The sound of collective oohs and aahs along with the occasional "Sugoi!" (Wow!) fill my ears as I slowly regain consciousness. It takes me a minute to register exactly where I am. Japan. Mt. Fuji. Ah yes. I attempt to roll on to my side and am greeted by a sharp spike of pain in my left ribs as there is a decidedly malicious and jagged rock puncturing my side. Now roused and fully awake, I sit up straight and look to the left.
My jaw drops.
Eyes wide, I witness perhaps one of the most breathtaking scenes in my entire life. These pictures are certainly beautiful, but they can only capture a tiny portion of the majestic display of daylight breaking - the source of all life coming into view. At first the sky starts a muted orange, but gradually grows brighter transforming into a pinkish hue. After much anticipation, the sun finally peeks out over the horizon, though initially obscured by the clouds. The blazing orange fireball ignites the rest of the sky, treating us to a brilliant light show entrancing us for the next half hour. The subtle color changes are beyond me to be able to describe adequately, but the clouds change from blackened silhouettes to ephemeral feathers glowing with rosy outlines. As the transition from night to day proceeds, the sky above becomes such a brilliant and pure blue that I just want to scoop some of it out of the air, bottle it up, and save it for a future canvas within my imagination. Rising higher in the air, the sun's intensity increases and I am eventually forced to shield my eyes. At the same time, I can feel the atmosphere around me growing warmer and warmer. I simply want to bask in the sun forever, atop a rock, like an iguana, drinking in the solar rays for survival.
Here it comes.
Absolutely breathtaking.
Love the clouds.
Scanning the area around me, I can see my friends are having similar thoughts, and some of them already putting these desires into action. I decide that it wouldn't hurt to wait for it to warm up a little more. So I lie back once again on the treacherous bed of rocks. They are no less painful than before, but with the sun warming my skin and still high off of nature's display of pure grandeur, I am asleep in no time - afforded perhaps the most restful thirty-minute nap of my life.
A bit reluctantly, we all realized that no matter how magnificent the sunrise might have been, we still have not yet made it to the top. Fairly exhausted, and already satisfied with having watched a gorgeous sunrise, I hear a voice whispering into my left ear, "You made it all the way up here already, you're basically at the top. No need to keep going, just stay here and sleep some more, yessss sleep, precious sleep. You won't even be able to make it down if you don't rest anymore."
Then in rebuttal, my right ear hears, "C'mon, you made it this far; you can already see the top. I know you didn't climb all the way up here just to stop short of the goal. Sleep is for the weak; don't you remember all those all-nighters you had to pull for CS 140? This is nothing compared to that!"
I had decided. My philosophy is that if you're gonna do anything seriously, you have to do it all the way. No half-hearted attempts allowed. If you're not gonna go full throttle, balls to the wall, pull out all the stops, then it's not worth doing in the first place. I live a passionate life, and whether it comes to love, sports, or even (certain) classes, I give it my all, and I don't look back. Life is too short for regrets like that to haunt me. I've heard it said that, "It's easier to forgive yourself for the things that you've done, rather than forgive yourself for the things you failed to do." I was gonna make it up this mountain. Period.
Once everyone, even Brian, was awake, we gathered our belongings and once again began our journey anew. There was still a pretty constant stream of people trekking up the mountain, but we could still squeeze in. You could probably fit 2-3 people side by side on most of the trail, so we were able to pass the slower people, and faster people were able to pass us. Still, the path was fairly steep, but it didn't seem too much further to the top. We had been climbing like this all night, so it really wasn't that bad. Honestly, it should have been pretty easy. Here's the rub: we were approaching 12,000 feet and each time we took a breath, we only got maybe 80% of the oxygen that we were used to getting. So the trouble is that even at a moderate pace, we were continuously running out of breath. So we'd climb for maybe 5 minutes, and then briefly stop to catch our breath. The saving grace was that you could recover fairly quickly. A few stationary breaths while waiting for everyone to catch up was usually enough to re-energize us.
Follow the path to the top.
Many of us had entered Zombie Mode already, and were just mechanically trudging forward, mindlessly moving our feet, oblivious to our surroundings. It was more difficult than ever to talk, and we could little afford to expend our precious oxygen for such minor comforts like conversation. Subsequently, we marched up the rest of the way in relative silence, chatting a bit at each stop, but then pressing forward. Along the way, you could see people stopped on the side of the trail. I swear for every 10 feet or so I walked, I saw someone asleep on the rocks. Old men and women would be seated on a rock, wheezing, and sucking oxygen from the spray-paint like canisters they sold for around $10. We passed mothers and fathers holding the hands of their children who looked no older than 8 years old, and they had made it this far. One of the primary motivating factors along the whole trip, besides your friends with you, is just the sheer number of other people climbing alongside you. You feel like you're part of a greater whole, one of the few (less than 1% of Japanese people) who have climbed Mt. Fuji, part of a legacy. You tell yourself that if these people ranging from 8 years old to 80, can make it up, surely I can as well.
We get so close that we can see the torii gate that marks the entrance to the 10th station, the peak of Mt. Fuji. But I shift my focus down a bit and see yet another impenetrable wall of people ahead of me. At least it's daytime and we can see, so it shouldn't be as dangerous as last time. Or so I thought. You see, scattered all over the mountain are ominous signs that read, "Danger: Falling Rocks" which I had noticed, but never really paid much attention to. Until now. Without warning, I hear gasps from the people in front of me along with the foreboding sound of gravel falling. Looking up, I see a rock the size of a cantaloupe tumbling down the slope, straight at me and Sandy. The crowd parts instantaneously and the rock slips through them. Straight into Sandy. It glances off her ankle and ricochets behind her, right where I'm standing! To me, the scene unfolded in slow-motion, I clearly saw the rock coming down the slope, through the people, off Sandy, and right at me. And yet I couldn't get my body to move out of the way fast enough. It collides with the instep of my right ankle and I fall forwards, attempting to absorb some of the shock that way. Since it was coming straight at me, I receive the brunt of its momentum, whatever was left after hitting Sandy. Sprawled out on the ground, I watch the rock slowly roll away from me, and totter on the edge of the trail, overlooking yet another slope with more unsuspecting victims below. With both hands, I reach out to grab the rock and stabilize in front of me, refusing to let it endanger more people.
I'm not trying to be mean when I say this, but Japanese people aren't quite as friendly in public to strangers in need. I've witnessed this in the streets of Kyoto, and seen people neglected in the Tokyo train stations as well. In America, most people would immediately ask you if you're alright, perhaps even help you up. In Japan, you receive nothing but cold, if concerned, stares. Once again, I'm not bitter, I'm just stating my observations. It's just a distinct culture difference I thought I'd mention. Anyway, I was lucky enough to not need any help. I gingerly get up and tentatively apply some weight on my right foot. Jolts of pain shoot through my foot and up my leg, but they gradually lessen with each step, much to my relief. Sandy and I soon stop to examine our injuries, and luckily it seems that we've suffered nothing more than minor bruises. I was lucky to be wearing high top hiking boots, as the rock hit me pretty high on the ankle but in spot still protected by my boots. If I had been wearing lesser footwear, I fear the damage would have been much more severe. So we walk, er rather limp, it off. No pain, no gain. And honestly I've played through much, much worse pain in soccer games before, and I'm lucky (I think) that my ankles have been through so much abuse in the past, that this was fairly minor.
With no further incidents, we reach the top of the stairway and congregate at the entrance. It still hasn't quite hit us yet, I don't think. I take a look at Brian with his eyes glazed over, and he's staring into space, apparently oblivious to his surroundings. We take a few ceremonious pictures, and parade into the 10th station. The top of Mount Fuji. We had made it. It hits us then. Many of us overemotional from a night of no sleep, and after enduring such hardships as the frigid weather, rocky terrain, and unending hiking, we proclaim, "We did it, we actually did it." I look over at Adam and see tears in his eyes. "I really didn't think we were gonna make it at some points, but we did, and we're here." is what he roughly said. The eight of us mostly just met in April and have since gotten to know each other pretty well. But with everything that happened on the mountain up until then, I think we had become closer in those 12 hours than we had in the previous 4 months. Embracing in a group hug, we congratulate each other on the accomplishment, and console each other for all the pain that it took to get here. I'm pretty sure Adam wasn't the only one crying. I step back and survey the surroundings. We were on top of the highest mountain in Japan. The view was amazing. I look back at my friends who surround me. And I realize that therein lays the true value of my journey.
At the top of the stairs (And a random dude on the right). Also notice "zombie" Brian.
The famous sign marking the peak of Mt. Fuji.
It wasn't about the sheer number of feet in the air that we had climbed, nor the number of miles on foot that I had traveled. Even successfully navigating our way through the crowds and up the steep slopes seemed insignificant. The dull aches in my head and feet were irrelevant. We jokingly called ourselves a Fellowship as we began the journey, mocking JRR Tolkien's band of heroes. And while I admit that the fictional Fellowship accomplished much more awe-inspiring feats, I believe our Fellowship was greater. It was real. Looking at the weary faces of each of my comrades, one at a time, I could feel the tangible bonds linking us together. The same bonds that were formed over the last twelve hours. Simple things. Sharing water with Adam. Eating Wei's trail mix. Making fun of Jerry for wearing shorts for over half the trip. Watching Priscilla doze off at every station. Brian punching Jerry in the back (refer to pictures). Threatened by an avalanche with Sandy. Taking pictures with/of/for Evelyn at practically every stop. Small bits of personal conversation that leak out as you trudge along the mountain trail. All these things put together define my experience much more than any simple trail I climbed.
The view from above the clouds.
I've learned that you can do the most amazing things in the world, but if you are alone, they become meaningless. Or you can do the most mundane activities, with people you like, and life becomes exciting. Only rarely do I get to accomplish great things with people who I love. And those experiences are the ones I treasure the most.
I rejoin the group, we form a circle, much like a football huddle. Embracing each other momentarily, the emotional bonds briefly become physical. And I feel something wet on my cheek. Quickly wiping my face, I take a deep breath and inhale all the oxygen I can. It still doesn't feel like quite enough. But surrounded by friends like these, I don’t really need much else.
We did it guys!
Alright, I know that's not the real end of the story, but as far as "story mode" goes, I think I'll mostly quit here. There were a few more incidents on the way down, but I guess you'll have to wait for those. I can wrap things up next time and offer some final reflections and thoughts though. I'd love to hear what you thought of the whole story though, so leave me a comment!
Once again, picture links here and here. I'll have new pics courtesy of Evelyn up soon, too.
2 comments:
Hey Darwin, cool story, thanks for sharing!
enjoyed the story Darwin. We should go hiking to some easier places when you get back.
Post a Comment