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The 5 Mountains That Stayed With Me This Year | Nokogiriyama, Bukosan, Akadake, Hirugatake and Mount Fuji

2025.12.26

I climbed a lot of mountains this year. Some went exactly as I'd pictured them; others turned me back with weather. Looking at the year as a whole, though, what stayed with me wasn't whether I got the view. It was how I met each mountain.

This post is a look back at the five that made the strongest impression, counted down. They range from Nokogiriyama in Chiba at 329 m to Mount Fuji at 3,776 m. This isn't a list of beginner recommendations — it's a record of the mountains that taught me something.

For each one I'll cover its character and what's worth seeing, how hard it felt to me in practice, roughly how to get there, and what I took away. That includes the summits where the cloud was so thick I saw nothing at all. Consider it an unvarnished record of a year.

The five at a glance

Here they are laid out by elevation, area, and how hard each one felt to me on the day. The star ratings are my own subjective sense of the effort, not an official grading.

• 5th: Nokogiriyama — Chiba Prefecture / about 329 m / felt difficulty ★☆☆☆☆ (though the rocky sections and exposure deserve respect)
• 4th: Bukosan — Chichibu, Saitama Prefecture / 1,304 m / felt difficulty ★★☆☆☆
• 3rd: Akadake — the Yatsugatake range, Nagano Prefecture / 2,899 m / felt difficulty ★★★★☆ (genuine rock scrambling)
• 2nd: Hirugatake — the highest point in Kanagawa Prefecture / 1,673 m / felt difficulty ★★★☆☆ (with snow still lying)
• 1st: Mount Fuji — Yamanashi and Shizuoka prefectures / 3,776 m / felt difficulty ★★★★★ (we turned back in a storm)

The difficulty I felt doesn't line up neatly with elevation or with the ranking. A low mountain can demand full attention, and a high one can feel manageable if you've prepared properly. This year taught me both, repeatedly. I'll go through them from fifth up.

5th: Nokogiriyama (Chiba, about 329 m) — a mountain of stone that doesn't let you relax

Fifth is Nokogiriyama in Chiba, at 329 m. On the number alone, plenty of people would file it under sightseeing rather than hiking.

I'd been here before myself, as a tourist: walking the grounds of Nihon-ji temple, seeing the Great Buddha, wandering the landscaped sections. What stuck with me then was "scenic tourist spot." Walking it properly as a hike this time, it felt like an entirely different mountain.

What's worth seeing

Nokogiriyama is known for its sheer rock faces and the remains of the quarries where stone was cut out by hand. The largest wall is nicknamed the Laputa Wall, and even standing in nature it has the presence of an enormous building. Reading the cut marks in the rock, you get a sense of the long relationship between people and this hill. With Nihon-ji, the Great Buddha and the garden-like sections as well, the line between hiking and sightseeing blurs in a way I've not experienced elsewhere.

How it felt

Once on the trail, the ground is rocky and demanded more concentration than I'd expected. The steps are low, but there are places where a lapse would catch your foot. "It's a low mountain, so it's easy" is not a sentence I'd use here. Despite the modest elevation, looking up at those walls or standing at the edge of a cut face gives you a real sense of height. Step away from the busy tourist areas and the quiet returns immediately; that switching back and forth is part of what makes the place. It's the mountain that showed me a face I hadn't known was there.

Access

Nokogiriyama is in the Uchibo area of Chiba, and Hamakanaya Station on the JR Uchibo Line is the convenient starting point. There's also a ropeway, so it's easy to combine hiking and sightseeing to suit your time and energy. It's low, but there's a lot of rock — wear proper footwear.

4th: Bukosan (Chichibu, Saitama, 1,304 m) — a sacred mountain that's still being cut away

Fourth is Bukosan in Chichibu, Saitama, at 1,304 m. It's highly distinctive and visible from the town below. Many people picture the terraced, quarried face when they hear the name, and having climbed it, I don't think that's the whole story.

Character and what's worth seeing

There's a particular tension in the air on this trail. The path isn't dangerous and the scenery isn't harsh, and yet something is drawn tight enough that you find yourself standing straighter. Bukosan has long been regarded as a mountain with a deity in it, and an object of worship. Learning that afterwards made sense of the quietness I'd felt. I've always been drawn to mountains tied to faith and prayer, for reasons I can't fully explain.

At the same time, Bukosan is deeply tied to industry. Limestone is still being quarried here and still supports how we live. The mountain has been cut back and its shape has changed enormously from what it was. And yet rare plants found nowhere else survive on it. Industrial development and protecting nature look opposed, and both are things people need in order to live. That contradiction is right there on this mountain, and it left me thinking quietly for a long time.

Carrying water up

On this day I filled containers at a waterfall near the base and carried the water up to the toilet at the summit. Carrying water adds real load, and strangely it wasn't an unpleasant weight. It might help someone else who comes up here, not just me — and there was a quiet satisfaction in that. Taking something from the mountain, and giving a little back. That was specific to Bukosan.

Access

Yokoze Station on the Seibu Chichibu Line is the usual starting point. It's close to central Chichibu and much loved as the town's landmark peak. Walking it while thinking about its history and its relationship with people gives you far more out of the day.

3rd: Akadake (Yatsugatake, 2,899 m) — my first real rock, and the preparation that made it work

Third is Akadake, the high point of the Yatsugatake range, at 2,899 m. It's one of the most memorable days of my year.

Preparing for it

Every source I read while planning mentioned the rock sections. Serious scrambling was still some distance outside my comfort zone, so I decided not simply to climb it but to prepare for it properly. I bought a helmet for the first time and took a course on rock. Where to put hands and feet, how to move your body, how to think about avoiding danger — putting real understanding under things I'd been doing on instinct. That period felt like I was already engaging with the mountain before I'd set foot on it.

How it felt

The day began with quiet walking through forest. After a while it started to rain and the ground went steadily wetter. "So this is the kind of day it's going to be," I thought, and kept going. Above the treeline the rock arrives. Wet rock asks for more care than usual, and each decision carried noticeably more weight. That was exactly when the helmet and the things I'd learned started to hold me up. I wasn't relaxed — but there were repeated moments where I could tell that preparation was the reason I stayed calm.

Nearer the summit the sky whitened and the view disappeared into cloud completely. Nothing of the panorama I'd hoped for. Standing on the top anyway, I felt oddly warm about it and simply glad I'd come. The mountain gave me no reward view, and the whole process of getting there left me with a strong sense of having done something. More than anything, it taught me what preparation actually buys you. It's a serious route with rock and, on my day, rain, so it was one of the harder days of the year for me. If you're going, I'd strongly recommend a helmet and a course beforehand.

Access

Minotoguchi in Chino, Nagano — the gateway to the Yatsugatake — is the usual starting point for Akadake. I've written up the route and the itinerary in detail in a separate post, so have a look at that if you're planning to go.

2nd: Hirugatake (highest in Kanagawa, 1,673 m) — my first snow, and my first chain spikes

Second is Hirugatake, the highest point in Kanagawa, at 1,673 m. I'd wanted to climb it for a long time. A year into hiking, it finally felt like the right moment to try.

How it felt

I went in March, honestly expecting that there might be a bit of snow lying about. There was far more of it than I'd imagined. This was where I put on chain spikes for the first time. Setting off slightly nervous, the squeak of snow underfoot was so new to me that it became genuinely fun. What came up through my feet was obviously a different world from the trails I'd walked so far.

As I climbed, the sky clouded over and the view closed down to white. By the time I neared the summit everything was white and there was no view at all. Even so, simply standing on the highest ground in Kanagawa filled me up. Looking back, I might have chosen my timing better. And I might not have experienced a snowy mountain at all if I hadn't gone then. In sunshine, snow glitters and lifts your mood; under cloud, the same snow goes flat and heavy and slightly frightening. That one substance could change so completely stayed with me. It was the mountain that first gave me the feeling of stepping into the next world along.

Access and cautions

Hirugatake sits deep in the Tanzawa range, and despite being the highest point in Kanagawa it's known for how long the approach from any trailhead is. For a day trip you need an early start, real fitness and a plan with slack in it. In the residual-snow season you need traction — chain spikes or similar — and kit that matches the conditions. Judging the timing matters here more than on most mountains.

1st: Mount Fuji (3,776 m) — "I managed it last year" is the most dangerous thought

First is Mount Fuji, straddling Yamanashi and Shizuoka, the highest mountain in Japan at 3,776 m.

Why it's first

I got up it safely last year. Which probably means that somewhere in me this year there was a "it'll be fine." Fuji this year showed a completely different face. Wind and rain from a typhoon, and above all cold — that's what I remember. The same mountain in different conditions is a different mountain. I thought I understood that. This year I learned it with my body.

How it felt

What I can't forget is descending in the typhoon. Rain hitting us, wind pushing us around, the cold going deeper by the minute. There were repeated moments when I wanted to look away from the situation. But you don't get to stop; you go down, one step at a time. Up there, how you feel doesn't change the conditions, and there is simply time you have to walk through.

Fuji did not give me a summit this year. Looking back, though, getting down safely matters far more to me than not reaching the top. Fuji may be the mountain where success makes you overconfident fastest — which is exactly why you have to start from zero every single time. It left me with the clearest possible lesson about not taking a mountain lightly and about the value of getting home. Counting the year I made it and the year I didn't, Fuji remains a mountain apart for me.

One practical note: the rules and systems around climbing Fuji have been revised in recent years. If you're planning to go, check the current official information before you build your itinerary. I've written about Fuji's real risks and how to prepare in a separate post.

What these five taught me

Laid out together, the elevations and difficulties are all over the place, and the thing they share is this: each gave back in proportion to how honestly I met it.

• Nokogiriyama: a low mountain still demands attention. A hill I thought I knew had another face.
• Bukosan: the relationship between people and a mountain — and taking a moment to give a little back rather than only taking.
• Akadake: the composure, and the satisfaction, that come from preparing before you go.
• Hirugatake: my first snow, and the feeling of stepping into the next world along.
• Mount Fuji: how dangerous overconfidence is, and what getting home safely is actually worth.

A lot of this year didn't go to plan, and that's exactly why there was so much to learn from it. Mountains give back in proportion to how you meet them — I feel that more clearly now than before. Next year I'd like to keep going at my own pace, with safety first. I hope your next mountain gives you a good day.

🛒 See the gear I use in the video as a list → The quiet workhorses in my pack

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