Climbing Fuji.

"Now approaching Mt Fuji' fifth station". As the bus heaves itself up the long mountain road, I snooze, my head gently banging against the window. Having slept less than a handful of hours the night before, I desperately  try to force precious minutes of sleep in an attempt to keep my biological clock ticking-it's not working. Resigning myself to a sleep deprived ascent of Fuji, I sit up, blinking as the bus pulls in. We stagger off and gaze up at the mountain lying before us. From the fifth station, what's left of Mt Fuji doesn't look that intimidating. Volcanic; yes, steep; yes, but not that high. It's easy to forget, especially if you're asleep for most of it, that the bus takes you several thousand feet of the way up Fuji. As we take our first steps up the mountain trail, leaving the tacky tourist shops and greasy restaurants behind, I can't help but quietly hum the theme song from "The Lord of the Rings".

The 5th station of Mt Fuji; where the trail begins.

The fresh air and exercise give us a boost of energy and I soon feel the tiredness and desire to stab my girlfriend both recede...perhaps the two are intrinsically linked. Both of us are somewhat surprised that we're actually going through with the climb but pleased nonetheless.

Step by step, meter by meter the trail becomes steeper, the crowd thicker and the air colder with the darkening of the sky to follow. At the start, the path is wide and open but the higher we get, the narrower it becomes. What little was left of the vegetation now begins to thin out and soon the only visible living thing on the mountainside is the long winding trail of people leading up to the summit. A few inches to the either side of the path, mercilessly steep hills of scree threaten a rock slide, regardless of this though I feel remarkably safe on such a well worn path. Our only concern, as we observe our fellow climbers, is our seeming lack of equipment. Rough looking climbers with faces harder than stone sport heavy duty jackets, lights strapped to their heads and pocket sized oxygen tanks. As I gaze at these seemingly seasoned veterans and then back to my own tracksuit-t-shirt-hoodie combination I feel somewhat haphazardly prepared.

Trail on Fuji.

As the sun begins to sink closer to the horizon we begin to feel signs of fatigue. Our once frantic scampering has slowed to a careless stumble. On either side of the path are haggard men, woman and children slumped like rag dolls; defeated, if only temporarily, by the mountain. Our mountain hut is located just beyond the eighth station and is the last on the trail before the summit. Soon we are some of the only climbers on the path and the sickeningly thin air begins to take it's effect. A dull, glazed over feeling seeps into my head as if I have been helping myself to vodka shots along the way. This is not the level of concentration one should have while climbing a mountain. Fortunately we soon happen upon our hut and fall in the door, spluttering our names and reservations to the man greeting us.

A typical scene in a mountain hut.

As we reluctantly choke down our mountain hut gourmet, we gaze around our spartan living conditions to see other weary travelers murmuring to each other, whilst huddled around fires and hot drinks. It's a small shack, perched on the side of the mountain, little more than a kitchen and two large rooms, one of which is filled with communal bunk beds. Soon I find myself sandwiched between my girlfriend and a middle aged Japanese man, whom I am squashed so firmly against I can feel him breathe. Despite the unfavourable conditions I soon drift off.

Communal bunk beds.

We awake to shuffling and hushed whispers as other mountaineers pull on their jackets and slip out out the doors. Alice, my girlfriend is feeling wretched, and a fear that she will not be able to complete the climb begins to fester deep in my stomach. Stepping out into the cool night air we see one of the most spectacular things I have ever had the pleasure of witnessing; a snaking pattern of twinkling lights stretching all the way up the mountain into the darkness. Red, blue, green and white shine below and above us like an elongated Christmas tree. As our gaze rises we are greeted by a pantheon of stars mirroring the lights below us spreading all the way to the horizon where the curvature of the earth can be seen.

The Mountain Trail at night.

The fresh air and views lift our spirits as we  approach the summit. Tiredness and altitude sickness are now secondary factors pushed to the back of our minds, we are finishing this mountain. As we pass under a red Shinto arch we drag ourselves up the last few steps to the summit. Elation and triumph are soon quenched by the stinging realization that we are forty minutes early and horrendously unprepared for the cold. Cosying up with a bowl of noodles we sit eagerly waiting for the sunrise and more importantly the heat that comes with it. After many minutes of waiting, it happens. The first few beams of light creep above the horizon hinting to a sunrise that will cleave it in two. As joy begins to fill our tired bodies everything else begins to fade away until one-almighty-heave...the man standing next to me starts uncontrollably vomiting. The moment hilariously shattered by the reality of altitude sickness we breathed in our own sense of triumph and began the journey home.

Me and Alice.