Happy New Year from Mount Tsukuba!

A hike up Mount Tsukuba for the first sunrise of 2004
by Edgar Paul Reyes

2:00 A.M. January 1, 2004. The alarm clock goes off with a loud electronic bleeping sound. I press it promptly and bury my head inside the pillow and go to sleep again. Five minutes (it actually feels like two seconds) later, it goes off again and this time I decide it’s no use holding off the inevitable. I flip the futon away and stumble into the kitchen where I turn on the gas heater, put a kettle of water on the stove to boil and wash the sleep from my eyes. The water is freezing.

The first rays of the morning sun break through the clouds over the Pacific Ocean, announcing the New Year, while a hiker snaps a picture.

I put on my clothes as fast as I can—two pairs of socks, a momohiki, jeans, two T-shirts, a long-sleeved sweatshirt, an all-weather jacket and a nice, warm cap on my head. Ten years in Japan and I’m still not used to the cold winters.

After a breakfast of leftover pizza and hot tea, I check the contents of my bag for the final time: a camera, two canisters of film, two lenses, a flash, a thermos bottle of hot tea that I have just squeezed inside, five bars of Snickers, an extra shirt and a pair of socks, a lighter and a candle (a survival-specialist friend gave me these, in case need to build a fire), and an enormous Mag-Lite flashlight.

I hesitate for a while about the Mag-Lite. It’s too heavy. But on the other hand, I need a flashlight to hike up a mountain at two o’clock in the morning. I have the penlight-size flashlight but when I checked it out at the last minute, the bulb was missing. First rule of hiking: make adequate preparations beforehand.

There’s nothing to be done and I decide to bring it along. Ah, why go through all these trouble just see the first sunrise of the new year? I mean, what’s the big deal? Who would be crazy enough to hike up a mountain at two o’clock in the morning?

The Japanese, that’s who—in large numbers. I find this out thirty minutes later when I get to the foot of Mt. Tsukuba on my car. The traffic barely moves. Apparently, there are people who are crazy enough to be there much earlier than me. There is a shrine and a torii halfway up the mountain. I have to get to that and find a parking space for the car and then hike my way up to the top from there. A hour and a half later, I’m walking along a narrow street full of people who are either going to the top of the mountain or just finishing their New Year celebrations.

Mist covers a sleeping town near the foot of Mt. Tsukuba.

The New Year sun rises over the haze and cold, offering warmth and hope for the coming year.

Now where’s that trail? Okay, it’s there just beside the cable car station. To my surprise, the cable car is actually in operation— to help other crazy people get to the top of the mountain. Now, this gets me thinking. I’m already an hour late and the cable car will get me faster to where I’m going. Besides, my bag feels just a little too heavy (and I even brought along an allmetal monopod for the camera) and I’m panting before I even get near the cable car station. Second rule of hiking: travel light.

The cable car ride is a welcome relief and set me back ¥1,020 back and forth. I actually toyed with the idea of hiking down when it’s all over. But I thought, nah, stop kidding yourself. Months without exercise has left me badly out of shape and hiking down is practically just as tiring as hiking up. Third rule of hiking: exercise often.

Mt. Tsukuba has two peaks, one higher than the other and the cable car stops between these. Although it is relatively short at 877 meters, its eastern peak offers an unimpeded view of the sunrise over the Pacific Ocean and Mt. Fuji down south.

I fling my bag over my shoulders just as the cable car doors open and I join men and women on their way up. It’s funny, I don’t see people who are about my age (around thirty); these hikers are mostly “senior citizens” or teenagers. I guess people my age (who are arguably more reasonable than much younger and much older people) are inside their warm futons snoring.

Now we’re on our own; there’s no cable car going to the peak. So we file along the narrow trail that goes to the top, one by one. The snow that fell a week ago didn’t melt and has hardened into ice, making each step slippery. I amuse myself by counting how many times people before me slip and fall. Even the normally unflappable Japanese are having fun.

About thirty minutes of slipping and sliding and we stop where a lot of people are gathered closely together, surrounded by uniformed policemen. This is (apparently) “the peak,” which is no wider than the apartment I live in. The policemen occasionally shout precautions through their loudspeakers warning people not to get too close to the edge or they might roll down into the Pacific Ocean. Okay, I made that last one up.

I maneuver my way through the crowd and find a good place to set up the monopod for my camera. An hour and a half later and we are rewarded with one of the most spectacular sunrises I have ever seen—the only one I’ve seen over the Pacific Ocean, in fact. And down south, through the mist, is the magnificent Mt. Fuji, its white peak gleaming in the early sunlight.

What a good way to greet the new year! Away from the noise of the city—the warm glow of the morning sun on your face and the crisp winter air through your lungs. It’s a refreshing change to stand in quiet reflection, gazing down the world, and envisioning the great opportunities of the new year. Happy New Year to everyone—from Mt. Tsukuba!

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