Mt Asahi, Hokkaido

Summit fever is usually a dangerous phenomenon that kills climbers. High on the flank of some improbable peak, overcome by the desire to reach the top after all that effort, time, and money, the climber ignores the safety rules, continues well past the turnaround time, and ends up dying because there’s not enough time, energy, or both, to get back down. It seems to happen on Mt Everest a lot.

That fine sunny day near the top of Mt Asahi on Hokkaido I had summit fever too. The difference? About 6,500 vertical meters. Mt Asahi is a modest peak, and although in late Autumn it was already covered by a surprise coat of snow, it’s a simple walk to the top. A wind was picking up, blowing hard above the last shoulder of the mountain. I didn’t want our daughter, sleeping soundly in my backpack, to be woken by that blast. Yon suggested that she and our two friends could wait at the shoulder if I thought I could be back quickly.

Summit Fever!

↑Mt Asahi, seen on our first visit in 2009

This was my third visit to this lovely mountain, right in the middle of Japan’s beautiful Daisetsuzan National Park on the island of Hokkaido. Our first visit was deep in winter, early in 2009. That time, we took the cablecar to the lower part of the summit, and while there I thought it would be cool to return one day and get to the top. It was seven years until we returned in the summer of 2016, and made our first summit attempt.

↑Mt Asahi during our summer 2016 visit

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Summer Ascent

In summer, Daisetzusan is beautiful and stunning and fresh and green. We stayed, as always, at the lovely Shirakabaso Youth Hostel. Here, in spotless clean tatami rooms, we enjoyed relaxing nights and the restorative experience of piping hot onsen springs right there in the hotel.

↑The mountain and surrounding high area in summer 2016

↑Daisetzusan on the cusp of Autumn and Winter 2017

↑The hostel at Asahidake Onsen

That summer we climbed the mountain from the bottom. Almost no-one seems to do this; the cablecar takes ten minutes while the hike is two or three hours. But more loss to them, because we had the forest trail entirely to ourselves. The sun shone down, broken here and there by tall fir trees reaching tall to the sky. Somewhere up high, a helicopter flew back and forth, taking building supplies uphill for renovations of a mountain hut far above us.

We gained height along a winding forest path and then broke the treeline and emerged into the bright blue sky. A few hundred meters more brought us to the path that led from the top of the cable car up towards the summit. The helicopter was gone, but now there was a new noise, a faint roar which grew louder as we climbed higher. Mt Asahi is an active volcano, and smoky steamy sulphuric gas pours from fumaroles beneath its long since destroyed crater rim. Scientists assess it last erupted in 1739.

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From here to the top it is an easy, if steady, walk up a ridgeline made mainly of red clay peppered with boulders. Glorious views unroll beneath you to the right; out to the left all you see is the higher ridge which must have once been the crater rim. Our daughter played safely on the large summit area while we took in the view. Another pretty easy walk back down to the top of the cablecar station and fifteen minutes later we were at the village far below.

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↑Climbing to the top, summer 2016 (Photo: S)

↑ The high part of the route

↑Summit shot.

↑Glorious summit views

↑The cablecar station seen from near the summit

The Raven

At the base of the final climb is an emergency hut and a small picnic area overlooking the fumaroles. There is a large structure there too, holding a big bell that hikers would ring as they arrived. We sat around the picnic table snacking. Suddenly, as if out of nowhere, a strange older man was standing by us. “Watch out for the crow”, he said, backlit by the sun. I couldn’t make out his face, which made the whole thing slightly creepy, like a scene from some slow-burn horror film. There was not a bird to be seen in the clear sky and when I turned back around, the man had vanished, as though I had imagined him.

About six minutes later I heard a flapping and a squeal and totally out of instinct I threw myself over our daughter. A giant crow apparated out of some other dimension and dive-bombed us. It reminded me of being swooped by magpies as a kid in Australia. When I came up – daughter unscathed – our friend pointed out a huge black bird sitting on the nearby hillside. With her bag of peanuts! “He took it straight from the pocket of my backback”, she said, astounded.

Mystery Raven Man was right.

↑The mountain at night, seen from the hostel.

↑ Daisetzusan and Mt Asahi seen from outside the nearest mid-sized town.

Late Autumn Ascent

But now it was late Autumn the following year. Yon and our two friends D & O, who’d joined us from Australia, kindly agreed to wait it out at the shoulder with our sleeping kid – safe and warm in the child carrier – while I hustled up to the summit and back. This I did with the freedom of someone who’s just laid down a 15kg load after hauling it up the mountain. Fast and nimble, I picked my way carefully up the thin showy path between rocks, smiling and greeting climbers on their way down and on their way up.

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↑W with snowfriend 

↑Wintery view 2017

↑ Riding the cable car

↑ It looks wintery, but it was lovely Autumn weather

↑Yon on the high part of the route, with D&O in the background

↑Super cool Japanese hiker

When I popped over the top of the shoulder, the full brunt of the wind hit me right in the face. The sun shone down out of a deep blue sky, but it was cold and harsh, that wind. I pressed on, up the last slope to the dome of the summit.

Ah, that special moment of reaching a summit. It doesn’t matter if it’s the hardest thing you ever reached, over 6,000 meters above sea level like Stok Kangri in India, or a more modest climb that took you many attempts like Mt Yotei, or if it is essentially a walk in the park you’ve done a few times before. Getting to the top is always a rush; seeing the view suddenly unfold before you, knowing there’s only one way from here: down. On a high summit you can’t stick around because the air is too thin. Here, I had to rush back to my waiting wife, kid, and friends. But I held it as long as I could, took it all in, let the sun warm my face and the wind tickle my smile.

Nowhere to go but down

I took a photo for the Japanese couple who were also there, and as I left our little conversation, I heard the woman call after me. She gave me a little onigiri – a rice ball snack wrapped in dried seaweed – and a big smile. I thanked her, returned the grin, and hustled down as fast as was safe.

Down below, reunited with the others, I took the kid back to the ropeway station and drank a vending machine beer while they explored over by the fumaroles. Sitting on the deck, talking to my kid, taking in the sun, and staring at the summit. Another day in the mountains with friends. For me, it’s just about the pure definition of happiness.

↑ Walking back from the cablecar station at the end of a happy day.

↑This is how the Facebook magic happens

↑Another day in the mountains with friends. For me, it’s just about the pure definition of happiness. Except that D didn’t get the Coat Memo. Blue, man, blue!

The Blue runs strong in this family.