I love the jokes people tell when they are
nervous or scared. Not only do they come with an extra kick of honesty but that
lifeline of a giggle is great when you are desperately trying to shut your mind
up about how old tennis shoes is probably not going to cut it on crumbling
volcanic rock. Nothing like some self-deprecating humour to convince every
other passenger on the Tomas the tank engine bus heading to mount Fuji, that at
least they are better off than those four South Africans. Sure Roland and I had
only gone to bed at around 2am the previous night due to our replacement bus
needing a replacement bus and our plane being delayed to the point of missing
the last train from the airport. I have it on good authority that cup noodles,
coke and kitkats are an extremely good way to carbo-load the night before
climbing a mountain and the best way to rest up the morning before is to run
around Tokyo trying to renew your passport. Oh yeah, we were in fine shape.
The frosty wind that rushed through my hair
had nothing on the stare I directed at Roland as we fondly remembered him saying,
`oh why bother with beenies and down jackets, it`s shorts wearing weather on
Fuji at the moment`. Luckily I was beaten with the stubborn stick and packed
semi decent ways to keep warm but Roland grabbed a light jacket, sweat pants
and a superhero shirt. I will treasure the photo I have of me wearing the extra
pair of pants I took along, as a hat/scarf combo until the day Roland regains
feeling in his fingers and toes.
We paid our R5 to pee, adjusted our
backpacks full of energy drinks, oatmeal cookies and downed the last of our
starbucks coffee as we confidently headed in the wrong direction for the first
five minutes of our climb. Cornelia and I celebrated getting to what we thought
was the next base camp (after about 30 minutes of walking) with a little sit
down, until the nice man handed us a map and said welcome to the start of your
climb. We decided to climb at night because having a nice warm sun and being
able to see where we are going is way too mainstream for us extreme climbing types.
As all good horror stories start, our first
few hours were all fun and games. We happily skipped up the loose gravel
stairs, yes stairs of the yoshida route and bought bananas and cocoa at the 6th
station. We took photos of the moon light bouncing off the clouds so far below
our feet and said things like `Wow guys, just think about how amazing this is
for a moment`. And then somebody lost an eye, well metaphorically at least. The
fun started morphing into taking deep breaths due to the lack of oxygen and the
games quickly turned into trying to rub the volcanic dust out of our eyes and
ears. Our dialogue became less `can you believe we are here` to `what were
those people talking about when they said Fuji is challenging but not so bad`
and `nobody said anything about proper climbing with boulders and hands and
knees`. If someone has told you that climbing Fuji is easy, they are either in
good shape or lying, trust someone whose only exercise is asking Roland to pass
her the remote control.
By the time we reached the second last
station even a zombie would be all ` it’s not you it’s me` but even here Roland
still managed to be charming as he told me that the mud caked around my eyes
kind of looked like mascara and that I was totally working the pants/hat/scarf
combo. An insanely icy wind was blasting us from every angle and there was
nothing more in the world I wanted after 7 hours of solid climbing than another
hour and a half of the same. It is strange to think of that final push now, I
just zoned out and put one foot in front of the other as I stepped in the
little puddle of light my R10 torch provided.
However, when we stumbled through the tori gate
emphasizing our arrival and Roland squeezed my hand as we looked out over all
the world covered in soft clouds my breath caught and not from the thin air. As
the light of the rising sun colored the sky in shades of my little pony pink,
the other climbers started to sing the national anthem. Sure I was tired and
sure I just paid R40 (400 yen) for a cup of tea and sure I had a 5 hour climb
down the mountain ahead of me but there I was, standing on mount friggin Fuji,
hearing such pride on the voices beside me and it was perfect.
That childlike wonder lasted all of until I
put my 1st foot down on the way back. Oh the torturous horror that
is the decent of that bastard mountain! Fuji`s exit is one, unending line of bulldozed
zigzags made up of crumbling stones forged in the fires of mount doom and
placed there with the sole purpose of making you slide, fall and stumble your
way down. Cornelia and Andrew locked arms and in so doing managed to keep the
other from tumbling down and breaking crowns, whereas I just clung onto Roland like
a limpid as I tried to break the world record for complaining. I could not even
fake a smile for the poor, hopeful day-climbers we met at the end and I was
happily dreaming and drooling by the time the bus driver closed the doors.
