Fuji-San

by R. Gowing

THERE ARE FIRST SIGHTS which indelibly impress themselves on the mind, impressions which no subsequent familiarity can devalue. The Matterhorn seen on looking up from the streets of Zermatt; the Main Chamber of Gaping Gill seen from Boulder Slope; and Fuji rising snowy and ethereal above the haze of Tokyo. For the mountaineer visiting Japan, the first objective that occurs to him is Fuji, and though he will sub-sequently learn that other ranges lower in altitude offer more interesting climbing, he will not be content until he has trod¬den its (preferably) snowy heights.
Fuji-san has always been regarded as one of the national symbols of Japan. It is generally looked upon as sacred and all Japanese men with any national or religious feeling desire to climb it once in their lifetime. This usually takes place between the 1st of July and the 31st of August, when the mountain is officially opened and closed with colourful festi¬vals; during this time the 90-odd huts as well as the souvenir shops and shrines on the various routes which ascend from all sides are open and long processions of pilgrims with straw sandals and wooden staffs snake their way up the dusty paths or enjoy a glorified scree run down the loose cinders.

While an ascent during the season is no doubt full of human interest, Fuji as a mountain has more to offer towards winter, when its snowy cap returns and the crowds have withdrawn to the Five Lakes which decorate its northern foot, or to the nearby hot spring resorts of Hakone. The dust and cinders are sealed by snow and there is a better chance of fine weather.

One wet Saturday afternoon in late November 1965, Tom Gerrard and I set out from Tokai armed with axes, crampons, all available clothing and the hope that the weather would continue changeable to give us a fine day. After fighting through the traffic of the biggest city in the world we soon reached Fujiyoshida where, from the big Sengen Shrine, the traditional northern route up Fuji starts and drove up the fine toll-road which wends its way up to near the Fifth Station on the Fujiyoshida Route. Just below the top of the road, at about 7,400 ft., we parked beside an open sided bus shelter. The rain had stopped; we had a brew of cocoa and dossed down in the shelter. Snug in our sleeping bags and with the concrete floor well padded by our air beds we passed a comfortable night.

We awoke soon after six to a fine morning. Though the Southern Alps and other nearby ranges were cloud-capped, Fuji rose clear above us. As we breakfasted, shivering, on bread and jam and cocoa, I thought of another scene eight thousand miles away, of a sumptuous dining room where at that moment the Ramblers, replete with food and good fellowship, would be sitting back enjoying their cigars, listening to the exhortations of their honoured guest or to the scintillating wit of the President. There was little time for such thoughts however, as we packed up and tried to start the car. We drove it up to the car park and, leaving it there, decided to make for a prominent snow gully descending towards us from near the top of the big north east snow scoop beside the Fujiyoshida Route.

We set off just after 7.30 up a narrow path through low woods of birch, larch and alder, which soon gave out to sparse scrub larch and finally nothing but cinder, up which we toiled towards the snow gully. The cinder was well cemented by the frost, without which the ascent, tiresome as it was, would have been well-nigh impossible.

Towards 10,000 ft. we reached the snow gully. As we were putting on our crampons I observed and photographed a party of girls, one of whom came forward and claimed my acquaintance from the Japanese Alpine Club 60th anniversary reception at which I had been a guest a month before. She explained that her party, of the Edelweiss Club, were practising snow techniques and she invited us to call at her tent for tea on the way down, for which we regrettably had no time.

The snow proved to be in excellent condition and my new Japanese crampons bit well but the ascent, at an unaccustomed altitude, proved hard work. I stopped to change a film and to put on a borrowed duvet in anticipation of cold wind higher up. The gully eventually gave out on the ridge bounding the big scoop and we made our way into and up this. After a fairly long plod we reached the crater rim on its northern side at midday.

The crater, 732 feet deep from the highest point, occupies the southerly two thirds of the summit area, the rest being a sort of plateau surrounded by the rim peaks of the earlier crater. The crater walls include some high vertical crags, but in other places there is an even slope down to the bottom which is thus quite accessible though it is doubtful whether many people visit it.

Everything was thickly coated in ice and frost feathers and, though it was brilliantly clear, a strong cold wind was blowing. We climbed up the north west peak, 12,470 ft., Hakusan-dake, and then down among the rocks to the south west. Tom waited below Hakusan-dake while I made my way along the west rim and down to a hut on the west edge of the crater. As expected, it was all closed up, so I climbed up the south side of the ice-clad rocks forming the highest summit of Fuji and of Japan, 12,535 ft., Ken-ga-mine. This is crowned by a weather observatory and radar station which, though it showed no signs of life, is reputed to be permanently manned. I paused for a moment, sheltering from the wind, to enjoy the view of the crater and its surrounding peaks and of the Pacific shimmering far below.

From Ken-ga-mine I descended fairly steeply to the east and after crossing the gentle rise of Mishima-dake reached the Sengen Shrine, the main Shinto shrine of Fuji-san. In summer there is a post-office here; now shrine, stone lanterns and torii were inches thick in ice. I crossed the slight rise of Komaga-dake to the shrine at Gimmei-sui (Silver-sparkling water) where a spring exists in summer. Over the next hill the wind blowing from the north west across the crater was so fierce that I had to crawl sideways at full length, adhering with pick and front points. I struggled past Sai-no Kawara, so called after the Buddhist Styx, and soon was able to traverse on the leeward,
 
outer side of Asahi-dake and Jojuga-dake’ on the eastern rim, enjoying the view of the Izu Peninsula and of the hills and lake of Hakone, to reach the Kusushi Shrine at the head of the Fujiyoshida Route. I stopped in the shelter of the street of souvenir shops, which looked more like the Ben Nevis Observatory in winter, to change a film, then continued over the last peak, Kusushi-dake, to arrive at the col just as Tom was setting out to look for me.

Two hours after reaching the crater rim we set off down at 2 p.m., following the route of our ascent. We were troubled somewhat in the upper scoop by blown powder snow, but left this behind when we reached the gully. The snow had not deteriorated and we enjoyed an easy descent, with good views of the neighbouring Southern Alps and other hills and of the shadow of Fuji-san touching Lake Yamanaka. At the end of the snow we removed our crampons and set off to pick our way down the cinders. These had thawed to a depth of a few inches so that they slid when one put one’s weight on them, not en masse like a good scree as they would in summer, but individually and unpredictably. After spending more time on our bottoms than on our feet we were glad to reach the consolidated ground of the vegetated zone and soon, an hour and three quarters after leaving the crater, we were sitting in the car eating our first food since breakfast.

As we drew away in the fading light Fuji held my gaze, slowly it lost its detail and gained that beauty of form that over centuries has charmed artists, poets, pilgrims and at least one Rambler.