Honouring High Places

by Junko Tabei

  “Congratulations!” said Agus, the lens of the video camera focused on me.

  “Finally, I’m here,” I thought. “I did it; it’s the summit.”

  “Terima kasih,” I said to Agus and Mulia in Indonesian. “Thank you.” I poured my gratitude into the gesture of shaking their hands. I hoped it was enough to express my apology for having forced them to climb a difficult route beyond their fitness level.

  As I looked around me, I realized this area was unique to the wilderness of New Guinea. The more common scene of indefinite forests was replaced with the glacier of Jaya Peak, the limestone of Carstensz Pyramid itself, and a scattering of gemlike lakes. The other outstanding feature, was of course, the Freeport mine, an obvious scar in the landscape. It befuddles me to think how mankind digs for gold and copper at the expense of the beauty of nature. The schemes of humans are a curious thing.

  After summit photos were taken and video footage was complete, we began our return to home. Not even fifteen minutes later, the fog set in. Then the snow started to fall, and within minutes our route was transformed into a scary continuation of rocky spires. The ropes were wet and heavy, and knowing that most climbing accidents occur during the descent, I remained focused on being careful.

  The 40-metre rappel down the side of a spire that was part of the up–down ascent to the summit became a challenging overhang climb on the way back. The strength in my arms had diminished and I had to rely on my jumars to help me ascend the soggy rope. The snow had turned to rain, and the fog had thickened. It was impossible to be certain of what lay ahead.

  Night fell upon us when we thought it was still evening time. To make matters worse, all the headlamp batteries had run out, but none of us wanted to stay hugging the rock for another night. We yelled to each other and fumbled with the ropes to continue our rappel. Then I heard the much-anticipated word, “Finish!” escape from the pitch-dark night. I could breathe again. Still, with the rock wall behind us and shelter near by, I told myself again to remain cautious.

  As predicted, I fell several times on the steep sandy trail, but the true danger of the route was over, and I could concentrate on searching for the tent in limited visibility. Since our timing on the summit would enable me to fly back to Japan on schedule, I was determined. “Well,” I thought, “I’ll just keep marching till morning if we don’t find the tent.”

  At 0:05 a.m. on June 29, we arrived at our beloved tent.

  A few months after our disappointing trip to New Guinea, a message came to me that changed history for women mountaineers. “Tabei-san just called to say she had success on Carstensz Pyramid and came down safely. She wanted me to let you know as soon as I could.” This was the news a colleague of mine shared from the Jakarta branch of my Tokyo work place. As a journalist, I wasted no time in jumping on my computer to write the story.

  Of all the articles I had written in the past, this was one of the most exhilarating stories to tell, although I would not be given credit for it – the text would be signed with my Jakarta colleague’s name since the original story was his. Nonetheless, on July 2, 1992, the newspaper headlines read “First Woman to Complete the Seven Summits.”

  When we returned to Japan after our attempt on Carstensz, and were waiting for a new permit to be issued for another chance, Tabei and I had chatted about the climb. “In the lonely rainy night on the rock, the red jacket asks the yellow jacket, ‘Hey, do you think they really will come back to get us?’ Then the yellow jacket tries to offer solace, though half-sobbing, ‘They will, because they are so cheap that they cannot give up old gear like us. They’ll be back.’”

  “Wait for us, you two lovely jackets. We will return.” But, as I was already considered a person of miracles, having been granted the maximum allotted holiday time for Antarctica the previous year then Indonesia, my savings were down to zero and I could not afford to join Tabei on the second trial of Carstensz. That was reason enough for my fingers to type with feverish energy as I wrote the story of Tabei’s success.

  I thought back to another significant day, May 16, 1975, when Tabei’s voice echoed above the bright white and blue Khumbu Glacier when she announced over the radio, “Just arrived at the summit!” It had been seventeen years since she stood on Mount Everest.

  After that victory, we explored the world together, impressed by the good-looking mountaineers in the European Alps, excited by the flight to Denali, awed by the pure beauty of Antarctica, and deeply moved by the poor but happy spirited African locals of Mount Kilimanjaro.

  It was as if I could hear Tabei’s voice again, almost directly in my ear, reverberating in the midst of a tropical island, deep in the jungle, on top of the sheer spires surrounded by glaciated mountains, “Set-chan, I’m here!”

  In typing the historic article, I found myself answering her: “Oh, my dear, I’m having such a fun life thanks to you.” I praised her accomplishments; the woman was a hero.

  Later, after Carstensz, Tabei said, “Hey, by the way, I brought back our good girls, too,” and she handed me my old, much-loved yellow jacket upon her arrival in Tokyo.

  – Setsuko Kitamura

  THE SEVEN SUMMITS

  by Setsuko Kitamura

  The Seven Summits is an ambiguous term. While Junko Tabei was crowned the first female to ascend all seven summits, her achievement had several aspects to it.

  The concept of climbing the highest peak of each of the seven continents of the world was first conceived by Richard Bass, a Texan millionaire and amateur mountaineer. He climbed six of the seven summits by the end of 1983, and in 1985, at age fifty-five, he completed the feat with success on Mount Everest (his fourth attempt). His book, titled Seven Summits and co-authored with Frank Wells and Rick Ridgeway, was published in 1986.

  Before the challenge of the Seven Summits was born, the eternal goal amongst prominent mountaineers was to complete the 8000-metre peaks of the world (fourteen in total). Now the Seven Summits has been added to the tag line of accomplishments.

  At the time of Bass’s success, and the elevations noted from the year of each ascent, the seven summits he climbed included:

  Mount Everest, Eurasia (Asia) (8848 metres)

  Aconcagua, South America (6959 metres)

  Denali, North America (6142 metres)

  Kilimanjaro, Africa (5895 metres)

  Elbrus, Europe (5542 metres)

  Vinson Massif, Antarctica (4892 metres)

  Kosciuszko, Australia (2228 metres)

  However, Bass’s definition of the Seven Summits was criticized, least not by renowned climber Reinhold Messner, the first person to ascend all fourteen 8000-metre peaks – without supplemental oxygen. Messner stated that the highest peak in Australia was not Kosciuszko but Carstensz Pyramid (4484 metres) in Irian Jaya of New Guinea. He based this argument on the fact that the Oceania Plate, on which Australia sits, extends north to include Indonesia, in which case, Carstensz Pyramid is the highest of that continent. Messner completed his new list of the Seven Summits, including Carstensz, in 1986.

  Another mountain up for debate was the highest peak in Europe. Before the collapse of the Berlin Wall, Mont Blanc (4810 metres) had the honour. Circa 1990 Elbrus became known as the highest summit on the European continent. In Japan, the Seven Summits is still recognized without Carstensz or Elbrus on the list.

  As for Junko Tabei, she climbed Mont Blanc with me in 1979, before the concept of the Seven Summits was in place. On a family trip to Australia in 1991, Tabei climbed Kosciuszko, noting, “A chair lift goes almost to the summit, and not-so-good-shape hikers enjoy a beer up there. It’s a pretty good destination for tourists.”

  When Tabei became serious about her goal to climb the Seven Summits, she strove for perfection. Hence, even though when she climbed Carstensz in 1992 she was named the first female to climb the Seven Summits, in her mind the job was incomplete. A few months after Carstensz, she returned to her earlier-climbed Elbrus and summitted the West Peak (5642 metres). This settled her own in
ternal conflict that the East Peak, her first summit on Elbrus, measured 5621 metres, thus was not precisely the highest mountain of New Europe.

  In one way, word was that the Seven Summits were not a highly recognized prize. Why then would Tabei strive for this objective? Her answer: “By setting something as a goal, it always pushes me out of my box. For instance, I had an opportunity to see an absolutely different world in Antarctica thanks to pursuit of the Seven Summits.”

  Near the time of Tabei’s completion of the Seven Summits, I had the impression that Tabei steered more towards climbing a greater number of mountain peaks in as many unfamiliar places as possible.

  There is a book, One Hundred Mountains of Japan, written by late Japanese mountaineer-writer Kyuya Fukada in 1964, that introduces the concept of climbing lists to Japan. The title itself is unique in that there are only twenty-one peaks higher than 3000 metres within the country. The idea of all these mountains to climb gained such popularity in Japan that in the 1980s, countless middle-age-plus mountaineers pursued completion of the one hundred peaks, a feat that takes years, if not decades.

  Behind the human desire to conquer such lists may be an older form of tradition, outside of mountaineering. For example, there is a list for people to visit the great number of temples and shrines in Japan – if the list is completed, one is promised to receive a divine favour. Really, the underlying purpose of that list is to “Share the goal with others and strive for it.” This is the sense of spirit that may have been unwittingly embedded in Tabei’s earnest pursuit of not only the Seven Summits but every mountain she climbed.

  CHAPTER 15

  Mountains of Later Life

  When the word “cancer” was spoken by the doctor, who said, “…till June…,” my immediate question was, “Does that mean I only have three months to live?” Yet, calmly, I replied, “Is that so?”

  In mid-February 2012, life took one of those turns that causes abrupt change for a person. For me, it was signs and symptoms that spoke loud and clear in the form of stinging pain that ran through my abdomen, like sharp needles poking at my insides. Generally healthy and fit, I had never felt anything like that before and I was concerned. But the pain subsided, and I went on with my plans. It was the first day of an event for Project Cheer Up Tohoku, a series of joint ventures designed to promote and support Tohoku, the region of Japan affected by the country’s most devastating earthquake, which occurred on March 11, 2011. The event included an overnight stay at Nicchu onsen followed by a day of snowshoeing at Oguni-numa.

  In the aftermath of the Tohoku earthquake, Project Cheer Up Tohoku was spearheaded by the Himalayan Adventure Trust of Japan, of which I was chairperson. The project, still going at this writing, has two branches: one is called Let’s Go to Tohoku Mountains, with the catchphrase “Eat local food, stay overnight and enjoy shopping”; and the other is Hiking into Nature, which supports those people affected by the earthquake and living in refugee shelters by taking them on hiking trips. The hiking aspect began in June 2011. By August 2013, twenty-eight hiking trips had already been completed, with plans to continue the program for as long as necessary.

  Upon start-up, the reaction to the trips was extremely positive. The feeling was further confirmed by the words of the participants from the refugee shelters:

  “Wow, it’s been a long time since I hiked through forests. Beautiful green and nice breeze. It’s energizing, isn’t it? It feels very good to be out here!”

  “My husband, who hasn’t once stepped out of the refugee shelter, became interested if it was hiking. Here we are. First time hiking together since the earthquake. What a relief to see him smile!”

  “I lost everything in the tsunami. But it’s in the past. Now I feel like thinking about future. Thanks for giving me the chance to go forward.”

  People were refreshed after a hike, and they returned to the refugee shelters with renewed interest in life. I was encouraged by this response and continued to offer trips once a month.

  A line from a conversation I had with local Member of Parliament Mr. Nagashima, for a television clip, highlighted the need for more hikes. He said, “Interestingly, what people in the refugee shelters suffer from the most is not really the shortage of material things, but from having nothing to do.”

  My concern for the great number of people who lived in the shelters grew when I read the addresses on the application forms submitted to the hiking program. Several were rooms at a high school (the science lab, the physical training room and a Grade 10 classroom). I asked fellow hikers how they lived in those conditions, and they remarked, “We put tatamis in the science lab and eleven people live in there together. There is no closet so we cannot put futons away. We just fold them in half and leave them there for the day.” Essentially, the rooms were overcrowded dorms. In terms of eating, I was told they were unable to properly cook a meal because they had no stoves. Their three meals a day were fast-food lunch-box style.

  “How about bathing?” I asked. The government built a make-shift public bath for the shelter dwellers, but as one of the hikers pointed out, imagine the state of the water after seven hundred people used it. My subconscious voice spoke up, and I suggested, “Well then, we’ll go soak in an onsen after hiking next time.” That was the impetus for an overnight trip. The phone calls poured in asking when the next hike was scheduled and what onsen would we stop at afterwards.

  In January 2012 our first hike and hot-spring trip was arranged. We hiked to Shiono-yama on an easy trail that looked down on the town in Koshu Yamanashi. At the top, we were treated to amazake, a sweet thick sake, courtesy of the Yamanashi Mountaineering Association. After the hike and before dinner, people indulged in the outdoor onsen for an unusually long time. They could hardly bring themselves to leave the soothing water. I waited, and smiled, and asked the kitchen staff to be patient while blissful conversations about being in a dreamland flowed from the steamy pools. The view of snow-capped Mount Fuji in the distance sealed the atmosphere – this was indeed a bit of heaven for those displaced from their homes elsewhere in Japan.

  Even before that January experience, in fact, since the fall of 2011, each time I caught a glimpse of Mount Fuji from the bullet train to or from Tokyo, I pictured high-school students from the earthquake-affected area climbing to its summit. While Hiking into Nature is primarily run for seniors, I wanted to expand the concept to include teenagers on their summer break from school. When I proposed the idea to Project Cheer Up Tokohu, everyone froze. I could hear their minds at work. Mount Fuji, at 3776 metres in elevation, would be a completely different excursion from hiking lower hills and mountains on gentle trails. Not to mention the staff members themselves were of an older age, making Mount Fuji a challenge to complete right there. And what about financing and transportation from Fukushima to Fujiyoshida and two nights’ accommodation to include a soak in the huge onsen that skirted the mountain? I admitted there were a few creases to iron out, but the voice in my heart whispered, “Go for it.”

  Tadao Kanzaki, chief of the project, and, coincidentally, chief of the Japan Mountaineering Association, an organization responsible for training mountain guides and outdoor instructors, finally spoke. “All right, let’s do it,” he said. “We’ll ask experienced mountaineers to guide the students and we’ll take care of trip arrangements.” From that meeting, a new project called Mount Fuji for the High-School Students of Tohoku Earthquake was born, and July 2012 was set for its inaugural trip. First and foremost, though, we needed money. There were T-shirts to sell, companies to approach, donations to request. We held events like Project Cheer Up Tohoku Songs and Talks to encourage support of our mission, and it all paid off. The business world and public alike were drawn to our idea, and sufficient finances were raised.

  Back to February 2012. A few days after the snowshoeing excursion to Nicchu onsen in Kitakata, I felt the unmistakable sting in my abdomen again. This time I knew something was wrong. I pursued an appointment with a doctor of internal medic
ine near my office in downtown Tokyo, had X-rays and was given a prescription drug for a potential intestinal obstruction. The worrier that I am, I also saw my family doctor, who had previously diagnosed me with early stage breast cancer. He added a Chinese medicine to my prescription that would activate my intestine, which needed a boost. I followed all instructions, but my belly tensed and I began to lose my appetite over the next several weeks.

  I had a busy day scheduled for March 9. I had just finished a meeting with the bus company in support of the Mount Fuji project, and I was en route to the village of Otama, at the foot of Adatara-yama. It was the one-year anniversary of the earthquake, and I had been asked to deliver a speech there. I was also to attend another snowshoe outing with victims of the earthquake prior to the anniversary event. Having caught an earlier train than expected, I had a bit of extra time in Kouriyama. I could either go to the hair salon or phone my brother Hisayoshi, a urologist. I called my brother and he met me at the station. From there, things happened fast.

  Although he could have examined me at the hospital where he worked, my brother immediately arranged for me to see his son-in-law, whose expertise was internal medicine. “You have to go to a better-equipped hospital,” Hisayoshi said, and I was sent to the emergency department at another hospital. There, to my surprise, I was told I would be admitted; I was not to go home that day. My first thought was about the next day’s snowshoe excursion, but I conceded to someone else stepping in as my replacement. The speech in Otama was a different matter. It had been planned for a long time and my presence was expected. Since I was not in pain, I pressed the doctor to let me leave. Reluctantly, he agreed under the condition that Hisayoshi and his son-in-law join me as escorts. Thus, I arrived in the village of Otama with two doctors as my guests.

  By the time the sun began to set that evening, I had finished my seventy-minute speech, was settled back in the hospital and medical examinations were under way. I was connected to an intravenous drip and fluid from my abdomen was removed, both for testing and comfort as my belly had become taut again. When results were ready, it was my husband who was called into the doctor’s office. “To be honest,” said the doctor, “it’s quite negative. Please be prepared.”