Climbing Mt. Fuji

Every now and then nostalgia bumps into wobbly memory cells, leaving you a bit tongue-tied. This happened to me last week when a friend, an ultra-marathoner,  suddenly asked me -  "I want to climb Mt. Fuji - do you know anybody who can arrange it in the off-season this year?"

While trying hard to remember details of my trip in 2009, I just said, "It all depends on when you are planning to climb..."

For a moment, I could not recall the dates when I climbed that iconic mountain. Nor could I remember the route I took, or the total expense for that trip. Instead, the memories that floated up immediately were -  the taste of the most delicious hot curry rice I'd ever had, at a quaint wooden inn high above the clouds; of the long lines of climbers trudging uphill in pitch darkness at 3:00AM; the cold wind and rains, and of a spectacular sunrise we saw, perched precariously on steep, dark slopes dotted with large chunks of pale, white ice.

Memories of the trek had receded to the bye lanes of my mind. It did pop up occasionally whenever I came across a painting, a photograph, or even an emoji that featured Mt. Fuji. A fleeting thought would then cross my mind - "I have actually been to the top of that mountain!"  A sense of awe and wonder that was, perhaps, bigger than the actual experience.

I had to go back to the notes written six years ago, to be reminded that I owed the trip to a gentleman named Sakata Yoshinori, and to an organisation named JISEDAI. In July 2009, I had responded to a notice that came up at Tsukuba University. I was the only one who registered, so  Sakata-san had traveled all the way from Tokyo, just to brief a single guy.

When we met at the Tsukuba TX station, he was standing next to the ticket counter, soaked in sweat. At a Starbucks table nearby, he had carefully handed me his visiting card, and then spread out his laptop, plugged in a thumb-drive, to explain how I should prepare for the trek.

"It would be a nine-member team this year", he had said "All the others were university students from Tokyo". He explained the itinerary, detailed the expenses (~JPY 20,000 which included bus-rides, boarding, meals), and pointed out the precautions to be taken and then offered to help me find the right equipment for the trip. I definitely needed a 35L backpack, a pair of waterproof trousers and, if possible, ankle-length hiking shoes.

Mr. Sakata even insisted to helping me get the right equipment and took me to a few shops at Tsukuba Centre. Apart from being amazed at his helpfulness, I remember thinking that his well-meaning advise bordered on being fussy and over-cautious. Having done some trekking in the Western Himalaya's, climbing a gentle-looking 3776m peak did not seem like a big deal. And then there was the cost of buying all the new gear...It is only later that I realized that Mt. Fuji was different, and that each item was necessary.

Eight of the nine-member team turned up. We all met outside the Shinjiku station and discovered that an interesting mix of people -- Yeo, a dude from Singapore; Melissa, a budding dentist from Indonesia, along with her two batchmates Pat and Thuy; A South American named German (pronounced Herman), and two other experienced Japanese trekkers - Chiaki and Hiroki.

We all took a bus from Tokyo to the Gotenba (2 hours), and then a local bus to a large facility called Fujinosato, an 'education facility' right next to the JSDF Takigahara camp. It was a sprawling campus with scores of tatami-matted dormitories, forest trails, an archery complex, camping sitesi in the woods, and even a spacious Onsen (hot-spring bath). School children, baseball teams, and various other groups in assorted uniforms milled about the place, waiting for their turn to climb uphill.




Our turn was early next day morning. After breakfast we walked to the base of the 7.8 km Subashiri Trail, downed a few cups of green-tea, and started trekking on  pathway that cuth through the thick forests.

At this point the ground was gently undulating - pathways that cut through the deep, dark volcanic soil and lush vegetation. As we climbed to 6th Station (2400m), and the 7th Station (3000m), forests gave way to sparse scrub vegetation dotting the slopes, and then none at all beyond the Old 7th Station (3200m). We rested for a while at this point at the Miharashikan Hut.  By this time it was cold and windy outside, and, at a time like this, what could be more welcome than a plate of hot curry rice? :)

Shadow of Mt. Fuji on the Clouds (Old 7th Station)

Early next morning, we padded ourselves with warm clothing, fitted head-lamps and walked out into the pitch darkness, to join a steady stream of climbers going uphill. It was between the 8.5th Station - 3450m (Goraikokan Hut), and 9th Station that we noticed that we were far above the clouds. This was also the meeting point of the Yoshida Trail (Yamanishi Prefecture) and, suddenly, it felt like we were all commuters at the Shinjiku Station!

Torches and lights were switched off as everybody settled down on the steep slopes, sitting down wherever they could find some space. As the clouds gradually gathered light, we all seemed to be sitting in a massive amphitheater, waiting for the drama of the rising sun to unfold...and what a sight it was!

Within seconds of the sunrise, a blanket of clouds rolled out reducing visibility to a few meters, and drenching us all in icy rain. We continued moving up at a snail's pace now, a part of a long line of colorful raincoats slowly bobbing to the summit. The last few hundred meters were rather steep and the ropes helped. Finally, when we reached the top, got past the crowds and eateries and looked down the caldera, it seemed so... ordinary.

After offering prayers are the Kusushi Shrine we started our descent. It was a lot faster than I expected because we were just wading down ash-laden slopes. Often our legs would just dig in, right up to our knees with each step.

Wading down the ash-slopes

This is where you realise that Mt. Fuji was quite different from other non-volcanic mountains. The weather was fickle, and the terrain even more so. Each and every item listed by Sakata-san turned out to be essential - the layered clothing, raincoats, and ankle-length boots. Our friend from Singapore made the mistake of coming in shorts and sneakers, and paid the price for it. He had been shivering from the 7th Station, and now, with the ash filling up his sneakers, he was feeling quite miserable all the way down.

In a couple of hours we were down at the Subashiri base station, and then on to the comforts of Fujinosato. After a soak in the steaming Onsen, a hot meal and a nap in the bus back to Tokyo, none of us doubted that Mt. Fuji looked a lot prettier from a distance!

For friends who are trying to climb Mt. Fuji during the off season, my suggestion is simple -- please don't. During the off season, all huts, toilets and first aid stations are closed and most of signs on the trails are removed. Unless, of course, you are part of JSDF, a scientific team or a team with special permission, your are quite unlikely to get beyond the 5th Station.

The climb is not difficult, but given the way the weather changes suddenly, the chances of getting lost in the forests, rain or in the cloud-covered slopes, is quite high, unless, of course, you are travelling with experienced climbers, and following a long line of colorful raincoats all the way to the top!

---------------------------------------
LINKS

Official Website for Mt. Fuji Climbers - http://www.fujisan-climb.jp/en/season/

• Climbing season: Early July to Mid-September

Subashiri Trail - http://www.fujiyama-navi.jp/fujitozan/route/page/subashiri/lang/en/

For info on other trails - http://www.huffingtonpost.com/gail-nakada/how-to-climb-mt-fuji_b_3693642.html

Japan in Winter: Impressions That Linger

It has been a hectic trip to Japan. Nearly two weeks of traveling in Osaka, Nara, Kobe, Kyoto and Tokyo.

Seeing Nihon at the fag end of winter was an interesting experience - clear blue skies interrupted by gloomy days of cold rain, wind and snow; that overwhelming sense of order, neatness and precision; the pleasant surprise at being welcomed with warmth & affection by old friends and colleagues.

Here is a collection of images and impressions that linger -

DAWN OVER MT. FUJI

I woke up at 2:30AM (IST) to see streak of pink in the sky. Flight JL-471 was preparing to land at Narita and the aircraft was gradually moving away from coastline towards the sea, to enter the funnel. Just above the grey clouds scattered below, a little pink, solitary peak came into view - Mt. Fuji. At first it seemed like just another feature against the misty coastline and the dark, endless mass of the Pacific Ocean. But as we got closer and closer, I began to understand why this dormant volcano is so dear to the Japanese.

The difference is clearly in the setting. Mr. Fuji is puny compared to the Himalayan peaks - At 3776m it is less than half the height of K2 or Mt. Everest. But the point is - you may escape notice when you you're a giant among giants but here, when gentle slopes rise from the coastline to form a perfectly conical snow peak dominating an entire island, -you certainly have a sight to behold!

CRACKING THE SUBWAY SYSTEM IN OSAKA

It is bewildering at first – the numerous private lines, confusing exits, the route maps, ticket vending machines, turnstiles and the surge of people on the platforms. But with some help from maps and strangers the subway is a great way to see the city.

More here on the Osaka subway system.

NARA - 1256 YEARS AFTER BODHIDHARMA

This ancient city of Nara was a huge surprise. In a country dominated by mega cities, concrete, asphalt and glass, it was a astounding to find an oasis of wide spaces, forests, free-roaming deer, cool, pine-scented breeze and silence.

I had never seen an old city so well preserved. Nor had I known about an Indian teacher who was invited here 1256 years ago.

More here on the visit to Nara.

KOBE IS SANNOMIYA

In my mind, Kobe was the city of the 1995 earthquake – an image dominated by toppled flyovers and people huddling in shelters. Now I know that Kobe is actually Sannomiya – a small lesson that cost me Yen 160.

I took a ticket from Ibaraki to Kobe to find a station that blending into large malls. The city centre was actually two stops behind at Sannomiya. It was like stepping into an AutoCAD scenario - the streets were picture perfect - all the way from the station to the piers; the sidewalks had been clad in a beautiful combination of tiles interspersed with sculptures and cherry trees. Even the manhole-covers had been designed so lovingly!

KYOTO AND HYPE

During WW-2 two Japanese cities had been spared of Allied bombing – Nara and Kyoto. Having seen Nara, I had expected Kyoto to be a perfect blend of the ancient and the modern. Not quite – the city just looked like a sprawling district of Tokyo with a few old temples and buildings tucked away amidst the urban sprawl.

It was interesting to see the shrines - Kinkakuji, Horyoji and Ginkakuji; to experience the single-compartment Randen trains on the outskirts of Arashiyama, and to contrast it to the latest N-700 Bullet trains later in the evening; to ride the city buses to Nijo palace to see the magnificent (and symbolic) screen paintings in its inner chambers… but what lingers in my mind in the sight of an old, destitute Japanese woman, sleeping on the streets wrapped in a dirty, discarded blanket.


N-700: THE LATEST BULLET TRAIN

At Osaka station, I had booked a window seat on the latest N-700 Shinkansen expecting a superlative ride to Tokyo. I was not all disappointed.


At Kyoto station the regular trains are at one level and the bullet trains are serviced from exclusive platforms at a higher level. You cross the turnstiles to see a platform with none of the rush and bustle down below. My train arrived exactly on schedule at 16:55 took in passengers from its small aircraft-like doors and was streaking off the platform at 16:56, accelerating to 100kmph in 36 seconds flat. Soon after exiting the city limits the train was approaching top-speed of 300kmph, and inside the pressurized cabins, you could literally hear a pin drop – not a shudder or shake, just that feeling of being hurtled at high speeds with the scenery rushing past in a blur. Amazing.

What is interesting is that unlike the French TGV, the Shinkansen’s don’t touch top-speeds to occasionally impress the record keepers. Ever since they were launched last year, the N-700s travel at these speeds on a daily basis, ferrying commuters all across Japan, and covering distances of about 500km (same as Mumbai-Ahmedabad) in just about two hours.

MR. KURAUCHI AT SHIMOKITAZAWA

Mr. Takashi Kurauchi is an international expert on Hydrology. I had known this quiet, gentle person during his tenure in India and was eager to meet him in Japan. Luckily, he had just returned from Cambodia a couple of days earlier.

While walking with him to the subway in the cold drizzle, I never thought it would lead to an evening of wonderful new perspectives.


SET PHRASES & S.O.Ps

Life in Japan seems to revolve around a standard set of phrases for each and every social interaction. Phrases that go beyond the usual polite greetings.

In shops everywhere, there are SoPs for all cash transactions. Whether you are in a tiny shop in Arashiyama (outskirts of Kyoto), a railway kiosk or a swanky departmental store in downtown Shinjiku, Tokyo, the same procedure is followed. The cashier welcomes you with an "Irasshyaimase!" and thanks you for the honor of serving you; you place your coins / notes on a small plastic tray; the cashier picks the notes and announces the denominations and total amount; and while giving you’re the receipt, the cashier again announces the change she is handing back to you. No scope for confusion!

Even machines are 'trained' to thank you for everything - ticket vending machines, PA systems, escalators, doors, zebra-crossings and turnstiles.

Images...