says he has a headache and is going to throw up. The horrible realization that we will have to carry a bag of vomit all the way up and back down Fuji instills me with fresh ingenuity for our task. I give him a Dramamine for the nausea and let him carry his own oxygen canister, which he sucks on continuously. When he first has a squirt he actually smiles and seems somewhat stoned for about 10 paces, which I consider a good thing. Peter also has a headache and we are all feeling rather breathless which I ascribe to the altitude. We break out the oxygen candies that the hiking store sold us and they actually seem to help somewhat. (Probably they are so sugar-laden they would revive comatose persons, but whatever). Jeremy continues on and Peter and I feel we have now invested so much energy into the expedition we just cannot give up.
We let him rest again at for 15 minutes at Station 9 (yet another closed hut with no available toilets/noodles.) He immediately falls into a stupor and we sit down and eat banana bread muffins and beef jerky (this is all that is left now…and it is heavenly). People passing us inquire as to Jeremy’s well-being and make concerned little clucking noises. One gentleman actually comes over to us and insists we take one of his aspirins for Jeremy. I briefly consider the dangers of Reyes Syndrome but decide it is worth the risk. Jeremy is woken and given an aspirin and some water. We tell him he has been sleeping for two hours now and ask doesn’t he feel rested and refreshed? “Boy this is a long day huh mom?” he asks sincerely. We pat him on the head and get him on his feet again. Let me add that when the clouds clear we can now see the top of Fuji, which we hope will be encouraging to Jeremy. He lucidly points out that we don't have to prove anything to anyone and he then adds “we can just go back down and say that we made it to the top.” This of course forces us to begin a lecture on the merits of not giving up, on being honest and how important it is to prove something to ourselves and overcoming adversity. That we can even speak still is quite surprising. That we believe this crap even more alarming…!
We look ahead and see a surprising sight…two people coming down from the top on bicycles! Mountain bikes probably and they are taking the wider traversing sandy trail that zig zags with our rocky path. But they are clearly enjoying themselves and having a blast on the way down. Other hikers explain to us in broken English that these teenagers carry their bikes up on their backs! Since I am having trouble supporting my own body weight and a little water, I feel duly ashamed.
Once again Jeremy plants himself face down on the mountain-side clinging to a rock and begging us to leave him behind. He remains there for another 45 minutes saying he cannot go on and feels like he is going to die. He offers to give up his allowance for the next ten years of only we will call an ambulance to come and get him. He wonders aloud if upon his imminent death Jesse will inherit his new Gameboy cartridges and decides he doesn't really care!! People are staring at us in disgust and wondering why we are trying to kill our own son. We merely smile and pretend this is normal while prodding him with our sticks. Eventually we threaten to leave him there and march onwards forcing him to crawl behind us, pathetically calling out for help and moaning. We pretend we are not related and ignore his pleas for mercy. What else can we do? We are tantalizingly close and strangely determined to succeed which may in fact be a symptom of oxygen deprivation. Also the track is steep here and there is no where safe to really rest until we crest the top. So conscientious parents that we are, we march and crawl respectively for another hour panting madly, and feeling lightheaded while Jeremy continues his inchworm routine.
In this fashion somehow we keep on going and make it to the summit. As Jeremy drags himself over the final rock on his bloodied elbows, we glimpse our tortured shadows reflected in the dying light and see that the top looks just the same as the bottom and side of the mountain (albeit flatter). The summit might perhaps be breathtaking when one can see something, but we wouldn't know. It was now cloudy and overcast and the sun was beginning to set. But there are indeed chemical toilets on the top of Mount Fuji and they are a beautiful sight let me assure you! There is also the volcanic crater, a Bhuddist sanctuary and lots of benches (but alas no noodles). Having arrived at the top of historic Fuji despite himself Jeremy manages a small grin and collapses on the ground. We reflect upon our glowing achievement while Jeremy sleeps yet again. After 30 minutes we decide we had better put on our winter clothes (it is now rather chilly) and begin the descent. How bad can it be we wonder, going downhill to a lower altitude, the glow of victory buoying our steps??
As we scramble down the track we wonder how we ever made it up. It is dusky and getting dark and we can barely see each other. We cannot see the little rope that marked our trail on the way up and notice belatedly that we are about the only people coming down. The rest apparently bring sleeping bags and spend the night on top. Not an option for us so we continue our downward scramble with a very morose and sulky 9 year old in tow. It seems the mountain has gotten steeper and we are descending at about a 90 degree angle. Jeremy is now sucking down oxygen constantly and seems to have been rendered mute. Now this is a relief from the constant complaining of before but yet worrisome in its own way. If we had had the energy to truly contemplate his behavior we may have been more alarmed but happily we couldn’t bring ourselves to care all that much!! I recall belatedly that the Boy Scouts warned that everyone had to be begin their descent by 3pm latest and feel flashes of worry. We also bump into an American mom with two 14 year old Boy Scouts in her care, still ascending. They are wearing shorts and are out of water. The boys are crying and the woman seems dazed. We suggest that they maybe they want to start down now but the mom insists she is going to the top. We inquire if they have flashlights and she says “Oh I think so…somewhere”. Shamefully, it is now everyman for himself so we just wish them ‘Gombatte’ and carry on. Upon reflection we hope and pray that they made it down in one piece but it was truly beyond us to render any assistance. And exposing them to Jeremy would probably have made them run screaming to their deaths over the mountain side so it was for the best really.
I carry all the walking sticks and Peter rigs up a rope system to attach himself to Jeremy. The going gets even slower as the trail all but disappears and we are hoping we are still on the right course (remember the flip flop fellow who came down the wrong path??). If we veer off course how will we ever get Jeremy to hike an additional 300 kilometers as we explain that mom and dad made a boo boo?? We are all falling now from exhaustion, oxygen deprivation and sheer clumsiness. I bang my knee on a rock so hard I can’t even speak and Peter doesn't notice and keeps on going. By the time Jeremy realizes mommy is gone (he has convinced himself I have been eaten by a bear and is semi-hysterical), my kneecap has swelled like a golf ball and blood is gushing all over my favorite Victoria Secret yoga pants. When Peter notices my absence he stops and flashes his headlight around in an effort to locate me. I have been yelling but strangely no one hears me…I manage to flash my own headlight back in a strange variation of flashlight more code and roll down the rest of the way to meet them. We resume while Jeremy now moans over the fact that we wouldn't let him carry his lucky baby blanket in his backpack which we could have used as a sling…I try to explain that we cannot sling mommy’s knee really and that I have to keep walking on it or else we will be in real trouble and there are no medivacs, and our cell phones are inoperable higher than station 5. Mentioning medivacs was not an intelligent move really but I was in pain what can I say?). We are now traveling at about 2 feet per hour but we are able to breathe a little easier so we trudge along until station 7 whereupon Jeremy completely gives up and refuses to budge. Simultaneously I begin to feel raindrops, which further adds to my general abhorrence of the situation. We commence carrying him again so we are now descending at the rate of about 1 foot per hour, which I calculate should put us at our car about the same time that Samantha, receives her Phd. From Yale. No matter, we continue. Thankfully the pending rain drops never materialize into the expected deluge and though the moonlight is weak we can see a few stars overhead.
It is now approximately 10:00 pm and Jeremy says words I have been hoping to hear for 9 years “Mom I want to go to bed early tonight…I think it is past my bed time.” Ironic isn’t it that the one time he is game to retire early we absolutely cannot let him?? He now begins sobbing that he has to lay down. He remains spread-eagled on the mountain side, clinging to a rock while Peter and I stare at each other in stupefied shock. We allow him to remain in this position for about 10 minutes and then rouse him again and begin making outrageous promises of new ipods that will await him at home if only he will keep moving. With visions of electronic gadgets dancing in his head, he gets up and bravely continues stumbling down the mountain in between us. He actually says “Mom who knew rocks could be so comfortable?” I offer to get him a few for his bed at home. Periodically we encounter intrepid hikers ascending and find ourselves muttering the same inane “Gombattes’ at them that we found so annoying on our way up. We even raise our fists in fighting motions and give them the okay sign as feeble encouragement. Now it should be noted that they do not really need encouragement…they are elatedly marching up in the throes of Fuji-awe …it is merely our own predicament that incites us to these platitudes.
In a moment of pure serendipity I glance around and happen to espy that package of Marlboros and the red lighter still clinging to the rocks right beside me!! Will wonders never cease?? I quickly pocket them and marvel at the unbelievable odds of me finding them again in the pitch blackness on the side of Fuji. Clearly it is kismet and I realize that God wants me to smoke again. I actually consider smoking one surreptitiously without Peter or Jeremy noticing, but postpone this moment of pleasure for our eventual base arrival, which I anticipate approximately 2 years hence.
It is truly impossible to account for the fact that our Fuji trail has somehow lengthened itself and is clearly now 5 times longer than it was on our way up. And yet it is so, believe me. Someday a scientist will discover this endless black hole continuum that we have fallen into but in the meantime you must take my word for it. It is the Japanese equivalent of the Bermuda Triangle. And it falls between stations 7 and 6, so be forewarned. We inexorably toil on and make base station 6, pausing to marvel at our own psychological fortitude. Ours meaning Peter’s and mine, not Jeremy’s, since clearly he has none.
There is no point in describing the next two hours so suffice to say that eventually we make it to the bottom of base station 5, where it all began, merely to discover that it is now midnight and the lone noodle seller has packed up and gone home. Can you blame him?? I actually tear up at the beautiful sight of our black Mitsubishi Pajero waiting faithfully in the abandoned parking lot. Jeremy is completely comatose and Peter and I carry him back to the car where he remains prone on the back seat for the next 3 hours. He is actually lying on his walking stick but we don't notice until the next morning when we see the lovely station 6 imprint on his neck. We of course stop at that infamous Family Mart and purchase soba noodles and onigiri and gorge ourselves to repletion, Atkins be damned. We now bless the Japanese foresight in having 24 hour convenience stores every mile or so. So hungry do we find ourselves that we briefly consider eating the nameless wriggly things that float in the case beside the ubiquitous cash register…somehow we resist and so after 4 years still have no clue what those are. After the parking lot feast, I smoke ferociously (the bonus Fuju Marlboros of course!) while Peter drives us back to Tokyo.
We arrive home in the early morning hours and promptly drive over Jeremy’s hiking boots, which were strategically placed in the middle of the garage. We limp up the stairs and leave Jeremy to sleep in the car. Actually we don't, but we did feel like doing this. I now have the pleasure of buying Jeremy a 300 yen Mount Fuji patch for him to wear proudly on his cub uniform. And I delete all boy scout e-mails before opening them as a matter of course. Jeremy recuperated from his ordeal quite quickly and is now happily making plans to climb Mount Everest. We now find it endearing that Jesse remains completely opposed to any activities that require moving from the sofa.
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