Fuji: a mountain so nice we may climb it twice

The tallest summit in Japan, Mount Fuji, rises to 12,388 feet.

You don't have to be in Japan long before you hear the adage: "A wise man climbs Mt. Fuji once but only a fool climbs it twice," or something to that effect. When asked if they had ever climbed it, most of my Japanese friends and students say "Oh," slight chuckle,"no," as if it was a silly question. I was beginning to think foreigners were the only people who hiked up this thing! As it turns out, crazy foreigners do comprise a large portion of Mt. Fuji's yearly visitors and on July 17, 2010, Kyle and I, along with our friends, Darin and Tim, were among that daring pack of gaijin.

(Ann blends in seamlessly with Japanese hikers.)

With backpacks full and toenails neatly trimmed, we boarded the MWR bus at 4 a.m. bound for Mt. Fuji's Kowaguchiko 5th station. There are four 5th stations on different sides of the mountain. This is where the paved roads end and most climbers begin their ascent. We were told by our MWR tour guide that the average hiker takes about six hours to reach the summit. Kyle, perhaps feeling the effects of the Red Bull he just slammed, confidently predicts it will take us only four. Easy, Champ. Calm down. Meanwhile, I quietly set my own goal of making it to the top without vomiting and/or having to buy a $12 can of oxygen.

My friend Mari, who had completed the Fuji climb the weekend before, recommended I drink a Go Girl energy beverage before the hike. Mmmm! Deliciously energizing. Thanks, Mari! Bring it, Fuji! After purchasing our walking sticks, slathering on sunblock and snapping a few pre-hike photos, we set out from the 5th station around 6:40am.

But just five minutes into the hike and a mere 15 minutes after having used the bathroom at the 5th station, I discovered why they call it "Go Girl." I had to pee already! I couldn't even wait until the next rest station so I had to use the less-than-savory Port-a-Potty whose previous occupant was apparently trying to extinguish a fire with his own urine. The whole thing was soaked--gross! Oh, well. The break gave us a chance to remove the annoying bells from our walking sticks. Jing-a-ling-ling up and a down a mountain for seven hours? No thanks.

It didn't take long for me to work up a good sweat and get the legs burning. Kyle, on the other hand, was like some sort of human-mountain goat hybrid who garners super strength and endurance from peanut butter and sugarless gum. I had what I thought was a pretty decent pace going. I was even feeling kind of badass. But after being left in Kyle's volcanic dust and seeing elderly Japanese ladies and chain-smoking men chugging along with me, I was promptly knocked down a peg.

Not to worry. The weather was perfect, wind was calm and fellow climbers were friendly and encouraging. We cheerfully plugged along, maneuvering our way over the craggy volcanic rock and gravel trails. The pace slowed at the narrow portions of the trail and provided a few moments to catch your breath. We stopped at each rest station along the way to get our souvenir stamps seared into our walking sticks.

The rest huts sold exorbitantly priced snacks, drinks and canned oxygen and you even had to pay a couple hundred yen just to use the crapper. But it's a small price to pay for luxurious mountain-side facilities. (See photo below).

At the second to last station from the summit, the entire remainder of the trail is visible and rather depressing. It looked like an endless zigzag to the top. But alas, it ended and we made it! We quickly got our final "I was here" stamp on our sticks, paid a small fortune for post cards and headed to the rim of the crater for a lunch of trailmix and Clif bars. Ah, refreshing. And what a relief, the hard part was over. Or was it!?

My husband, a.k.a. Clark W. Griswold, bless his heart, was not going to leave an inch of this mountain unexplored. We once again set out for a mini-hike around the peak's crater. The three kilometer hike around the crater took us to Japan's highest post office, the "off limits" weather station and through a "closed-due-to-snow" portion of the trail. We ignored the signs and trekked across the snowy slope. It was touch and go at points but we made it.

After one final breather and a celebratory Asahi beer, it was time for the descent. This is definitely the hardest part and can best be described as volcanic gravel foot skiing. It was during this treacherous part of the journey that I sustained the day's only injury (unless you count Kyle's scalp sunburn). I blame this partially on Tim and a hilarious story about his 85-year-old father walking around Florence all day thinking he had a pebble in his shoe only to remove his shoe and realize it was actually a shoehorn! Funny, right? I thought so. I started laughing so hard that I lost my balance, fell smack on my bum and scraped up my arm.

Kyle also had a close call on the descent after his slow jog turned into an out-of-control sprint. Legs churning wildly down the mountain and arms flailing like a crazed Muppet, his water bottle flew from his backpack hitting some unsuspecting lady in the head. Gomennasai! Luckily, the bottle was empty.

The rest of the descent was drama-free. Although there was a young Japanese man who approached and asked me for a "high-touch." Lucky for him I was aware that a high-touch is Japanese for a high-five. Otherwise I would've assumed he was a perv looking to cop a feel and promptly shoved him down the embankment. I graciously offered my hand as he proceeded to give the world's gentlest, clammiest hi-five. It was actually kind of creepy...

Thanks to creepy high-touch man, the guys climbing Fuji in dinosaur and Batman costumes weren't the strangest people we encountered.

Approximately 12 miles and 10 hours and 40 minutes later, we arrived back at the 5th station. I celebrated with a Fresh'NUp for my feet and a beautiful view of the sunset. According to the adage, I suppose we're wise now...until next summer when we do the night climb to catch the sunrise...?