Long ago, a Japanese gentleman, no doubt sporting a white beard, is reported to have said, "he who has never climbed Mount Fuji is a fool; he who climbs it twice is an even bigger fool." Not wanting to fall into either of these polarised categories, I added Japan to a round-the-world itinerary in the winter of 1989. Foolhardy also perhaps to set off on foot from Fujiyoshida without a key to the locked hut. But the girl at the tourist office had assured me that a local climber had one and hoped to go up, also alone, that weekend. All rather more open-ended than I had expected the Japanese way of doing things to be. But sure enough, as I was walking up the approach road, thinking what the heck am I doing, Ishi, the said climber, rolled past in his Toyota, glanced my way, saw the plastic climbing boots, and thought to himself "he`s going more than fishing" and stopped to pick me up. So my accommodation troubles were over. Although it was still hard work breaking into the hut.
Next day the weather was ferocious. Ishi had made a solo attempt on Fuji the winter before and had suffered frostbite to fingers. He returned this year with sparkling new gear, but his fear of more frostbite got the better of him, so he turned back, rather dejectedly, about a thousand feet from the crater rim. I plodded on to the rim and crouched down for a summit photo, or should I say, rim photo, in the hurricane winds. The highest point may only have been a few metres higher, but would have been a long crawl on hands and knees to get there. No, thank you; honour satisfied.