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Bullet Climbing Mt. Fuji: A Day on Japan’s Most Iconic Mountain.
- Emmelia Potts
- Jun 8
- 23 min read
Where: Mt Fuji, Japan
Date: July 2023 (Climbing season runs from early July – Mid September)
Who: Ben, Erin and Myself (average age 36)
Why: In preperation for various mountain hikes ending on Mera Peak and general Himilayahs trecking.
The Start: Early Bus Ride to the 5th Station (Yoshida trail)
Our Mt. Fuji adventure began well before our first steps on the trail. Determined to avoid the crush of tourist crowds that flood the mountain each morning, we took an early bus from our hotel and arrived at the Fuji Subaru Line 5th Station around 4:45am.
The buses from Fuji Station run early in the morning to the 5th Station, allowing early risers to avoid the crowds. We stayed at The Highland Resort and Spa hotel because the buses also went to Fuji from here. If you are staying in a hut overnight for a sunrise summit, you won't need to be up at the crack of dawn, though.
Erin and I also deemed it of utmost importance to buy the timber walking sticks prior to starting this adventure. It is a plain stick of timber (available in 1ft, 4ft or 6ft lengths) that you can get stamped with Japanese logos at each station and hut on the mountain. For people who struggle with motivation, this is an excellent way to stay engaged throughout the challenge, as the stamps come thick and fast once you pass the 6th station. The stamps are also beautiful, and once your timber is fully stamped you are left with a beautiful piece of artwork to take home. We opted for the 4ft sticks and we managed to get all the stamps on. Note: there is a charge of 500 – 1000 yen per stamp so take cash with you if you wish to partake. Also, if you are starting early, as we did, the shops at the bottom of the mountain will be closed. You can however, buy your pole the day before in town, lots of shops around the train station sell them.
The Yoshida Trail starts at the Fuji Subaru Line 5th Station, located at an elevation of 2,305 meters (7,562 feet). This point is not only the most accessible by public transport but also the most popular starting point for climbers using the Yoshida Trail. From here, it’s roughly 1,470 meters (4,823 feet) of elevation gain to reach the summit at 3,776 meters (12,389 feet).
As the bus climbed the winding road up Mt. Fuji’s flanks, the sky lightened with hints of dawn. The air was cool and crisp, a welcome contrast to the warm July valley we had just left. At the station, a handful of other early risers were preparing for their own journeys, but overall the trailhead was quiet and serene. We geared up, layers on, a quick snack, poles at the ready and noted that the air did already feel thinner, before setting out at exactly 5:00am.
Though the Yoshida Trail is often associated with hut stays and crowded conditions, our early start gave us the sense of solitude and freedom we’d hoped for and I would highly recommend an early start if you want to avoid the masses of visitors this mountain receives. We passed shuttered shops and quiet rest areas at the 5th Station, knowing the calm wouldn’t last long and inevitably we were going to be flung into crowds nearer the summit.
As we set off along the flat, stoney path the sun began to break through the clouds, casting long orange streaks across the sky and lighting up Japans stunning countryside. It was the beautiful view, serene environment and very flat pathway that put us all in a deep sense of false security that the day ahead would be a walk in the park.
Trail Overview: Elevations, Timings, and the Human Touch on Fuji
The Yoshida Trail is by far the most popular route up Mt. Fuji, known for its accessibility and mountain huts. Compared to some other mountains, it is heavily commercialised and you really are never alone. It is an excellent beginner's mountain for support through the duration of the climb.
We started our climb from the Fuji Subaru Line 5th Station, sitting at 2,305 meters (7,562 ft). From there, it was a steady, upward journey to the summit at 3,776 meters (12,389 ft) — a total elevation gain of 1,471 meters (4,827 ft). While many climbers break this up into a two-day hike, we aimed for a bullet climb, tackling the ascent and descent in one go. This was mainly to avoid the large crowds throughout the climb. Crowds and narrow pathways do not make for fun and we preferred to go at our own pace throughout the course of one day rather than have the pace dictated to us by other climbers.
For anyone thinking a bullet climb of Fuji is an unobtainable goal, it really is not. Yes, you need to start early and yes it is hard going. However, if you train correctly, it is more than achievable and you are rewarded by smaller crowds at the top, clear pathways on the ascent and a comfy bed to sleep in rather than a cramped hut on the mountain.
I had wanted to do the climb in two days as I had suffered the effects of altitude sickness previously on an excursion back in 2009 to Annapurna base camp. However, Ben my partner, who had never climbed a mountain before, said we should do it in a day and that it would be fine. This was mainly because the thought of being pressed against strangers in a small space on the side of a mountain did not appeal. So, not being one for smiting, an optimistic, “let’s just do it” attitude I agreed to the bullet climb.
However, I did air on the side of caution:
“You do need to train for this, we can’t wing it”“We need to fuel and drink plenty during the hike”“You need to do stabilising and mobility drills in preparation, it's not just walking”“Coming down will be the hardest bit”
I think the last three fell on deaf ears slightly, but in my mind, it would be okay as he was with me and Erin and we would look after each other.
Our aim was to reach the summit no later than 11am. The buses back to the town stop at 5pm so we had to ensure we were on that last bus. Here’s a breakdown of the key stations and our rough timings during the climb. We ended up on the 3:30 pm bus back to the hotel:
Station | Elevation | Approx. Time Reached | Notes |
5th Station | 2,305 m (7,562 ft) | 5:00 am | Start point; gear up & grab breakfast. |
6th Station | 2,390 m (7,841 ft) | ~5:30 am | Short distance; trail merges here. |
7th Station | 2,700 m (8,858 ft) | ~6:30 am | First long haul; huts & food stalls. |
Original 8th Station | 3,100 m (10,170 ft) | ~7:45 am | Trail steepens; wind picking up. |
8.5th Station | 3,450 m (11,319 ft) | ~8:30 am | Nearly there but hardest stretch very steed and terrain unpredictable |
Summit (Kengamine Peak) | 3,776 m (12,389 ft) | ~9:30/10 am | Reached just in time for a relax at the top and a steady decent. |
A Not-So-Natural Mountain
One unexpected thing we noticed? Mt. Fuji is far from untouched wilderness. Excavation works were happening all over the mountain, bulldozers, fencing, and active construction on rest areas made parts of the trail feel like a giant was slowly reassembling the mountain piece by piece. There’s a bittersweet tension here, the reverence of Japan’s most sacred peak, and the very human imprint of infrastructure and tourism management.
That said, it was fascinating to witness. Mt. Fuji isn’t just a dormant volcano; it’s a living system of workers, climbers, food vendors, engineers, and caretakers, all working to keep it climbable and accessible. Is it sad that this majestic creature has been tainted by humans to this extreme? Yes, it is. However, anything other than support towards this work would be deemed hypocritical as someone that has climbed Fuji. The area is indeed a tourist hot spot and is very busy generally but the Japanese have harnessed this, are making it work for them and are preserving the mountain as they see fit. It is worth noting that whilst over tourism may be the issue, there were other reasons for the unsightly construction works.
I asked a lady at one of the station huts about locals walking up the mountain and she replied that it is quite common for the Japanese to climb Fuji regularly for clarity, peace and wellbeing. She explained that the construction work was indeed to help the mountain cope with more footfall, however, it was also to make it more accessible to older members of the Japanese public who wished to carry on climbing Fuji into their older years but could not cope with the terrain. Fuji was not just the tourist trap I had previously deemed it to be, it was a pilgrimage and training ground for the people of Japan on a regular basis during the climbing season.
The Ascent: Wind, Altitude, and Finding Our Own Tempos
We set off from the 5th Station at 5:00 am, determined to make the summit before the crowds caught up. The trail began gently with wide gravel switchbacks with a moderate incline, surrounded by scrubby greenery and thin alpine trees. The surface was mostly compacted volcanic dirt with patches of loose rock, but easy going at this early stage.
We arrived at the 6th Station in about 25 minutes; the path leading to here was fairly level and solid with a few slopes made from volcanic rock. Whilst this portion of the climb in hind sight was the easiest, the three of us were shocked to hear our breathing.
“Bloody hell, I’m already heaving through my arse cheeks” I exclaimed to the team.
Ben chuckled and marched on diligently, clearly in the zone for his first mountain. Erin and I ploughed on, breathing heavily and questioning our life decisions.
“Why do we do these things?” Erin laughed.
“I am not sure” I thought to myself.
I must admit, I was a little concerned that I was so out of breath so early on and began to wonder if at the ripe old age of 33 I should perhaps just get fat and stop these silly challenges. It is important to note here, negative thoughts will always populate your brain during a challenge at some point, whether that is a marathon, a 5km run, learning a new skill or climbing a mountain. This thought loomed a bit earlier for me than usual during a challenge, but in typical fashion, I noted the negativity and decided not to listen to the doubt. In a few hours, we would be on top of Japan and it would all be worth it.
Marching on through the trees and gasping for air at the opening in the trees we had arrived at the 6th station.
“STICK STAMPS!” I gleefully cried, trying to smother the sound of my breathlessness from the others.
Erin and I peered through hut windows and glanced around like lost children trying to find their parents in the supermarket.
“Next station” A mountain guide reassured a crestfallen Erin and I.
“You watch us carry this bit of wood to the top for no reason” I mused to Ben, who was merrily carrying his hiking pole from home, having opted for correct kit.
After a station wee (most stations have toilets, again there is a charge), we glanced up to see tiny white dots in the distance on the mountain face, denoting the stations and huts on our route ahead. We could also see the small zig zags weaving up the mountain right to the summit on such a clear day.
“Lets get going!” Ben grinned. Fully enjoying the experience.
At station six the real mountain begins, station five was the warm up, much to my lungs disapproval. The path narrows out of station six and steepens noticeably, winding up in long zigzags. The terrain turned dusty, with a mix of volcanic ash and crumbling rock underfoot, a kind of gritty, ankle-sucking surface that demanded careful foot placement and a level of core stability.
We were fortunate enough to have a clear, sunny day, however, it was already windy on the mountain face. There was not a continuous breeze to become accustomed to; instead, you would be happily trudging up the path, nothing but the sun beating down on your back and the compression of your footsteps in the lava rock, to be met with a sudden gust that would knock you sideways and sometimes off your feet. We soon learnt to lean into the gusts as we climbed and to assume the position at all times. Falling onto dried volcanic stone is not nice on the hands!
Between the 6th and 7th stations Erin, who had been steady and strong, told us she wanted to take her time with the altitude. Important note on climbing in a group: not everyone will climb at the same pace, and everyone will acclimatise at different stages. You are better off climbing on your own comfortably than feeling rushed and pressured to speed up. Equally, some people will be best to stride on at their own pace. You can not chastise people or force people to go at a speed that does not serve them.
Ben and I were happy to wait for Erin, but this made her feel like she had to speed up. If someone requests you do something to help them get up a mountain (or down), do it, they know their own bodies, you cannot determine how they conquer this challenge, you have to support them the way they wish. Therefore, after a bit of back and forth about how we were not leaving her, Erin encouraged Ben and me to continue ahead. I knew what Erin was capable of from the Mongol Derby. Her grit had already carried her through the world's toughest and longest horse race, she knew exactly how to manage herself. Ben and I nodded and pressed on.
“See you at the next hut!” I promised as Ben marched up ahead.
Somewhere between the 6th and 7th Stations, I was having a break from tailing Bens bottom. I stopped to look up and absorb the stunning view across Japan and to watch the dots of people behind us wind up the volcanic paths. Erin was not far behind as I noted her bright white top. She was happy for us to leave her but I was always mindful to keep tabs on people to make sure we were all okay.
As I traced the path up from Erin to myself, I spotted something surreal: a corgi, tail wagging, trotting up the trail with its owner on the path just below me. It wore little boots to protect his feet from the sharp earth and looked impossibly cheerful, ears flapping in the wind. Occasionally, he would calmly survey the path behind, waiting for his owner like a seasoned alpinist. It was one of those moments that made the whole climb feel even more surreal, a fluffy reminder that this mountain draws everyone and if the little corgi can do it, so can you! I tucked in behind the pairing and followed them up to catch up with Ben who had stopped for a water break.
“Are we there yet?” I jested
We gazed up at the trail ahead, breathing heavily.
“No, apparently not”, I answered myself. “But there is a hut there, so we can get stamps!”
We arrived at the 7th station in good spirits. Noting the time of the day and that we had plenty of time left to reach the summit. We glanced down the mountain and saw Erin just below.
“I am going stamp hunting” I decided, and wandered off to find a man in a hut with his hot metal branding kit to adorn my length of timber. It was worth every Yen. The hot carving was a beautiful picture and watching the process itself was incredible.
“Hi Guys, do I see stamps?”
“YES! Just there!” I pointed, far too excited to collect every possible one on the route.
We sipped our water bladders, had snacks from our back packs and had a general check in with how everyone felt.
“I feel good as long as I keep going”, Ben said
“I don’t feel great” Replied Erin, “but I just need to take time to adapt, you guys please don’t wait for me”
I was stuck in the middle. I wanted Ben to plough on as it was his first time doing this sort of thing and he was loving it. He was motivated by churning through the challenge. I really did not want to leave Erin though. Was it possible to act as a bridge between the two?
We all departed station 7 together, Erin and I with our newfound excitement for making it to the next hut just ahead for a new stamp. As we climbed higher, the air began to thin further, and the footing became more unpredictable.
Between the 7th and Original 8th Station, the trail required careful scrambling in parts up solid, sharp volcanic lava that had cooled and hardened. Some sections had us using both hands to pull ourselves up over rough boulders or to steady ourselves on narrow ledges of loose stone. We were now above 3,000 meters, and every step took more effort.
I would shout back to Erin fun things up ahead, such as terrain changes or stamp prospects, but she continued to slow. I shouted forward to Ben to try and stall him so Erin could catch up. After trying a few times, I realised I needed to stop controlling the situation and just let everyone do their own thing and focus on myself. My breathing was becoming increasingly unhappy, and my legs were heavier.
“Get yourself up there, Emmelia” I thought “The other two are okay”
Along this upper stretch, it began to get a little busier as people caught up with us, we also started encountering something incredible: Japanese trail runners. Lean, focused, and practically flying up the mountain. No hiking sticks, no heavy packs, just hydration vests and light shoes. They bounded past with almost no effort, dodging rocks and scrambling up steep sections like mountain goats. They were pure endurance machines, and watching them gave me an odd mix of admiration and total disbelief. It was humbling and motivating.
“What incredible people” I said to Ben as I caught up to him at a mountain hut and was waiting for my stick to be stamped. “That is just a new level of fitness”
At the 8th Station, there were a lot more people now accumulating around the huts, taking breaks, and we started to talk to some other hikers. It was here that we first heard the summit had been temporarily closed due to the increasingly high winds. Gusts were now strong enough to throw us totally off balance, even if we were prepared. There was an unspoken weight among the climbers now. Should we keep going? Would we be turned back just shy of our goal?
“I think I am going to go back down”, One American lady said “I don’t see the point in suffering any more for no summit”
“It might be open by the time you get there, the wind might die down. We just were not allowed up at the top this morning” Said a young British girl who was descending from her sunrise summit view (she had stayed overnight).
I looked down the mountain, Erin was nowhere to be seen.
“I think we should keep going and hope it opens” I put to Ben. He nodded in agreement.“We need to let Erin know about the possibility, though and that we will meet her at the 8.5 station if it is closed”
I whipped out my phone, and fortunately, there was signal. After updating Erin and making sure she was okay we decided to keep climbing and hope the summit would reopen.
The final ascent from the 8th Station to the crater rim was brutal. The gradient became punishing, and the trail surface broke down into dry, fine volcanic dust over sharp rock. Your boots sank into the ash and slid on the stones, turning every step into two. The wind roared; it was clear to see why the summit was closed. Every breath was shorter, shallower. My legs were beyond heavy and I trudged behind Ben, willing my lungs to not give out. I relied heavily on my wooden hiking stick, now proudly stamped at every station and every hut.
“I can't wait to get you home you beauty”, I thought to myself.
Arriving at station 8.5 (or station 9 as it is sometimes known), we were a little disheartened to see that it was a wreck of its former glory. Any huts were dilapidated, no food, no drinks, no stamps. We sat for a few minutes and tucked into the supplies in our bags.
“Not long now”, Ben pointed upwards. “It looks open, people are at the top!”I followed his finger pointing to the top of the mountain, there were indeed specs moving around in the distance, people!
Overcome with joy that our climb had not been for no reason, we stood up and pressed on.
“I am going to have ramen at the top!” Ben gleefully noted.
“And we can chill and wait for Erin!” I replied.
With the new prospect of nearly having completed the climb our legs suddenly were not so heavy and my lungs had found a new lease of life despite a slight headache beginning to appear.
“Take it easy” I thought to myself, knowing that headaches up mountains when you have been hydrating well can be an early sign of altitude sickness. I slowed my pace and took the last few switchbacks slowly.
Then, as Ben and I pushed through one of the final switchbacks, we looked up and saw the Torii gates displaying the access to the summit.
“Done!” Ben cheered as we walked through the gates and up to the huts on the summit.
“Thank God it's open”, I mused as the wind threatened to pull my feet from underneath me.
Ben and I had a scan around the summit for five minutes to realise that none of the huts were open and therefore, summit ramen was not going to happen. Instead we lay on the benches as the clouds danced around us in the biting wind.
“Don’t fall asleep”, I thought, reminding myself of another risk with altitude sickness from Nepal.
After ten minutes we thought to check on Erin and see if we could see her yet. Ben and I wandered to the Torii gate and glanced down. I glanced to the furthest visible path for look for a bright white top, and followed the path to the Tori gate, nothing.
“She should be visible by now”, I said to Ben, concerned.
“She is there!” he pointed to the path just below us. Sure enough, Erin was powering up the mountain. She had acclimated perfectly to her slower pace, and now, seemingly recharged by the altitude, she was charging up the final slope with the energy of someone on mile two, not hour four. She flew past other climbers with that fearless Derby determination.
“Hi Guys!” She announced at the top, seemingly fine and ready to go again.
It just goes to show we all acclimatise at our own paces.
The Summit: Clouds, Crater Walks, and a Sunday Stroll (Corgi Included)
Reaching the summit of Mt. Fuji felt like stepping into another world — not just because of the altitude, but because of the strange, surreal calm that greeted us. At 3,776 meters (12,389 ft), we were technically standing on the rooftop of Japan, but the feeling was more dreamlike than triumphant. The clouds swirled thickly around our bodies, sometimes breaking just long enough to reveal a view far below.
Normally, the summit is dotted with small shops and stalls selling hot drinks, ramen, and celebratory summit snacks, so if you do climb Fuji, take plenty of cash for a summit replenish for your decent, you will need it! However, due to the strong winds earlier that morning, the summit huts had been closed entirely. This meant no summit ramen, no hot tea, no celebratory Coke, a small disappointment, but understandable given the conditions. At this point in time, none of us had any concerns about the descent and what not eating lunch would do to our bodies.
Blissfully unaware of how gruelling the descent would be, we wandered the crater edge slowly, letting our legs recover as we soaked in the moment. The ground up here is uneven and rocky, with patches of black and red volcanic stone, and occasional signage pointing out different crater features or warning you to stay back from fragile ledges. The wind remained fierce but strangely exhilarating as we peered over into the crater.
We sat down for a while, our jackets wrapped tightly against the chill, and watched as others began to reach the top. Because the summit had reopened later in the morning, the usual crowd from the sunrise climbers had already descended, leaving the summit surprisingly quiet.
Whilst sitting and absorbing the view, I caught sight of the corgi we had seen halfway now trotting around the summit with the calm confidence of someone out for a Sunday stroll. Tongue out, tail wagging, completely unbothered by the altitude or the chaos of wind and dust. He did not look tired at all.
We took photos. Lots of them. The crater behind us, the clouds wrapping around us, group shots with our stamped hiking sticks, each one proof that we had made it, that we had done something tough and beautiful together. There was no summit sunrise for us that day, but the peace at the top and during the climb more than made up for that.
And then, it was time to start heading down
The Descent: Dust, Humility, and the Long Way Down
After taking in the summit, with its swirling clouds, crater views, and the surprisingly chill corgi, it was time to descend. But not before feeling the first real pang of hunger. Normally, climbers reward themselves at the top with a steaming bowl of ramen or a hot drink from the summit huts, but with everything closed that morning due to wind, we hadn’t eaten a proper meal in hours. It was a small but important reminder that on Mt. Fuji, you can’t count on services to be open, especially at the summit. Fortunately, we had taken backpacks of snacks and water. However, pringles, chocolate and Skittles, whilst good for energy bursts, were not quite enough to sustain us for the climb and the descent.
As we began the descent, we immediately ran into the logistical side of Fuji’s popularity. The top section of the trail was now much busier than it had been in the early morning, with waves of hikers still making their ascent. The narrow, shared path meant weaving carefully around those coming up, pausing frequently on the steeper parts to let groups pass. This stop-start rhythm slowed us down considerably, especially with the terrain at the top being broken, uneven lava fields, where each step could be a small scramble or a loose rock just waiting to roll your ankle.
Not long into the descent, we had a satisfying little twist of fate: we spotted a couple from a tour we had done the day before. The man had spent much of the previous afternoon proudly talking about his past military training and mountaineering credentials. His girlfriend, in contrast, had been nervous and unsure about attempting Fuji at all. So you can imagine our quiet delight when we first saw her, confidently striding up the mountain with a great pace, and then, several minutes later, her boyfriend, red-faced and wheezing, struggling to keep up. He was being thoroughly humbled by the mountain. Fuji, as it turns out, is an excellent equaliser and again goes to show how altitude affects everyone differently. It is not to be taken lightly!
Eventually, we reached the diversion point near the 8th Station that splits off for the descent trail. Most people miss this detail until they’re on the mountain, but you do not descend on the same trail you came up. Instead, you’re funnelled down a separate path, a long, winding, steep route composed almost entirely of loose volcanic gravel and scree. The surface here is different from the ascent, much more unstable and slippery, and the switchbacks are constant and sharp, cutting across barren slopes that seem to go on forever.
There are no huts, no shops, no shade, and nothing to break up the monotony. It’s just dust, rocks, heat, and your own footsteps for hours. The descent is deceptive; it looks easy, but it punishes unprepared legs.
As we moved down the dusty slope, Erin and I walked together, chatting and laughing whenever one of us would slide and nearly fall (which was often). There’s a certain camaraderie that forms when you’re half-skiing down a mountain on your feet. Ben, however, wasn’t having such a breezy time. Whilst he had devoured the climb with relative ease, his knees had started to struggle with the relentless downhill impact, and we slowed our pace to support him.
If there’s one thing people don’t train for enough on a climb like this, it’s the descent. Everyone prepares for the glory of the summit, but your legs need to be just as ready for the long haul down, especially your knees, ankles, and balance. The descent from Mt. Fuji is not technical, but it is gruelling. The terrain shifts underfoot constantly, and there are few landmarks or mental checkpoints to track progress.
As the hours passed, the air slowly began to thicken again, making breathing feel easier, a small reward. But that return to lower altitude brought with it a new urgency: we were now extremely hungry. The last few kilometres were spent fantasising about our next meal.
Toward the bottom of the trail, signs began to appear, graphic warnings about landslides and falling rocks.
“Death by rockfall,” they reminded us, in blunt cartoon form.
These weren’t just for show; the lower slopes of Fuji are still quite active, and the trail passes through several manmade concrete shelters designed to protect climbers from debris during sudden shifts.
Finally, after what felt like hours of the same view and endless dusty switchbacks, the slope began to level out. We hit the flatter trail near the 5th Station, and the gravel gave way to firmer footing. The temperature had warmed, the trees reappeared, and we finally said goodbye to the Martian terrain above.
Our descent had taken longer than we expected. We were tired, dust-covered, and oh so hungry, but also buzzing with that special kind of satisfaction that only comes from finishing something hard. Mt. Fuji had tested each of us differently, and taught us in different ways.
As we arrived in the courtyard of the 5th station, it was manic. People were setting off at the last available slot to start climbing and people were sitting waiting for the bus. If you are relying on the bus to get back to town, you need to be aware that there are not many of them and they will be hot, cramped, and you are on it for around 45 minutes. There are plenty of restaurants and cafes at station five so I would recommend having a rest and food before catching a bus to ensure you are okay to withstand 45 minutes of standing in such conditions.
One of our party members did not eat enough during the day and found themselves passing out on the bus trip. This could have been avoided if we had all just taken the time at the 5th station to stop for a drink and some food instead of panicking about the buses. You live and learn.
Final Reflections & Tips for Future Climbers
Bullet climbing Mt. Fuji is not just a hike, it’s an experience that lives with you long after you’ve dusted off your boots. It’s a challenge that tests your legs, your lungs, your patience, and, occasionally, your pride. It’s a place where military-trained hikers get humbled by the gradient, where tiny corgis confidently strut to the summit, and where friendships strengthen between altitude headaches and wind-battered ridge lines.
But Fuji isn’t something to underestimate. If you're planning your own ascent, here are some thoughts we wished we’d known going in:
1. Bullet Climbing? Do Your Research.
We climbed Fuji in a single push, a "bullet climb", starting early in the morning and reaching the summit in about 4 hours. It’s doable, but it’s not easy. Altitude sickness is real, and pacing is everything. Consider breaking your climb with an overnight stay in a hut if you're unsure of how your body handles high altitudes.
2. Start Early, Beat the Crowds.
We left the 5th Station at 5:00 am, and it made all the difference. The lower trail was peaceful, and we reached the summit just as the crowds from sunrise began descending. Later in the day, it gets significantly more congested.
3. Don’t Rely on Shops Being Open.
Weather conditions can shut down summit facilities without notice. Bring enough food and water to be self-sufficient, especially if you’re bullet climbing. The stalls at the stations are wonderful (delicious noodle bowls, friendly staff, stamps!), but nothing is guaranteed once you’re up high.
4. The Descent is Brutal, Train for It.
Everyone trains for the climb up. Few train for the way down. The descent is long, dusty, and relentless, with sliding volcanic gravel and no places to rest or refuel. Your knees and ankles will take a pounding. Practice long downhill walks if you’re prepping, and bring poles if your joints are sensitive.
5. Altitude is the Wild Card.
You can be fit, fast, and full of energy, and still feel like you’ve been hit by a truck above 3,000m. Erin took her time, let her body adapt, and ended up flying up the final section. Listen to your body, and respect the altitude.
6. Enjoy the Unexpected Moments.
From chance encounters with trail runners and tour group rivals, to seeing a corgi living his best mountain life, Fuji is full of surprises. Leave room in your schedule (and your mindset) for the small, human, and heartwarming. Take time to look up and enjoy what you are doing!
7. The Mountain is Half Natural, Half Engineered.
It’s worth noting that Mt. Fuji is constantly under construction. You’ll see diggers, excavation projects, reinforced shelters against landslides, and long stretches of manmade concrete pathways. It’s a living, breathing mountain, but it’s also a carefully managed landscape. Respect both sides of it.
8. Kit is everything
Ensure you take the correct hiking boots or trainers that are broken in! You need to make sure your feet are comfortable. Breathable socks are also a good idea. Carry blister pads in your back pack just incase. If you don’t have good feet, you are going to struggle, so look after them. Layer up. It can be stiflingly hot near the 5th and 6th stations and Icey cold above the 8th, especially if its windy and cloudy. Be prepared for all weathers and temperatures. Sunglasses and a sunhat are a must. Suncream and long sleeves are also a must. A working phone. You can get signal and data at the top, which was a great way of keeping in touch with Erin to make sure she was okay. Poles. If you do not want a timber one, it is worth taking a folding trekking pole with you to help with the uneven surfaces and to alleviate your knees during the descent.
If you’re thinking about climbing Fuji, do it; it is not impossible. Prepare well, pack light, and bring your patience. And when you’re tired, sunburnt, and sliding your way down a gravel slope with dust in your teeth, just remember: even the toughest moments on this mountain become your best memories later. Especially if there’s a corgi at the top.
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