Fuji Part III - Without further adieu . . .

(First off, I apologize for taking so long with this. I've been having some issues with blogger. Very frustrating)

But without further adieu . . .

So there was a point when our group was moving way too fast. I think this is what contributed to the altitude sickness that was taking everyone out one by one. But after the last (miserable) stop, something strange happened. Gradually (and thanks in part to my nagging) our group began to make baby steps. And this, dear reader, was the key to conquering "the mountain." We took small steps, shuffling along slowly, dragging our feet and plopping down on every rock and hill that we could find. Through the darkness, cold and rain we stopped every five minutes and rested without saying a word.

It was during these times that I would look up at the sky. By this point, we were very close to the top (which in "Fuji terms" means, about 4 hours away) and I really wish that I could have taken pictures, but then again . . . I also wish that a camera could have possibly captured what it was that I was actually seeing. Huge, dark clouds of brown, gold, black, gray, silver, purple, etc, etc, etc. Humongous formations that would make you . . . well, make you feel like you have to "relieve yourself" very quickly. At times, I would look up at the sky and just get dizzy. To say that I felt "tiny" would not do it justice. I felt like a micro-organism, standing on a pebble of sand . . . on the beach. This picture isn't really close to the real thing . . . but it gives off the same kind of eery-ness that I felt whilst standing near the top of Mt. Fuji.

At times, the clouds would part and you could clearly see the moon and the stars, pulsing like heartbeats. It was like a dance going on in the heavens. Some of the thinner clouds moved quickly while the mammoth clouds stayed put, taking on large dark figures like horses or birds (and those of you who know about my phobia, know how I felt about that!). Sometimes, it got so overwhelming to look out at the sky that I would have to turn away out of fear. Now, please, allow that to marinate in your brain for a moment.

(I'm all veclempt . . . talk amongst yourselves!)

(sometimes there was a little bit of this going on . . . and yes, the clouds would take on funny little formations like that. It was really strange!)

****

So anyway, we trudged along stopping at maybe 1 or 2 more cabins. At times, we wrapped ourselves in plastic and tinfoil to keep warm. There was wind, and rain, and the kind of bitter coldness that permeates through all protective layers and grips your bones. And through this, there was pain and exhaustion. But we were close . . . only 3 hours away.

The funny thing about climbing this mountain (and I guess any mountain, for that matter) was whenever you were close to getting to a landing, you always felt like quitting. Your whole body would begin to weaken, every step grew harder, your heart pounded at one thousand beats a minute and you just wanted to sit down. Two more steps and you'd be there, but those two steps would always turn out to be the most excruciating steps you would ever take.

So I reached this point. Mentally, physically and emotionally, I just wanted to sit down and never get up. I knew that it would be nearly impossible to get help going back down the mountain and that there was no shelter or relief from the extreme conditions but I couldn't go on. So I looked around for a place to sit and die but at that very moment the guy from our group says, "That's it! The summit! . . . Over where that lion is!" Despite the fact that I couldn't see anything, I took off running. I started hopping over rocks, twisting around corners and climbing up anything that I could grip onto and when I was finally able to stand up, I started hobbling jogging toward a figure of a lion. I collapsed at a large wooden, shrine-like post and just laid there.

It was 4:50 am and we'd reached the top of Mount Fuji.

It's a little difficult to describe the summit. There was not much to see really. It was dark, cloudy and rainy. (By looking at the picture of the lion, you can get an idea of what I mean.) There were benches everywhere, and some vending machines. In the middle of everything was a large cabin. Being that the whole mountain was now under us, there was absolutely nothing to shield us from the wind and rain. Our group walked around a bit, looking for a place to sit along with the rest of the people who'd made it to the top. One of the main objectives when people climb Mt. Fuji is to see the sun-rise, so everyone sits out waiting for the big moment to arrive.

We planted ourselves on some wet benches near a group of rocks along the edge of the summit. I was exhausted and laid down beside two of the girls in our group. We huddled together to keep warm and the gentleman from our group put a foil blanket over us in an effort to help us. This did very little and the wind continued to whip at us for twenty minutes as we faded in and out of sleep. Being that we were not moving, the cold began to stiffen our bones and I started to shake uncontrollably. And then suddenly the foil blanket ripped itself from our grasp and flew off the edge of the mountain, disappearing into the darkness in a very ghostly and surreal way. I cannot describe the amount of devastation that I felt at that moment. It was like that foil flew away and took a piece of my heart with it and I just wanted to fly off of the mountain after it. The next thing I know, I was standing up. "I - I - I ca-ca-can't take it any-ni-ni-more!" I said, "I - I'm going to-to-to wa-walk around and tr-tr-try t-t-to get warm."

"Me too," I heard a small squeaky voice say behind me. The rest of the group looked at us with grim, hopeless looks. We walked around the corner and I saw some light shining from the large cabin in the middle of the summit. When I walked closer I saw that there were people inside this cabin, eating soup. Closer still, I was able to feel heat emanating from the building. "Oh my god!" I shouted. "They're letting people inside. We have to go back and tell the others!" I said and turned around.

We rounded up the other members of the "Fuji-Gomi" crew . . . the name we'd began calling ourselves after having slept out in the rain like homeless people and getting laughed at by the Japanese. ("Gomi" means trash by the way.) We sat inside this large cabin, literally thawing out. We missed the sunset, but I was told that it was too cloudy to see anyway. In another 2 hours we would be making our way back down Fuji-San.

Now (as you can expect) the journey down was way easier than the journey up. However, that's not to say that it was easy. We walked, sometimes ran down a path of red dirt, that gave way easily. Most of the time, we were sliding and trying to keep our balance. Falling here and there was inevitable. If you have bad knees, this part of the journey can be torturous. I don't have bad knees, but after about an hour into our journey, I felt the pain of all of the shock that my knees were absorbing.

For a while we just walked without thought. Despite it being brighter outside, it was still cloudy and misty and we couldn't make out how far we'd have to go so we didn't think or talk about it. We slid, and walked with the large group of people that were also making their way down the mountain. Although, we were used to not knowing how much progress we'd made, there were times when we'd just stare hopelessly out into the mist and wonder when this journey would end or at least wonder where we stood in the grand scheme of things. And then 2 hours into it, this happened.

The clouds opened up and we were able to see this beautiful view.

The path ahead was clear. We walked along, getting faster and faster, motivated by the fact that we were going to see grass again, and knowing that soon we would see trees and then we would see familiar landmarks, and so on and so forth. All in all, our journey down was about 4 hours, including the 45 minutes it took to wait in line for the (really disgusting) bathroom.

We reached the bottom of the mountain at around 10am.

We took this picture . . .

Relieved, exhausted, proud, disillusioned, angry, enlightened.

(And as Jeannie would put it . . . unmarriable. LOL) There we are . . . the bums of Fuji-Gomi. We conquered the mountain, or it conquered us, rather. I can't say if I'll ever do something like this again, but to say that I've done it once means a lot to me.

There is a million and one things I have left out of this post, but really . . . there is nothing more to say.

So, I hope you enjoyed reading about my adventure climbing Mount Fuji.

And finally . . .

THE END