The Sun at the summit

+1250m / -1250m / 17km

It’s mid-June and it’s hot. I’ve prepared a few things for a Mount Fuji climb at the end of August. Stories about watching the sunrise from the summit gave me an idea: to climb Mount Bunagatake at night (after discovering it this winter), in the cool, catch the sunrise, and head back down before the heat sets in.

By taking a Friday off, I can leave on a Thursday evening, finish the climb the next day, and rest for the following two days. The perfect plan.

That Thursday evening is today. After work, I stop by a Montbell shop to pick up a bell. There aren’t any bears in the area, but if it helps keep other nocturnal animals away, all the better. I pack my bag and catch one of the last trains to Hira Station.

I start the hike around 12:30am. I recognize the area around the station and the plain despite the darkness. After passing the last houses, I leave the streetlights behind. Soon, I’m relying only on my headlamp, which I’ve set to low to conserve battery. It’s very quiet. Once I enter the forest, even the starlight disappears. I catch a glimpse of a pair of glowing eyes between the trees, but I can’t tell what it is. My eyes slowly adjust to the darkness, but every time I check the route on my phone, the screen blinds me for a few seconds.

I stop for a few minutes after passing a parking lot, at the foot of the first real climb, to have a drink. I fumble through my bag and check the battery life on my headlamp, switching it to medium power. I look around, but there’s nothing visible beyond the beam of light—just tree trunks and the closest branches. Everything beyond 10-15 meters is a shapeless dark mass. I haven’t encountered anyone since leaving the station an hour ago. I’m completely alone. My bell has fallen silent, and I hear unidentifiable noises around me. The thought of my headlamp dying up here creeps into my mind: I’d have to wait hours for daylight. Fatigue from the day starts to catch up with me, and the darkness feels oppressive. I’m a bit scared. I consider turning back. What a great idea to have come here!

But the “city” lights are already far behind, and I’d be in the dark for a while even if I walked back. Plus, I haven’t run into any issues so far, so I decide to keep going, just to give it a try.

The path goes deeper into the forest, following a stream. The deafening sound of invisible waterfalls makes me dizzy. They sound massive. But as the trail becomes steeper and more technical, I focus on my footing, gradually tuning out my surroundings. During my next break in a clearing, I feel calm and comfortable in this environment. I take a moment to eat a banana and gaze at the starry sky before moving on.

I miss a turn at one point, but the rest of the climb goes smoothly. The first signs of daylight finally appear around 3:30am as I emerge from the forest. Although I’d grown accustomed to the night, I felt like I was trapped in a bubble, unable to see more than a few meters ahead. Being able to see into the distance is incredibly refreshing.

I reach the summit around 4:10am. Once again, there’s no one else here. The sun rises 20 minutes later. I take a few photos, have a snack, and head back down.

The descent is pleasant and uneventful. I pass by a few tents pitched near a pond—so I wasn’t entirely alone on the mountain. The final stretch seems to drag on, and I encounter a few hikers on their way up. I take another break at the spot where I had hesitated earlier. There are now a few cars parked and other hikers getting ready for their ascent.

Finally, I return to Hira Station. I walk an extra 200 meters to see the shores of Lake Biwa before catching the train a little after 9am.