What's Worse Than Climbing Mt. Fuji?

Climbing most of Mt. Fuji. Yes, Brian and I are sad to report that we nearly made it to the summit of Mt. Fuji last weekend. The night before, Brian spiked a fever and we almost canceled the trip altogether. But in the final hour, we decided to proceed as planned since this was our last chance to climb the elusive (more like abusive) "Fuji-san."

After settling Sydney and Miranda into their beds at our friends' houses, we tucked ourselves into bed for a mere four hours before rising at 1am to make it to the bus that would bring us to the fifth station of Mt. Fuji. Unfortunately, we didn't get any more sleep that night, and by 5:45am we were on our way.

It was a beautiful clear morning. The temperature was cool, although the sun and activity kept us warm in shorts. We had high hopes. When we reached the 7th station, we received the first of many "stamps" on our climbing sticks. For 200 yen each, these iron-branded markings are a rite of passage for tourists climbing the various stations and huts along the ascending path of Fuji.

It was a breath-taking experience, in more ways than one. Yes, I was huffing and puffing always trailing behind Brian, but even when I stopped to take in the natural scenery, it took my breath away. The sky was so blue, and even when the clouds rolled in and enveloped us, it seemed like we were on our way to heaven. Well, via hell, maybe. After all, it was a long and agonizing trek along mostly steep upgrades of slippery volcanic gravel, with the occasional stint of rock climbing. Though neither of us complained, as we were committed to the challenge, and checked the map at each station or hut and trudged along. But apparently too slowly, as time was ticking away.

We finally passed the first of two wooden tori gates signaling the summit was near. We were halfway between the first and 2nd tori gate (the summit). But I was uncomfortable and needed time to use my breast pump before there would be no more stations on the descending path. So, after we estimated how far we were from the summit, weighed our remaining time and how we were both feeling, we decided we had to turn around to make it back to the tour bus on time. Now in addition to fatigue, we were feeling disheartened and defeated...and still had to spend several more hours descending the mountain.

By the end of our 11-hour Fuji experience, I realized it is only fitting that my flag was at half-mast ever since our last station stop. I wasn't the one to lower it, which makes it all the more ironic. I simply got tired of moving it back up after receiving each stamp. But it was indeed a sad symbol of our disappointment, especially since it drew more attention to the fact that our sticks didn't have the final stamp from the top.

You may notice Brian's flag is missing altogether; that's because he removed it. I'm not sure if it was because it was a literal or figurative "slap in the face" as we descended the mountain. But he has declared he will climb Fuji again...it's just a matter of when. I'm not sure if I find it necessary, despite my disappointment. Been there, done that...or should I say, enough of that.