Sometimes you succeed sometimes you fail, but in both situations you can learn.
Start Point.
I sat down to watch the fierce flowing air blow below the wide endless winter horizon. It seemed Mount Fuji had yet to wake up. In the distance the morning clouds indiscriminately crashed into the sides of the Japanese hills like the water going over a babbling brook.
The Sun began beating down on me with its harsh intent, and I gaze back up with cracked lips with eyes begging for mercy. Behind myself only feet away I see a thin line of snow gleaming from the very top of Mt Fuji, and I realize now my goal is so close. I look forward and down to a chain of small boarded up buildings dug into the hillside. I giggle at how they all seem like man made boulders marking the path back to comfort and rest. Afar I can see my starting point the now distant town of Fuji-Yoshida; which my tired eyes confuse for a mound of small gray polished pebbles in the center of a pond. The forests around the town dance like algae clinging to the rocks with the clouds gently floating over the surface. I can see mighty birds of prey struggle to reach near, so much for mighty animals they seem more like flies circling their next potential meal. I am glad to be above their reach. Great Cider trees I once awed at as I walked past on Fuji’s feet are now like blades of green wheat dancing in the sun kissed morning breeze.
I think back to when I saw Mount Fuji for the first time. That, “Oh Shit” moment when I really knew this mountain is more than just an incomprehensibly large pile of rocks. Really feeling its power is beyond words. And now me, exhausted old me, is sitting on the side of this cultural icon, this beast! Just casually looking down across a country not my own.
Not many climb the mountain in the winter, and for good reason, so the town was dead quiet as I started my first few steps. It seemed like my perfect adventure; full of uncertainty, lacking in crowds of people, and overwhelmingly engulfed in nature. You could barely see the mountain from the city center through all the electrical cables, but the whole city was sloped up towards the mountain. If you continued to walk uphill, you were going the correct direction. Getting lost seemed impossible. This dead city was the true base of the mountain, and I wanted to selfishly take in all I could.
And now many hours later as I look down to where I have traveled. The realization of where I fit into this all, this country, this world! It is all just too... tall an idea to understand. All the endless miles traveled can no longer clearly be seen. I once again have an, “Oh Shit” moment of a new variety, but I am too tired to understand its full gravity. Hell, all I can imagine doing is breaking down into tears, but I'm too tired, and too dehydrated to even cry. Instead I just do what I can, and I continue to sit. I soak it all in atop my big rock ninety nine percent of the way up the mountain.
Quickly turning my head while making great effort to hide from the Sun's harsh gaze I feel the world itself start to spin. I soon find myself struggling to not spin along with the rotating earth. In my drunk like state the idea of dancing and spinning sounds amazing. I daydream of floating all the way back down the mountain. As I get up to move I soon realize every step I take up is another step to take coming down. At the same time, I know that at any moment a cloud can pass overhead and trap me where I stand under feet of snow, but I am too tired for fear, so I move on.
I find another spot to rest and drop my bag. As I look down at my hands, and I find them unfamiliar. They are now stained with dirt, blood, and blisters half wrapped in bandages. My heavy pack now strewn with jackets and other equipment for impending snow lays against a volcanic rock near my leg. I was all too happy to lose weight as I consumed the last of my water, but to both my benefit and my dread the mountain was currently free of snow today. The dew from the previous evening still covered the top of my pack, and I depressingly fantasize about licking it dry. Instead I chose to wipe my hands over it in the vain hope of some comfort. I am horrified as I only succeed in rubbing the coarse dirt deeper into my wounds while smearing dirt and blood across the top of my pack. No comfort for me today.
All around where I sit are only volcanic rocks of many sizes and fine volcanic dirt. You might as well be surrounded by broken glass. The very land itself seems to be an enemy to life, and I soon find myself among its many victims. Even the air seems to want me gone, and I wish everything I have for a more comfortable place to rest. Sitting I realize even resting has become exhausting.
I hear gasps from lungs struggling for air echoing in the distance. As the day begins, I see two distinct types of hikers pass me by as I rest. One equally as tired who most likely started at the First Station six miles away, and another which chose a simpler path starting only three miles away at the fifth station. I wanted to be special, so I alone started almost twenty miles away. I feel only envy towards my fellow hikers, because I am too tired to realize my mistake was my own. I try to hate the mountain, but it is too strong to hate. I sit here defeated in its shadow.
Thinking more than just simple thoughts is too much for me at this point. The mountain seems now an indiscriminate foe. Seemingly eating up all our tributes of sweat and blood with glee. What a disgusting beauty it’s become. The feeling in the air turns soon to that of defeat. The mountain always wins. I find my mind wandering down to those seas of clouds and see myself reveling in all the imagined pleasures of a fresh cold river.
Fuji-san isn't coy about who it is during the winter. It is an immovable object unamused by the comings and goings of us Humans. It’s unapologetic about your injuries or your well-being. There is a high cost to see this wild untamed beauty. Those on the mountain today know and understand it will not ask before it collects its toll of blood. I sit here almost at the top equally afraid as I am in awe. Even defeated I gasp in amazement at the endless piles and slopes of red and black rocks that adorn the landscape.
I turn to pick up my pack, but while looking at my empty water bottle stop. I look back towards the mound of pebbles, and I decide then and there I must now give up and return. The weight of the pack on my shoulders is like knives, and the countless blisters below my feet feel as if I am walking across the jagged rocks barefoot. All the physical pain is nothing compared to the overwhelming sense of failure I now feel. I look down and my mind tells my body to walk, but I do not move more than a quiver. Everything I am is giving up. I know my body is at its limit, but there's no time for rest. My hands grip tight to my walking poles and start to shake as they attempt to help my legs. I find my mind moving forward above my body like a ghost spectating my own death.
I stop again to rest. It feels like days have passed; however, as I lean against a tree to check the time, I see only hours have left me behind. I stop to look up at my wooden friend who’s arms I’d tossed my soul towards. A Cider tree the very same that was once in the far distance. As I look up into the green canopy, I ease into the blanketing song of Cicadas which encircle me as I stand. In what seems like a blink of delirium I once again stand at the foot of the main Shrine between Fuji’s toes. I can’t fully understand how or what happened, but I know I had made it back. I look back up to where I had been, and I no longer feel anger or fear. As I walk towards town alongside a stream of cool crystal-clear water, I am perplexed to find my face wet. Without registering a thought, it seemed I had finally earned permission from Mount Fuji to cry.