Fuji

When I was about 20 years old we lived in Japan for two years. My father (aged about 50 then), younger brother (aged about 12) and I all climbed Mount Fuji one summer day, along with a solid line of other climbers, guides and suppliers.

It was physically the hardest thing I have ever done. Fuji-san is covered with loose volcanic rubble - for every two steps forward, you slide back one. I don't think any of us would have made it to the top if we hadn't been so stubborn. You can rent a horse that will take you part of the way up but we waved aside those offers at the start of the climb; halfway up, we were all regretting that decision as wealthy pilgrims brushed past us on horseback. However, we persevered. I was thinking, "Jeez, if baby brother can do it, surely I can do it." Dad was thinking, "If she can do it, surely I can do it." And, little bro was thinking, "If the old man can do it, I can do it." None of us wanted to be the first to give up. In other words, we made it to the top based largely on steadfast pride; that may be emblematic of my family.

Dad purchased a Fuji stick for each of us, a light wooden walking stick to help keep us from sliding backwards on the golfball-sized volcanic rubble. At each of several "stations" on the trail, for a small charge one has one's Fuji stick branded with the altitude as proof that one attained that height; at the summit, the brand is red. The guides started a chant that was supposed to give us a pace by which to climb; I know it can't be true but, to this day, I remember it as the Volga Boatmen's song.

Sadly, in those days, Fuji was liberally covered with trash dropped by generations of climbers and, at higher altitudes, it never decomposed. I have heard that more recently they have cleaned it up. The benjos were pretty bad, too. We climbed from about 2pm to 7pm, then stopped for dinner at the least comfortable inn it has ever been my discomfort to endure in Japan. Dinner was Spartan and the wooden shelves (literally) on which we slept three-wide were unpadded. Shortly after we fell into an exhausted sleep, Little Bro had a nightmare about being trapped and woke up shouting and panting.

Our guide woke us again about 2am and we climbed the rest of the way - the idea was to arrive at the summit in time for the summer sunrise. We struggled to the top with several hundred other pilgrims and awaited the blaze of the sun. When it rose, all the discomforts were forgotten and forgiven - it is an amazing sight. We stood in silent awe amidst a hubbub of clicking cameras and murmured exclamations.

The trip down took less than two hours - one more or less "skates" down on the volcanic rubble. We were greeted - dirty, sweaty and tired - by my elegant mother who had elected to stay in the very luxurious hotel at the bottom to have a massage and await our return. We adjourned to the showers and then to lunch in the restaurant. I don't recall what we ate but I never have Japanese food without thinking of that memorable trip. We all kept our Fuji sticks and I still have mine, proudly branded in red.

*****

Fuji Japanese Restaurant, Petaluma, CA