横浜から富士山頂へ

4. From Yokohama to the summit of Fuji-san.

Fuji-san (Fuji Mt.) or (poetically) Fuji-no-yama (Mt. of Fuji), often referred to as Fuji, and as Fuji-yama; the loftiest, best known, most beautiful and most sacred of the Japanese peaks; a dormant volcano on the border line between Kai and Sagami Provinces, stands (approx.) in lat. 35° 06' N., and long. 138° 51' E. of Greenwich, 42 M. from Yokohama, near the sea and rly. Although its height is given usually as 12,365 ft. (a figure rememorative inferentially from the 12 months and 365 days of the year), the Geographical Survey records Kengamine ('sword peak'), the highest point, on the W. side, as measuring 12,400 ft. To sailors Fuji is a landmark and a beacon visible 100 M. at sea on a clear day; and to travelers entering Tokyo Bay it is a figure in a picture which time never succeeds in erasing entirely from the mind. The word Fuji, written in Romaji (p. cxxvii), means 'wistaria,' but the ideographic symbol is written differently and carries other meanings. According to Mr. J. Batchelor, an authority on Ainu matters, the name Fuji was given to the mt. by the primitive Ainus, and to them represents the Goddess of Fire. The Japanese have a score or

more names for it, most of them with poetic reference to its manifold and fadeless charms. As the highest expression of the predominatingly mountainous character of Japan, Fuji is covered with snow about 10 months of the year, and is a weather-sign and prognostic for farmers and sailors. Cultivated plains sweep up its base for a distance of 1200 ft. or more, thence to about 4000 ft. it is belted with bamboo-grass and stunted trees. Forests of pine and other trees mark it to the 6000 ft. level on the N. side, and to about 8000 ft. on the S. Scattered amid these trees is such a great variety of plant life that a book (The Vegetation of Mt. Fuji, by B. Hayata, Lecturer on Botany in the Botanical Institute of the Imperial University at Tokyo — on sale at the bookstores, ¥2.50) has been needed to catalogue it. Beyond this forest one crosses alternate stretches of volcanic detritus — fields of clinkers and cinders, of broken doleritic lava and similar materials. Fuji stands practically isolated; anciently the grassy slopes of Ashitaka-yama (3950 ft.), the rugged range at the S.E., were the favorite breeding-grounds of wild mustangs, and the sword-like bamboo-grass which now grows there so prolifically is believed by the credulous to cure all the diseases to which horses are subject.

Perhaps no single figure in the Japanese landscape is so often portrayed on the various products of native art and industry as Fuji-san; it is carved on wood, metal, and ivory, and is painted on silks, lacquer, porcelains, fans, and a host of fabrics. The artists seem never to tire of it. The favorite method is to show it enveloped in fleecy clouds or with white storks flying athwart its sides. So famous and so universally admired is this sacrosanct peak that wherever in Japan a conical mt. is found, it is called the local Fuji, and few indeed are the celebrated landscape gardens that has not one miniature of it. It figures in the background of scores of Japanese scenes, and every native feels it his or her duty to climb it once at least during a lifetime. A whimsical proverb exists in the language to the effect that 'There are two kinds of fools in Japan; those who have never climbed Fuji, and those who have climbed it twice.* Another one says that if one dreams of Fuji, one will receive promotion to high rank, or will win great prosperity. Fuji is unusually beautiful for a mt. of such size. Despite its loftiness the climb to its summit is relatively easy; no risks attend the ascent; good lungs, a strong heart, a level head at great altitudes, and perseverance are the chief requisites. There are no dizzy ridges that upset one's equilibrium too much, and near the top, where the air is rarest and one feels the fatigue the most, are stationed stout coolies (gdrifd) with a ' pull ' in the shape of a strong rope which they fasten to the traveler's belt, lay over their own brawny shoulders, and make for the top in a whirl of energy and enthusiasm. The record time (8 hrs.) for the ascent from Tarobo Station to the summit is held by an

* Paraphrasing a witty writer, Fuji-san has what mortals rarely possess united: A warm heart, with a clear, cold head! It is a titanic crucible out of which in past ages, the surrounding country has been poured, and one which may again leave its mark on Japan; for an inspection of its summit proves it far from being dead. Most foreigners consider it the most beautiful object in the Mikado's Empire, and many climb it for the sake of the entrancing panorama visible from its supernal heights. Nothing in Japan compares to this in transcendental beauty, and few mts. of the world offer so varied a view — a blend of land and exquisite sea. The Japanese mention 13 provinces from which Fuji is visible, called Fuji-mi-ju-san-shu, but the vista from the summit is almost limitless. Whosoever can, should get a near view of the mt. by moonlight, preferably on a frosty night when the snow reaches far down its sides. It is then like a colossal inverted cone of white sugar, with a suggestion of ghostliness more pronounced even than when it shows through the haze of a summer day.

According to tradition, Fuji rose from the plain in a single night in b.c. 286, coincident with the forming of the great depression now covered by the waters of Lake Biwa. It is thought to have continued active for centuries; history mentions the last of the numerous devastating eruptions as having lasted from Nov. 24, 1707, to Jan. 22, 1708. During this period a new crater was opened on the S. side, and the parasitic mound of Hoei-zan (so-called from the name of the era during which it happened) was built up to the height of about 9500 ft. Of this outburst a priest, whose temple was 9 M. from the E. base of the mt. writes: —

'Assuredly it is an unusual event, that, as was the case in 1707, Fuji-no-yama suddenly opened in a place overgrown with splendid trees to vomit fire, so that stones and showers of ashes flew about and fell down in provinces and districts. These showers of stones and ashes lasted for ten days, so that fields, temples, houses, etc. were covered with ejected matter more than 10 ft. deep. The dwellers in the neighborhood of Fuji lost their homes, and many of them died of hunger. I myself was one of the unhappy eye witnesses of this terrible eruption, and the remembrance of it fills me with pain and woe/

The terror and confusion caused by the mt. are described in a graphic way; the clouds of ashes turned the days into murky nights, and these ashes were accompanied by red-hot stones, which flew hissing through the air. Finally the jarring din of earthquakes was added to complete the measure of misery. In Yedo there was darkness by day and night; the earth shook, and the ashes covered the houses there to a thickness of several inches. The roaring of the angry volcano was heard quite plainly, and all Japan was stricken with awe by its wrath.

Time, Cost, and Outfit. A quick ascent of Fuji and a return to Yokohama can be made in about 36 hrs., and more leisurely in 48 hrs. A sturdy climber can, by leaving Subashiri at 2-3

a.m. reach the summit at noon, and after spending 2 hrs. there (one of which will be needed to make the approx. 2 M. circuit of the crater), descend comfortably in 4-5 hrs. It is well to remember, however, that a storm may delay one at any point, and prolong the trip several days. Traveling on the mt. in a storm is dangerous, and should not be attempted — particularly when a strong wind is blowing. The ascent is less tiresome on a cloudy day, for when the sun pours down upon one, and the volcanic scoria reflects its rays into one's eyes, it becomes burdensome. The best season is thought to be late July or early Aug. Residents sometimes plan to start on the tail of a typhoon, in the belief that clear weather will prevail for a few days thereafter. Perhaps the best plan is to leave Yokohama early in the afternoon, reach Subashiri before night, and plan for an early start so as to reach No. 6 or No. 8 station leisurely in the afternoon. Certain experienced travelers recommend No. 6 rest-house as the best at which to pass the night, as mt. sickness (nausea and headache) is less likely to attack one here than higher up, where sleep might be difficult. By leaving this station ( Rokugdme ) at 3 a.m. one can easily reach the summit before sunrise, and enjoy one of the grandest prospects in nature. On the other hand, No. 8 ( Hachigome, 10,000 ft.) is the usual stopping-place, and one can scramble thence to the summit in an hr. The cold, etc., here often renders sleep impossible. At No. 8 the Gov't maintains a telephone-office, a post-office where a special canceling-stamp is used on mail matter deposited; a meteorological observatory (daily reports to Yokohama, of interest to intending climbers), a Small hospital with a doctor and nurses for those attacked by mt. sickness, and a place (fewer fleas than elsewhere) in which foreigners can find lodging for the night with some pretense of comfort.

The Cost of the rly. ticket from Yokohama to Gotemba is ¥2.70, 2d cl.; the tram thence to Subashiri, 90 sen. There are a number of inns near the Gotemba station, conspicuous among them the Fujiya Hotel (2 min., right) where semi-foreign food can be had at reasonable prices. The usual charge for a night's lodging, hot water, and fire, at the mt. stations is from ¥2 to ¥3.50, but it is advisable to have a clear understanding before engaging them. The tickets issued by the Gotemba Trade Guild, while aimed to save one the extortionate prices often charged at the rest-houses, are of little use to foreigners. Police regulations fix the hire of a guide from Subashiri to the summit and back at ¥3.50, but at the last moment one usually learns that an additional ¥3.50 must be paid if the guide (or coolie who acts as guide and carries his employer's supplies — about 50 lbs. weight) is kept overnight. Discussion can be saved if one will reach an agreement with his man before starting. ¥5 is enough for a coolie for 2 persons.

The Climber should take as much of an outfit as he can, as supplies on the mountain are costly. The seasoned food to which he is accustomed (and which appears to have a double value after he has strenuously reached high places) will prove far more acceptable than the sugarless tea, saltless rice, sweetish soft drinks of doubtful purity, and other pseudo goodies obtainable en route. He will develop a craving for acidulous fruit and drinks, and he will find that oranges, lemons, and the Clifford-Wilkinson Tansan, Ginger Ale, and Lemonade will satisfy this craving quicker than will anything else. A few drops of lemon juice squeezed into a glass of Tansan assuages thirst and fortifies one as few other things will.

One's own blankets should be included in the outfit if one hopes to sleep in the anchorite huts where flea-infested straw mats take the place of beds, and where futons that have covered 'a multitude of sins,' and have never seen water, are used by hundreds of pilgrims each season. In addition to these, one should employ oiled paper in the manner mentioned at p. xl, in connection with a flea-powder known for its killing qualities. One should bear always in mind that the cold at the summit is bitter throughout the year, and that heavy wool underwear is a necessity. One's blanket can always be used as a cloak, but a good khaki coat that will shed rain, warm gloves, and a cap will be found serviceable. Goggles to guard the eyes from the glare, and a square or two (in lieu of a light rain-coat) of the oiled paper used by the natives to shed the rain, serves not only for this purpose, but also to protect perishable supplies from the elements. High boots (those shod with iron or nails slip easily and are dangerous), though excellent to keep out sand, are clumsy to those unaccustomed to wear them, and are liable to cause blisters. Buckskin moccasins, puttees (Hindu, patti), or 4 or 5 prs. of straw waraji (be sure they are large enough) form the best outfit. Unless waraji are worn over the ordinary footgear the very sharp and angular clinkers will ruin it. The 'Pilgrim's Progress' up the mt. is marked by these cast-off sandals. Near the foot of the real ascent, at the Komitake Temple (dedicated to Sengen Sama, goddess of the mt.), where pilgrims and coolies make their orisons, travelers can buy (20 sen) of the priest in charge a stout staff ('kongetsuye') which he will stamp (as will likewise the priest at the top) as a proof of one's having reached the summit. This Japanese alpenstock will prove of as great service on the upward trudge as on the downward glide. At this temple are sold also sanctified snoods (excellent to prevent perspiration from entering the eyes) supposed to possess the virtue of warding off mt. sickness.

The Ascent. While the common belief is that July and Aug. are the only months in which Fuji should be ascended, venturesome climbers go to the top even in mid-winter (not

recommended), despite the danger (cold, avalanches, etc.) and death, which sometimes attend these efforts. The police make a pretense of closing the mt. between Sept.-July, and of opening it officially about July 20. As long as any snow clings to its crest it is regarded as unsafe, and whosoever climbs it out of season does so at his own risk. The guides often refuse to ascend it except in summer, and the rest-houses usually close in Sept. The fact that the well-known Tarobo Station (4500 ft.) on the Gotemba side was practically obliterated by an avalanche in March, 1912, and that every year the newspapers record the death, by exposure or otherwise, of adventurous persons who attempt to go up the mt. in winter, should deter travelers. Skiers enjoy the ascent in winter, and at such times one can glissade down on a plank or a straw mat (as the Mexican sulphur workers do on Popocatepetl) at a speed which almost takes one's breath away.

During the climbing season between 15,000 and 20,000 persons usually make the ascent, among them many women 70 or more yrs. young, who toil up 1000 ft. or more each day, and in this painful fashion come eventually to the top. Anciently they were not allowed on the sacrosanct summit, and had to turn back at the 8th station. The first foreigner to climb the mt. was Sir Rutherford Alcock, H.B.M.'s Minister to Japan, in 1860. On the mt. side one meets or overtakes scores of white-clad pilgrims (chiefly rustics) wearing mushroom-shaped bamboo hats (kasa), a strip of matting tied to their backs (to serve as a bed and a protection from the rain), several pairs of extra waraji slung over their shoulders, and tiny bells aswing at their belts; these sweet-toned kane tinkle at every step and collectively add music to the general joyousness. As the pilgrims trudge slowly upward they occasionally sing out the Shinto formula, Rokkon shojo — 'May our six senses be clean and undefiled' (an expression often chanted in Buddhist prayers, and referring to the six organs of sense: the eye, ear, nose, tongue, body, and heart). Some add the words O yama kaisei, which, liberally translated, express the hope that 'the weather on the honorable mountain may continue fine.' This ringing call is sometimes flung far and wide by enthusiastic climbers, and the mt. sides echo to it.

Of the six paths up the mt., that from Subashiri is the most comfortable and the least difficult for foreigners, and will be described in detail; the Suzukawa-Maruyama route was long the chosen one of pilgrims coming from Kyoto and the W., and is still known as Omoteguchi, or 'front entrance.' That from Yoshida is steep, while Gotemba has the disadvantage of being farther from the actual base of the mt. and requiring a longer walk or horseback ride than from Subashiri, on the E. slope. The best huts and the most conveniences will be found on this path, which has more shade on the lower slope. Subashiri can

also be reached by tram from (7 M.) Gotemba, and is 1500 ft. higher than that point. The traveler intending to visit Shoji (Rte. 3, p. 40) after making the ascent of Fuji can save a little time by descending on the Yoshida side, or via Maruyama, and proceeding to Shoji from either of these points. Luggage should be sent to the place to which the descent is to be made. — The Subashiri inns face the car-line and are near one another; at the Yoneyama a little English is spoken; rate, ¥2.50 and upward a day. The proprietor will engage a guide and be of service to foreigners.

Stations or rest-houses in the shape of solid, darksome, walled and covered dug-outs are placed at intervals of about every 1000 ft. on the mt., the divisions being called go. Of the ten or more of these but a few are prominent. On each of the trails is a station called Uma-gaeshi ('horse return'), beyond which horses customarily do not go, — although they have been ridden to the summit at various times. The station on the Subashiri side is at a point about 4400 ft. above the village (approx. 7 M.; under 2 hrs. walk; horse, ¥1), but a horse may be ridden without difficulty to station No. 2 (ni-go-me; 7560 ft.; ¥2; 4 hrs. walk). Pedestrians will find the walk to this point thoroughly delightful, particularly in the early morning, as the trail leads through a ferny forest where spring flowers and wild strawberries are found in Aug. [It is the part of wisdom to ride as far as one can and save the strength that will be demanded inevitably before the summit is reached.] Much of the plant life for which Fuji is known will be noticed on this stretch. Conspicuous is the Fuji-matsu, or Fuji Larch; Fujiki, or Japanese Pagoda-tree; Fujikanso, or Telegraph-plant; Fuji-bai, panic grass; Fuji-bakama, thoroughwort; the species of aria called Fujikazura, and many other plants. The cindery part of the slope begins near (6430 ft.) Ko-Mitake Temple (3 hrs. walk), and the real, laborious climb beyond No. 4 station (8400 ft.). At station No. 6 (9800 ft. and approx. 6 hrs. from Subashiri) one is about 4 hrs. from the summit. Above this the ascent is decidedly steeper, and the hard smooth rock is in some places covered with the great blocks of lava which bestrew, and at times obliterate, the path. Whosoever has to this point husbanded his strength by keeping to a steady, plodding grind will be glad, for hence onward he will need it. Intersecting the trail hereabout is the Chudo Meguri ('Midway Going-Round Path'), a girdling road (about 20 M. long) which enthusiastic pilgrims follow (7-8 hrs. walk) for the views (apt to be blurred in detail from the summit) and for a more complete inspection of the sacred mt. and its environs. Near No. 8 station (10,990 ft.) the Yoshida trail comes in from the right. The descent from the summit to this point is over the same trail as the ascent, but below it the zigzag path is discarded and one descends by long, sliding strides (over loose

cinders and ashes that on a hot day release clouds of fine dust. A long-legged person may, in this wise, go from the summit to U ma-gaeshi in about 3 hrs. It can be done in less than 1 hr. eliding on the snow, but this is not recommended.

At the Summit (zetcho: to climb to the top of Fuji is: Fuji-san no zetcho made noboru) the rest-houses at the end of the Subashiri trail stand in a cup-shaped hollow near the (500 ft. deep) crater. This is about 3 furlongs in diameter, and is surrounded by titanic crags scorched by awful heat into many tints — reds, yellows, and purples predominating. These huge rocks follow the rim and rise in some places 100 ft. or more above the crater's edge. Travelers should not venture beyond this point unaccompanied by the guide, as storms form quickly on Fuji's summit; twilight falls as swiftly as in the tropics; and the road is beset with dangers. The great crater is remarkable and awe-inspiring; in July-Aug. much of the floor is revealed, and is then seen to be littered with the huge stones that from time to time detach themselves from the rim and fall with a thunderous roar. Snow lingers throughout the short summer in the sheltered places, and lies deep in the crater at other times. 'The chronicles of Fuji show that about 70 yrs. ago, a number of pilgrims were caught in dense clouds on the mt. top and lost their way. The clouds were the precursors of a typhoon, which broke suddenly and with terrific violence. When it abated, and the weather cleared, the frozen bodies of the pilgrims, to the number of over 50, were found closely packed together, showing that they had kept united to the last for warmth and companionship in that dread hour. This is but one instance of the many sacrifices that Sengen Sama (to whose shrine the devotees come to pray) has demanded of the faithful. The place where they died is now called Sai-no-Kawara (a river shore in the Buddhist hell where the souls of children are tormented). It is covered with hundreds of stone cairns raised to the mem

ory of these martyrs by those who follow more fortunately in their footsteps, and in tribute to Jizbthe children's guardian god.'

Many of the points round the crater are of historic interest;

lying against the edge of the rim at Kengamine is a little stone hut where a brave meteorologist (of the name of Nonaka) and his wife planned to spend the winter of 1895-96, to make scientific observations; exceptionally severe weather prevailed, and before the New Year they were taken down to the plain, almost dead from cold and exposure. Near by is a precipice called Oya shirazu Ko shirazu, so dangerous and awe-inspiring that in case of peril, relatives or the best of friends look out for number one. Close by is a gigantic rift in the mt., called Osawa ('great ravine'), which gashes it downward, on the outer side, as far as the eye can see. Beyond here the path traverses a section that has been tortured into all kinds of agonizing

shapes by the fierceness of the fires which once flamed from Fuji's heart. Great cliffs lean over the mt. rim at a perilous angle, and seem ready to fall and crush everything on the plain below. Some of the crags bear resounding names: 'Thunder Rock' (Rai-iwa); 'The Rock Cleft by Buddha' (Shaka no Wari-ishi); 'Shaka's Peak' (Shaka-ga-take), etc. A great stream of molten lava once flowed out of the crater at this point and formed (it is said) the walls which now inclose the lakes at Fuji's feet. Below this point is a spring of icy cold water (an extraordinary thing at this altitude), called Kimmei-sui, or 'Famous Golden Water,' which is sold by the priests as a specific for mt. sickness. Beyond the line of pilgrims' huts at the top of the Subashiri trail is a precipitous cliff called Kwannon-ga-take or 'Peak of the Goddess Kwannon'; wisps of steam come up through cracks in the lava near by and prove that although Fuji is founded on granite, its interior is perhaps a mass of molten fire. The rocks roundabout are warm to the touch, and a minute is long enough for one to hold one's hand against the ground.

While it is yet dark the pilgrims foregather at Kengamine to witness the sunrise, which, seen from here, is a spectacle of transcendental beauty. The silent, white-clad, intensely interested figures add not a little to the impressiveness of the unique scene, as with bared and bowed heads, fingers clasped about their rosaries, and hands outstretched, they beseech all the gods that be in heaven to witness their devotion and submission, and to hearken unto their fervent prayers. As dawn advances over the cold world, and with flashing, rosy fingers lifts the veil of darkness from the long file of peaks and ranges standing like ghostly attendants behind the semi-divine Fuji, the island-studded sea becomes idealized, and the vision, which is of vast extent, takes on a sublimity beyond the power of words to express. The sunset is almost as wonderful as the sunrise. Describing this, Herbert Ponting says: 'As I stood here on the utmost pinnacle of Japan, the cloudland sea was rising slowly — borne upward in heaving billows by some undercurrent, stronger than the wind above, which was filling the crater behind me with scudding wrack. My pinnacle was soon surrounded to my feet and no other part of the mountain was visible. I stood alone on a tiny island of rock in that infinite ocean, the only human being in the universe, and soon the illusion of being carried rapidly along in the cloud sea was so real that I had to sit, for fear of falling with dizziness. When the sun sank to the level of the surging vapors, flooding their waves and hollows with ever-changing contrasts of light and shade, the scene was of indescribable beauty. Never in any part of the world have I seen a spectacle so replete with awesome majesty as the sunset I witnessed that evening from the topmost cubic foot of Fuji. A few moments only the glory

lasted. Then the sun sank into the cloudland ocean, the snowy billows turned leaden gray, and darkness immediately began to fall. As the last spark of the orb of day disappeared in the foaming breakers there was a rush of wind across the crater, due to the instant change in temperature, and in a moment the mountain-top was in a tumult. The great abyss became a cauldron of boiling mists, and icy blasts moaned and whistled among the crags which loomed like ominous moving phantoms in the turbulent vapors and dying light. It was a wondrous, almost preternatural spectacle, like a vision of Dante's dream.