I was going through piles of old school reports and newspapers when a pixilated photograph of Mt. Fuji’s red barren earth appeared somewhere between yellowed documents. The irony of how a knick-knack from an unforgettable trek got mixed up in a heap of forgotten memories was almost hilarious. Because picture or no picture, I knew I would always be reminded of Fuji’s majesty and of one crisp August night when three friends and I set off to conquer a 3776-meter volcano, and failed.

Just before fellow exchange student Michelle de Guzman and I were scheduled to go back to the Philippines, we promised to fulfill what was to become the most daring finale in a series of experimental explorations and breathless hiking trips. We were going to conquer Mt. Fuji and come hell or inexperience, we were determined to reach the top.

With Mich and two other friends Grace Corollo and Verna Villanueva, I eagerly took a train to Shinjuku, one of the busiest stations in Tokyo. Then we went straight to the bus stop located just outside the station and hopped on board a Chuo Highway bus that drove us halfway up the mountain, the point of origin where tour buses and tourists taking different routes converge. Our hiking excursion officially commenced at Mt. Fuji’s fifth station, a rest stop nestled in between the foot and the summit. It was a small community in itself and, with climbing season drawing to a close, was even more packed with tourists raiding restaurants, souvenir shops, and rest rooms.

It was a welcoming sight after the two-hour drive up in the darkness. The cool mountain air felt refreshing. It was as if the autumn breeze had never left. It took us a few more minutes to buy the necessary oxygen cans and walking sticks. And by 11 pm, clad in warm clothes and carrying more supplies than what was required, we set off towards the top, silently praying that we live to tell the tale.

Of Mistakes and Walking Sticks

Whatever cardio exercises Grace and Michelle did certainly paid off as they aced the rocky trails of the 6th and 7th stations and went on ahead leaving a breathless me resting in one of the 7th station’s mountain huts. It was already past one in the morning and while I was tempted to sleep in one of the 5,000-yen-a-night huts, I really couldn’t afford it with only 2,000 yen on my wallet. Not bringing enough cash was just the first in a series of my mountaineering blunders.