This is the entrance to the Shinto shrine atop Mt Fuji. The path between the last station and the shrine is packed worse than the lineup of 14 year old girls outside of an N'Sync concert. By the way, Amber, Lance Bass is still gay.
This stone marks the name of the shrine. Really the only characters I recognized were
富士山 (Mt Fuji)
As I climbed up the mountain gradually losing any shred of energy, I just kept telling myself, "I've been higher than this before - much higher! This should not be such a rough climb." But, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself of how easy Fuji should be, it just kept getting harder and harder to press upward. By the time I reached the peak it had been nearly 24 hours since I had last slept and I had been ready to pass out in exhaustion several hours before that. Yet, somehow, breaking off the trail and taking a look back over the clouds rejuvinated me. I felt as if a cool breeze had granted me new lungs. This would all fall apart on the descent, of course, but for a brief moment the spirit of the same mountain that killed my physical resolve restored my life.
Another surprise to tear apart the "I've been higher" mantra was the fact that I had never seen a view like this before. On the
Peru blog I have pictures of mountain scenery far beyond this altitude yet nothing of this magnitude. The Andes moutain pictures are mountains surrounded by other mountains, but Fuji is an island in the clouds. You beat your body for 6 hours to reach a peak surround by hundreds of other climbers only to look out at the expanse of the sunrise and realize suddenly that the whole climb has been between the mountain and you alone.
This is the entrance to the Shinto shrine atop Mt Fuji. The path between the last station and the shrine is packed worse than the lineup of 14 year old girls outside of an N'Sync concert. By the way, Amber, Lance Bass is still gay.
This stone marks the name of the shrine. Really the only characters I recognized were 富士山 (Mt Fuji)
As I climbed up the mountain gradually losing any shred of energy, I just kept telling myself, "I've been higher than this before - much higher! This should not be such a rough climb." But, no matter how hard I tried to convince myself of how easy Fuji should be, it just kept getting harder and harder to press upward. By the time I reached the peak it had been nearly 24 hours since I had last slept and I had been ready to pass out in exhaustion several hours before that. Yet, somehow, breaking off the trail and taking a look back over the clouds rejuvinated me. I felt as if a cool breeze had granted me new lungs. This would all fall apart on the descent, of course, but for a brief moment the spirit of the same mountain that killed my physical resolve restored my life.
Another surprise to tear apart the "I've been higher" mantra was the fact that I had never seen a view like this before. On the Peru blog I have pictures of mountain scenery far beyond this altitude yet nothing of this magnitude. The Andes moutain pictures are mountains surrounded by other mountains, but Fuji is an island in the clouds. You beat your body for 6 hours to reach a peak surround by hundreds of other climbers only to look out at the expanse of the sunrise and realize suddenly that the whole climb has been between the mountain and you alone.
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