Night ascent of Fuji 🗻

I woke up on the bus to Kawaguchiko, it was raining hard outside. When I was just leaving, the sky was clear, and the climb up Fuji promised to be pleasant and warm, but now it's raining. The weather in Japan is unpredictable, three days was enough for me to understand that. Everyone on the bus is actively discussing how they'll make the climb. I have with me clothing-wise: two t-shirts, one thermal turtleneck and a sleeping bag. I hadn't counted on rain.

My mood dropped. I'm riding and looking at the views from the window. Hills covered with bushes and trees replace one another, sometimes the trees stop flashing by and some little house or bridge appears that fits completely logically into this landscape, without disturbing it. The nature resembles something Sakhalin-like, but it all looks more groomed. It's like every little tree here has its own hairdresser and stylist, they're so neat and beautiful.

Here another hill was left behind, a row of trees by the road ended, and I saw Fuji... The mountain is far away, about ten kilometers from me, but its power, its humming might is so great that I now feel its presence everywhere. All doubts disappeared, there was only the desire to climb up there in my head.

An hour later the bus arrived in Kawaguchiko, where the 5th station is located, from which the ascent begins. It was already dark and cool, but the rain had passed. The station is a small square surrounded by shops. There's bustle here. Groups of people with bags, trekking poles and in warm hiking clothes. They sit on the steps by the shops, buy souvenirs, get dressed, pack things and eat. Periodically some group leaves the patch illuminated by shop lights into the darkness.

I went into the restroom and put on the thermal turtleneck, and over it one of the t-shirts. I tied the second one around my neck instead of a scarf. I don't have a flashlight with me either, I hope I'll get used to the darkness, and by moonlight I'll be able to make out the path. I left the restroom and headed into the darkness. The cold air blows a breeze, invading the warmth I've gathered around myself. I try to move my arms more when walking to warm up. My eyes got used to the darkness, but periodically returning groups with headlamps pass me coming the other way and blind me. Everyone passing says "Konbanwa," which means "good evening." The first time I answered "Hai," but then I started saying "konbanwa" myself and they answer in chorus. It turns out especially artistic with large groups.

There are many reasons to climb Fuji at night, I found mine. In darkness there are no extra colors, only contour. The mountain's contour, silhouettes of people ahead of you and the canvas of dark sky with dots of stars. Airplanes fly across it, you see many of them, from all directions. You hear people around you, but don't always see them. I don't need to know what color and brand their clothes are, just the silhouette. Sometimes such a silhouette emerges from the darkness and you can make it out. So emerged the silhouette of a European-looking person who spoke to me. His name is Patrick and he's Swedish. We continue climbing together, stopping to photograph the city below us.

Periodically on the ascent there are stops where you can sit and rest, eat something or stay in the warmth until morning. At one of the stops you can burn a badge with the inscription "Sunrise on Fuji" onto a wooden block for 200 yen. We sit down at each stop, chat with new people. But the closer to the summit, the colder it is to sit. Besides, when you've been walking for several hours straight, and then you meet a sign that says there are two kilometers and three hours left to the summit, you want to reduce that time a bit.

We walk with breaks, monotonous short steps, each light above looks like the summit, but then we reach it and see light even higher. — Looks like this is the end, I say to Patrick, pointing to another light 200 meters higher. — I wouldn't want it to be, he replies. I agree. Really, this ascent is more than just climbing a mountain. With each new milestone there are new faces, new views. It can't be defined by one word or action. We've been climbing for 5 hours already, and this adventure consists of many moments. Like a separate life in itself. We ran into a queue ahead of us. It looked like a traffic jam. A Japanese girl, about 20 years old, ahead of us turned around and asked where we're from. — We're from Sweden, Patrick answered. I stayed silent, let me be from Sweden this time. — Oh-oh-oh!! Sweden! What are your names? — I'm Ilya, this is Patrick, and you? — Yuu. The girl was quiet for a bit, then addressed me. — How old are you? — 25, does that age work for you? Laughter was heard from the darkness above and below. — Ok, you're Ilya, from Sweden and you're 25 years old. — Yes, that's all correct.

After almost seven hours of climbing, we saw a sign "900 meters to summit." There's not enough air at such altitude, many Japanese, young and old, use oxygen tanks. I'm cold, and my feet are wet. I decided not to stop anymore and, lowering my head, started climbing up with short steps one after another. I think I've climbed higher than everyone, there are no more silhouettes or conversations. Next to me one guy is also walking monotonously. We stop together for fifteen-second breaks and continue moving together, encouraging each other. Now I see another silhouette, this time the silhouette of gates and two lions on the sides. Looks like this is the summit. I sat down, despite the cold. I have just a couple more steps left to get to where I've been climbing for eight hours. Now I decided to rest and admire these gates and lions.

At the summit the wind is blowing, and almost no one is there. There are some little houses, but they're locked and no lights are on like at the lower stations. Two or three people are preparing, looking for a suitable place. My ears hurt and my fingers are numb. There's an observation deck with benches here. I go to the one closest to the edge and, already completely exhausted, take out my sleeping bag, get in there completely, with boots and seal myself up, shivering from cold. The wind seems to seep through the sleeping bag seam. I probably looked like a sack of potatoes from the side. I huddled and shivered, feeling completely helpless. I barely managed to warm up and fall asleep.

I woke up from conversations around me, looked out of the bag, many people had gathered on the observation deck, and the horizon was barely noticeably lit. Sunrise on Fuji had begun.

Trying to figure out why the working SPOT doesn't show up on the map. So far there's one assumption: in the chain "SMARTPHONE - BRAIN - SPOT" the middle link dropped out. We're studying the manual.