In May, I got a phone call from my friends Erica Berglund and (fellow author) Laura VanArendonk Baugh, who had a spur of the moment idea about climbing Mt. Fuji this year.
I hadn’t officially planned to climb Mt. Fuji a second time. In fact, a Japanese proverb about the mountain says “every wise man climbs [Mt. Fuji], [but] only a fool climbs [Fuji] twice.” However, I’m always up for an adventure, so the three of us decided to risk the mercurial summer weather and head for the summit on July 15.
We spent the night before the climb in Fujinomiya, and hopped the 6:55a.m. bus to the Fujinomiya Fifth Station trailhead, where we planned to start the climb.
Although the forecast showed a chance of rain, we arrived at the trailhead just before 8 a.m. to find semi-clear skies with lots of blue visible between the clouds. We hoped this meant we were in for a pleasant day.
Japan recently implemented some changes to the way people climb Mt. Fuji; there are limits on the number of hikers allowed on certain trails, and bans on “bullet climbing” after certain times in the afternoon (to leave the trailhead after those times, you must show proof of a reservation to spend the night in a mountain hut). Hikers also are supposed to watch a special video about climbing etiquette. For more details, check the official Mt. Fuji Climbing website.
We registered at the trailhead, showed proof of our reservation to spend the night in the summit hut (Chojo Fujikan), and received the wristbands issued to hikers at the starting point, along with wooden omamori to commemorate our hike (and bring us luck). With the pre-hike process done, we started up.
July 15, 2024 was the “Ocean Day” holiday here in Japan – and the irony of the fact that I planned to spend it literally as far from sea level as you can get without leaving the country wasn’t lost on me.
We soon caught sight of a different type of “ocean” – the sea of clouds, spreading out beneath us.
Like many major Japanese mountains, Mt. Fuji has “stations” set roughly equidistant along the trail, to help hikers gauge their progress. On most mountains, these stations are numbered 1-10, and are marked with simple signs. Fuji also has a 9.5 (because of course it does), and all of the stations above station five have mountain huts where hikers can buy refreshments, use the (coin-operated) toilets, or spend the night–but advance reservations for overnight stays are required, and the huts fill up quickly (and often well in advance) for the short hiking season.
The first hour of the hike went quickly, and the weather was beautiful. The light cloud cover above the mountain kept the temperature from being too hot, and there wasn’t much wind.
As I climbed, I passed groups of hikers ascending and descending with guides, as well as lots of fellow “solo hikers” and small groups. It was hard to tell whether more of the people on the mountain were climbing without a guide, like my friends and I chose to do, or with a guide. I saw a lot more “solo” groups, but the guided groups often had 20-40 hikers in them, so it was a toss-up. (Higher up the mountain, solo hikers were much more common, in part because quite a few of these guided groups are on the mountain to experience “hiking on Fuji” but don’t go all the way to the summit.)
Before long, I was approaching Goraiko Sansō, the hut at New Seventh Station where I spent the night with my mom and Laurie and Kaitlyn Bolland during my first Fuji climb in 2018. I stopped in for a cup of coffee, and a chat with the hut staff; I showed them photos of this blog, and made friends with one of the women who works there during the hiking season. If you’re thinking of staying on Mt. Fuji, or just climbing past on your way up, Goraiko Sansō is a great place to stop for a cup of coffee! (In fact, the coffee was so good, I had two!)
The crowds thinned out past Station 7, in part because quite a few of the “day climb” guided hikes only go that high. The trail is wide, and alternates between flat earth and rocky sections secured by wooden planks that serve as ersatz stairs. The trail gets quite steep and rocky right before Station 8, which perches on the side of the mountain, with amazing views of the sea of clouds.
It wasn’t yet noon, but I stopped for “lunch” at Station 8; at that point, I’d been climbing for almost two hours without a significant break (aside from a short coffee stop at Station 7), and I could tell it was time for food. I didn’t stop for long, though, because the wind was starting to blow a little harder and some suspiciously grey clouds were starting to creep across the top of the mountain.
In Shintō worship, torii gates mark the entrance to a sacred space. Mt. Fuji is not only Japan’s highest mountain; it’s also a sacred mountain, and still a site of Shintō worship. These torii along the trail are reminders that even though most people climb for fun, Mt. Fuji is a sacred place–and worthy of respect.
It only took 35 minutes to climb from Station 8 to Station 9, but the weather changed radically in that time. The clouds below rose up, and the clouds above descended, blanketing the world in white. A light, misting rain began to fall. The wind blew steadily, though fortunately it wasn’t too cold (at least, with a vest and jacket on).
I stopped just long enough to take a selfie at Station 9 before hurrying upward. The forecast called for rain in the late afternoon, and it looked like it might arrive ahead of schedule. My friends were climbing a little more slowly, and were somewhere below me on the trail; I was hoping to reach the summit as soon as possible, to avoid having to hike in the rain.
Unfortunately, although I had no warning that hurrying past Station 9 would turn out to be a bad idea, it was indeed a bad idea. When I was about 15 minutes past the shelter of the hut, on a steep, rocky slope, the rain began falling harder and I heard the ominous rumble of thunder, above and behind me. The storm still seemed some distance away, so I hurried upward, hoping to make it to Station 9.5 before the storm arrived in earnest.
Long story short: I did not reach the shelter before the storm.
The thunder got closer and closer, and louder and louder, until it sounded as if it was cracking and growling directly overhead. I didn’t see any other hikers, either ascending or descending. The clouds did limit visibility some, but I was pretty much alone on the trail. In a thunderstorm. Above 3200 meters. NOT where you want to be when the lightning strikes.
Eventually I did see four other hikers (all descending) — and I didn’t see any lightning (though I also did not stop to look around) — but I was absolutely relieved to see Station 9.5 appear above me through the mist, and hurried inside, precisely as the storm passed overhead.
I waited out the storm in the hut, but when it passed, I learned that winds at the summit were blowing at 45kph sustained, with gusts up to 75-80kph. Those are dangerous conditions on any trail, much less a semi-exposed one. Fortunately, the staff at Munatsuki-sansō (the hut at Station 9.5) had an extra room, and offered to let my friends and me change our reservation and stay there for the night. They even called the summit hut to make the change.
I had texted Laura and Erica during the storm, and learned they (wisely) had opted to wait it out in huts lower down the mountain. I told them about the change of plans (with which they absolutely agreed) and they headed up to join me. When they arrived, we ate a delicious dinner of curry rice and tea, served by the hut staff, and then nestled down in our sleeping bags (also provided by the hut) to get some rest.
The morning forecast called for rain, so we decided to make the final decision on the summit when we saw what conditions were like in the morning.
During the night, the rain slowed to a drizzle (allowing the moon to peek through briefly)–I captured the shot above while going out to the bathroom (which is in a building next to the hut) around 9 p.m. However, the rain started up again in earnest around 3 a.m., and by 7 a.m. it was raining hard.
Laura, Erica, and I discussed the situation; they pointed out that since the rain was supposed to continue all day, we were going to be absolutely drenched before reaching the bottom no matter what we did–so we might as well be soaked with the summit achieved as soaked without it. A logical proposition. We ate a quick breakfast and headed up.
Thirty minutes later, we reached the summit, in driving rain.
We visited the summit post office (you can mail postcards from the summit of Mt. Fuji; they even get a special cancellation stamp), dropped off the postcards we carried with us and bought official certificates documenting our ascent. After that, we visited the summit shrine to pay our respects, buy omamori, and obtain the final brands on the short wooden pilgrim staves we carried up the mountain for that purpose.
After visiting the shrine, we stopped for coffee at the summit hut and then began the long, wet descent. The downpour continued the entire time; by the time I reached the trailhead (around 2 p.m.) I was drenched. I could not have been wetter if I’d jumped into a swimming pool fully clothed. Everything in my pack that wasn’t wrapped in plastic bags was soaked through, and my boots squished out water every time I took a step. Fortunately, I had wrapped everything important in plastic, as a precaution, so the only thing permanently dampened were my memories–which are all I have, with regard to the descent itself, because it was raining too hard to take out my phone for any photographs.
Even so, the adventure was safe, and everyone reached the trailhead again unharmed, which means the climb was a complete (if damp) success!