The Golden Peak (金峰山―Kinpusan) of Yamanashi

Yamanashi Kaleidoscope

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The Golden Peak (金峰山―Kinpusan) of Yamanashi

Mount Fuji—Japan’s icon, a must-climb, the ultimate Instagram flex. That’s exactly what I expected when my friends invited me on a hiking tour. But when they dismissed it as ‘boring’ and suggested some obscure mountain instead, my enthusiasm took a nosedive. No legendary peak? No jealousy-inducing selfies? Was this even worth my time?

Yet there I was, standing at the base of Mount Kinpu at midnight—sleep-deprived, unmotivated, and utterly unaware that this climb would leave a mark on me in ways I never saw coming.

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The peak of Mount Kinpu

We left Kōfu Station at midnight, reaching Mount Kinpu an hour later. Through the window, a star-studded sky caught my eye. I tried to match constellations to my horoscope, but drowsiness soon won. The car’s backseat was more a shield from the cold than a place to rest, yet when my friends woke me at dawn, even one more cramped second felt oddly precious.

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Trailhead upward gaze

We set off at dawn, just as the mountain stirred with the breath of spring. Tender leaves unfurled, birds filled the air with song, and wildflowers swayed in anticipation of full bloom. After 45 minutes of scrambling over roots and rocks, my city-slicker muscles were screaming. Mother Nature, in her wisdom, offered remedies—vibrant foliage and the heady perfume of wildflowers. It almost, almost made up for the pain.

At the halfway campsite, I lingered, begging for just a few more minutes of rest. My gaze fell on the stillness of the rocks, and for a moment, I envied their effortless existence.

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The forest floor

Keeping up with the group was draining, and my constant “Are we there yet?” was about to earn me a one-way ticket down the mountain. Maybe a restaurant or a movie would’ve been the wiser choice.

Then I saw them—a group of older Japanese hikers, some well into their 60s. Shouldn't they be knitting scarves or pruning bonsai? And yet, here they were, powering up the trail.

Was I really, in my early 20s, about to be outpaced by grandmas and grandpas? Burning calves be damned—I picked up the pace, determined to reach the top before them.

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The view at the middle peak

Reaching the summit at midday felt like a hard-won victory. The sun-drenched landscape burst with summer vibrancy while a vast aquamarine sky stretched endlessly into the horizon.

Midway up, every glance at the overcast sky had weighed me down, each step heavier than the last. But at the peak, beneath that brilliant blue expanse, all doubt melted away.

'Phew, I made it!' I exhaled, the pride washing over me.

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The view from afar

Light scattering painted each hill with a unique palette. A tapestry of colorful flora stretched before us, with trees teeming with leaves in every shade imaginable. Emerald escarpments carpeted with serpentine spruce stood alongside golden beryl bluffs adorned with selenite sun-kissed stones.

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The view looking down

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The view looking back before heading to the peak

Undulating patches of tiger's eye tundra topped with jagged rocks stretched toward the horizon, flanking the shimmering silver silk Hotani River. While known for its delicious fruits, Yamanashi Prefecture also harbors hidden gemstone treasures. Aeons ago, alpine adventures awarded ascenders abundant and astonishing assets.

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The view from the peak

We settled onto a flat surface as my friends unpacked a mountain of food from their spacious backpacks. The scent of instant ramen filled the crisp air, a comforting warmth against the cool mountain breeze. Somehow, sharing that simple meal made it taste even better.

'We’re so proud of you for making it this far,' they chirped. 'Our first climb took an hour longer than expected!'

Shame crept over me. I had spent most of the hike complaining, fixating on Instagram likes, and contemplating giving up. Yet here they were, praising my "perseverance" and "positive attitude".

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The way down

After two hours at the summit, we split into groups and descended. Twilight deepened beneath the canopy, turning every leaf to gold. The forest floor became a shifting mosaic of shadows, my steps crunching through a carpet of amber and russet leaves. The colors stirred a wistfulness in me—a quiet reminder that life, too, gently descends after its peak.

Though easier on my lungs, the descent was no relief for my legs. Each step sent jolts through my knees, forcing me to walk backward, wobbling like an old man. Slowly, the world around me blurred as I focused on placing each step with care.

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The forest floor on the way down

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The forest near sunset

Only then, as the last rays of the sun faded, did I realize no one was with me. The group my friends were in must have taken a different path at the intersection, and probably the rest had rushed down, leaving me alone with no cell phone or flashlight.

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Tree branches

As darkness swallowed the forest, icy air stiffened the dew into clinking shards. Each gust of wind whispered through the trees, an eerie symphony of rustling and groans. The thought of spending the night alone, surrounded by unseen movements, sent a chill deeper than the cold itself.

Panic surged. Was I imagining things, or had I passed this tree before? I spun in circles, searching for the pink ribbons. Nothing. Had I taken the wrong path? My pulse pounded. What if I had to wait until morning? What if no one found me at all?

Just as despair crept in, a light cut through the darkness. An elderly hiker waved his flashlight, and I hurried toward him, his glow the only thing separating him from the trees. When he stumbled over a root, I hesitated before offering a hand, aware of his quiet resolve. My culture taught me to help without question, but Japan had shown me the value of respecting independence.

At the foot of the mountain, I finally saw my crew. I turned to the Japanese gentleman, and for the first time, I bowed in gratitude—not just out of politeness, but with genuine emotion. In my home country, gratitude is often spoken, but here, a simple bow could carry everything unsaid.

As soon as my friends spotted me, their voices rang out. 'Where were you?' Their voices were sharp with worry. 'We were so scared,' another said, gripping my arm. 'We should have stayed with you,' they admitted, their relief evident as we walked to the parking lot.

The distant stars shone just as brightly on the drive back, but this time, I wasn’t looking for them. My gaze rested closer—on the faces of my friends, the quiet hum of shared exhaustion, the warmth of a day well spent. I could almost hear the crackle of a campfire, the ghost stories I never stayed to hear, the laughter rising with the embers in the middle of the campsite.

Maybe next time. Maybe yours. If my story speaks to you, consider adding Mount Kinpu to your adventure.

As for my next day off? You already know where I'll be.

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The beginning of the trail