Southern Appalachians, North Carolina, USA

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in the United States

Southern Appalachians

North Carolina, USA
Tuesday 25th - Thursday 27th September, 1996
Report by: Iain Williams

Like so many good trips this one quickly came out of the blue.  The purpose of my visit to the US was to catch up with John, who I taught with in Toyohashi plus climbed Fuji with, and to run a 10km road race. My knowledge of North American mountains is not what it should be and my knowledge of the Appalachians prior to my visit was non-existent.

Whilst staying with John in Atlanta we formulated a plan to do a couple of the nearest peaks. We set off from Atlanta on a warm humid Tuesday lunchtime. Our first port of call was Tallulah Gorge in NE Georgia at the southern end of the Appalachians. The drive up there was very pleasant even though we were on the wrong side of the road. Before heading down into the gorge we registered ourselves in the local visitor's centre. We were told that the descent was about 700ft and steeper than 45'. It was then a short drive back to a small well hidden car park. After moaning about the car park we commenced our descent. It was very steep and very rocky. Shoes with good grip were definitely the order of the day.

Once at the bottom we found ourselves beside a rocky pool surrounded by the gorges near vertical walls. There was a 20m rock slide leading into the pool. A man was swimming around while his partner watched. Within minutes we were in the water eyeing the rock slide. Before long and after consultation with the other bloke we were on the slippy rock sliding into the water below. Excellent fun. After getting dressed we walked down the gorge for a short distance and saw some fine high granite walls that swept down to us. They were very impressive but were weeping too much for rock climbing. Finding pro would have been testing. We walked on a little further on a sandy track through some small trees. John remarked that he wasn't keen to meet any snakes. Walking behind him I immediately spotted a perfectly shaped, dead, black, leafless branch and quickly threw it down beside where he was walking. It had the desired effect. John sprung to the right in horror while I laughed at the expression on his face. I learnt this little piece of knavishness from Wyane Daly who did the same to me on Ishimaki just after we really had seen a snake.

Climbing back out of the gorge was a real sweat producing exercise and I was glad it wasn't any longer than 700ft, John even more so.  Back in the car we drove on up to a paper mill town called Canton for dinner at the local Pizza Hut. After the pizza we crossed the car park to a MacD's for an ice cream. Standing in the queue we were behind a mother with her two young kids. John whispered to me that the kids had real redneck accents which amused me. The mother also heard John and wasn't so amused and gave him a dirty stare.  Unfortunately she never threw a cheeseburger at him.

The plan for the next day was to do Grandfather Mountain (1818m) which was about 2 hours NE of where we were. Our guidebook described it as strenuous and dangerous with not too much of an elevation gain. It sounded good although the name didn't do much in the way o striking fear into our hearts. That morning we stopped for breakfast just outside Asheville in a Waffle House before heading up through the mountains.

Again the drive was very scenic and in many ways it reminded me of Japan, although I don't think this impressed John. The mountains were of a similar height and were covered in thick forest, all be it, of a more deciduous variety. We drove high on to the mountain whereupon we came to the gates and forked out $9 each entrance fee. Ouch! The mountain was on private land. It was then up to the top car park where we parked and got ready.

The weather didn't look too great. There was a lot of cloud around and rain was forecast for later in the day. This didn't have the usual effect on me. It was great to be where I was. We headed off into the forested mountainside in search of our summit. We passed a few people of the pure tourist variety and then the track started to descend. In front of us we could see the first of the summits that we were to encounter. The climb up to it didn't look too tough and before not too long we found ourselves sweating and steadily ascending. In the guidebook we were warned of rock pitches on ladders and dangerous ground. As we hiked up we met a man who had turned back after encountering the ladders. He didn't like them and had decided to plump for the easier route. This sounded interesting. We arrived at the ladders and moved up without any problems. If they hadn't been there it would have been an easy rock climb. Once on flat ground we found ourselves standing below a rocky tor with a ladder tied to the side of it. We climbed on to the top and took a few photos. We were standing atop of Macrea Peak (1810m).

The mountain was made up of several peaks. We had to climb three of them with the third one being the highest. Leaving Macrea we marched on and down towards the next one. We were on a ridge and in amongst cloud which did nothing to enhance the impressive surroundings. Nevertheless I was enjoying it. I'm sure I could also feel some effect from the altitude, I'm surprised to say. Not being very high I wasn't too happy with how I felt. As we approached th next peak we climbed up some more ladders and we then entered what was called the chute, a steep rocky gully. At the top of the chute we found ourselves on top of Attic Window Peak (1813m) where there was a couple sitting down. The bloke was clearly a mountain man, out to try and impress his woman. I found it quite amusing listening to him. We were also a bit on the tired side so took a 5 minute chocolate and water break.

As we set off John was looking a bit worn out and the thought of descending and ascending again wasn't a pleasant one for him. As we scrambled down we went off track and followed a sign post to an old Indian cave. The outside was a huge ceiling. If we'd had headtorches it would have been interesting to have a look in the small interior. Leaving the cave we made out way along the ridge which was now flatter and friendlier and headed up to Calloway Peak (1818m). As we both hiked up through the trees I think we were both thinking I hope its not too far. It wasn't, and we were soon on a large flat top in amongst bushes, small trees and long grass. In trying to find the top we were not the proud recipients of the "22B Baker St Award" for summit finding. After about 5 minutes of careful thought, consulting the map and realising that the track descended in both directions we arrived at the conclusion that we were actually on top of Grandfather Mountain (1818m). Worn out after straining our powers of deduction we took a break and some photos before heading back.

The trek back to the car park was pretty much the same and we moved at a leisurely pace. It never rained on us but it came very close. Climbing down all the ladders was done with ease and about 2 hours later we were back at the car park. Next to the car park was the "mile high" swinging bridge. We had a look around before jumping into the car and driving back down the steep wiggly waggly road which Forrest Gump ran up in the movie. The cloud still blocked out any good views.

Our next plan was to drive down to Mt. Mitchell, the highest mountain on the east side of the US. Our route took us down the Blue Ridge Parkway, a very scenic route on a beautifully smooth road that was devoid of any commercial traffic. The views from the road were extremely picturesque and I was very impressed. About an hour later we were driving up Mt. Mitchell and back into the cloud. The road terminated in a large car park, surrounded by some rather poor looking trees. The trees on the upper slopes of the mountain have allegedly died from air pollution. It did seem strange to us that only these trees had been affected and none lower down or on the adjacent mountains. Mt. Mitchell was my kind of mountain though. From the car it was a 200m walk up to the top (2037m). After effortlessly conquering it we did the usual photo shoot and headed back down to the car with hungry rumbling stomachs. Our mission was now to head into Asheville for a feast and to find a motel. This we did and had a well earnt meal in an Olive Garden followed by a swim, video and a good night's sleep in the Holiday Inn.

I started the next day with a swim which was followed by a longish drive south to Whiteside Mountain (1503m). Again the drive was very scenic and enjoyable. The guidebook said Whiteside was easy and would take only a couple of hours. It was also a popular rock climbing destination and its name came from the white granite cliffs that surrounded it. In the car park the weather didn't look at all promising. Our route was a loop basically going around the top of the mountain, taking in the high point, through damp woodland. Because of cloud, views were nonexistent. It wasn't a climb, we walked and talked about war and never realised when we passed over the highest point. Most of the route ws in the trees with one exposed section where the wind was rather strong. On that stretch we managed to see the upper sections of one of the cliffs. Unfortunately that was all we saw in the way of views. We were back at the car before we knew it and driving south towards Atlanta.

The other memorable excursions on the trip happened on the first weekend. The Saturday afternoon after the race we drove out to Stone Mountain with my father. Stone Mountain is supposedly the largest outcrop of granite in North America and in my opinion was not unlike Ayres Rock. The three of us hiked up to the top, had a coke, sat on a slope and watched some small looking golfers playing some interesting water holes well below. As impressive as the rock was I didn't spot any interesting routes for climbing. It was an interesting place though, one side of the rock had a huge engraving of three Civil War generals (sorry John but I can't remember all their names).

The following morning we were up at 5:30, which must have been hell for John as it was his second early morning in a row but was no problem for me as my body was on English time. We drove north just into Tennessee. It was an interesting drive for me. Once it got light it was very misty and rural. It felt like a damp misty morning in England. The nearer we got to our destination the hillier it got. John's plan was to take me white water rafting and it was a damn good one. Stopping at the first rafting establishment we got in with a group for a cheap $25 each. A bus took us up a road that ran beside the river. We were slightly downstream from where the Olympic kayaking events had taken place a few months earlier. The valley was full of trees and the early morning mist was still clinging to them. The drive of the bus, John whispered to me had a strong redneck accent, again it was very amusing to listen to. Once off the bus we carried our blue inflatable down to the water with three others plus guide, received a few dos and don'ts and set off. Going down through the rapids and bubbling water between the large rounded boulders was excellent fun. The slowly lifting mist and steep tree clad valley sides also added to the experience. We also had a long drift down a calm stretch where I jumped in and floated down. It was very relaxing. The sun by then had started to break through, clearing the mist and giving us blue sky patches and a little extra warmth. Back on board we went down through some more white water and ended up getting thrown out which came as a real surprise as the rapids there were small and we'd been through much bigger drops. We swam to the side and regrouped and set off again on the prowl for John's paddle which he had so carelessly and thoughtlessly lost. As we neared the end I was feeling quite cold and when we finally got back to the car it was nice to put some dry clothes back on. It had been great fun and a totally unexpected pleasure. We spent the rest of the day driving around the mountain roads of NE Georgia.

All in all my experiences in and around Georgia were excellent. John made some first class suggestions as to what we should do. I just hope that when he gets to the UK I can better him as a host and guide. It's good to know that the Southern USA branch of the Toyohashi Alpine Club is in good hands.

Koma-ga-take (2956m), Central (Chuo) Alps, Japan

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Koma-ga-take (2956m)

Central Alps, Japan
April 1996
Report by Darren DeRidder
Party: Malcolm Field and Darren DeRidder

We drove up the expressway zipping past the other cars. Mal has a way of driving...fast. I don't blame him when he gets out on the expressway for wanting to hit the gas; most of the driving elsewhere is so plugged up with lights and traffic it takes ages to get where you're going. Today traffic could have been worse, it being a national holiday and all. As we drive along, the flanking foothills of the South Alps rise up on our left. The giant bony ridge that comprises the Akaishi range looms faintly above the steep forested slopes, an ethereal blue grey massif floating in the pale light-washed sky. How clearly I can recall the days I spent walking among the mist shrouded high places there, the howling chasms spewing blasts of smoky cloud and wind, the tiny wildflowers nestled in the rocky ledges, the harsh sun, untempered in the thin alpine atmosphere.

The melancholic strains of one Van Morrison tune after another playing on the car stereo sets a relaxed mood as we ride along. Soon we are right alongside the Central Alps, which rise up in a series of ever higher mountains on our left. Japan is a small country, but it often seems bigger than it is because of the difficulty in getting anywhere. On the expressway, making good time, we were nearing our objective just a couple hours out of the city. It was my normal day off, and since it was a national holiday, Mal was off, too. I was envious, since I had to work on national holidays as a general rule. I had invited him along to Koma-ga-take, in the central Japan Alps, for an easy day out in the mountains. I had planned to go with H., but we all three ended up in his car. Having been to Koma already, Mal knew the road and the route.

Spring is a wonderful and complex time in Japan. The cold Siberian air masses retreat over the Japan sea and are replaced with warm air currents welling up from the pacific. Before the arrival of the rainy season, the weather is crisp and clear, the air laced with the lingering chill of winter, a hint of the warmth of the approaching summer, and the smell of cherry blossoms wafting on the lightest breeze. The warming air gives rise to a haze that dissolves into the sky, and the sunlight filtering through illuminates things with a glare, seeming to bleach the color out of everything. Photos have an overexposed look about them. After the colour-saturated richness of the fall, and the clarity of winter, spring is a pastel panorama of faint and delicate hues. We are early enough in April yet to enjoy the gracefully extended arches of blossom laden boughs that hang over the road at intervals. The cherry trees scattered along the hillsides announce themselves with a beautiful splash of pinkish-white.

Suddenly the peaks of the central Alps themselves become visible, still dressed in their winter covering of snow. The brilliant snow clad summits sparkle clearly high above the lower slopes. I grab my camera for a few hopeful shots through the window. Turning off the expressway, we make our way to the bus station. The road points directly at Koma-ga-take, and the mountains seemed to rise in front of us like a wall. Framed by the cherry trees growing along the road, the sight of the mountains covered with dark pine trees and the peaks covered with white snow is breath-taking.

We are in for a bit of a surprise at the bus station. The bus takes you up to the ropeway, and the ropeway takes you up to the cirque, from whence you can climb up a relatively easy snow slope to the top of the ridge, and make your way across to the summit of Koma itself. The ticket prices are on special for the national holiday - specially steep. They have jacked the prices up a few notches just for us. Oh, well. If they can get away with it, they'll do it.

H and Mal and I are an interesting trio, for sure. H with her neatly coordinated outfit, and tiny little backpack, me with my mountaineering gear all on and ready, and Mal, with his assortment of gaiters, jackets, and who knows what all thrown into an enormous pack that must have weighed a ton. He frets over the size of it, digging various items out and tossing them in the boot. Mal and I are gearing up mentally for the climb, but H is off here and there, unconcerned, as if we were in for a picnic. We manage to get everyone organized and onto the bus, and then we're off.

So began our excursion to Koma-ga-take in the central Japan Alps.

Having been to the mountains far more often than H, both Mal and I were aware of what we would be facing. But H was rather happily oblivious to what we were up to. I had planned to take her up at her own pace, and be content if we didn't make it to the top. But with Mal along, my summit fever was fueled, and together we started to become psychologically unified in our focus for the summit, adopting the partner mentality that is the strength of mountaineering teams.

The bus ride up was thrilling. We drove right past steep drop-offs that seemed to tumble down a thousand meters to the rocky riverbed and rushing whitewater far below. The peaks around us rose so steeply that we could glimpse them now only occasionally. A family of wild monkeys beside the road drew the enthusiastic attention of the passengers, and while everyone strained their necks to see, I looked on the other side and saw six more monkeys.

The ropeway had a ski-hill atmosphere about it, and there were even some college boys with snowboards in search of a little late season snow. The ropeway serves only to take hikers and sightseers up to the cirque; they would have to climb the snow slopes just like us. There were a few people equipped for climbing on the snow, but most were simply out for a good view from the top of the ropeway, a light lunch and a few souvenirs from the inevitable trinket shops. Once at the top, we wasted no time inside the heated building, but walked right out to the snowfield. Mal and I began to make final preparations and adjustments to our gear. We had slipped into that sense of urgent determination that goes with climbing. H on the other hand was completely unaware of this and was interested in looking around a bit, running to the shop and getting ready at a leisurely pace. Mal and I were not impressed. Finally she decided against going up with us.

Mal and I were happy to take off on our own, knowing we could really push for it and certainly make the summit and back, perhaps exploring a new route on the way down. A trail in the snow was already well established and at the start, Mal spoke with two old-timers sitting at a table, apparently in charge of regulating who went onto the mountain and who did not. Our gear checked out, and we were off and away, gaining altitude quickly. About halfway up the snow slope, on a ledge of snow against a rocky rib that led up towards the summit ridge, a couple of climbers were keeping an eye on things. They had a look at our gear and wanted to know what we were up to. Mal didn't have an axe, but we sort of bragged our way past them, saying we climbed a lot, even in Europe, etc. They were suitably impressed and chose not to question us further.

The climb up the steep snow slope was super. The wonderfully shaped granite ridges cut up through the snow and climbed almost vertically right up to the ridge. There were fissures and cracks and ledges in abundance, and even some snarled stunted pine trees clinging resolutely to their meagre perches. Perfect for an easy on-sight rock climb. We were not prepared for that however, so continued to plod up the snow slope, looking down occasionally to see the ever-receding ropeway station become smaller and farther and farther below us. Looking out across the cirque, we could see that we were almost level with the tops of the surrounding ridges, and across the broad and haze-hidden valley the walls of the south Alps opposite us rose in the distance. Near the top of the ridge, the snow grew thin, and we saw wire mesh laid over the scree, placed there undoubtedly to preserve the edge of the ridge and for the safety of climbers, but unsightly none the less. I felt glad to be doing the climb on clean white snow, in the cool of spring, and not on muddy, crowded trails in the humidity of summer.

We were the only ones around. We had the place almost completely to ourselves. Once atop the ridge, the ground was quite easy. A wide snow-covered saddle connected a lower peak on the north with a higher peak to the south. Back the way we had come up, the ropeway station was now out of view and we could look across to the south Alps miles away. The haze was increasing as the day wore on and our views began to deteriorate after that point. The peak on the left was one over which Mal, Iain and Joe had climbed on their descent from Koma in the winter time. It was tricky and apparently a real eye-opener for Joe, who was unaware of what climbing involves at times. It was a very pretty peak, looking like a piece of marble sponge cake, swirled as it was with white snow against dark brown granite. A wooden signpost directed us ahead to Koma however, and so we crossed the ridge and made way over easy ground down a gentle slope on the other side which landed us on a wide and rounded plateau that in turn joined another snow slope. It loomed in front of us like one last obstacle, but was put to scale by a couple of climbers coming down from the top. It wasn't that big after all, it just seemed like a long way to haul our out of shape and oxygen-starved bodies. In fact, aside from the normal weariness that comes from exerting oneself, neither Mal nor I felt the effects of the altitude, really, and were enjoying ourselves greatly. The thought of having left Hiroko back in the ropeway station made me anxious to get the climb done though. Up the final snow slope we went. It was like a large dome , and angled off nearer the top. Mal took a separate way than I, since I wanted the security some scattered rocks and Mal preferred to stay on snow.

The top of Koma was quite nice. The views of the surrounding peaks were magnificent of course, and there was plenty of space to throw off your pack, clear a spot in the snow and plop yourself down. We chose to plop down next to the small shrine that adorned the summit, a common sight on Japanese mountains. Only the roof of the dog-house size construction poked through the snow, and we snuggled our packs against it while we got out our cameras for a few summit photos. We each posed for a couple of shots at the edge of the snow slope. Then Mal pulled out of his enormous pack a bottle of water and the one thing no respectable member of the Toyohashi Alpine Club should be without whilst on a summit of any size...Mars bars. We savoured the sweet taste of a finely crafted chocolate bar mixed with the gratification of our achievement.

We had taken about two and a half hours to this point and were ready to head back. A little bouldering before shouldering the packs, and then we were off, back down the way we had come, over the ridge, and then down the steep snow slope of the cirque to the ropeway station. We walked part of the way down to the ledge where the Japanese climbers were still keeping an eye on things. They asked us if we'd been to the top, and we said yes. I asked them about the possibility of the slope avalanching but they said it was quite unlikely. The slope had already avalanched some time earlier in the spring and the debris field was still visible, a large U-shaped area of bumpy snow and partly melted snow blocks. The long descent back to the ropeway didn't overexcite me, so I decided to try a quicker approach. I sat right down, and with my ice hammer in hand as a brake, took off shrieking down the hill, sliding as far as I could go until wet snow halted my progress. I called at Mal to give it a try, and he did, coming right down behind me with his crampons aimed right at my back. I only just managed to leap out of the way before he swept into the place where I had been sitting, all twenty-four crampon points glinting like little knives.

When we arrived at the ropeway station, H was having lunch. She had made a fantastic box lunch for all of us. But she was chilled and not in the happiest mood. Mal and I had lunch and then we headed back down on the ropeway.

All in all the day was fairly good. We all enjoyed the beautiful mountain scenery and the mountain wildlife, like the monkeys and the serow we saw at the upper bus terminal while waiting for our transportation to arrive. We enjoyed the fine weather and the cherry blossoms on the way in as well, and had a chance to get out of the city, which is important for those who have grown to love the outdoors. We talked as we drove back, with Mal offering some encouragement to H, and then the conversation drifted and flowed onto other topics like the cherry blossom scented wind that came whispering down from the hills and through the valleys where we had just been.

Dando-san (1152m), Aichi Prefecture, Japan

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Dando-san (1152m)

Aichi prefecture, Japan
March 1996
Report by Darren DeRidder
Party: Solo climb

[Note: Dando-san is now commonly known as Takanosu-yama]

It's too bad but there really aren't any high mountains in Aichi. I always felt that if it was under 3000 meters it wasn't a "real" mountain and wasn't worth climbing. I'd set my sights on climbing Japan's ten highest mountains, all of which are 3000er's and didn't want to spend too much effort on other stuff. But there are times when you just need to get out and do something. You can't go climb a 3000 meter mountain every weekend. Having Mondays off, I sometimes get caught with nothing to do and no one to do it with. Well, there's always the apartment to clean, but that doesn't count.

On this particular Monday I really wanted to go out and do something. Iain's various trampings around in the Toyohashi area, which involved climbing a number of small mountains, had an effect on my opinion of climbing mountains under 3000 meters, as I read some of his reports about his climbs of mountains like Horai and so on. They can be a lot of fun.

A couple years back, one of my students gave me a book called "100 mountains in Aichi" which he wrote. The problem is it's all in Japanese. I can at least look at the pictures, and find the places on the little map. Comparing it with my road atlas, I can figure out where things are. Anyway, from my previous experience at Ibukiyama, I knew there was another mountain or two over 1000 meters up north of Asuke. Dando san is around 1100 meters and isn't the highest in Aichi, but could well be the second highest. Looking at it in the book it seemed to be a nice mountain in a really nice place. I got a bit of a late start, packed very lightly, although I took along my "new" ice pick which an old fellow gave me at Nanzan a couple weeks before. Finding Dando-san took some careful map reading, but surprisingly I managed to get there, using the road map combined with the hand-drawn map in the hiking book, without any detours. There was a fair bit of snow around on the ground at the trail head, which started as a snowy road that I didn't want to risk in my car. It was still pretty cold. The road crossed a little concrete bridge at one point and a stream ran under it, fanning out over a wide flat shelf of red rock on the lower side. Soon I came to a little spillway on the right where the water was still frozen into an icefall, and I played around with placing my pick in the ice. It's a tubular pick and requires a sideways twist to remove. If I'd brought crampons, I would've attempted to climb the thing, but as it was I only had my Hi-Tec hikers on, which are basically high top tennis shoes with lug soles.

I used the map in the book and found the actual trail right about where it should've been. There were just a few tracks going up it. It looked like maybe three people had been up it since the last snowfall. In a few minutes I came to a sort of bridge over a stream which was made of rotting logs and covered in pretty deep snow. Here I just about stepped right through into the water, when I stepped on a snowy spot and found there was no wood support underneath! On closer inspection, I saw another footprint sized hole that actually did go right through, and judging from the way the tracks sort of disappeared after the bridge, guessed that whoever had been up here had stepped through into the water and gone back. There were a few footprints still, but after another few minutes of walking up over the snow, they took a wrong turn and disappeared. I had a little trouble finding where the real trail was at the point where the tracks left it, since the snow was untouched except for golf-ball sized holes all over that I finally figured out came from little clumps of snow falling off the branches of the trees. Once I was onto "fresh" snow, I had to watch out for the trail a bit more carefully, but it was pretty easy to read where it was from the angle of the ground, depressions in the snow or spots where the snow had actually melted. There were also plastic marker ribbons tied at intervals along the less obvious parts of the trail.

All was peaceful. And white. The air was crisp and cool. I knew I was completely alone, and felt none of the suspicion of creatures lurking in the dark woods that I felt on Ibukiyama.

Although it was overcast, the bright snow made everything clear to see. The trail got progressively steeper, and I finally had to pull out my ice pick again and use it like a mountaineering axe. It was really too short, but it worked. The slope was pretty steep and was covered with water ice under a layer of snow. Without crampons I had to balance and pick my way up it like a man with a metal detector going through a minefield. A few of the slender cedar trees turned out to be good hand and footholds. I'd reach up for one and then plant my foot behind the trunk to make sure I wouldn't slide anywhere. This went on for a couple hundred meters and then the slope angled down a bit, and in place of the young cedar trees, there was the familiar bamboo grass that covers ridgetops at about this altitude. Coming up onto the ridge I hit a more heavily used trail that connected the summit on my right with another way down on my left. I checked the map and found that there was good reason why the trail seemed to be more heavily used - it was lot more accessible. The way I had come, using familiar old route 153, had taken me up and around behind the mountain. My trail had then wound even further around the side of the mountain, until I was finally approaching the summit from exactly the opposite side I had parked my car on. It was like a big upward spiral starting in Miyoshi and ending at the top of Dando-san. In spite of the trail being more difficult, I was glad to have taken the less traveled path. The snow was nicer than mud, and it was mysteriously quite and peaceful back down in the gully I had climbed out of. The summit was one of your standard clearing-and-a-signboard Japanese mountain tops. The only view was to the north, and unfortunately the cloud cover totally hid any views there might have been of the North Alps or Ontake. I suspect that there would be some super views in fine weather though. I tried to look through my binoculars, but although I could see some of the forests, buildings, and rice paddies down below, I couldn't see through the cloud cover on to where the mountains should have been.

After a quick snack and a look at my compass, I was off back down the way I had come. It was a solitary walk back, made interesting again by the steep icy slope just below the ridge. I simply followed my own footprints back the way I had come, past the false turn and the dangerous bridge, and out onto the snowy road, then past the ice-fall where I played around a bit more, smashing away at it violently with my pick. I noticed that in places where I had hit the ice, there would sometimes be cracks or fissures created which hadn't shattered and were clear through the smooth transparent ice, and the light was being refracted through them to form a rainbow mixture of colours in the ice like gas on a puddle of water. I took a picture of it and then walked slowly back. The way back usually seems a lot longer than the way in, but this time, the hike back out went quickly. I paused for a picture of the mountain at the bridge where the stream fanned out over the red rock shelf, and then got the car and drove home.

The roads were a little confusing on the way out, but it was still daylight, and I just headed in the general direction, noticing familiar points along the way as reassurance. I got home feeling proud to have one more mountain under my belt even if it was small and having enjoyed myself quite a lot. I didn't meet or talk to a single soul on the whole trip. I was perfectly alone, and I was even alone again at my apartment, and the whole experience I have shared only with myself until now that I have shared it with you.

Ena-san (2190m), Gifu prefecture, Japan

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Ena-san (2190m)

Gifu, Japan
10 July 1995
Report by Darren DeRidder
Party: solo climb

Desperate men take desperate measures. Such was the motivation underlying my climb up Ena and back. Having met Mal and Iain the previous day at Nanzan and been totally humiliated by their stories of all their training for Switzerland and how fit they were, I felt like a lazy bum. I'd done nothing in the way of training other than to get a suntan while snorkelling and sailing around the tropics (gloat, gloat). Something had to be done. Reading through Iain's excellent write-ups of some of his recent mountaineering exploits, both solo and in the company of Mr. Field, I struck upon the (not very original) plan of climbing a mountain. Monday morning rolled around and I crawled out of bed and contemplated what to do with myself for the rest of the day. Ontake was too far. I pulled out some Avenues magazines and had a look through Richard Harris' articles. I recalled reading one on Ena-san and soon found it. Close to Nagoya, a two-thousander, it was just the thing. I looked at the time. 9:30. I would really have to get moving.

I managed to leave at quarter past ten. By 11:40 I was on the Chuo expressway heading North by North-East towards Nakatsugawa. At quarter past eleven I had my first glimpse of the mountain, a huge hump-back looming in the distance, with the top wreathed in clouds and mist. I began to dread.

Harris' article kindly gave instructions for reaching the trailhead. I drove on down 363 to a very small hamlet called Kawami. There was no sign, really, but a roadside advertisement conspicuously displayed the two kanji which make up the word, and the turn-off onto a small bridge which crosses the river here is very obvious. However, once across the bridge, the road immediately forks and I took the left lane, which rose steeply uphill and then turned into a gravel track. The article had said to drive twenty minutes on a road of deteriorating quality. This was definitely deteriorating. Huge weeds grew in the center of the track, whacking the bumper and swishing underneath the car. Big rocks bounced away under the tires. Then it dead ended. I should have assumed that when he said "deteriorating" he meant it in the British sense of the word, not the Canadian sense. Back at Kawakami, I surprised a group of oba-sans by asking them where the heck I was going and having found the error of my way, set it straight by taking the right hand fork after the bridge. The road was quite long and I was beginning to wonder, but mountaineering-looking signs re-established my confidence. A roadside spring enabled me to exchange my city water for fresh mountain water and I set off again with a canteen full. The road was odd. In some sections it was quite full of pot-holes or deeply grooved where water flowed along it, cutting into the surface. In other places, it was newly paved with smooth black-top. Finally I pulled into a wide parking area at 12:35. A large signboard on one side and a gated track beside which sits a little hut marked the area. I started right off, pausing near the start of the trail to stretch out my limbs. A smaller signboard indicated there were three and a half hours of climbing to be done. Counting on my long stride, I planned to take a few short breaks along the way and still make it to the top in three and a half hours, and get back down in two. I would have to push myself though. The track followed a stream up to a concrete dam, then crossed over above it on a wooden bridge and soon turned into a narrow trail. Why they build those dams, I don't know; they seem to serve no purpose.

Since it was a fine day with the sun shining hot, I had taken off my shirt. I carried the bare essentials in my pack - rainjacket, nylon trousers, food, water and sundry items. I passed an old hut which is quite worn down but could provide adequate shelter from a storm. From here the path climbed up through some steep sections which had me sweating profusely. The intermittent flat stretches were such a relief. Harris wrote of this trail as being so lovely and enjoyable as to make the effort of ascending it negligible. B.S.

After an hour on the trail I stopped beside a spring for a drink of cool water. It certainly was a fine day to be out and I sat in the sun with a faint cool breeze blowing across my shoulders. I could have thoroughly enjoyed this spot had not the thought of having to descend in the dark driven me to take to the trail again.

I felt quite refreshed after my ten minute break and went strong until the trail steepened. Then all my days spent lazing on the beaches of St. John took their revenge. My legs were made of syrup. I stumbled along.

As I came huffing up a steep slope and into a stand of evergreens, a fork in the trail allowed me an excuse to stop. As I pulled out the Harris article, which was useless at this juncture I found, two fellows came along the left fork. They said both ways were the same, so I went up the path they'd come down, and found it was just a short detour to a genuinely charming little brand spanking new hut. It was 2:05 and I went into the hut and wrote a few lines in the notebook there, also noting my membership in the Toyohashi Alpine Club (Nagoya Chapter).

Leaving at a quarter past, I arrived within a minute at a pond with picnic tables! I enjoyed the scene for a few moments and then struck off again up the steep trail. The path dropped down a ways and then started climbing again with a vengeance. Suddenly I realized my meagre breakfast had long ago burned away and I needed to refuel. I could have kicked myself off the mountian for having passed up such a nice spot as the little pond for a lunch break, but told myself I would take advantage of the next inviting rest spot to come along. It was a long time in coming. Half an hour of mostly heart-pounding uphill slogging brought me to a shoulder ridge of bamboo grass over which I could see lower mountains all around. An exposed tree root turned into a lazy-boy chair in my hallucinatory state. My meagre boiled eggs and california oranges lunch tasted like steak and lobster. I glanced at my Tag Heuer chronometer. This was the first time I had worn it on a mountain. It was nearly three.

After starting off along the trail again, I passed a fellow coming down who said it was about an hour to the top. Three others followed him. I felt I must now be quite alone on my push to the summit. Along the way, little signs perversely teased me with the distance to the summit hut. Four kilometers. Three kilometers later another sign read 2.5 kilometers. The distance I was covering wasn't worth the effort I was putting into it. As I climbed up, however, sections of the trail levelled out and were really pleasant to walk along. A carpet of decaying pine needles between dark, mossy boulders and gnarled tree roots along the path were bordered by the deepest shades of sun-dappled verdant green, reminding me of the coastal rainforests of the Cascades in Oregon. I arrived at the summit hut about forty minutes after leaving my lazy-boy tree root and had a look inside. It was quite spacious, with a large entry way containing a wood-burning stove. Inside, I ate another boiled egg and had a big swig of water which had started to taste like plastic. Were it not for the Harris article here, I would have cast around a bit, as the trail to the actual summit does a sharp jacknife and swings around the side before climbing up past a couple of shrines to the summit clearing. I perched myself on the pile of boulders here but couldn't see much at all except a huge bank of cumulus clouds. Thunder roared. Great, I thought. I wondered how in the world the people at Aisan get all their freshmen employees to make this slog up to the top of Mt. Ena as a rite of initiation.

I didn't stick around long. As I walked off the summit, a lone fellow in full fly-fishing gear minus the waders plodded up. Next to him, I was naked. My spandex rock-climbing shorts I had scrunched into the smallest brief possible. I felt like he was looking at me the way I looked at that bozo who climbed Fuji in a suit and penny loafers in October when me and the other guys were decked out in head to toe gore-tex. Well, I hadn't been alone after all. At the hut, I went up the trail behind it to get a look at the view from that side. There was a shrine on the ridge a little ways along the path and I could see all around to the North, South and West. A huge storm was brewing. Thunder crashed in the distance. It seemed to be moving parallel to my intended line of travel, however.

Having satisfied myself that I could take a bearing with my new compass, I made a concentrated effort to get down as fast as I could. I took in few details as I sped down the mountain. My initial smooth gait turned into a bone-rattling controlled fall. I realized that I had climbed up a very long way. Very long indeed. Good grief where is the car park?! I passed the old hut, and telling myself I was nearly to the end, poked around it. There was a stinky toilet in the back. Well, off to the car park. More incredulous feelings came over me as the short gravel track up to the dam stretched on and on. It seemed twice as long as it had on the ascent. Abruptly I saw the clearing and my little red car parked under the big sign. It was 6:15. I'd make it to the top at 3:55, beating my estimation by 15 minutes, having taken three hours and fifteen minutes to the top with a total of thirty minutes break time included, and after spending twenty minutes at or near the top, had returned as I planned in exactly two hours. My legs and knees were quite sore, but it felt very good to have done something to get myself in shape. Something which was worth mentioning to Mal and Iain, which is in fact the reason why I am typing up this self-congratulatory report.

An old-timer camped beside his car struck up a conversation in English with me. He'd been to Canada and climbed Mount Athabasca, Mount Temple, and another (was it Robson?!). Stallion. He'd done Whitney in the States, too.

I took route 19 back to save some coin, stopping at KFC, the only recognizable restaurant along the way. Back home, getting out of the car, my knee had seized up and I almost fell down with pain. Taking a few minutes to shake it out and get limbered up, I then hobbled off to the store to buy ice cream. It tasted rewarding.

Darren DeRidder. 11 July, 1995 (Ena-san. 2190m. Climbed 10 July 1995)

Ontake-san (3063m), Nagano prefecture, Japan

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Ontake-san (3063m)

Gifu, Nagano prefecture, Japan.
Tuesday 1st June, 1995
Report by Iain Williams
Party: Iain Williams and Malcolm Field

Ontake, a mountain that I haven't complimented in the past. I have seen it many times from the air travelling to and from the UK. It sits by itself about 20km to the west of the Chuo Alps and is a large and partially blown apart volcano with several crater lakes located on the top. It also has the misfortune of veing a skiing destination in the winter so it has its fair share of chair lifts. As a result it has never been a mtn that I have been super keen to do. Its advantages are that its our nearest big mtn and its a 3000er so with June 1st being a company holiday for us we agreed to add it to our list of successful ascents.

With it being so close we had time to do it in a day without having to bivy out the night before. My day started at 5am, as I got up to watch the BBC news and force down some breakfast. I then took the first train and headed off to Okazaki where I met Mal at 6:30. We then set off for Tajimi and on to the Chuo expressway for Nakatsugawa followed by the run up route 19. It was exactly the same drive as we did every time we went skiing at Kiso Koma, only this time we were doing it on a beautiful sunny morning instead of a cold winter's evening. We stopped to get some provisions once off the expressway and then enjoyed a very pleasant drive up the lush green valleys in the warm morning sunshine. Turning left off route 19 we drove onto the lower slopes of Ontake. On various bends in the road we were treated to fine views of the mtn. It looked quite impressive but had rather more snow on it than I'd been expecting. From our side there were two routes to choose from so I chose the slightly longer one. The last part of our drive in was blocked by a landslide on the road so we had to drive back down and take another road to our little car park. Having these hitches at the end of our drives seems to be becoming the norm. Eventually we reached our empty little car park.

We quickly sorted our gear and headed off into the trees at 10:45. The path was like none I'd seen before. It was covered with pieces of wood. At first I quite enjoyed walking on it but as Mal said you couldn't settle into a pace on it. The route headed up through the pine trees passing a couple of huts that had little shrines. I was feeling good and was realy enjoying the peaceful surroundings. Much to my surprise our wood covered path then turned into a snow covered path. The further up we went the deeper the snow became, surprise, surprise. This concerned me a little as we weren't very high and I had given Mal my solemn word that he wouldn't need his crampons. My big concern was descending. I still have very clear memories of coming down Gozaisho in the snow without crampons or ice pick. Perfect give yourself a good injury territory. I kept my thoughts to myself and on we went. After about an hour and a half the trees thinned and changed to birch trees. The slope started to round off and we trudges up across the snow to a locked up and deserted hut. We now had a good view of the route up to the top. Lots of snow but also wide rocky sections. The rather fast moving white clouds at the top indicated that a good wind was blowing up there. We didn't stop at the hut, which had many statues, gravestones, and a shrine outside, and moved on traversing a not too steep snow fiels which brought us to another small shrine.

Ontake has been a very holy mtn since ancient times. It is covered with gates and shrines. In the summer white robed monks ascend it on pilgrimages, hence the wood covered path. The shrine we now stood at was surrounded by many statues and memorial(?) stones. The statues were a little smaller than life size and some of them were made of dark stone and had gold dots painted on their eyes. Being someone who is easily spooked I didn't like the look of them. To be honest I never felt quite at home on the mtn. Something didn't feel right. I thought of Messner and his comment that he wouldn't do anything big if things weren't right like his pack smelling not normal. A comment I don't quite understand. We were also the only mortals on the mtn nd we didn't see anyone all day.

At the shrine we took some photos of our splendid surroundings. To our north we could see Norikura dake, another 3000m volcano standing on its own. It's a mtn that I haven't given a lot of thought but it looked quite impressive. Behind it we could see the lower slopes of the North Alps, the upper slopes being in cloud. The best view though was right behind us. Ontake fell away into a large wide green treefilled valley. It was a huge beautiful view. The other side of the valley was the long dark wall of the Central Alps with thin lines of snow descending. One had to look carefully to see Koma ga take, the highest point at just under 3000m. As we climbed higher the South Alps showed more of themselves rising up behind the Central Alps. We could see Kita Dake and Nottori Dake on whose summit wehad stood exactly one year ago to the day. Unfortunately there was too much cloud in the distance and we were not afforded a view of the upper slopes of Fuji.

After our short break we coninued our ascent up a sunken lava path in a field of creeping pine. I polar plodded up following Mal. I was feeling tired not, altitude tired, an allover lethargic feeling. Occassionally the path was filled with long snow patches. Once the creeping pine disappeared the rock changed from being dark ashey lava into a lighter more stoney rock. The worrying part now loomed ahead, the steep upper snow slopes. Mal was a little concerned and slowly attacked the steep slope in front of us. I was now feeling quite good and attacked it hard kicking in good steps and ascending like it was a long staircase. At the top was a rather precariously placed hut. Before not too long I was sitting beside it watching Mal come up and surveying the wonderful view. Mal soon topped out and expressed his concern about descending. My reply was 'no worries, the snow is soft.' From the hut we headed for the next hut which was very close. We scrambled across some deep snow and then got separated as we tried to find the route through the creeping pine, snow, rocks, rubbish, and some broken glass. Mal found the easiest way up to the left. I went to the right and ended up having to cross some very soft and deep snow around the back of the hut. Several times a leg would go through the surface and only stop sinking when I'd sunk up to my hip. I didn't enjoy it.

The hut was just below a crater ridge path and as we climbed up the wind got much stronger. Mal stopped in a sheltered spot to put on some extra clothing. I moved on past the high lava bank and took the full brunt of the wind. To my right was a huge snow filled crater with a smaller one attached. There was also a small frozen crater lake. It was a very barren, cold, cloudy, snowy, wind swept landscape. After about 30m I stopped and headed back to Mal. Dressed in shorts and t-shirt with a fleece top the wind was cutting right through me. I put on my waterproof jacket and balaclava. I hadn't brought my gloves so I put my spare pare of white socks on my hands. My attire combined with Mal's olf pair of sunnglasses made me a top contestand for the Mountain Plonker of the Year award. Looking up we could see a hut on the highest point. I strongly hoped that the summit wasn't too far behind it. Getting up there was a real summit push. The wind was very strong and a lot of cloud kept obscuring the view. After crossing the snow around the hut with my bare hands they were very cold and the wind went straight through my socks and kept them that way. I also regretted not putting on my waterproof trousers. We slowly trudged up occassionally getting some shelter when the lava banked up on our left. We could also smell sulphur just like the ridge at Tateyama.

At the hut we quickly looked rond and then headed for a large gate, walked under it and up a new set of steps up to the top. We walked very slowly up the steps lauging at our pathetic pace. The summit was not what I was expecting. It was flat with a small hut and a small shrine that was flanked by our welcome party of demon eyed statues. It wasn't the usual kind of summit that we've become accustommed to. The strong smell of sulphur was still there and also a loud roaring sound like that of water emerging under immense pressure.

I headed for the sheltered side of the hut and sat down to enjoy and savour my well earnt Mars bar. Looking down I saw where the noise and the smell were coming from. There was a large fumarole shooting out steam and sulphurous vapors surrounded by three smaller smoking ones. I was impressed but the strong smell didn't compliment the somewhat cold piece of chocolate perfection that I was consuming. I quickly ate my lunch, salmon maki sushi and muesli bars. I was cold. We then took some more summit photos, including a few with one of our demon friends holding a Mars. It was then time to beat a hastey retreat down to the lower hut. Back at the hut I took off my socks so as to keep them dry.

From the hut we picked a route waving our way through the rubbish and broken glass to the next hut. Not one of Japan's golden mtn spots! At the hut Mal very generously let me go first down our steep snow slope. As I'd expected descending was no problem as I dug my heels in deeply and moved down quickly. Mal followed a little more apprehensively. It was then back down the lava path to the large cluster of demons. 'Demon' has become a bit of an in word for us. Our drive to Daisen last year was done while Mal told me demon stories. I also called the fast driving truck that tailed and passed us on the way to Kita Dake 'the demon truck from hell,' a name that we often refer to. When we were skiing we called super fast skiers 'speed demons.' All the intense statues on Ontake made me think we should rename the mtn 'Demon Dake'.

The descent from the next hut took us back into the trees onto the snow covered path. This was the part that worried me. Small streams sometimes flowed under the snow and now and again we'd put a leg through. It turned out to be not as perilous as I was expecting and I rather enjoyed it. It was very peaceful and much warmer than it had been on top. However descending doesn't take long before it starts becoming a drag. Eventually we left the snow path and were back on the wood. My memory told me we didn't ascend for too long on the wood and therefore we would soon be back at the car. I was wrong and we descended for a while before reaching the car. Seeing Mal's car after a climb is always a most welcome sight and this time was no exception. It was 4:15. I was nice and warm and a little fatigued. We had beaten the demons and another 3000er had been conquered and I felt satisfied.

Again the drive back down to the expressway was very pleasant in the dying afternoon sunlight. I had a tough time staying awake though. Back in Toyota we did the usual and feasted at Denny's. For me it was then the slow train ride back home. I was tired but there was still a fair bit of adrenaline at work in me. Back home, after a shower I quickly fell asleep and had many fire dreams, whatever they mean.

Ontake had provided us with a fine day even though I was a little underequipped. It was good preparation fr our summer activities in Switzerland. More must be done though. I'm not sure what the next ascent will be. Chances are it'll be a 1000m job on a hot and humid summer's day, not the best preparation for being at 4000m in Switzerland!

Tateyama (3015m), North Alps, Japan

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Tateyama (3015m)

The North Alps, Japan
Wednesday 3rd May, 1995
Report by Iain Williams
Party: Iain Williams, Malcolm Field

My original intention for this Golden Week was to go rock climbing in Korea but due to the excessively high air fares and the limited amount of time I had the plan had to be ditched. Plan B was to do Tateyama in the North Alps, located between the Yari Hodaka ridge and the north coast town of Toyama. Somewhat similar to Daisen. Tateyama was once volcanic but now basically forms a ridge and a rather high one. It is also a major tourist spot in all seasons because of the superb scenery and the impressive transport link going up and through the ridge which consists of a mountain railway followed by a bus followed by another bus which goes through a tunnel through the ridge to the cable car station on the other side which goes down to a large dam which is crossed on foot and finally a bus which takes you down to a train station. A good trip but an expensive one. Our plan was simply to climb up to the highest point on the ridge.

For me the trip started at 9:30 on Tuesday morning when I took the train up to Okazaki where I was supposed to meet Mal at 10. He was 30 mins late so we finally set off at 10:30. We went back up through Toyota and Tajimi heading for Route 41. The drive was to be very picturesque but also very long. Mal had booked us into the youth hostel in Tateyama village for the night and in order to get dinner we had to be there by 5pm, something which concerned Mal far more than me. We ploughed our way up the twisting route admiring the contrasting greens of the trees.

Personally, I much prefer the trees at this time of year compared to the autumnal colours. The weather was not the best though and low cloud and drizzle didn't fill us with joy. Some of the cloud was caught in the trees and gave one the impression we were in a tropical rainforest. The road followed the river, which due to all the rain was flowing fast and wild. At points it had small dams which were covered in mist as did some of the calmer parts of the river. It was a rather pretty drive.

After I don't know how long we stopped at a convenience store beside Gero, where I had once stayed with my Dad. We then continued on up to Takeyama. As the road climbed up, the trees lost their fresh young greens and went back to their drab winter colours and driving past the town we saw all the cherry blossoms which was nice as all of ours had long gone. Once past Takeyama we were entering new territory and the road continued to climb up. We went up over a pass and on the other side the river was now flowing in the opposite direction, not really that surprising but it seemed a little odd after we'd been staring at it for three hours going in the other direction. On the way down to Toyama we got to see some big snowy mtns which were probably ours and soon after we hit low cloud again and it started to rain and continued to for the rest of the day.

As we neared Toyama the navigating got a little serious and we turned off to the right and headed back into the mtns. We drove up and past our destination and had to double back driving down a very misty road in the fading light. At about 5:40 we finally pulled into Tateyama village and soon found the youth hostel. It was a rather lifeless little place with a few small hotels, shops, train stn and the mountain railway station. Dinner was also rather lifeless, as I'd expected, and an hour or so after it we were in need of further nourishment. Before retiring to bed we finalised our plans for the following day and checked them with the people who worked in the hostel. It all seemed okay. That night we shared our room with an American lad (big) who was traveling around Japan. After we switched off the light I and I think Mal lay awake thinking about the next day while our American friend fell asleep immediately and started snoring, much to my annoyance. My last words to Mal that night were, `Old MacDonald had a farm...'

The next morning Mal was up at 4 and staring out the window and informing me of all the people swarming around the mtn railway stn. I was still trying to rest. Our room had been very dusty and my chest had suffered. It felt very tight and I had quite a few squirts of ventolin that morning. I eventually got out of bed at about 5 and sorted my gear out and then went downstairs for our 5:30 breakfast, if that was the right word for it. As I forced my rice and fried egg down the oba san cook asked us if we'd bought our tickets for the railway. We gave her a strange look as we hadn't known we had to do this. When you bought your ticket you were given a departure time for the train. After seeing all the people outside it became very obvious that we weren't going to be on the first train at 6:10. I quickly finished my rice and then ran across the road to get our tickets, departure time: 7:20. We had an hour to kill so I went into the tv room and kept checking the weather forecast and watched a programme on learning Russian, just in case we met any lost hungry Russians on the mtn.

The stn was full of all sorts of people, skiers, climbers, tourists and the cream of the Toyohashi Alpine Club. Our jam packed train took us up the steep escarpment to the bus station. Once off the train the view behind was good. We looked back down across the cloud filled valley. This was followed by a lengthy wait while tour groups seemed to have priority to get on the buses. Our blood pressures were rapidly rising. We'd had far better starts. Eventually we got on a bus, sitting at the front, and made ourselves comfortable for the 55 minute journey. The road climbed steeply up through the trees and then came out onto a huge rising snow covered plateau. We got quite good views of the surrounding mtns and were truly gobsmacked by the amount of snow. The further we went the deeper the snow got and eventually the road narrowed into a single lane and the snow on either side rose into 18m walls. It was incredible. Keeping the road open like that in winter could be no mean feat. Once through the snow tunnel we came to the hotel/bus station at the end of the road.

Inside many people were milling around either getting ready to climb, ski or take another bus through the tunnel. We found a space and got our clothing sorted. I put on Darren's plastic boots and my fleece top and then headed upstairs and outside. On the snow again there were many people. We had good clear views all around us and our route didn't look too bad. We were standing in the bottom of a huge cirque much like a huge bowl of snow. Our altitude was a generous 2,400m so the climb wouldn't be too exhausting.

Our route was basically in two halves. The first being a walk across the snow followed by a fairly steep ascent up to a hut (Ichi-no-koshi). We set off following a narrow track that slowly ascended. I hadn't bothered putting on my crampons and was dressed in fleece trousers, thermal top and TAC T-shirt. Although the sun wasn't out there was still a strong glare from the snow. I had forgotten my sunglasses but fortunately Mal had an old spare pair in his pack. Mal slowly crept away from me as we followed the line of climbers and skiers heading for the hut. The snow was a little soft so with every footstep my feet sank in and slipped back when I moved forward. At first it was a bit frustrating but I soon settled into a pace. The pace would then be disrupted when I caught up with groups. Everyone moved in single file and as we were on a slope moving past people required a lot of energy as it involved scrambling up and around. Many people were carrying skis or more amazingly skiing up the slope, which must have been very hard work. The last section got quite steep and I was enjoying my little workout and I soon reached the hut. Most of the skiers stopped here and skied back down. I was very impressed with them as going through all that effort just to ski was something I wouldn't be too keen to do. Mal was sitting on some rocks beside the hut taking his crampons off. As I was well warmed up I didn't want to stop so told him I would continue and see him further up.

The hut sat in the middle of a col and the route up to our summit required a left turn and then a very steep ascent up a rocky bouldery path for about 300m to another hut. Soon after starting up the path the snow almost completely disappeared so I sat down and changed my boots. It was absolute luxury getting those boots off. Placky boots are so uncomfortable when it comes to walking. As I sat there Mal came up, took a photo and then headed on. I soon followed him with blood surging through my feet again. The ascent was hard work and towards the top it started becoming a bit of a Fuji deathmarch. Although I didn't feel the altitude I'm sure it must make things just that little bit harder up there. The next hut didn't take too long in coming and was located at the end of the ridge. On the top the wind was quite strong and cold but again there wasn't really any snow. I stopped and put on my black sweater and then quickly moved on. I soon came to a small shinto gate and passed under it and then climbed on up to a small summit with a little shrine on it. Mal was there waiting for me. We had reached the top of Oyama (3003m). We took a few photos and consulted the map. The real summit was about 15 mins to the north. We decided to leave the packs at Oyama and head off to the top with only a camera.

We climbed down off our rocky pinnacle and started scrambling across the now windy ridge. It felt great to be up there back in the 3000m zone. I was super keen to get to the top now. We met a group of students heading in the opposite direction and asked them if we could get to the top. They said no problem so again we moved on. I didn't have my hat on and my head was feeling rather cold. We then met another small group and one of the blokes said I couldn't go on without an ice pick. My reply was that I would continue and if necessary would double back. He looked the alpine type and was very adamant about what he was saying so eventually we did an about turn and headed back to Oyama. Back there I put on a hat and my waterproof top, picked up my pick, ate a Mars and then waited very impatiently for Mal to finish his before going back again.

The wind had now dropped a bit and we moved quickly. I was now super keen to get there. It was good fun scrambling across small pinnacles and patches of snow up there in the clouds. After about 15 mins I started to wonder where the top was. On seeing a high patch of ground I walked round the lower part and then headed back up and on to it. It was a large hump covered in snow. I scrambled up and across the snow. It was deep and soft and now and again a leg would sink in up o the hip, frustrating. On top were two other climbers. I asked them if this was the actual summit and they said yes. I called back to Mal and he followed me up. There was a rocky pinnacle with a small wooden board at the base saying 3015m. We sat on the pinnacle taking a few shots but I felt sure the snow was a little higher than the rock so we took some more snaps standing on the top of the snow. The snow was part of a cornice and about a couple of meters from the edge were cracks. Rather foolishly we stood at the edge to take the photos. It was then a quick scramble back down and another return to Oyama. As we walked back we moaned about the ice pick advice. We didn't need them and if anything they made the going more difficult as we climbed around the rocky pinnacles. This wasn't the first time I'd been given useless advice in Japan. I was hoping we'd meet the bloke at the bottom but we didn't.

On the top of Oyama again we met a group of climbers who took their photos and then turned round and went back down as did nearly everyone. Why did they all go up there and then not bother going to the summit? We collected our gear and then headed back down past the hut and then down the steep slope to Ichi-no-koshi. We descended leisurely through the cloud chatting and enjoying our surroundings. The hut soon appeared and so did the cold wind. We stopped beside the hut and took some clothing off. It had now started to rain a little and the wind was blowing strong and cold across the col. The harsh weather was giving me a real adrenaline rush as we got changed. It's much easier to enjoy such conditions when you know safety isn't far away. I decided not to put the placky boots back on but armed myself with my ice pick. We then started our descent down the steep snow slope. A few skiers passed us and we watched them jealously.

We half ran half walked down the slope. It was quite good fun bounding down but we were both a little tired so didn't attack it wholeheartedly. Once it got flat again it became a bit of a drag. The rain also started to fall properly and my fleece trousers were soon soaking wet. Just before we arrived back at the hotel complex we stopped so Mal could try and change his film. He couldn't so we quickly marched back into the warmth. It was just after 2pm when we got back. Often a quick stop inside we ventured back out to take some photos on the snowy plateau. We also tried to take some of the snow gorge road but this was difficult as we couldn't walk down it. Back in the building we had an ice cream, bought some post cards and then caught the bus out. On the bus my face felt a little sore. Once again it was sunburnt, although this time I was quite impressed as there hadn't been any sunshine. I'd learnt a little lesson.

The trip back down to the hostel went very smoothly and we soon arrived back in the little lobby informing them that we would eat elsewhere that evening. After quickly changing we drove down the valley to the nearest restaurant, this wasn't Denny's territory so I ended up with curry, cheese on toast and strawberry ice cream. Not bad. On leaving we asked the extremely friendly and helpful waitress if there was an onsen nearby. There was and we soon found it. Relaxing in the steaming hot water was magic. It's something I'm going to miss when I leave Japan. It's the perfect way to round off a climb.

Back at the hostel we drank Mal's bottle of Baileys as our room filled up with people. We had the window wide open, the dust hadn't gone. Mal warned me there would be trouble keeping the window open for the night. He was right but I told him I would fight our little war and win. We did but we didn't manage to keep it wide open. The others weren't happy, ha, ha.

The next morning my chest was in bad shape again. As everyone rose early so did we and headed off to Toyama in search of a McDonald's breakfast. Toyoma looked like a nice little city but it couldn't provide us with a McD's breakfast or a Denny's. We ended up in a McD's anyway. We had a long breakfast of coffee and filet of fishes. We then drove down the coast through Kanazawa and Fukui to Tsuruga. The atlas said there were some beautiful beaches in the area around a small peninsula. There were and we had a very pleasant drive even though the sun wasn't shining. We also found a nuclear power station so popped into the information centre for a quick look. It was small and quite well hidden but the location was far too good for such a facility. After our uninformative stop we drove on to the end of the cape where we found some stunning granite cliffs. Hopefully in the not too distant future they will provide us with some excellent climbing. The whole area was super and I'm very keen to return. Back on the expressway it was about a 2hr drive down to Okazaki and Denny's. Another trip was over.

Since I've been back I've seen several pictures of Tateyama's summit and none looked like ours. This has been annoying me a lot. There should have been a shrine on the summit. Mal's explanation is that it was under the snow. Very likely, however there is also a hut just past the summit. We didn't see that either but again that wasn't too surprising because of the cloud. My one piece of positive evidence was the board saying 3015m. Unfortunately it doesn't totally convince me. Despite this it was a good trip and a super area, well worth a visit any time of year. Next ascent: I'm not sure, it could be Ontake, a 3000er or a smaller 1000m solo job. I'm also quite keen to do Akaishi Dake in the South Alps as it was often visible from Toyosplash through the winter. Watch this space.

Mt. Fuji (3776m), Shizuoka prefecture, Japan

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Mt. Fuji (3776m)

Shizuoka Prefecture, Japan
23 November 1994
Report by Darren DeRidder
Party: Iain Williams, Malcolm Field, Darren DeRidder

No collection of reports about mountain climbing in Japan would be complete without one on the highest, most famous, most photographed, and most climbed mountain in the country, Mt. Fuji. Internationally recognized for its clean aesthetic form and unique beauty, Mt. Fuji is one of the most popular sights in Japan, and climbing Mt. Fuji has become almost a rite of initiation for foreigners there. Iain wrote a good report of this climb, but I have lost it, so here is mine instead.

There is a Japanese saying which goes, "A wise man climbs Mt. Fuji once. Only a fool climbs it twice." That makes sense, seeing as how Fuji, which at a distance appears almost heavenly, loses any trace of beauty once you set foot on its slopes. The graceful summit that floats above the valley mists and beckons hopeful climbers turns into something like the worlds largest ashtray once the hike begins. Long long lines of traffic wind up the twisting road to the 5th stage, the point approximately halfway up the mountain where the actual climbing begins. Buses spew out dense black clouds of diesel exhaust: the trees seem to be dying from it. Crowds mill about in the cramped souvenir and snack shop,  yammering away about what kind of junk to buy and bring back to friends and co-workers, apparently oblivious to the fact that they are on Mt. Fuji and should be enjoying the views. Climbers in all sorts of outfits from white pilgrim garb to thousand-dollar GoreTex and everything in between form a literal queue up the dusty, monotonous path to the summit.

Along the way, at the 5 remaining 'stages' along the route, there are huts. The price of a can of Coke climbs with the altitude. The summit of Mt. Fuji has a Coke machine too, and if you have $4.00 you can buy a can. There is also a pay phone, in case you want to call home. Almost everything that is enjoyable about mountain climbing has been removed from Mt. Fuji, so that under normal conditions, a climb of this mountain is an unholy miserable slog.

That's why we climbed it in winter.

Mt. Fuji is officially closed in winter. You're not supposed to climb it. There is an 'official' climbing season on Mt. Fuji, and after that, the huts along the route to the top shut down. Apparently this makes most people think that the course is unclimbable. What on earth would they do without the $4.00 can of Coke at the summit, or the phone? What if they needed to use the toilet?

This was fine with us. The less people, the better. We didn't need Coke, couldn't afford to call home, and we were adept at backwoods toiletry. What we wanted was a winter climb on a big mountain with as few distractions as possible. Some people looked at us like we were crazy. Some of our Japanese climber friends nodded and told us we'd have no problem, but to beware of the winds.

The wind was something I already knew about. A year earlier to the day, I had made a winter attempt on Mt. Fuji in the company of a relatively inexperienced Japanese climber named Kuno-san. He was a member of some alpine club or another, and the members of his club had sent him off with doleful remarks and warnings. He carried a little notepad in which he kept a careful commentary and recorded all our starting and stopping times. He looked like he thought he was taking his life in his hands and was getting ready to die.

On top of that, people from his club had said to me, "You have to be careful, because you are responsible if anything goes wrong, it's all your fault." They then proceeded to tell me stories about all the climbers who had died on Mt. Fuji by trying to climb it in winter. This was put into perspective a bit by a climbing friend of mine who told me about his yearly trips to do telemark skiing on Mt. Fuji. "Last time I went all the way from the very top down to the 5th level," he said.

Anyway, with my inexperienced Japanese friend in tow, I proceeded up to about the eighth stage were I sat down for a drink. Before leaving the 5th stage, which was still open for tourists, I had bought a can of hot coffee. This was mostly frozen by now but I shook it up and drank it anyway. We decided not to rope up for the last bit, even though it was a little steeper and the wind was really blowing.

After the ninth stage we couldn't stand up anymore. The wind was just too strong. We had our crampons on and our ice axes, but we had to crouch down in the howling gale just to keep from getting blown off the mountain. The wind was blowing snow and ice and even little rocks through the air. We were covered head to toe, but it wasn't too much fun.

We could have crawled to the top but we decided to go down. When the path switchbacked and turned into the wind I had loads of fun by getting a running start down the wide, steep trail, leaping into the wind, and literally gliding down on the force of the airstream like a ski jumper by leaning forward and making my body like an airfoil.

So, the next year, I was back with Iain and Mal to climb Mt. Fuji. Finally. All the way to the top.

We got to the 5th stage late at night, arriving from Nagoya in Mal's car. Iain and I had our sleeping bags and planned to kip out beside the car. Mal had his futon in the back seat and planned to sleep in the car. Smart man. Ian and I laid our sleeping bags out beside the car, making some comments about the beautiful starry night and hoping the weather would hold. It was cold. Within a few minutes we were both uncomfortable. We laid there silently counting off the hours. About 3 in the morning I heard Iain's quiet voice query, "Darren...?" So I said, "Yeah, what?"

"Are you cold?" Iain asked. I was freezing my arse off. "No, I'm NICE and warm", I said, "What's the matter, can't you sleep?" "I'm busting for a leak, but I don't want to get out of my bag", said Iain. "Well", I said, "Why don't you pee in your sleeping bag?"

Iain then jumped out of his sleeping bag in a flash and, looking like a cat on a hot tin roof (except it was cold instead of hot), pranced over to the edge of the parking lot in his stocking feet and underwear and wizzed in a snowbank. He was back in a flash and zipped up in his bag.

"That was cold", he said.

Neither one of us got any sleep and we were in a black mood when Mal got up at around 5 and started puttering around and putting on a brew. He had slept like a baby and was ready for coffee and a climb. I was ready to take over Mal's futon and forget about climbing. Eventually Iain and I got out of our bags and into our clothes. Moving around and drinking hot coffee got us warmer. There were some other people about but in the darkness it wasn't clear exactly what everyone was doing. By the time it got light we were off and climbing up to the sixth stage.

Mal got a strong start and took off in front. Iain was doing alright, and I was fighting it every inch of the way. I have never, ever worked that hard on a mountain, even at higher altitudes. I carried a full 50m rope in my pack which didn't make things any easier. Iain kept yelling down at me to keep slogging along, and without that encouragement I would have sat down and turned into a popsicle.

About the eighth stage again we knew what we were into. The weather was perfect. Behind us a big cloud bank was approaching and threatened to swallow us up, but for the time being it was holding off. The rest of the sky was clear and we could see the blue pacific and the coastal plain stretching out below us. As we got higher we could see parts of the South Alps. Best of all there was no wind.

Deciding the rope was unnecessary we stored some gear in the entrance of the hut and carried on. Mal, once again in front, blazed his way up to the summit, and Iain followed. I was staggering and semi-delirious by the time I made it up to crater rim. It was still clear and for the first time I looked down into the crater of Mt. Fuji. There was still a bit to go up to the highest point on the rim, where a weather station is situated. The last dozen meters up this slope was slow torture. My body just didn't want to move, it was the weirdest thing. I saw Mal and Iain just up ahead and they said, "Come on, you're almost here." I put one foot in front of the other, and what seemed like several minutes later, they weren't any closer. It was like a dream where you run but don't go anywhere.

At the top I looked North South East and West, took a photo, turned around and headed down without thinking much or doing anything in the way of celebrating. I didn't even eat a Mars bar. The temperature was -16C.

The weather had held off but as we got lower on the slopes the big cloud bank which had steadily crept closer engulfed us and we descended through the last few stages in the freezing mist. When we arrived at the 5th stage there was the usual hodge-podge of tourists milling about the souvenir shop, and we got plenty of stares from curious onlookers as we appeared out of the cloud covered with snow and iced-up climbing gear.

The next order of business was to find a Denny's. I vaguely recall we were able to find one but the service wasn't quite up to par with our regular Denny's in Toyota. Anyhow we got some food in our bellies and somehow managed to crawl back to work the next day with stories about climbing Fuji.

It was a climb that, for better or worse, had to be done. Would I do it again? As the saying goes, only a fool climbs it twice...