So apparently I’m now a hiking blogger. All because Andrea and Phil (literally two people) asked me to write about my hike. And you know me say no more, I’ll overshare.

Outfit of the Day: Regret

I showed up to this hike in shorts and a tank top. Yes. Shorts. And. A. Tank. Top.
Why? I don’t know. Maybe because I thought I was auditioning for a sporty perfume ad? All I know is that within five minutes my legs looked like I’d been thrown into a rose bush and left to die. Every bug in Japan RSVP’d to the feast on my skin.

Meanwhile, Dustin, turned up dressed like Bear Grylls long trousers, long sleeves, sensible as ever and strolled along untouched. Not a scratch. Not a bite.

The Trail From Hell

This trail wasn’t just steep. It was steep, thorny, muddy, slippery, and had a “Beware of Bears” sign every 50 metres. I mean, how many bears are we talking here? A bear convention? A bear festival?

We took the ropeway halfway because we thought we’d “earn the view.” Romantic, right? Wrong. From there it was three gruelling hours of climbing up a mountain that felt personally offended by my existence.

By the time we made it to the top, I looked like I’d lost a fight with a lawnmower. But the view? Oh my GOD. It was worth it. Like, angels-singing, jaw-dropping, “maybe I won’t complain for five minutes” worth it.

Influencer Central

At the summit, it was basically a free-for-all photo shoot. Tripods, drones, 85 different poses of “looking candid.” Meanwhile, Dustin and I? We’re old school. No selfies, no duck face. Just standing there whispering, “Wow.” (Okay, fine, we did take a couple photos, but trust me, no one’s framing them.)

Also temperature check: it dropped to 14 degrees up there. Summer turned into winter faster than you can say, “Why didn’t I bring a jacket?”

The Descent of Doom

Here’s where it gets fun. At around 5:30 pm, we realised everyone else had left. Literally. The trail was deserted. Just me, Dustin, and the ghost of my bad decisions.

We sprinted yes, sprinted down to the nearest ropeway station. After 40 minutes of panic-jogging, we got there, only for the man at the ticket booth to stare at us, close his window, and lock his door without saying a word. Iconic. Only in Japan can you be rejected politely without a single syllable.

I panicked. I turned to Dustin and asked, “How long to hike down if the stations are closed?” He smiled, kissed me, and said: “Just an hour, love.”
it was not an hour. It was THREE PLUS HOURS. He admitted later that he lied so I wouldn’t have a meltdown. (Cue my meltdown anyway.)

Sweet, Sweet Salvation

Somehow, by what can only be described as divine intervention, we reached another ropeway station an hour later. This time, the man told us the car would arrive in fifteen minutes. I nearly cried. Angels, if you’re listening thank you.

Twenty minutes later, Dustin and I had our own private rope car ride down the mountain. Exhausted, starving, covered in scratches, but smugly alive.

Moral of the Story

• Don’t wear shorts on a hike unless you enjoy donating blood to insects.
• Always check ropeway times unless you want to star in your own survival documentary.
• And never, ever trust your husband when he says, “Just a little bit more, love.”

Would I do it again? Absolutely. Because now I have this story, and frankly, it’s hilarious.

Loads of luv (and bug bites),
Hannah 

ps: these are all the photes we took.