Most of us assume life slows down once we pass a certain age, but Kokichi Akuzawa has proved otherwise. In August 2025, at the age of 102, he became the oldest person to summit Mount Fuji, reclaiming a record he first set at 96. Japan’s tallest peak stands at 3,776 metres and while thousands of climbers take it on each year, very few of them do so as centenarians. What makes his achievement all the more remarkable is that he managed it despite serious health challenges in recent years, including heart failure, shingles, and injuries from a fall. The story was first reported by CTV News, and it quickly resonated around the world as a tale of persistence, resilience, and family support.
Akuzawa planned the climb carefully, spreading the ascent over three days and resting in mountain huts along the way. He wasn’t alone, either. His 70-year-old daughter joined him, as did his granddaughter, her husband, and members of his local climbing club. They took it slowly, making sure he could manage each stage before moving on. At times, he thought he might have to give up, particularly when fatigue set in halfway, but his daughter and friends encouraged him to continue. That encouragement proved to be just enough. When he finally stood on the summit, he admitted it had been harder than any mountain he had ever climbed before.
A lifetime of climbing and a final tribute
Akuzawa is no stranger to mountains. He has spent nearly nine decades hiking and climbing across Japan, treating the country’s peaks as a constant thread through his life. What set this expedition apart, though, was how much he had to prepare. In the months leading up to it, he woke at five each morning to take long walks and once a week climbed a smaller local mountain to keep his strength up. Even with that training, he admitted he felt unusually weak this time and was surprised at how quickly his stamina ran out. It was the determination of those around him, he said, that carried him to the top.
That mixture of personal drive and communal support is what makes the story so compelling. He didn’t do it in isolation. His family and friends quite literally walked every step beside him, sharing the strain as well as the joy of the climb. At 102, he was candid about his limits, but he also showed that there are ways to work with them rather than surrender to them. There’s a humility in his words when he says he wouldn’t have made it without everyone else’s strength, and it’s that humility that makes the achievement resonate far beyond Japan.
These days, when he isn’t climbing, Akuzawa spends much of his time painting. His home studio is filled with canvases, many of them depicting mountains he has visited. After this latest climb, his family asked whether he would capture Fuji at sunrise, and he replied that he intended to paint scenes from the summit that held special memories. He also acknowledged that this was likely to be his last time reaching the peak. That sense of closure gives the story a poignant edge. It isn’t just about setting a record. It’s about a man saying farewell to a place that has shaped his life, with a paintbrush as much as with his boots.
The symbolism of Mount Fuji makes the achievement even more striking.
The mountain is an icon in Japanese culture, appearing in centuries of art, poetry, and religion. To stand on its summit at any age is a moment of pride. To do so at 102 is to place yourself in the history books, but also to demonstrate that age, while unrelenting, doesn’t have to mean an end to ambition. For Akuzawa, Fuji was both a physical challenge and a personal milestone, a final great climb before turning to his canvases to preserve the memories.
His story has travelled far because it challenges so many assumptions about ageing. In much of the world, and certainly in Britain, we tend to think of our later years in terms of limitation—what we can no longer do rather than what remains possible. Akuzawa’s climb doesn’t deny those limits; he was open about how frail he felt. What it does show is that with preparation, support, and a willingness to keep trying, people can still achieve extraordinary things long after society has stopped expecting them to.
Here in the UK, we may not have a Mt. Fuji of our own, but we have countless examples of older people continuing with the pursuits that bring them joy, whether it’s swimming every morning, running community allotments, or leading choirs well into their nineties. Stories like Akuzawa’s are reminders that these aren’t eccentricities but affirmations of life. They also raise an important point about how families and communities can make it possible for older people to keep active and involved. It’s rarely about one person pushing alone; more often, it’s about shared effort and encouragement.
What lingers after reading about Akuzawa isn’t just the number 102, or the height of the mountain, or even the record itself. It’s the image of a man, frail yet determined, moving step by step with his daughter by his side, reaching a summit he thought might be beyond him. It’s the promise to paint it afterwards, knowing the memory will live as much on canvas as in the mind. And it’s the quiet suggestion to the rest of us that the mountains in our own lives—whether literal or figurative—might still be there to climb, if only we dare to keep going.