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"Easy to Climb" Is What Makes Mt. Fuji Dangerous | Turning Back in a Storm, and the Risks Nobody Mentions

2025.08.04

Every year, as the summer hiking season approaches, a great many people set out to climb Mt. Fuji at least once. 3,776 m, the highest mountain in Japan. A well-made trail, huts all the way up — and because so much has been written about it, Fuji is widely assumed to be a mountain a beginner can manage.

But that assumption may be the most dangerous thing about it. In 2024 there was a run of fatalities from the moment the mountain opened, serious enough to be described as an emergency. On my own second climb of Fuji I was caught in a storm and turned back within reach of the summit — an experience I haven't forgotten.

This post is about what that retreat taught me: the risks I most want anyone climbing Fuji to understand, and the preparation and judgement that protect your life.

Clear sky to storm — what happened on the Fujinomiya Route

We climbed the Fujinomiya Route that day, chosen because I wanted to see a different face of the mountain from the Yoshida Route we'd used before. The sky was blue at the start and I was looking forward to sunrise from the summit. The forecast, though, wasn't good, and we set off with a low-level unease about it.

That unease turned out to be justified. Rain started around the New Seventh Station and we put on waterproofs. Then the wind picked up until we were moving in short stages, sheltering behind rocks. The cloud tore open once and showed blue sky, but only for a moment; it closed again almost immediately and everything went white.

Fuji is a free-standing peak with no high ground around it. That's precisely why the weather at the base and the weather at the summit belong to different worlds. Near the top, winds over 15 m/s are common, along with thunder and sudden rain. By the eighth station the rain had set in properly, and the higher we went the harder both wind and rain became, until my hands went numb.

Even in midsummer, the temperature at the summit is around 5°C, and it can fall below freezing before dawn. Wet clothing — from rain or sweat — combined with strong wind sends the effective temperature down sharply and raises the risk of hypothermia dramatically. The wind became too strong to make progress into. Soaked through, we reached the hut with some difficulty.

Giving up the summit — a decision that takes nerve

We spent that night in the hut at the eighth station. Hot food went into a thoroughly chilled body and we finally felt human again. "We'll get up around two, see what it's like, and if the rain is still bad we go down" — that was the plan, but between the cold and the noise of the wind and rain I barely slept.

By morning there was no sign of the weather improving. We were also on an organised tour, with a fixed departure time for the bus home, so there was no scope for waiting it out. The summit was right there. Even so, putting safety first, we decided to give up the top and descend.

It would be a lie to say that "after coming all this way" didn't cross my mind. But the mountain isn't going anywhere. Go on, or turn back — I understood then how much that single decision matters, more than anything else.

Descending in winds over 20 m/s, and the warmth of a hut

The descent was harder than anything I'd imagined. The wind exceeded 20 m/s and there were moments when it felt about to take me off my feet. The driving rain turned to sleet and struck my face. I couldn't stay upright; at times I crouched down to keep from being blown over, then carried on down with total focus.

My hands were so cold that I cut up an emergency blanket to cover them — and made a firm mental note to come better prepared next time.

There were several encounters on the way down that stayed with me. Below the eighth station we followed a family from overseas, a child of about primary-school age going down one determined step at a time; watching that gave me something back. Around the seventh station, meanwhile, there were people still climbing toward the summit in that weather, which I found genuinely hard to understand.

With our boots full of water we made it to the sixth station. We'd tried to stop at huts on the way, but the atmosphere everywhere was tense enough that it was hard to go in. At the sixth station, on the last of our hopes, we were unexpectedly made very welcome. The kindness of that family-run hut warmed not just a cold body but a fairly worn-down state of mind.

Cut off, with no way down

The relief didn't last. The road on Fuji had been closed and our bus couldn't get through. We were, quite literally, stranded.

Six hours later the closure still hadn't lifted; we were told we wouldn't be getting home that day, and ended up spending a second, unplanned night in the hut. It felt bleak, but we decided to treat it as an experience few people get and make the best of it. After several more changes of plan, an emergency bus appeared out of nowhere and finally got us back down to town.

Against the force of weather, people are close to powerless. That was the lesson of the day.

Why Fuji is genuinely frightening — the gap in the weather data

Fuji is thought of as easy, but it is a severe 3,776 m mountain. Summit temperatures can reach freezing even in the summer season, and there are documented cases of climbers with adequate equipment developing hypothermia in heavy rain and needing rescue.

The part that gets overlooked is that Fuji has a gap in the weather data that safety depends on. Official Japan Meteorological Agency figures for wind speed and rainfall — the things a climber most needs — are not adequately available for the mountain. Since the summit weather station was automated and left unstaffed in 2004, the JMA has not fully covered real-time wind and rain there.

Private organisations have stepped in: services such as Tenki to Kurasu publish their own observations and hiking indices for climbers, and Fuji's own disaster-prevention weather service, Imafuji, is worth consulting too. But these run only during the summer climbing season; outside it, real-time information stops.

Which is why you check several sources and stay alert to the sky in front of you. The movement of the cloud, the strength of the wind, the colour of the sky — in the end your own senses are the most reliable forecast you have. Go on, or turn back. That decision is the most important one you will make for your own safety.

The rules that changed for the 2025 season

Altitude sickness (headache, nausea, exhaustion), hypothermia, and high-risk behaviour such as climbing in inadequate clothing or "bullet climbing" — pushing through the night to the summit without resting at a hut — lie behind a large share of accidents. So does insufficient planning.

In response, new regulations were introduced on all four climbing routes from 2025.

• A mandatory access fee (¥4,000) on every route
• Gates closing the trail at certain hours, restricting late-afternoon and overnight starts in order to discourage bullet climbing
• Compulsory advance registration for climbers

All of it is aimed at safety, and at eliminating bullet climbing in particular. The rules may be revised from year to year, so check the official site for the current position before you go.

The most important thing this taught me

To close, what I took from turning back.

• Prepare thoroughly — a gap in your equipment is a risk to your life (even something as small as gloves is not a detail)
• If you have an underlying condition, decide early — once you've pushed through too much, it's too late
• Weigh the go/turn-back call carefully — retreating isn't defeat, it's the sensible option
• Put the safe choice above everything else

And one more thing. Being tied to a tour schedule — a bus departure time — blunts your judgement, as it did mine. Leave slack in your plan and your budget. That, I learned first-hand, is a legitimate part of preparing for safety.

Fuji, approached properly and with some humility, will show you something you don't forget. I hope this is useful as part of the most important preparation of all: coming home from it.

🛒 See the gear from the video as a list → A packing list for your first low-mountain hike

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