Tohoku Chapter 1 – Mt. Hakkoda

The ferry rolled into Aomori city in the early hours of a bright and beautiful August morning. As I made my way to the bus terminal, I couldn’t help but notice the unusually busy streets. The posters at the bus stop confirmed my suspicions, as the Nebuta festival was entering its final day. My mission, however, was to leave the throngs of spectators and head to the peaks south of the city for the first leg of my Tohoku Hyakumeizan Tour.

The bus ride was pleasant enough, but the wonderful weather brought out the impatience in me. “Hurry up,” I murmured, as the bus stopped for a bathroom break a mere 10km from Sukayu hot spring. The peaks of Hakkoda rose majestically to my left and I seriously thought about abandoning the bus in favor of hitching. Those last 10km seemed to take an eternity, as I was convinced the summer fog would foil my plans for a summit view. Immediately after pulling into the terminus, I went to work, stashing my huge pack behind the public toilets. Food, water, camera. Check. An extra shirt just in case.

The trail was well-maintained and I soon set a rather brisk pace, traversing through a volcanic gully before arriving at the Sennin-tai emergency hut junction. Round volcanic cones in the richest hues of green rose up from the marshlands in all directions, as the last hints of winter gathered in the form of rabbit-shaped snowfields. The water source here rose up from deep within the earth, forming a small, crystal clear pond of refreshing liquid. I had my fill before setting off for the final slog to the high point of Odake.

After passing a picturesque pond and weaving back and forth between the red pines and Maries’ firs, I reached the high point of Hakkoda, only to be met by crowds of hikers who’d come up from the more popular northern approach. Most hikers avoid the most scenic sections of the peak by opting for the luxury of the gondola, which whisks visitors to within 200 vertical meters of the summit. I was in no mood for dealing with crowds, so instead of exploring the neighboring peak of Akakura, I made a beeline back to Sukayu hot spring, indulging in the gigantic mixed bath that is rumored to hold up to 1000 people. Fortunately, there was hardly a soul in sight when I entered the refreshing waters. A quick glance at the clock knocked me back to reality, as it realized it was high noon and most of the tourists were probably in the neighboring restaurants. Noon? Why on earth didn’t I spend more time exploring the peaks?

I retreated next door for a bowl of noodles and was fortunate enough to sit next to a talkative pair of men who offered me a ride to Hirosaki station. Perhaps I’d even be able to knock off Mt. Iwaki before sunset, whose towering edifice dominates the skyline for miles around. One day into my quest and I was already well ahead of schedule. I vowed to come back to Hakkoda in the winter for some backcountry powder and juhyo (‘ice monster’) viewing.

Tohoku – Preface

Rewind to the summer of 2006. My first foray into the northernmost region of the main island and I was on a mission. Knock off as many of the Hyakumeizan as possible in a 10-day period without a car. Here is how the trip went:

Day 1 – Ferry to Aomori, bus to Sukayu hot spring. Climbed Mt. Hakkoda and soaked in the baths. Hitched over to Mt. Iwaki and stayed on the summit.

Day 2 – bus to Hirosaki, train to Rikuchusato, hitched to Hachimantai, strolled through the marshlands, hitched to Hachimantai hot spring and camped.

Day 3 – Climbed Mt. Iwate via the Nanatsu-taki trail, bus to Morioka and stayed in a cheap minshuku.

Day 4 – bus to Hiratsuto, climbed Mt. Hayachine via a long, seldom used route on the northern face, bus back to Morioka, shinkansen to Akita, local train to Kisakata, camped on the beach.

Day 5 – Bus to Hokodate, climbed Mt. Chokai, stayed at Hokodate hut.

Day 6 – bus to Tsuruoka, stayed at a cheap minshuku (my first day off!)

Day 7 – bus to Gassan 8-chome (via Mt. Haguro), climbed Mt. Gassan, descended to Yudono shrine, climbed back up to the ridge and down to Gassan ski resort and camped there.

Day 8 – hitched from Gassan to Kotera-kosen, climbed Mt. Asahi and stayed at emergency hut below the summit.

Day 9 – climbed Mt. Asahi, watched the sunrise, descended to Asahi-kosen, ate the most delicious bowl of soba in my life, took a well-needed bath, shared a taxi to Aterazawa, train to Yamagata, bus to Zao Onsen, hitched to Katta-toge, stayed in the emergency hut.

Day 10 – climbed Mt. Kumano, descended to Zao hot spring, soaked in the “dai-rotenburo”, bus to Yamagata, stayed in a cheap minshuku and collapsed from exhaustion.

Day 11 – bus to Niigata, ferry to Sado Island, enjoyed the Earth Celebration before heading back to Osaka.

I’ll write about each of these days as separate chapters in the coming weeks. Stay tuned for more…

Updated Tally

First time readers may be a bit confused about the order of these posts. When I first started this site, I was still climbing the Hyakumeizan, so my earliest posts are from freshly completed peaks. Now that I’ve finished the 100 mountains, the posts are done somewhat randomly and out of sequence, so I’ve attempted to fix that.

I have updated the “Current Hyakumeizan Status” page, renaming it “Hyakumeizan Tally“. If you click on the tab, then you’ll be able to see exactly which order I climbed the mountains, as well as which peaks I’ve already written about (click on the hyperlink to read about each hike). I hope this will make navagation somewhat easier for some folks. Eventually I’m going to write about every single one of the hikes, so if you have any requests about which mountains you’d like to see me write about next, then let me know.

Gear

A few people have asked me about the gear I carry on my mountain adventures, so I’d like to share a few things I’ve learned over the years. First of all, the most important investment you can make is in a strong, comfortable pack. Any old bag will do for a day trip, but when you’re planning multi-day hikes in the backcountry, it doesn’t pay to skimp.

I bought my pack from Dana Design over a decade ago, and it’s still going strong. Unfortunately, the brand no longer exists, having been merged with Marmot three years ago. The pack cost $400 USD but has been with me over 1000km without a single problem.

Shoes are another crucial investment, and I’m one of the unlucky souls who possesses an extremely wide foot. I went with these shoes from Caravan only because they came in a EEEE size width. I climbed 80 of the 100 mountains with these clunkers, but they never fell apart. The white on the toes is Shoo Goo that I kept applying to keep the soles from breaking. I also had to tape up the back of the shoes to seal up the holes. I no longer use these shoes, but it was a worthy investment of 20,000 yen.

Those of you who’ve done the Daisetsuzan traverse in Hokkaido will remember the endless barrage of wooden steps leading down to Tokachi Hot Spring. Needless to say, my knees took a beating, so upon returning to Osaka I immediately invested in a pair of trekking poles, which have definitely kept me from falling more than a few times. My Tokachi was mountain #14 in my quest, and I used these beauties from Black Diamond on the remaining 86 peaks. I’m especially fond of the flick lock system for adjusting the length.

Cooking supplies are another handy thing when out in the wilderness, and my Primus stove still works after 8 years. The 500ml titanium cooking pot has served me well in all kinds of weather conditions. Still, I’m looking forward to investing in a Jetboil system for upcoming excursions. Perhaps I’ll scrap together the funds from my next paycheck.

First-aid supplies are a must, even on short, easy strolls through the hills. I always pack a small first-aid kit and emergency survival blanket. A headlamp is also a lightweight, yet important thing to stuff into the pack. I’ve been caught on a day hike in Shiga Prefecture without one, and ended up walking 2km through a dense forest with only my cell phone light to guide  me. Lesson learned.

So, there you have it. I could easily write another 1000 words or so about tents, sleeping bags, food, and other essentials, but attention span is limited in our on-line reality. Perhaps I’ll create a series of articles if the interest is there. Enjoy your outdoor pursuits this summer, and let me know what works for you.

Mt. Kongodo Chapter 1 – sidelined

“May I see your passport?”, inquired the stern police officer outside of Yatsuo station. “Why?”, I instantaneously retorted, resulting in a rather lengthy and embarrassing interrogation that I’ve grown uncomfortably accustomed to. I’d expect this in Osaka, but not in the middle of Toyama Prefecture! Cops with ego trips don’t sit well with me, but luckily I kept my cool long enough to avoid detainment. Thus begins the second stage in a Golden week that had quickly become tarnished.

After a long ‘bus’ journey (the bus itself was basically a converted minivan), I arrived at the start of the hike to Mt. Kongodo, ready to set up camp and dive into some dinner. The storage shed of an emergency hut was unlocked, so I forwent the hassle of setting up the tent in lieu of the concrete comfort of the dilapidated
dwelling. Coughing and squirming most of the night were my punishments for the first of many ill-fated decisions that would come back to haunt me.

Early the next morning, I awoke to the sounds of dripping water. Upon opening the door to the hut, I found myself staring out into a foggy, wet abyss: hardly ideal hiking conditions for this dreary morning. I left all of the nonessentials in the hut and started up the steep path. I caught my stride within the first km or so and was making good time until WHAM – a sudden feeling of lightheadedness.

I dropped to my knees and tried to balance myself. I pulled out my water bottle along with some snack food. “Perhaps I’m just a bit deydrated”, I thought, working my way extremely slowly up the terraced trail. My chest felt a little tight as breathing started to become a bit difficult. Foolishly, I pushed on, trying to convince myself that everything would be ok. 50 painstaking meters later, I sat on a pile of melting snow, completely defeated. Zapped of energy and completely exhausted, I make a decision that would ultimately save my life: turning around.

As I sat on the snow, a figure appeared on the trail below me. I explained my predicament and the kind gentleman offered to give me a ride back to civilization after his ascent of the peak. I could now descend with the comfort of knowing that someone would be calling the search party if I failed to return to base camp. Slowly, I crawl back down the mountain, having knocked off over 500 vertical meters before my attack. I somehow miraculously retrace my steps to the trailhead, where a deserted picnic bench and bowl of hot noodles awaited. My breathing had returned to normal but my energy was entirely depleted.

Diagnosis? Asthma! The first time in my entire life I’ve been afflicted with this potentially lethal condition. Medication for prevention and an inhaler for the attacks, I face a new hurdle and the possibility of never being able to get into the alpine again.

Mt. Jonen – Beating the rain pt.3

The summer of 2006 was turning out to be truly epic. After an incredible 12-day, 10 mountain stint knocking off the peaks in Tohoku, I decide to up the ante by attempting an up-and-back ascent of Mt. Jonen, a behemoth monstrosity towering over the wasabi plantations of Toyoshina city. Map times suggest allocating 8-1/2 hours for the round-trip journey, so Fumito and I were keen to get an early start.

Fumito picked me up at Shiojiri station, breaking the news to me as gently as he could: “the forest road to the trailhead is closed, so we’ve got an extra 4km hike each way.” We head to a nearby restaurant to work up a game plan before agreeing on a 3:30am departure. We pick up supplies before heading off for some rest.

Dusk had barely shown itself as we headed up the deserted forest road. After a pleasant 3-1/2km warm-up we found the reason for our extra work: directly in front of us lie a 20m wide crevice, the victim of some major erosion during the most recent rainy season. Makeshift scaffolding formed an unsteady bridge across the gaping hole, and 200 meters further on, a huge beech tree sat directly in the center of the road, having miraculously stayed upright after sliding down the adjacent hillside. Once reaching the start of the hike at Hiedaira we made excellent time, following a beautiful river up the ravine towards our target peak.

We hit a comfortable stride, surprisingly even ourselves by knocking through a section in a little over an hour that the map said would take 3-1/2. We took our first real break at the point where the trail left the cool waters of the river and started the steep zig-zag towards the ridge line. It was here that we met our first hikers of the day, having descended from the higher peaks earlier that morning. The sky was a deep azure, but we’d knew the cloud would inevitably roll in as the heat from the valley below met the crisp mountain air. Could we make it up before being enveloped in a torrent of cloud and mist?

Our pace remained constant until reaching the hut at the saddle. 2400m above sea level, with the Hotaka range spread out directly in front of us. Mt. Yari was socked under a thick blanket of fog, while Oku-Hotaka was beginning to hide its head for the remainder of the day. Meanwhile, the clouds were building directly behind the summit of Mt. Jonen, a mere 400 vertical meters away.

Despite the proximity, our pace slowed to a crawl, a victim of the thinning air and encroaching cloud cover. We had maybe 500 meters between us and the summit, but were making serious vertical elevation gains above the tree line. The hut we just departed from grew smaller and fainter by the minute, until it disappeared out of view completely. Undaunted, we pushed on, breaking out of the clouds just before reaching the signpost and tattered shrine on the exposed summit. We’d done it – another peak with a view as we stood in T-shirts at 2800m, wiping the hard-earned sweat from our brows.

We wasted no time in descending my 64th peak, fearful that the thickened coverage might spawn an afternoon thunderstorm. Back at the forest road, we slowed our pace again, reflecting on our gargantuan effort. The hot spring we visited a short time later was most refreshing, as was the torrential downpour we experienced in the outdoor bath. Once again we’d beaten the rain, but I knew that my luck would eventually run out during the impending typhoon season. After all, my goal of reaching #75 by year’s end was truly in sight.

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Hokkaido Chapter 5 – Mt. Shari

The weather forecast on the 7 o’clock news wasn’t promising. Clouds and rain marks filled a large swath of eastern Hokkaido. 8 lucky souls gathered around the TV in the Kiyosato hut, overlooking the trailhead of tomorrow’s target peak – #93 in my 100 mountain mission.

Dawn revealed an overcast sky as I ditched my heavy pack in lieu of a much lighter bum bag. The trail cut through a dense forest before quickly dropping to an old, gravel forest road. At the end of this road once stood the original hut whose owner, as legend has it, succumbed to a lethal Japanese hornet sting. Not even the slightest trace remains of what was reportedly one of the best mountain huts in Hokkaido.

I took a deep breath and stepped back into the forest, following a beautiful mountain stream. The path crisscrossed the water a dozen times before climbing straight up the side of a waterfall. Miraculously, the rain held out for the time being, but the cloud sure was thick. My greatest fear would be getting caught in a torrential downpour and unable to descend because of a swollen river. Fingers remained crossed for most of the remainder of the climb.

Eventually, the stream petered out to a trickle and I found myself scaling up a massive volcanic bowl which must surely be an avalanche death trap in the winter. All around me the peaks rose, hovering above the thick mist below. I reached the ridge, turned left, and saw the summit directly to my right. A steep climb, a drop to a saddle, and another quick scramble lie before me. The wind picked up and the clouds started slowly rising from the valley below. Fearing a proof shot without a view, I quickened my pace, popping out on the summit shortly before the clouds engulfed everything around me.

Retracing my steps to the bowl, I decide to descend via the newer path that bypasses the waterfalls. I climb up an adjacent spur, swimming through brush pine, strong cool winds, and thick mist that brought images of the Japan Alps to mind. You see, virtually every peak in Japan looks the same in the right weather conditions. Hiking through the mist in Nagano is no different from battling the clouds on the northern island. I should know, after trekking through nearly 70km of exactly the same scenery a few years prior on a journey from Kamikochi to Tateyama. Still, I’ll trade a monotonous day working in an office any day for a fog-laden stroll through virgin flora.

In the end, the rain never really materialized more than a heavy drizzle, and my thoughts of swimming my way back to civilization remained a hypothetical scenario. I hitched a ride back to Kiyosato-cho, feasting on local cuisine before hopping on the train towards the volcanic hinterlands of Akan, the next pinnacle on my Hyakumeizan horizon.

Mt. Oizuru Chapter 2 – More thorns

As I begin to melt snow, I notice the flame growing weaker with every passing flicker. “Oh, why didn’t I bring a full can of gas,” I scream, regretting my decision to wait until the last possible minute to pack. I’d brought one other canister, but could easily use that one just melting snow. The 3rd thorn on this unpredictable trip. Conserving as much fuel as possible, I manage to cook dinner and breakfast the next morning while melting enough snow to fill up my 2 liter platypus. Off to bed to dream about my impending ascent.

“Damn cedar pollen!” These are the words that first came to mind after a long night of sniveling and sneezing. I left everything in my tent and stuffed my platypus, energy gel, and a few snacks in my bum bag for the 3 hour climb. The other climbing party had been drinking heavily the previous evening, so I had the peak all to myself. Following a clearly defined set of footprints, I clamber over half-buried trees before climbing up to the spur. The higher I climbed, the heavier my bag seemed to become and the wetter my back became. One quick inspection revealed that my platypus bottle had leaked over a liter of water into my pack. If I got any more thorns on this trip I’d surely turn into a rose.

Low on water and drenched from the leakage, I pushed on. “Time to start eating snow,” I proclaimed, stuffing a handful of the frigid ice into my parched mouth. Upon reaching the spur, I was greeted with Hakusan’s brilliant edifice on my right, as well as a steep drop to a saddle before the final summit push of Mt. Oizuru. I slid down to the saddle, being careful to stay away from the gnarly cliff edges on my right. The final climb began: kick, step, kick, step, kick. At this rate I’d be lucky to make it up before dusk. Slowly but steadily I thought about what would happen if I gave up this far into my attempt. It was those thoughts that eventually landed me on top of the bald summit, where I collapsed and ate a late morning snack. The Kita Alps and Mt. Norikura were clearly visible on the horizon, a blanket of haze between here and there.

I retreated back the way I came, passing by my camping neighbors who’d gotten a much later start. I make it back to camp in time to cook up some noodles and melt some more snow. Luckily, I had a couple of PET bottles I could use in lieu of the torn water pouch. Refueled, I broke down camp and retreated to the steep valley far below. I’d had a hard enough time climbing up the ridiculously steep spur, but made my way down without any notable mishaps. Back at the parking lot, I spy a beautiful park across the street and quickly investigate. It looks like an amazing place to camp, with lush green grass and flowing river. “Best to set up camp after dark, just in case,” I mutter, opting for a visit to the nearby hot spring.

I woke at dawn to the sound of screeching birds outside of my tent. Unzipping my tent fly to investigate, I am shocked to be surrounded by a pack of wild monkeys, chasing each other and foraging for food in the early morning light. Monkey claws and tent fabric don’t mix, so I did my best not to attract attention to my newly-bought tent. Fortunately, the creatures were more interested in playing in the trees and concrete suspension bridge than raiding my food supplies.

I pack up my things and wait by the main road, thumb outstretched. After a half an hour of cars whizzing by, I notice two figures with abnormally large backpacks walking towards me from the other direction. They’d just come down a monstrous ascent of Hakusan, and immediately offered me a ride. Along the way, we picked up another hiker and all went back to Kanazawa together. What an adventure this Golden Week has been, and I’m only on my second day. Little did I know that my adventure were about to become a lot more perilous on the steep slopes of Mt. Kongodo. Stay tuned….

Hokkaido Chapter 4 – Mt. Rausu

10 hours. If anyone ever asks you how long it takes from Wakkanai to Shiretoko by public transport, you now have an answer.

Arriving at Kinoshita hut just as dusk was settling in, I cook up some food in the early evening glow and plot out my course for the following morning. The caretaker was quite a trip, jovially supplying answers to my non-stop search for information. “The trail down from Iozan is closed to hikers, so you can’t do the traverse.” “Bear spray? You won’t need it. Just clap your hands and sing songs.” Quite a surprising piece of advice considering she just lost any potential revenue from rental of the aforementioned spray. The best part about the hut is the outdoor bath out back, as I made generous use in complete solitude while the rest of the early risers were off to sleep.

Despite rising over a hour after the majority of the sloggers, I managed to overtake everyone only 30 minutes into the long ascent. I found myself all alone: the first one up on this beautiful August morning. My late start was intentional – I wanted others in front of me to scare all the bears away! Upon reaching Gokuraku-daira, my heart froze. “If there was ever a place for bears to call home, it would have to be here,” I muttered. My bear bell was utterly useless, so I took the caretakers advice and broke into the first song that came into my head: “Audiowhore, sucking on sound, sucking my voice, dragging me down.” Eric Bachmann’s lyrics never sounded so powerful.

Once passing the ‘danger zone’, I shifted gears on the zig-zag ascent, popping out at Rausu-daira just in time to surprise a group of expats camping in the saddle. I pulled up a rock and spent the next 20 minutes or so swapping stories. It turned out they’d met Julian and his dog Hana on Mt. Poroshiri a few days prior. Tiny world we live in.

I dropped my pack at their lovely campsite and raced to the rocky summit. At one point I closed my eyes and slowly opened them, imagining myself climbing in the Japan Alps. Yellow paint marks, alpine flora, brush pine. Yep, the scenery was exactly the same, but 1500 meters lower in altitude. After a tough rock scramble, I pop up on the summit of #92 and sit, engulfed in stillness. Clouds drift endlessly over the Pacific Ocean, enveloping the Kuril islands and the mainland of Russia. Mt. Shari rises to the south, my target the following day. Meanwhile, the Sea of Okhotsk awakens from her slumber, revealing an endless line of fishing vessels and sightseeing boats.

Retracing my steps to the saddle, I grab my pack, say farewell to my English-speaking companions, and retreat back to Iwaobetsu hot spring. On the return trip, I pass by groups of foreigners: Germans, Indians, and even an elderly couple out for an excursion. They all seem surprised at my early descent. A quick glance at the watch reveals a quarter past 10 in the morning. “Not bad for my 5:30 departure time”, I proclaim.

Back at the trailhead, I scramble down to the lovely free outdoor baths near the parking lot, rewarding myself for making such great time. Shortly thereafter, I hitch a ride all the way to Kiyosato-cho, where Mt. Shari awaits. Would the dry weather streak hold out just one more day?

Shikoku Chapter 1 – Mt. Tsurugi

With the heat of August behind me, I descend into the depths of Shikoku Island to explore the peaks towering over secluded Iya valley. My companion this time around was Bin-chan, a strong, witty Chinese girl who’d never been hiking in her life. Could she survive the 3-day, 25km journey unscathed?

As the bus rolled into Tokushima station, we searched for a safe place on the busy street to hitch. Four rides and 7 grueling hours later, we find ourselves standing at the Kubo bus stop, trying to make a crucial decision about where to go. “No signposts or trailheads here,” I admit. The map offered few clues, so we opted to walk along the forest road directly ahead. After some inquiry with a few locals, we realized we’d have to continue walking along the road for well over an hour. “Let’s see how far we can make it before dusk,” I suggested, as Bin nodded in agreement.

It was pushing 7pm when we finally found the trailhead proper, but without a flat place to pitch a tent, we ventured on. The orange glow on the horizon drew darker with each advancing step, but the headlamps soon made up for the lack of natural illumination. After an hour or so of heavy slogging through a cedar forest, we reached a trail junction, and the ridge which would be our home for the next two days. “Let’s camp here,” I suggested, pointing to a flat area right in the middle of the junction. We set up camp, ate a hastily prepared meal, and settled down to dream.

The next morning we were greeted with jaw-dropping panoramic views and a phenomenal sunrise. As we broke down camp, the early morning rays crept up directly behind our target peak, casting deep shadows in the serene valleys far below. Layer upon layer of endless peaks spread out in all directions, culminating with the towering edifice of Mt. Ishizuchi soaring above the clouds. We headed for Mt. Miune, reaching its exposed peak about 2 hours later. We were joined by a few other early risers who’d ventured up from the emergency hut nearby. While most were heading back down into the immense valley, Bin and I pushed on, for we still had a full day’s worth of slogging before reaching our home for the night. The endless array of rolling hills gradually gave way to bamboo grass so dense we had a difficult time picking up the trail. Getting lost was the last thing on my mind, however, as I was petrified of stepping on a snake in the maze of undergrowth. Fingers crossed.

After a long, hard battle, we finally reached the emergency hut just below Mt. Shiraga. Bin collapsed from exhaustion, and I didn’t have the heart to tell her we still had another 3 hours to go before reaching camp. “Wait here, and I’ll go get us some water”, I suggested, praying I’d be able to find the water source marked on the map. A half hour of frantic searching, followed by a steep trailblaze into a hidden ravine, and we were in business. I roused Bin from her slumber and we slowly vertured on, arriving at Maruishi hut shortly before dusk. The hut was in immaculate condition and completely deserted, so we didn’t even bother putting up the tent.

Early again we rose, blessed with yet another spectacular day. “Don’t worry,” I exclaimed, “Tsurugi is just over there”, pointing to the triangular peak on the horizon. Looks can definitely be deceiving, as we spent most of the morning on that all-too-familiar up/down monotony of ridge-walking in the hills. Our hard work eventually paid off, as we soon found ourselves on the final summit slog. The summit has definitely seen better days, and after 3 days of tough walking, both of us felt a tinge of disgust with all of the paved paths, shrines, and aesthetically-challenged structures. Quite a letdown after experiencing such pristine beauty.

Finishing the rest of our provision, Bin and I descended to the massive parking lot and immediately hitched a ride back to civilization. My trusty companion was sore for a few days and had a nasty blister, but otherwise came out alright. Peak #15 in my seemingly endless quest to conquer the 100 mountains was conquered and with so many ranges still left to explore, I set my sights on Hakuba in hopes of scaling Mt. Shirouma before the onset of the winter snows.