Travel Log of Mt. Fuji

I am digitally standing in the summit of Mt. Fuji, the highest mountain in Japan, and one Japan’s “Three Holy Mountains.” The view is breathtaking. I am on the edge of a massive crater in the surface of the top of mountain. It looks like the bottom of an enormous lake, drained of all water. The steep, jagged edges in the earth are smooth brown, growing increasingly darker as they grow deeper into the mountain’s core. Patches of melting snow are dispersed throughout the tremendous pit, leaving wet shadows of past hydration. The sun is hitting one side of the crater so that the brown slate is illuminated, like an opening in the heavens casting light down on a patch of the earth. I am standing in the shadow of a cloud.

I look around the edge. The ground is lithic and uneven. It is covered in small rocks, pebbles, and dirt. The surface of the mountain around the huge crater is hilly and undulating, but flat enough to walk on. It stretches on for miles.

And then I look beyond. The view of the ground from the summit is sublime. I am at the highest point in Japan. The snow-covered edges of the rigged mountain side glisten with solitude. I am high up in the clouds but can see patches of the earth where there are breaks in the billowing white vapor. The earth’s surface is miles and miles away and goes on for as far as my eyes can see. I am too high up to make out details, but I see stretches of land and foliage. Everything is covered in a white, hazy blanket of mist, generating an angelic feeling of immaculacy and transcendence.

It is a celestial but humbling place. The world is virtually at my feet yet I feel nothing but small, miniscule, insignificant. I feel like one of many, but at the same time, alone and afraid. The world is so much more than me, too much to take in, too much to comprehend. Atop this mountain, with a view it feels like only a god should know, I feel like I am being questioned, challenged. Anywhere I look, I can see for miles and miles; I imagine I am in the sky, surrounded by the heavens, but the cool ground below beckons to stay in place. I am attached to the earth, yet miles above it. I am overwhelmed with contrasting feelings of of power and impotency. Where do I belong? What is my purpose? How can my life affect this world of which I can see so much? I humble myself to the simple power that lies within me and the pressure exerted on me by the sky, nature, and all that is holy.

I experienced this view using Google Earth, videos on YouTube, and pictures from Google Images. Viewing Mt. Fuji digitally, as opposed to real life, creates a different affect on the sensations aroused from the scenery. I am basing my entire sensual experience on imagery, yet I can see only what is available online. I am limited by the range of the photographer and the resolution of the camera. I cannot feel the crunch of the earth under my feet. I cannot feel the suffocating air pressure nor the excruciating cold. All of these would be factors in threatening the physical effect on my perception of the summit. And I cannot traverse freely though the space, though I pretend to by changing the view and or moving through different images. Another limitation is in the size; I can only see what is on the computer 15-inch screen. I have no use for peripheral vision.

However, there are several advantages to virtually experiencing this place. I doubt I will ever actually have the ability to travel to the top of Mt. Fji, therefore the mere fact that I am able to see this from here in my dorm at College Park is astounding. Even though the screen is small and there are several limitations, I am still able to see exactly what the summit of the mountain looks like. The most powerful facet of this mountain, however, is the view–and I think the digital capturing of the mountain and surroundings is exceptional, enough to take my breath away just by looking at a computer screen.