The technique that Sohachi Hatakehori advocates sounds remarkably simple: Take short steps - no more than the length of a foot - keep up a steady pace, breathe regularly and deeply and take frequent rests. And when the advice is delivered by a man who guides parties to the peak of Japan's highest mountain around 50 times a year, it is not to be sniffed at.

His trousers are baggy at the thighs but wrapped tightly below the knee and he wears the rubber-soled boots of cotton with individual big toes that are the uniform of a Japanese carpenter. And even though he is 63, it looks as if Mr Hatakehori could continue his head down, shuffle, shuffle, shuffle assault on Mount Fuji all day.

At 3,776 metres, Mount Fuji is the highest peak in Japan and the perfectly symmetrical flanks of the volcano are an image of the country that is familiar around the world. Its name and graceful outline have been adopted by companies that make everything from toilet roll to cameras and in January the Japanese government put the iconic mountain forward for recognition as a World Heritage Site by UNESCO.

And while the volcano may not have blown its top in exactly 300 years - the Hoei Eruption of 1707 was reportedly the most severe in recorded history - it is only dormant, as opposed to deceased. Which adds a degree of uncertainty to scaling the mountain.

But the possibility of eruption does not bother Mr Hatakehori, a senior member of the Fujisan Club who published a book after rediscovering a long-forgotten Edo-period pilgrims' trail on the peak.

"In the summer, Fuji is not a dangerous mountain to climb," he says, "But you do need to be prepared and reasonably fit - although you'll still see young children and elderly climbers at the top."

That does not, however, mean it can be taken lightly, he warns during the one-hour acclimatisation rest that he orders where the road runs out at the fifth station. The time is spent simultaneously absorbing the altitude difference at around 2,000 metres and devouring a hearty bowl of ramen. As well as food stalls, tourist shops sell postcards, amulets against injury and small Japanese flags to carry to the summit. But the best sellers are wooden staves with bells attached that help propel the hiker to the top and can be branded with a hot iron unique to each mountain hut en route.

With the top of the mountain a mere 1,776 metres above is, it strikes me that the shops selling cannisters of oxygen are being just a little melodramatic.

After gently limbering up, we set off at Mr Hatakehori's curious yet effective shuffling gait along the Subashiri Trail, one of three that wind their way to the summit.

Initially Mount Fuji's slopes are covered in stunted woodland, the trees twisted at curious angles by the elements and threaded with cloud that comes and goes with the breeze. The path is clearly marked by the thousands of pairs of boots that have tramped this way in the last few days alone and follows a gradual incline with the climb switchback over a rocky knoll.

The trees gradually thin out and are replaced by scrub and the gritty, grey or dark red rock that was spat out of the mouth of the volcano so many years ago. The shrouds of cloud are also getting rarer, opening up the skyline to left and right and revealing another track with a steady stream of people heading back down the mountain.

The first mountain hut, confusingly called New Six, is achieved without too much exertion, although the chill of the breeze can be felt during the 10-minute break that Mr Hatakehori prescribes. When in motion, a t-shirt is adequate for this altitude, but at rest and with the body cooling down it is good to have a sweater close at hand.

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