Gotemba

you will meet fools enough during the day without trying to round up the main herd of them at night but even the main herd of fools may teach its lesson to the student of human nature it gives at least a point of departure in the study of wisdom to study men or to kill time what is your motive the poorest use of time is to kill it this is the weakest and most cowardly form of suicide moreover it is never quite successful that time which crawleth like a monstrous snake wounded and slow and very venomous is sure to take its own revenges end of section one section two of life's enthusiasms It is therefore good to look on the cheerful side of life.

a touch of humor is necessary to the salvation of the serious man it is a gift of the men of america to see droll things and to express them in droll fashion to see the funny side of one's own accomplishments is the highest achievement of the american philosopher and there is hope for the land in which the greatest wits have been the most earnest of moral teachers who was more earnest than oliver wendell holmes who more genuine than mark twain without the saving grace of humour our puritan conscience which we all possess would lead us again into all extravagance witch-burnings quaker stoning heresy trials and intolerance of politics and religion from all these we are saved by our feeling for the incongruous a touch of humour recalls us to our senses it makes the whole world kin in the love of nature is another source of saving grace science is power in the stores of human experience lies the key to action and modern civilization is built on science the love of nature is akin to science but different contact with outdoor things is direct experience it is not stored not coordinated not always convertible into power but real nevertheless and our own the song of birds the swarming of bees the meadow carpeted with flowers the first pink harbingers of the early spring the rush of the waterfall the piling up of the rocks the trail through the forest the sweep of the surf the darting of the fishes the drifting of the snow the white crystals of the frost the shrieking of the ice the boom of the bittern the barking of the sea-lions the honk of the wild geese the skulking coyote who knows that each beast is his enemy and has not even a flea to help him forget that he is a dog the leap of the salmon the ecstasy of the mocking-bird and bobolink the nesting of the field mice the chatter of the squirrel the gray lichen of the oak the green moss on the log the poppies of the field and the mariposa lilies of the cliff all these and ten thousand more pictures which could be called up equally at random and from every foot of land on the globe all these are objects of nature all these represent a point of human contact and the reaction which makes for youth for virtue and for enthusiasm to travel is merely to increase the variety of contact by giving our time to it and by extending the number of points at which contact is possible it may be that he who wanders widest lifts no more a beauty's jealous veils than he who from his doorway sees the miracle of flowers and trees it is true however that the experiences of the traveller cover a wider range and fill his mind with a larger and more varied store of remembered delights the very names of beloved regions call up each one its own picture the south seas to have wandered among their green isles is to have seen a new world a new heaven and a new earth the white reef with its whiter rim of plunging surf the swaying palms the flashing waterfall the joyous people straight as greeks and colored like varnished leather the bread-fruit tree and the brown orange the purple splendor of the vine called bougainvillea and above all the volcanic mountains green fringed with huge trees with tree ferns and palms the whole tied together into an impenetrable jungle by the long-armed lianas the sierra nevada sweeping in majestic waves of stone alive with color and steeped in sunshine switzerland norway alaska tyrol japan venice the windward islands and the gray azores chapultepec with its dream of white cloaked volcanoes enoshima and gotemba with their peerless fujiyama nikko with its temples loch lomond lake tahoe windermere tintagel by the cornish sea the yellowstone and the canyon of the colorado the crater lake of oregon sorrento with its vesuvius honolulu with its paley the yosemite banff with its selkirks prince frederick's sound with its green fiords chamounix with its mont blanc berne with its oberland zermatt with its matterhorn simla with the great silent wonder of the snows even now as i write says whimper the master mountain climber they rise before me an endless series of pictures magnificent in effect in form and color i see great peaks with clouded tops seeming to mount upward forever and ever i hear the music of distant herds the peasants yodel and the solemn church bells and after these have passed away another train of thought succeeds of those who have been brave and true of kind hearts and bold deeds of courtesies received from strangers hands trifles in themselves but expressive of that good-will which is the essence of charity that poetry was a means of grace was known to the first man who wrote a verse or who sang a ballad it was discovered back in the darkness before men invented words or devised letters the only poetry you will ever know is that you learned by heart when you were young happy is he who has learned much and much of that which is good bad poetry is not poetry at all except to the man who makes it for its creator even the feeblest verse speaks something of inspiration and of aspiration it is said that frederick the great went into battle with a vial of poison in one pocket and a quire of bad verse in the other whatever we think of the one we feel more kindly toward him for the other charles eliot norton advises every man to read a bit of poetry every day for spiritual refreshment it would be well for each of us if we should follow this advice it is not too late yet and if some few would heed his words and mine these pages would not be written in vain i heard once of a man banished from new england to the llano estacado the great summer-bitten plains of texas while riding alone among his cows over miles of yucca and sage he kept in touch with the world through the poetry he recited to himself his favorite i remember was whittier's randolph of roanoke here where with living ear and eye he heard the potomac flowing and through his tall ancestral trees saw autumn's sunset glowing too honest or too proud to feign a love he never cherished beyond virginia's border line his patriotism perished but none beheld with clearer eye the plague-spot o'er her spreading nor heard more sure the steps of doom along her future treading This is good verse, and it may well serve to relate the gray world of northern Texas to the many-colored world in which men struggle and die for things worthwhile, winning their lives eternally through losing them.

Here are some other bits of verse which on the sea and on the lands, in the deserts or in the jungles, have served the same purpose for other men, perhaps indeed for you.

It has been prophesied these many years, I should not die save in Jerusalem, Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land, But bear me to that chamber, there I'll lie, In this Jerusalem shall Hardy die.

You reach it from Tokyo in about three hours by the Tokaido Railway, which rises for miles as it approaches the neighborhood of the mighty volcano.

Gotemba is considerably more than 2,000 feet above the sea, and therefore comparatively cool in the hottest season.

The open country about it slopes to Fuji, but the slope is so gradual that the table land seems almost level to the eye.

From Gotemba, in perfectly clear weather, the mountain looks uncomfortably near, formidable by proximity, though actually miles away.

during the rainy season it may appear and disappear alternately many times in one day like an enormous spectre but on the grey august morning when i entered gotemba as a pilgrim the landscape was muffled in vapours and fuji was totally invisible i arrived too late to attempt the ascent on the same day but i made my preparations at once for the day following and engaged a couple of goriki strong pull men or experienced guides i felt quite secure on seeing their broad honest faces and sturdy bearing they supplied me with a pilgrim's staff heavy blue tabi that is to say cleft stockings to be used with sandals a straw hat shaped like fuji and the rest of a pilgrim's outfit telling me to be ready to start with them at four o'clock in the morning.

What is hereafter set down consists of notes taken on the journey but afterwards amended and expanded, for notes made while climbing aren't necessarily hurried and imperfect.

No windows, of course, nor any other opening than the door, for the building is half buried in the flank of the mountain.

We lunch.

Both men appeared to have been climbing alone, and police found no major external injuries, suggesting they were overwhelmed by the severe weather.

According to Emafuji, a real-time weather monitoring service for Mount Fuji, fifty-two millimeters of rain fell in a single hour near the new fifth station on the Gotemba trail late on September eighth.

Conditions were also severe on the Fujinomiya trail.

At the sixth station, fourteen point two seven millimeters of rain fell in just ten minutes shortly after ten PM.

Strong winds also battered the upper slopes.

Maximum instantaneous wind speeds reached eighty-seven point four eight kilometers per hour at the Waraji Kan hut located after the seventh station on the Gotemba trail, and ninety-five point seven six kilometers per hour at the eighth station on the Yoshida trail.

Both exceeded levels that can make walking difficult, according to the Japan Meteorological Agency.

Safety measures tested.

Both men appeared to have been climbing alone, and police found no major external injuries, suggesting they were overwhelmed by the severe weather.

According to Emafuji, a real-time weather monitoring service for Mount Fuji, 52 millimeters of rain fell in a single hour near the new fifth station on the Gotemba trail late on September 8th.

Conditions were also severe on the Fujinomiya trail.

At the sixth station, 14.27 millimeters of rain fell in just 10 minutes shortly after 10:00 p.m. Strong winds also battered the upper slopes.

Maximum instantaneous wind speeds reached 87.48 kilometers per hour at the Waraji Kan hut, located after the seventh station on the Gotemba trail, and 95.76 kilometers per hour at the eighth station on the Yoshida Trail.

Both exceeded levels that can make walking difficult, according to the Japan Meteorological Agency.

Safety measures tested.

But the legends and traditions about Fuji, the stories of its rising out of the earth in a single night, of the shower of pierced jewels once flung down from it, of the first temple built upon its summit eleven hundred years ago, of the luminous maiden that lured to the crater an emperor who was never seen afterward but is still worshipped at a little shrine erected on the place of his vanishing, of the sand that, daily rolled down by pilgrim feet, nightly reascends to its former position—have not all these things been written in books? There is really very little left for me to tell about Fuji except my own experience of climbing it.

I made the ascent by way of Gotemba, the least picturesque but perhaps also the least difficult of the six or seven routes open to choice.

Gotemba is a little village chiefly consisting of pilgrim inns.

You reach it from Tokio in about three hours by the Tokaido Railway, which rises for miles as it approaches the neighborhood of the mighty volcano.

Gotemba is considerably more than two thousand feet above the sea, and therefore comparatively cool in the hottest season.

The open country about it slopes to Fuji, but the slope is so gradual that the table-land seems almost level to the eye.

From Gotemba, in perfectly clear weather, the mountain looks uncomfortably near, formidable by proximity, though actually miles away.

During the rainy season it may appear and disappear alternately many times in one day, like an enormous specter.

You reach it from Tokyo in about three hours by the Tokaido Railway, which rises for miles as it approaches the neighborhood of the mighty volcano.

Gotemba is considerably more than 2,000 feet above the sea, and therefore comparatively cool in the hottest season.

The open country about it slopes to Fuji, but the slope is so gradual that the table land seems almost level to the eye.

From Gotemba, in perfectly clear weather, the mountain looks uncomfortably near, formidable by proximity, though actually miles away.

during the rainy season it may appear and disappear alternately many times in one day like an enormous spectre but on the grey august morning when i entered gotemba as a pilgrim the landscape was muffled in vapours and fuji was totally invisible i arrived too late to attempt the ascent on the same day but i made my preparations at once for the day following and engaged a couple of goriki strong pull men or experienced guides i felt quite secure on seeing their broad honest faces and sturdy bearing they supplied me with a pilgrim's staff heavy blue tabi that is to say cleft stockings to be used with sandals a straw hat shaped like fuji and the rest of a pilgrim's outfit telling me to be ready to start with them at four o'clock in the morning.

What is hereafter set down consists of notes taken on the journey but afterwards amended and expanded, for notes made while climbing aren't necessarily hurried and imperfect.

No windows, of course, nor any other opening than the door, for the building is half buried in the flank of the mountain.

We lunch.

It makes the whole world kin.

in the love of nature is another source of saving grace science is power in the stores of human experience lies the key to action and modern civilization is built on science the love of nature is akin to science but different contact with outdoor things is direct experience it is not stored not coordinated not always convertible into power but real nevertheless and our own the song of birds the swarming of bees the meadow carpeted with flowers the first pink harbingers of the early spring the rush of the waterfall the piling up of the rocks the trail through the forest the sweep of the surf the darting of the fishes the drifting of the snow the white crystals of the frost the shrieking of the ice the boom of the bittern the barking of the sea-lions the honk of the wild geese the skulking coyote who knows that each beast is his enemy and has not even a flea to help him forget that he is a dog the leap of the salmon the ecstasy of the mocking-bird and bobolink the nesting of the field mice the chatter of the squirrel the gray lichen of the oak the green moss on the log the poppies of the field and the mariposa lilies of the cliff all these and ten thousand more pictures which could be called up equally at random and from every foot of land on the globe all these are objects of nature all these represent a point of human contact and the reaction which makes for youth for virtue and for enthusiasm to travel is merely to increase the variety of contact by giving our time to it and by extending the number of points at which contact is possible it may be that he who wanders widest lifts no more a beauty's jealous veils than he who from his doorway sees the miracle of flowers and trees it is true however that the experiences of the traveller cover a wider range and fill his mind with a larger and more varied store of remembered delights the very names of beloved regions call up each one its own picture the south seas to have wandered among their green isles is to have seen a new world a new heaven and a new earth the white reef with its whiter rim of plunging surf the swaying palms the flashing waterfall the joyous people straight as greeks and colored like varnished leather the bread-fruit tree and the brown orange the purple splendor of the vine called bougainvillea and above all the volcanic mountains green fringed with huge trees with tree ferns and palms the whole tied together into an impenetrable jungle by the long-armed lianas the sierra nevada sweeping in majestic waves of stone alive with color and steeped in sunshine switzerland norway alaska tyrol japan venice the windward islands and the gray azores chapultepec with its dream of white cloaked volcanoes enoshima and gotemba with their peerless fujiyama nikko with its temples loch lomond lake tahoe windermere tintagel by the cornish sea the yellowstone and the canyon of the colorado the crater lake of oregon sorrento with its vesuvius honolulu with its paley the yosemite banff with its selkirks prince frederick's sound with its green fiords chamounix with its mont blanc berne with its oberland zermatt with its matterhorn simla with the great silent wonder of the snows even now as i write says whimper the master mountain climber they rise before me an endless series of pictures magnificent in effect in form and color i see great peaks with clouded tops seeming to mount upward forever and ever i hear the music of distant herds the peasants yodel and the solemn church bells and after these have passed away another train of thought succeeds of those who have been brave and true of kind hearts and bold deeds of courtesies received from strangers hands trifles in themselves but expressive of that good-will which is the essence of charity that poetry was a means of grace was known to the first man who wrote a verse or who sang a ballad it was discovered back in the darkness before men invented words or devised letters the only poetry you will ever know is that you learned by heart when you were young happy is he who has learned much and much of that which is good bad poetry is not poetry at all except to the man who makes it for its creator even the feeblest verse speaks something of inspiration and of aspiration it is said that frederick the great went into battle with a vial of poison in one pocket and acquire a bad verse in the other whatever we think of the one we feel more kindly toward him for the other charles eliot norton advises every man to read a bit of poetry every day for spiritual refreshment it would be well for each of us if we should follow this advice it is not too late yet and if some few would heed his words and mine these pages would not be written in vain i heard once of a man banished from new england to the llano estacado the great summer-bitten plains of texas while riding alone among his cows over miles of yucca and sage he kept in touch with the world through the poetry he recited to himself his favorite i remember was whittier's randolph of roanoke here where with living ear and eye he heard the potomac flowing and through his tall ancestral trees saw autumn's sunset glowing too honest or too proud to feign a love he never cherished beyond virginia's border line his patriotism perished but none beheld with clearer eye the plague-spot o'er her spreading nor heard more sure the steps of doom along her future treading This is good verse, and it may well serve to relate the gray world of northern Texas to the many-colored world in which men struggle and die for things worthwhile, winning their lives eternally through losing them.

Here are some other bits of verse which on the sea and on the lands, in the deserts or in the jungles, have served the same purpose for other men, perhaps indeed for you.

It has been prophesied these many years, I should not die save in Jerusalem, Which vainly I supposed the holy land, But bear me to that chamber, there I'll lie, In this Jerusalem shall Hardy die.

Mm.

My wife's family home is in Gotemba.

Maybe because it's near Mount Fuji-

Mm-hmm

Yeah.

But I never...

I wanna try tap water in Gotemba.

Yeah.