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

Mt. Fuji - Part II - When Things Got "Real"

Okay, where did I leave off? Oh yeah! . . . slowly devoured by nightfall. :-)

So, I cannot describe the transition from day to night further than to say it was like God flicked off the light-switch. It went from dim to pitch black instantly. What little light you could make out was often blurred by the rain and midst. The wind blew constantly, tearing through my (cheap) plastic jacket and pants that I'd bought from the souvenir and supply shop at the base of the mountain.

With the wind kicking in, along with the wetness and cold . . . you can imagine how miserable things got. Every step became harder and harder. With the air being thin, we were out of breath all the time. If you were sitting down to rest, all it would take to get your heart beating like crazy would be to simply stand up. And this was only halfway through our journey. In other words, there was still another 8 hours to go.

My group continued to trudge along, plunging our sticks into the rocks and gravel. Stopping to take pictures was no longer a desirable option. At this point, we were just trying to keep moving. During this time, I started to fall behind a little. My group would call out to see if I was okay or try to get me to speed up. I hadn't experienced mountain sickness, but I knew that I couldn't possibly move any faster without some serious repercussions so I continued to shuffle along at my own pace.

Now allow me to reiterate that this was just the beginning of the struggle. (I really cannot emphasize that enough...and actually, one could argue that we hadn't even reached the "tough" part yet.) I remember that the mountain cabins were still popping up out of nowhere, so we were able to make a stop and get some coffee and even force down have another pb&j sandwich. It was at this particular stop that I remember getting my "Moses Stick" stamped with the emblem of a tiger. I looked at one of my friends and laughed out, "Uh oh, it's a tiger. I guess it's getting serious now." I had no idea how right I was.

After this stop, there was a whole lot of climbing. And I mean, CLIMBING. Like on your hands and knees, gripping onto cold, wet, rocks . . . in the dark. When we were upright, it was a serious uphill walk and I honestly don't know which one was worst. An icy chill was creeping into my bones and the wind whipped at my face along with rain and midst. Although it was night, the clouds were still very much present and they continued to "work their magic." It was at this very moment that almost every scripture in the bible that mentioned mountains came flooding to memory. Moses in the mountain. Jesus on a mountain. David hiding in the mountains. The Isrealites hiding in the mountains. God being compared to . . . what else . . . a mountain. It was like I suddenly realized what it all meant. These people weren't climbing hills. And there is absolutely nothing casual about a mountain . . . NOTHING. I can totally understand God being compared to a mountain. I thought about the women, children and animals that had to walk through the mountains back in biblical days. I thought about what kind of shoe wear they had. I wondered if those people had water-proof . . . well, water-proof anything. And I got a deeper understanding as to why everyone in the book of Exodus complained so much. (Sorry if I'm confusing any of my non-believers out there, but I'm sure most of you know that I'm a student of the bible.)

So yeah, a whole lot of introspection going on. Either way, it felt like forever until we reached the next cabin. Along the way, we collapsed onto rocks on the side of the path, resting and gasping for air. Mountain sickness had kicked in for some of the people in our group and there were groans of queasiness. And forget about pictures! It was life or death now. There was an unspoken consensus when we finally reached the next stop, that we would attempt to get some rest in one of the hotels.

Now the funny thing about getting to each stop was that you always, ALWAYS felt like giving up right before you reached it. Someone would say, "the stop's ahead" and your body seemed to respond with, "I quit!" Personally, I would crawl to the first landing and literally hoist/roll my body over to the side to make room for anyone behind me. Then I sat there until my heart stopped pounding through my chest.

When we reached the landing, we saw a bunch of people standing inside of a large cabin that seemed to give off a golden glow from the inside. There was heat radiating from the building and the people inside were eating hot noodles and walking around in sweaters and tights. The thing that really stood out to my group was the piles and piles of blankets and comforters next to some of the people gathered around a huge heater. Everyone looked so happy . . . and dry.

"Reservation only!" the guy shouted when someone from our group asked about renting some beds. Everyone looked around with confusion and sadness. "Reservation only!" he repeated, and shut the door in our faces, in order to drive home the point that he hated us and wanted us to die on the top of Mt. Fuji.

Despite the fact that we couldn't actually go into this resting facility, our group had hit a wall. We weren't moving. So we just stood there for a while. At one point, we attempted to sit at the entrance to the cabin and get some indirect heat from the lights that glowed from within (I'm getting sad just typing this), but unfortunately, we were kicked out by the "Reservations Only Guy" and had to join the other "Fuji-homeless" along the side of the building.

So I turned to see the above picture. My friend (who'd gotten sick) was sleeping on a wet bench out in the rain and freezing cold. It was then that I turned to the one guy in our group and said, "Things just got real, huh?" And as funny as that might sound, reading it off of a blog . . . it wasn't funny at all. He looked at me, with the most somber face imaginable and said, "Yeah, it sure did."

We waddled along to the side of the adjacent building (which was the bathroom facility), spread out our torn up plastic jackets and planted ourselves on the ground. The smell emanating from the wall was terrible, but being next to a building was a little warmer than just sitting out in the open air. It was at this moment, that one of my friends became anointed with insanity. She literally began running around and entertaining us. She made us laugh so hard that I truly believe it gave us the strength to go on (and I mean that). I could never imagine that I would have been laughing while sitting on the ground, against an outhouse in the pouring rain . . . but it was possible.

So after a while, we stood up and started out again, aching joints and all. I can't really say we were refreshed, but we were moving again so that was progress, I guess. It was a couple of hours until we reached another landing. And trust me, we felt every second of it. Each step felt impossible. When we finally reached the next landing, the "littlest" member of our group negotiated a way for us to get inside one of the reservation only "restaurant" cabins and actually get some warmth. We sat inside eating udon noodles and drinking coffee for fifteen minutes. Despite the strenuous physical activity, I wasn't hungry but in order to be allowed inside the cabin we had to order (and actually be eating) food. So after our 15 minutes was up, we got kicked out and stood outside of the building trying to figure out what to do next. The guys from the small "restaurant" cabin allowed us to sit on some benches in front of their facility. They stood outside, smoking cigarettes and laughing at us as we huddled together to keep warm.

After laughing and pointing for a good twenty minutes, one of the guys came over and gave us a package that contained a foil blanket. At this moment, me and another girl got a little . . . well, we cried. It was the mixture of that kind act and my friend's sudden remembrance of a story about some people who starved to death in Nazi Germany 70 years ago (don't ask - odd things come to mind when you are in extreme conditions.)

After being at this stop for maybe 2 hours, we finally got up and started out again.

Okay, this post is getting way too long and I need to go to bed. I guess I'm going to have to actually do a Part III.