Outdoor writing contest first place: Uphill in a downpour
It wasn’t quite 6 a.m., but there were already at least 50 people lined up to get on the bus. This was the earliest bus to the fifth station, the highest point on Mount Fuji reachable by vehicle.
“Is that rain?” I felt a cold drop of water seep into the back of my shirt.
“Probably is, the forecast says to expect rain for the rest of the morning,” my dad replied.
“Great, just great,” I thought to myself. My hopes of staying dry slowly faded as I began to feel the water slowly seeping through my jacket. I had thought, hoped, and once believed this jacket was waterproof, but that was clearly not the case. Scanning the line of people ahead and behind us, I noticed many were carrying heavy loads of equipment - backpacks stuffed with who-knows-what, and hiking poles sticking out from every angle. My group, by comparison, looked feeble: small, weak, Amazon-bought backpacks, merely filled with a few snacks.
The bus ride up the mountain to the fifth station felt fast. Dark green trees blurred by. Raindrops raced each other down the windows. People, weighed down by their hiking packs, drifted in and out of sleep with the movement of the bus.
By the time I stepped off the bus, the rain seemed to have let up slightly, giving me a flicker of hope for the rest of the day. Finding bathrooms was the first course of action before beginning our trek. I stepped in and out of the stores at the station, going back and forth between the fresh but cold mountain air and the warm comfort of indoors.
The start of our journey up the mountain was deceptively easy. The path gently sloped downward at first. By the time we reached the sixth station, the previous deception came to a screeching halt. The terrain had shifted from soft mud to thick gravel, and the trail was only steepening. We regrouped at the 6th station to discuss our plan for continuing up. Our original goal was to stick together, but it soon became clear that wasn’t going to happen – everyone in our group was climbing at a different pace. By the seventh station, I was practically alone. Hiking alongside strangers in loads of gear had not been on my agenda for the day.
The farther I climbed, the steeper the terrain became, and the harder it was to breathe. Looking off to the side of the mountain, all I could see was a mass of gravel and a backdrop of fog. We had chosen a rainy, foggy day to climb, but maybe it was a blessing I couldn’t constantly see how far I still had to go. If I could, I likely would’ve given up at the start.
At each station, I paused for a few minutes to acclimate to the altitude. Breathing difficulty that comes with elevation change was something that hadn’t been thoroughly discussed before we started. So, when I overheard murmurs of “oxygen cans” being passed around, it didn’t exactly reassure me. The higher I went, the dizzier and sleepier I felt, as though my body was fighting for each breath of air. I stopped frequently, sitting on rocks large enough to offer some rest, trying to regain my sense of existence. Racing a snail would’ve been a challenge with the pace I was keeping. Near the end of the climb, the terrain became extra rocky, not to mention slippery too. The fog that clung to the mountain also clung to the rocks, making every step into a guessing game. Would my next step push me farther upward, or send me back down?
“The summit! I see it!” Those were the words that snapped me out of my altitude trance. There it was, a small door frame looking post, with Japanese engravings on it that I could only assume meant, “You survived!”
I thought reaching the summit would be the hardest part of the day. To that belief, well, I can say that I was sorely mistaken. A crash of thunder silenced the crowd at the summit. Everyone stood frozen for a moment in disbelief, and then, just like that, it began to pour. Some of my family members had made it to the top, so we quickly ran into the nearest building for shelter. For what seemed like an hour, rain poured, and thunder boomed outside. Being on Japan’s tallest mountain during a thunderstorm wasn’t quite the thrill I had imagined. Eventually, the storm lessened, and people slowly crept from the shelter and returned to the trail.
The way down the volcano was more of a slide than a walk. Gravel and gravity pulled at my feet, and I was convinced that at any point I would be the next pebble rolling down the hill. About halfway down, the fog began to clear, and snippets of the city below slowly became visible. Once we reached the tree line, I inhaled a deep breath of air – something that I hadn’t been able to do for hours. The sight of the strong, towering trees against the distant backdrop was beautiful, a view I wished I had spent more time appreciating during the hike. Being so far up, so removed from society, was an experience like no other.
Almost 11 hours later, we were back at the fifth station. The sweet relief of sitting down after a full day of hiking created in me a newfound appreciation for curbs. Resting gave me a moment to reflect on the day: a day of baby steps and steep terrain, of fresh air and beautiful sights. A day that will forever be in my memory.