Snowless Mount Fuji: A Bad Omen?

Several media outlets recently reported a startling natural phenomenon: Mount Fuji, the conical volcano that symbolizes Japan and is one of the most identifiable natural beauties on Earth, remained without snow to its towering 3,776-meter summit into early November this year.

But is a snowless Fuji really a work of Nature? Some reporters blamed human activity for the peak’s want of white. A science writer at Earth.com, Sanjana Gajbhive, for instance, claimed that the missing snow served as a “palpable indicator of broader climate changes.” She further warned direly of “lasting impacts on local ecosystems, affecting flora and fauna adapted to colder temperatures,” and a consequent “scarcity of freshwater sources for surrounding areas.” Gajbhive added that the last two summers set records for heat in Japan — a heat which lingered through September, thus (it seems) explaining the tardiness of Fuji’s traditional coating.

Or are such arguments themselves merely evidence that the world is large, and that climate change junkies too often pick facts to feed theory without taking a close look to see what is really going on?

Confirmation of Global Warming?

I visited Fuji and the surrounding region twice this year. Hiking in mid-June with my son, who lives within sight of the peak, we found patches of snow down to about 8,000 feet. The entire volcano is usually said to be snow-free in July. Paths to the summit were not yet officially open, but trails could be hiked above the tree line.

On November 8, our family visited one of the Five Lakes north of Fuji. The mountain had finally recorded a light snow on its upper reaches a few days before, also noted in the international press, but that had melted by the time we arrived. It was a warm day, with gardeners planting petunias in sun-soaked soil, long lines forming at the local ice cream shop (I had peach), and the water comfortable enough to swim in.

Did short sleeves so late in the year further confirm global warming?

Yet the next day in the Japan Alps just 60 miles away, we found snow lingering down to 5,000 feet, and walked through snow and ice from a gondola a bit higher in the mountains. A day later in the city of Matsumoto (at about 3,000 feet above sea level, a bit higher than the town’s lovely castle), I took a morning stroll through the woods, which took me through a patch of steam from a local hot spring in a fairly heavy frost.

How is no snow at 3,776 meters on November 3 evidence of dire global warming, but frost at 1,000 meters a few days later not worth mentioning? Or should we conclude that records are made to be broken, and weather will often surprise us if we expect it to behave with perfect regularity?

Hot Summer?

But surely the record hot summer in Japan had something to do with Fuji’s unseemly disrobing?

Surely not! Hot weather in late summer didn’t decrease the snow on that peak, since it is usually long gone by then! And Gajbhive only claimed that the heat lasted through September. In fact, there were plenty of days in October when the temperature on Fuji was cold enough for snow; it just didn’t fall. For a science writer, Gajbhive sounds shockingly ignorant of the way weather works:

“Temperatures were high this summer, and these high temperatures continued into September – deterring the cold air which brings snow.”

High temperatures do not “deter” cold air, except by definition! That is like saying “the color red frightens away the color green.” And freezing air doesn’t bring snow, or else the interior of Antarctica wouldn’t be the cold desert that it is. Chilliness is a necessary but not sufficient cause of snow: You also need precipitation, which quickly declines around Fuji after a rainy early autumn.

Nor is there a link between a hot summer “into September” and a lack of snow on a sufficiently cold but drier peak a month or two later. A single chilly night allows rocks to cool enough for snow to settle on them: One need not wait for all the phases of the moon to pass.

Natural Habitats

What about Gajbhive’s dire warnings of the alleged harm to plants and animals, and the lack of fresh water for surrounding regions?

Japan does not depend on light October snows spread over a few miles of barren pumice for water. In both June and November, I saw numerous full creeks and rivers flowing through the region, and even swam in one on the Izu Peninsula nearby. The forests on the side of Fuji were dense with lovely birch, fir, alder, and larch, dogwood and maple lower down, with nary a dead trunk in sight. We also saw a deer and I think a badger. Should Japan warm, that might encourage particular species to settle higher on the mountain. (Though the crumbly cinder above the tree line may make it hard for roots to grab a foothold, and sheds water quickly. If you climb Fuji, wear boots with high sides, or it gets in your shoes.)

Hardly anywhere in Japan receives less precipitation than my legendarily rainy hometown of Seattle: Nowhere is forest cover threatened by “climate change,” a wishy-washy euphemism for “global warming.” If Japan does warm, the one and a half million people living in Okinawa might sweat more, but the far larger island of Hokkaido in the north (32,000 square miles to 880) would grow more inviting, both to the five million people already living there and to migrants.

True, India (where Gajbhive is based) may be different. There, ice and snow melt from the Himalayas may provide an indispensable source of water for those downstream. (Though it appears that vastly increased agriculture for India’s Green Revolution is by far the greater threat to India’s aquifers.)

Fuji truly is a symbol of Japan. Neither this beautiful peak nor its forests are going to disappear if, once in a while, the first dusting of snow falls a few days late. Some writers seek to hijack that peak as a symbol of climate change, as they do with Mount Kilimanjaro in Africa, rain forests in South America, and polar bears. But most life appears resilient, both in the face of climate change itself, and of the strong winds of climate hysteria.

Mount Fuji is not about to melt. (Though you might, if you try climbing it in summer. I recommend doing that in spring or autumn.) But if you want to reach the summit next year (where more than two feet of snow is forecast in the next few days), you’ll have to wait again until the snow does its annual disappearing act. Say hello to the birch trees and badgers.

David Marshall, an educator and writer, holds a doctoral degree in Christian thought and Chinese tradition. His most recent book is The Case for Aslan: Evidence for Jesus in the Land of Narnia.