The Hills of Hakone

Gunma certainly doesn't have a lock on gorgeous mountain scenery and active volcanoes with plenty of boiling water flowing out of the ground. One of the more famous mountain getaways in the greater Kanto region is the resort area of Hakone.

Hakone is a short express ride south west of Tokyo, close to Mt. Fuji. In fact, Mt. Fuji is one of the big draws of the Hakone region. The spectacular views of Japans most famous mountain is a big draw to tourists from around the country and the world. Though as it is said, Mt. Fuji is a very shy mountain, and it may not always make itself available for photography.

Hakone itself is located in an ancient caldera. Twice before a volcano has risen here, exploded and then collapsed. Today there is a smouldering central peak surrounded by deep valleys and a beautiful lake system. The prescribed way to enjoy Hakone is to make a multi-mode transit loop around the central cone, starting with a very cute narrow gauge railroad. The route from the plains below is so steep that the train must make three switchbacks on the way up, swapping back for front three times.

The next step is a cable car right up the side of the mountain. It was quite a bit of fun to watch the funicular system in action, with the cable slowly lowering the car down to the bottom station, then pulling it (and us)back up past the counterweight car.

It is here that the most spectacular part of the journey begins. A gondola system that carries people up and over a hissing field of sulfur vents, and then crests a ridge and presents visitors with the splendor of Mt. Fuji and its perfectly shaped cone. Unfortunately for us, while the view was still tremendous, Fuji-san was feeling a little shy, and the summit was wreathed in clouds. Though we did have a nice view of the sunlight glittering off of the far away ocean.

The next step in the course was one we were unable to take. There are "pirate ships" that take you around the lake, but we were there a little late in the day and things were starting to shut down. It is hard to imagine just why the closing time of the ropeway was an hour before sunset, but Japan is known for having some pretty early closing times. At least, to my western eyes. (Sometimes I want to go grocery shopping past 8pm.)

Though I have yet to mention the best part of the whole trip, our hotel. While there are many options for staying in Hakone, from the dirt cheap to the excessively luxurious, there is only one hotel that is historic enough to be mentioned on the guide map on the wall in the train. The Fujiya hotel was founded in 1891, and is the oldest western style hotel in Japan. Previous guests include the Archduke Franz Ferdinand of Austria, Charlie Chaplin, The Emperor of Japan, John Lennon and Yoko Ono. That is a pretty illustrious list. The hotel has grown remarkably over the years, and now covers a wide area with several eras of architecture represented.

Rooms in the oldest, most historical, and least luxurious part of the hotel are remarkably affordable, especially considering the country and the area. So we were thrilled to get a chance to stay there. The mix of Western and Japanese styles that typifies Meiji period architecture is fascinating and very beautiful. The interior of the main building is all old wood of a rich dark brown, something that you don't see much of in the modern Japan of bland, drab concrete. Like most resort areas in Japan, Hakone is an onsen town. Fujiya approached the onsen hotel role very differently from most. Rather than have a huge and gorgeously appointed public bath, they just piped onsen water to every room. Every room is its own private hot springs bath.

We didn't have dinner at the hotel, that was a bit beyond our budget, but our room came with breakfast included. Now, I love Japan. I really do. But I do not love Japanese notions of breakfast. Rice, miso soup, and grilled fish does not make for an appealing first meal for me. Neither does spaghetti and fried chicken. The weak coffee, terrible toast and a spot of jam that you sometimes find is almost insulting. Natto for breakfast moves from insulting to downright ludicrous.

All of that is to say that the breakfast buffet at Fujiya was amazing. It was the best that I have ever encountered anywhere in the country. We had freshly prepared omelets, bowls of fruit and yogurt, fresh good bread and rolls, bacon, sausage, eggs, cereal and plenty of good coffee to wash it all down with. I had to be very careful to not just shovel it all in my mouth as quickly as I could, and to try and savor this watershed.

So, properly fortified by breakfast, we headed downhill into the nearby town of Odawara, eager to add a new castle to my list.

Fuji

The wind howled through the misty, rain swept blackness. Below, a trail of lights faded into the distance. Above, the same trail seemed to climb forever. The universe was a cold conglomeration of black rock, black night, screaming winds and and frigid horizontal rain. I had to ask myself, just what the heck was I doing here?

     Much earlier that day, our group of climbers assembled at the 5th Station, at about 7,000 feet above sea level, roughly half way up the sloping cone of Mt. Fuji. One of the group, Peter, had decided that he wanted to truly climb the entire mountain and had spent the day hiking from the 1st station.  Saner climbers tend to skip that step, making straight for the 5th station, and its collection of restaurants, bus stops, souvenir shops and vending machines. 
     As we trickled into the meeting area the early clouds burned and blew away in the wind, leaving a crystal clear blue sky. A typhoon was forecast, but there was no evidence in the glorious, near perfect weather to start a late afternoon climb.The vast cone of Fuji-san thrust above, naked and dark with its winter coating of snow long since melted. The black ash and lava flows made for an uninviting peak, and the speed at which the clouds passed over the summit were an unheeded warning that the climb would be less pleasant than hoped.

     For most climbers, the plan is to start late in the day, climb through the evening and then sleep in a  mountain hut. After a scant few hours of rest you finish the climb and enjoy the glory of a high mountain sunrise. Those of us who can't really afford the rather steep prices of the huts, about $70 for the cheaper ones, choose instead to climb through the night, forgoing sleep and warmth to be the first to the top, and the dawn.

     The gentle opening phase was an absolute joy. Despite the recent rains, and the occasional cloud misting its way past us, the weather was perfect for hiking. Not too hot, not too cold, not too dry, not too wet. The trail was well built and maintained, ready for the thousands of people that hike Fuji every year. Our group joked, bantered, took photos, and just enjoyed each others company and this wonderful climb.

   The day waned, and the sun began to sink along the other side of the peak, casting a great shadow across the clouds. The trail climbed ever higher, the omnipresent overcast of Japan becoming a far away carpet of cotton balls below.


     Full night eventually settled, and the stars, so shy in this overly illuminated nation, came out in all their glory. Climbers who thought to turn off their head lamp for a moment were treated with views of Cassiopeia, The Big Dipper, even the Milky Way. In the distance the vast urban megalopolis of Tokyo could be seen, brilliant lights shining all the way from Yokohama on the coast to Omiya near the mountains. As the night drug on and the altitude increased, the wind picked up, and the cold began to settle.

    Layers came out, first an extra t-shirt, then a fleece, then a shell, then a hat, finally gloves. We had all walked from sticky summer to frigid winter in just a few miles. The summit and sunrise were driven out of mind, they were many hours off in a remote and unseen future. What mattered was the smaller indications of progress. The next station, the next hut, the next switchback. There was an udon restaurant at the top of the 8th station that became more sought after than heaven itself. We knew it was there, we knew it would be glorious.
     Naturally reality was less inviting than the fantasy, but two hours of cat naps and hot food prepped the group for the next challenge, or so we had thought.

   It seemed that no sooner had the 8th station faded behind than small flecks of rain appeared in the glow of the headlamps. Faint at first, hardly worthy of notice, yet certainly a harbinger of difficulties to come. Soon, the lights of the cities and the huts below vanished in the enveloping clouds. We went from the top of the world to our own world, cut off from everything and everybody. The end game had arrived, the summit was close. Every step became harder, every foot of elevation gain more precious as we all climbed further into the teeth of the typhoon. The climb grew ever more difficult, fog, rain and exertion rendered glasses useless, and any exposed article of clothing became sopping wet.
 
     At last, the summit of Mt. Fuji, 12,388 ft above sea level. The winds and rain whipped by stronger than ever, speaking was impossible, and waiting for sunrise near suicidal folly. One imperative, one simple goal remained. Descent. 
     Having stowed my glasses in my pack, I carefully picked my way through the darkness and the jagged black volcanic rocks. They winds gusted at over 70 mph, enough to shift a climber even if he wasn't moving, and more than enough to send you tumbling to the ground if you weren't ready for it.
    Slowly, gently definition returned to the world. The black sky became imperceptibly lighter, and then lighter again. The winds and rain remained, but the dawn had finally arrived.

     The sun illuminated the trail, and gave visual representation to the speed of the winds, as the clouds sped past us. The sunrise was visible only in spurts, hidden then revealed again by the scudding of the clouds. The pestering rains and winds never stopped, never showed mercy.

   Any decent is a labor, with energy, water, and food running low, but after a rain soaked, wind whipped, typhoon torn climb through the night, the hike down was undoubtedly the most difficult of my life. The winter hat would unravel into my face, blocking my vision. Clenching my fists in my gloves was like wringing out a wash cloth in the shower, except that they never got dry. Heavy, clammy jeans clung to my legs reminding me that I knew better than to wear jeans in the mountains. The humid mid August heat of Japan seemed a far off memory, something that had never been, could never have been real.

   Every time there was a lull in the wind, when the thought that "perhaps it will be easier now" would cross your mind, a cannonade of air would shoot across your back, and remind you that it wouldn't end until you reached the car.
  By this point our group of five had splintered into three components. At the top of the 7th station Nick and I encountered a group of rangers who were putting together a 'safety road'. Rather than descend the occasionally rocky ascent trail we had been using, they shunted a large group onto the bulldozer path that provides supply to the mountain huts. The going was much easier on the sandy path, and the line made good time down to the bottom of the 7th station. The end was in sight, but the wind and rain seemed stronger than ever. The urge to be done of this peak, to be home, to be warm, to be fed, to be rested was overwhelming.
     Then, a glimpse through the clouds, the fifth station was near. Close, closer, and finally, hands clasped in a ragged cheer we were there. Down. Done.

   Well, done except for the three hour drive home anyway...