I’ve been told many things about Fuji, the mountain plastered over tons of Japanese paraphernalia, and the image synonymous with Japan. Apparently, you can see the curvature of the earth from the top, and on a bright day see to the very ends of the country. This being my first such expedition, I don’t know what to expect.

“I want to see the rocks,” one of my climbing mates said to me earlier on the bus. She is Ana, a tall, energetic Spaniard from Madrid. “Well, if you like rocks and ash, then you are fine,” says Mike, my other climbing mate. We make an odd set of climbers; two lanky Canadians, a Spaniard and a Jamaican as a subset of a larger group of mostly Germans with a few Japanese in the mix. Marco is the leader of this expedition. Short and well built, he is a seasoned climber, having scaled the mountain a few times, even having participated in a competition that challenges competitors to run up the mountain in the fastest. He hands out waivers. “On this mountain there is a significant risk of serious injury or death,” he says to me. As I sign the paper, I wondered what I was really getting into. I live in Tokyo, and the bus ride is about three hours from Shinjuku, which is Tokyo’s most central ward.

Mount Fuji is split into different levels called “stages”. We were told we would start at the fifth stage, the most common starting point for climbers, which leads to the ninth and final stage at the top of the mountain. We would arrive at eight-thirty p.m, giving us about eight hours to catch the four a.m sunrise. Two and a quarter hours into the bus ride, we heard a voice over the intercom. It was Marco’s. “If you look to your left, you can see other people already climbing the mountain. Those lights are from their headlights.” Everyone in the bus looked to the left, and sure enough, a tiny trail of lights extended upwards in an irregular snaking pattern against the massive backdrop of a pitch black Fuji. The mountain loomed like a beast in the night, waiting to be conquered.

At the fifth stage I bought a headlamp and some gloves, snapped a group picture with my fellow climbers, and we were off. A dense set of trees would give a light and friendly start to the journey, with simple paths and conversations with new faces to occupy time. Soon, the trees disappeared and only rock remained, slightly illuminated by the light of the moon. A long week of work had left me weak and a bit dehydrated, and by the sixth stage I felt twinges of dizziness and my hands trembled. This worried me, because I didn’t want to be a Fuji casualty, at least not so early. The black hulk above me loomed, its towering size mocking me. I pressed on. Two tuna sandwiches and half a liter of water later, I felt much better.