Starting Strong at Mt. Fuji’s Summit!

A Wise Man Climbs Mount Fuji Once—And Once Was Enough for Me!

“A wise man climbs Mount Fuji once, only a fool climbs it twice.” Well, let me tell you, once was more than enough for this Aussie!  In the scorching heat of 2023, I took on Japan’s iconic Mount Fuji, and it was an adventure I’ll never forget. Buckle up, because this story is a wild ride of sweat, determination, and a few near-death (or so I thought) moments that might just go viral.

The Obsession That Took Over My Aussie Life

I’d visited Japan multiple times before—Tokyo’s neon lights, Kyoto’s temples, Osaka’s street food—but climbing Mount Fuji? Never even crossed my mind. I’m an Australian, mate, used to the Outback’s heat and the occasional hike, but Fuji wasn’t on my radar. Yet, for some strange reason, while I was living my life back in Australia, I couldn’t get the idea out of my head. It was like Fuji was calling me, whispering, “Climb me, you beer-bellied fool!” I’d be sipping a cold one at the pub, and suddenly I’d picture myself at the summit, watching the sunrise. It was relentless.

Why does this happen? Psychologists might call it a fixation, but I think it’s deeper. Mount Fuji isn’t just a mountain—it’s a cultural icon, a spiritual symbol in Japan for centuries. Shinto beliefs say kami (spirits) live in places like Fuji, and climbing it has been a pilgrimage since the 8th century. It’s not just a hike; it’s a rite of passage. Add in the viral allure of social media—everyone posting their summit selfies—and it became this bucket-list obsession I couldn’t shake. I had to do it, even if it meant facing my fears.

The Night Before: A Restless Mess

The night before the climb, I was a wreck. I couldn’t sleep a wink, tossing and turning in my Tokyo hotel room, my mind racing with nerves. I’d seen that infamous YouTube video where a Japanese creator tragically fell to his death while climbing Fuji, and I was convinced I’d be next. I’m scared of heights, I’ve got a partially fake right leg, and let’s be real—I’m not exactly the fittest bloke. My beer belly and I were in for a rough time. I genuinely thought, “This might be the end of me.”

I knew I couldn’t do it alone. I needed a friend, a local, someone to push me through the madness. Enter my amazing mate Shoto, a Japanese legend who agreed to join me. Knowing I had him by my side gave me a sliver of hope, but I was still a nervous mess.

The Climb Begins: Heat, Rain, and a Bus That Did the Hard Work

We started early on a swelteringly unbearable morning in Summer 2023. Unfortunately, you can only climb Fuji during the summer months (July to September) for safety reasons—outside of that, it’s too dangerous with snow and ice. But as an Australian, I never thought the heat would hit me like it did. I’m used to 40°C days Down Under, but this was next-level, “hot as hell” torture.

We grabbed supplies—water, snacks, and some trusty walking sticks from Kmart Australia (a must-have for this beast)—and caught a bus to Fuji. The easiest part of the climb was getting to the 5th station, and by “easiest,” I mean the bus did all the hard work while we sat there sweating buckets. Hilarious, right? We thought we were tough climbers, but the bus was the real MVP.

Here’s the kicker: it wasn’t just scorching—it was raining too! So there we were, battling both heat and rain in our wet weather gear, which did not help. The gear trapped the heat, turning us into walking saunas. I looked at Shoto and said, “Mate, we’re cooked—literally.”

The First Bit: Hell on Earth

Out of the entire trek, the first bit was absolute hell on earth. It was a steep incline up to the walkway, only about 200 meters long, but it sucked every ounce of energy out of us in one foul swoop. We had to stop several times just to catch our breath and hydrate, the heat unbearable in our soggy gear, the angle of the climb brutal. I’m not ashamed to admit we seriously considered quitting right then and there. I mean, who needs a summit when you’ve got a nice air-conditioned bus waiting, right?

But we pushed on, finally reaching the proper start: a zig-zag path that looked deceptively easy. It was like a road, winding up the mighty volcano to the 6th station. I thought, “This’ll be a breeze!” NOT ON YOUR LIFE. If the first bit didn’t take it all out of us, this zig-zag path was never-ending, a one-in-one incline that broke us. So many climbers gave up on this path alone, turning back with defeated looks on their faces. I don’t blame them—it felt like we were climbing into the abyss.

The Real Climb Begins: Fees, Tags, and Kmart Sticks to the Rescue

At the end of the zig-zag path, we reached a small office where staff collected our climbing fee (about 1,000 yen) and gave us a souvenir tag to say we’d climbed Fuji. But that tag had a second purpose: the colored string on it showed which path we were taking, a safety measure in case we got lost or needed help. Smart thinking, Fuji crew!

Now the real climb began. Thanks to those Kmart walking sticks, we started making progress, step by step, rock by rock, slowly but surely moving to the next stations. We stopped often to catch our breath and admire the view, which was already stunning. I’d been worried about my fear of heights—I thought the steepness would make me feel like I was falling—but the climb felt safe going up. Going down, though? That’s another story, and it was scary as hell (more on that later).

The problem for me was lifting my leg. With my right leg being partially prosthetic, stepping over rocks took a toll. Add in my lack of fitness—damn that beer belly—and I was struggling. Shoto, on the other hand, was a machine. He was bouncing from rock to rock, chatting to his girlfriend on his mobile the whole way up, not even needing his hiking stick. I was like, “Mate, are you even human?!”

Did I Want to Give Up? Hell Yes

Did it get a bit much? Did I want to give up? Absolutely. Mainly because it felt never-ending. Every corner we turned, the summit still seemed miles away. But we persevered, passing the 7th station and finally getting some relief from the heat as we entered the clouds. The air cooled, and the scenery started to feel otherworldly.

At the 8th station, we stopped for the night, and the view was beyond magical. We were above the clouds, the sun shimmering on them like a golden sea. It felt like we were floating, like a dream—nothing I could’ve ever imagined. We stayed in a cabin at the 8th station (as of 2023, you’re required to stay overnight on the mountain for safety). They provided a great energy-packed meal and a little breakfast box for the next morning, which was a lifesaver.

But sleep? That didn’t happen. The cabin was packed with loud, rude, arrogant tourists who wouldn’t let anyone rest. It was chaos! By 3 a.m., we were so fatigued and fed up that we decided to start climbing again, despite barely having slept.

The Final Push: So Close, Yet So Far

The morning was freezing—think “I’m gonna die” freezing—so we layered up. But as soon as we started moving, we overheated. A total catch-22! The glowing lights of Japan below were something to behold, though, lighting our way as we climbed with headlamps in hand.

I made it to the 9th station, just one station before the top—only 40 minutes from the summit! But then disaster struck: my headlamp gave out. I couldn’t see a thing, and it became too dangerous to continue. With my visual impairment and the uneven terrain, I knew I had to play it safe. I turned to Shoto and said, “Mate, I have to admit defeat. I’ve done more than I thought I could, but safety comes first.” I decided to head back down to the 8th station while Shoto pushed on to the summit for the sunrise.

The Descent: A Terrifying Slide in the Dark

I planned to wait at the 8th station for Shoto, but it was so cold I felt like I’d freeze to death. So I made the call to keep going down while I could—and I’m glad I did it in the dark. The descent path (a road they use to transport supplies up and down the volcano) was right on the edge, slippery as hell with loose, ball-bearing-sized rocks. I slid and fell several times, my heart racing as I imagined tumbling off the side. But here’s the thing: I’m glad it was dark. With my fear of heights, I’m convinced that if I’d done it during the day and seen the drop, I’d have needed a rescue team to get me down. Sometimes ignorance is bliss!

I made it to the bottom just as the sun started to light up the beautiful Japanese countryside. Once I was on a safe, non-slippery path, the scenery was stunning—worth every sweaty, terrifying moment.

The Aftermath: A Win in My Book

I waited at the bottom for three hours until Shoto joined me, and we took the bus back to Tokyo. Even though I didn’t make it to the top—just 40 minutes shy—I don’t feel like I failed. I feel like I won and smashed it out of the park. With my disability, my partially fake leg, my unhealthy, fat Aussie body, and my visual impairment, I went above and beyond anything I thought I could do. I climbed higher than I ever imagined, both literally and metaphorically.

Will I do it again? Absolutely not… but maybe, lol. That sunrise Shoto described sounds pretty epic, and I’m a sucker for a challenge. For now, though, I’ll stick to the wise man’s advice—one climb is enough for me. But if this story inspires you to take on Fuji, grab a mate like Shoto, pack those Kmart sticks, and brace yourself for a wild ride. You won’t regret it… probably!

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