The second section of the Diamond trail follows the undulating ridge between the peaks of Nijō and Katsuragi for a total distance of around 10km. From afar, the spine of the mountain looks like nothing more than a gentle rise, but I know I have my work cut out for me. After putting off this section for all of the summer, I open a small gap in my incredibly hectic schedule, forgoing the Halloween festivities in favor of knocking out this herculean chunk of ridge.
Since I had already summited Katsuragi several times before, I opt for the comfort and luxury of the ropeway on the Nara side of the mountain. Getting there requires a change of trains at Shakudo, followed by a bus from Gose station. By the time I board the gondola it is already approaching 1pm. So much for the early start.
From the top of the lift, I bolt up the wide path like a steed out of the starting gate. The autumn foliage is at its peak, and what little deciduous cover remains on the blighted peak glows brilliantly in the mid-autumn sunshine. I reach the summit of Mt. Katsuragi around 1:30 in the afternoon and take in the views while polishing off my lunch box. The susuki grass lining the broad open summit plateau flows gracefully in the cool westerly breezes blowing in from Osaka bay. The northern reaches of the mountain are covered in forest, which prevents me from getting a glimpse of Mt. Nijō, which is probably a good thing as I know it is a very long way off.
Dropping back down to the tree cover, I pass by a restaurant hawking hot noodles, vowing to return there for lunch during the next leg of the trail over to Kongō. For now, I slip past the entrance and alongside the narrow campground that is just beginning to come to life. The next section of trail is a contorted serpent of rippling log stairs affixed to the rolling contours of the land. The knees take a beating while I secretly envy the groups of late starters working their way up the broad stair lanes, for it would surely be easier on the patellas.
After passing by the junction for the northern ridge approach to Katsuragi, the trail enters a thick canopy of cedar trees lined in perfect rows. The density of the forest blocks out most of the light, giving an air of early evening to the surroundings. If I don’t make a move on it I will surely be caught in these spooky woods after dark.
An hour passes and I manage to eat through only 40% of the 10km required to finish the section. I know that I will not make it, but decide to go as far as my comfort level allows. The fatigue of the previous week of work is starting to catch up to me, and I feel drained of energy. As I stumble along the ridge in a weary daze, a movement in the bamboo grass to my immediate left rouses me out of my reverie. No more than two meters away, a large animal shuffles through the undergrowth, popping out on the ridge directly in front of me. I catch a glimpse of the massive beast, expecting to see the antlers poking up through the leaves as it hops its way to safety, but the center of gravity hints at a different kind of animal. Lowering my watchful eye, I manage to glimpse two long protruding tusks coming from the elongated snout. Alas, the elusive wild boar – these things have been known to charge hikers but this one seems more intent on seeking shelter than stealing a free bite of scrawny flesh.
The wildlife encounter boosts the morale and sends a shot of adrenaline through my depleted body. This is enough to carry me a few more kilometers to Iwahashi pass, where I collapse on a wooden bench. Directly in front of me, an extensive network of stairs rises steeply to the skyline and above. I know I am only a short distance from the summit of Mt. Iwahashi, but the signpost pointing to Hiraishi village beckons me on, like a maneki-neko pulling a consumer into its shop. I am 5.1km from the summit of Katsuragi, which seems like the perfect stopping point for the traverse. Daylight hadsnearly run out and I haven’t the energy reserves to carry on much further. I gulp down a handful of chocolate-covered almonds, shoulder the pack, and retreat down the western side of the mountain away from the ridge.
The path is easy to follow and well-maintained, skirting past the edge of several electrical pylons before it deposits me on an unmarked dirt forest road. I turn left here, but a glance at my GPS indicates that it will take me further into the hills and not down to civilization, so I quickly backtrack. After 20 minutes, I pop out into a small secluded village and head further down towards town. A trio of hikers resting on a bench catch my attention, and as I arrive at their location a bus pulls up bound for Tondabayashi station. It is the final bus of the day, and I have made it with only minutes to spare. Someone is truly watching out for me.
What karma I have gained on the bus ride, however, is soon lost on the train ride back to Osaka. Our train grounds to a halt at Fujidera station after someone decides to jump in front of the train in front of ours. Such ‘accidents’ are common this time of year, as the pressures from society become too much for some people to handle. I collapsedinto my seat and close my eyes, using the two-hour delay as a chance to recharge the physical batteries.
With half of the ridge now traversed, I know that it would be much easier to return to finish off the remaining section. All I need is another break in the schedule.
The Tozan Tales 
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