A dangerous climb up Mount Fuji I had heard about August climbs - early afternoons with thousands snailing their way up the mountain. Prepare to have a backside swinging in your face for several hours. Come nightfall, climbers cram themselves onto shelves in wooden buildings to bed down. All are packed tightly together and some find themselves sandwiched between strangers. Pungent aromas rise and the air is thin; altitude sickness is rife. About 3am most start their final ascent to see the sunrise from the summit and marvel at the dawn. Then there's a mass retreat down the mountain as hours of self-imposed misery finally come to an end. This is how Mount Fuji should be climbed, so I was told. Well, I had other ideas. I'd climb the mountain in the snow, minus the hordes. I'd start out in the morning and be back down in time for tea. With no one else willing to risk an October climb, I set off alone. I arrived at a small town under the mountain. There, I checked the bus times to level five (a tour stop area about 2,300 metres up the 3,776-metre mountain), where I would start my climb. There were no early morning buses up and the last bus down left at 1.30pm. I'd have to take a pre-dawn taxi, race to the summit and return to the fifth level before the bus departed. The next day at 5am, Japanese tourists milled around level five waiting for sunrise. I headed towards the mountain path. A token rickety gate blocked the way. I hopped over. The path led into a forest that was deathly dark and silent, full of shadowy branches and knotted tree trunks. Thoughts of being mauled by bears came to mind, despite having been assured that there were no such beasts on the mountain. Apparently the forest is however notorious for suicides, and visions of dangling bodies appeared from deep within the woods. Some 30 minutes later, with relief, I reached the treeline. From here on my burden would be boulders, rocks and hardened pebbles of lava that had once spewed out from the volcanic mountain. The first rays of sunlight spiked up from the horizon and a lengthy zig-zag path rose before me. I looked to the long straight slopes angling towards the summit and decided taking a direct ascent would be much quicker. So I left the path and scrambled over small lava stones which dislodged and bounced down. I made good speed. I was nearing the path above when suddenly, underfoot pebbles rolled away like ball bearings. I stepped again and again to find I was doing no more than digging a hole. The more I stepped, the deeper the hole became. The dangers of straying from the path dawned. With effort, I belly-flopped onto the mountainside. The path was within grabbing distance. I took hold of solid stone and hauled myself to safety. Disappointed at being confined to the slow rising footpath, I trudged on. I reached the first of the snow and ice and it looked like furred needles - perhaps the craft of the driving winds.Here, boulders littered the terrain and I clambered up. Occasionally I slipped and grabbed at the ice covered chain-way. After an hour or so the boulders gave way to another zig-zag path. Now, the road was much steeper, the air thin. Every 25 metres or so, I rested. Eventually I came to concrete steps. At the top stood a small temple white with snow, with sculpted lions standing on guard. This was the summit. On reaching the top step, cold biting wind screamed across the mountain and into my face. There was no let-up but I battled forward, the volcanic crater my goal. The entire snow-laden summit spread out before me and not a soul was to be seen. For a brief moment I would be the highest person on Japanese soil. Elation struck. I raised my arms and spun around, and looked to the heavens, where an aircraft made its way. I wanted to look down the crater. A carpet of snow and ice threatened. I got to about six metres from the precipice and stepped no further. Looking down, a vertical cliff-face fell to the depths, surrounded by an expanse, of snow. There was no sign of life. Yet there was a sensation of peace. Nothing seemed to matter. I was entranced. So what if the wind did hurl me into the mouth of the volcano? What a great way to go. To sit here and freeze to death in the grips of Mount Fuji, how bad would that be? The cold deepened and my fingers stiffened. The spell broken, I rubbed my hands between my knees. No effect. It was time to descend, my 20 minutes on the roof of Japan over.