Shortly after finishing part 5, the rainy season kicked off unusually early, tapering off in early July before making a mysterious encore that lasted most of August. With the September heat beginning to dissipate, Ted and I hatch up a plan for the next section of the Takashima and spy a fair weather window at the end of the month. Once again, I board the first train to Kyoto and Ted navigates the car back to Ishidagawa dam which, due to a bizarre countermeasure against COVID-19, is currently closed to vehicles. We park on the shoulder of the road just below the dam and don our daypacks just before 8:30 as the sun still sits relatively low on the horizon.
Our route requires us to step over the chain-link barrier set up to keep vehicles from traveling along the battered road, and just a few minutes walk north brings us to the trailhead on our left through Wasatani (ワサ谷), looking a bit more overgrown and moist since our descent in May. I’ve got the gaiters strapped snugly around my shoes, and several steps along the route I spy my first mountain leech attempting to abseil up my leg. I sprinkle some salt as it jumps off my gaiter in fright and we pick up the pace until once again entering the cedar forest of switchbacks up the steep spur. A small brown Japanese tree frog sits camouflaged among the fallen tree needles and my footfalls send it hopping away to safety. No creatures and going to stop these men from reaching their hallowed ridge.
We make good work of the spur and rejoin the Takashima just before 9:30am and sit on a rotten log for a well-deserved break. I take off my gaiters, shoes and socks for leech inspection but am relieved to find that none have tagged along for the free meal. I spread the paper map out between us and study both the paper contours and compare them to the humpback ridge separating us from the summit of Mt Sanjo, our first major objective of the day.
I take the lead through a tunnel of beech trees contorted by the fierce winter gales that push in from the Sea of Japan. The accompanying precipitation can deposit well over a meter of snow, cutting off sinter access for most but the most experienced mountaineers. Through a gap in the trees, Ted and I can make out the grass-smothered slopes of Sanjūsangen, a perennial favorite from the hallowed Kinki/Kansai Hyakumeizan. The verdant slopes have already taken on that golden hue of autumn, as a brisk wind pushing in from the north reminds us that the first snows of the year are not too far on the horizon.
Fields of purple Kitatamabuji (monkshood) flowers reveal themselves as our beech tunnel gives way to open grasslands fit for a bear encounter. Ted and I are thankful for the westerly winds pushing our scent away from the fields and off the ridge into Shiga Prefecture, for the ursine creatures would surely find the sight of two humans trespassing in their backyard intriguing. I reach for the bear spray attached to my right hip, rehearsing the moves in case a sudden discharge is needed. Ted warns me not to spray upwind, as the bear would surely enjoy the sight of a scrawny hiker writhing in pain from having pepper-sprayed himself.
We enter an impressive strand of towering beech trees that give way to a clearing affording vistas of the summit plateau towering directly in front of us. It is at this sight that Ted and I congratulate ourselves for cutting stage 5 of our section hike short, for this is no place to be loitering at dusk. An occasional strand of yellow Takashima Trail tape reminds us that we are still on trail—though on the broad ridge it is really just a matter of following the natural ebbs and flows on the seldom used track.
After 20 minutes, green signage points us in the direction of Sanjo (三重嶽) as the route leads us up and over a series of small rises. The twisted trunks of beech trees mesmerize us by their artistic forms, with one such hardwood doing its best imitation of a sink drain pipe. How such forests can survive despite the odds in this fierce environment is a testament to the power and perseverance of living things.
The ridge narrows briefly before opening up again to reach a battered wooden signpost that informs us that the summit is just a 20-minute stroll away. We continue to navigate under the receding beech canopy and through the overgrown grasslands punctuated with groves of purple monkshood. At a gap in the trees I pause and turn around, awestruck by the unobstructed vista to the south, which reveals the folds of ridges of our entire section hike so far. I shout over to Ted through the wind, ushering him over so we can take in the sight together.
At the top of the next rise the angle abates, escorting us past a small pond and through yet more fields of wild grasses and ferns. It it truly hard to believe that we are still in Japan and we both feel as if we are setting foot on hallowed ground, walking through pristine forests in the footsteps of fallen samurai and mountains ascetics.
The final stroll to the summit of Mt Sanjo (10) seems to take forever, thanks in large part to my pausing every half a meter to snap a photo, for every footstep reveals ever-fascinating scenery. I don’t know if I will ever get the chance to revisit this place, so I want the memory to last. Just before the true summit, a handmade signpost pointing south informs us that Buna-ga-take is 5.1km away, and what a stunning five kilometers it has been. At the summit we rest in the shade and share a bite of Lara while a Japanese hornet does a flyby. The signpost has seen better days, having fallen victim to a foraging bear who has stripped the log post of most of its wood. We have also reached a milestone, with only 9 more stage points between here and the end of the trail.
We take a leisurely fifteen-minute break on top, enjoying the views and filling our tummies with calories that should sustain us until the summit of Mt Ōmikage, our next target on the ridge. At exactly 11:20 we once again hit the trail northbound, darting through giant trunks of beech while catching a glimpse of our next peak through a gap in the treeline. Ōmikage lies on a perpendicular ridge and it is topped with a rather large microwave antenna, making recognition easier. We need to continue to the north until we reach this east-west ridge, where we will change directions and embark on a rather elongated climb, judging by our current visual sighting at least.
The beech groves yield to a sprawling savannah-esque plain that could easily be mistaken for the Serengeti. We expect a herd of Wildebeest to rush through at any moment. Powered on by the late morning nourishment, I take off in a trot in order to gain a little distance between Ted and I, as a figure does helps provide a sense of scale to the images captured through my lens. I can’t help bursting into a heartfelt rendition of Toto’s Africa.
This is easily the best scenery of the entire Takashima so far, and we are both thankful for the stable high-pressure system providing us with pleasant skies.
Over a series of open ridges we trod, pushing ever closer to our next peak. We catch glimpses of Mt Aoba and other peaks of northern Kyoto Prefecture to our left, while on our right we gaze at the foreshortened ridges of eastern Shiga Prefecture. The rugged shoreline is also visible due north where the cobalt sea meets the unspoiled shores of Fukui Prefecture. We are truly in a magical corner of the Kansai region and can do nothing to hide our elation.
We pause briefly on the summit of Peak 943, the scene of a bear attack back in 2015. The poor hiker was southbound and had just spent most of the day hiking when he suddenly encountered a bear at close range in dense fog. An account in Japanese can be found here and it is the main reason why I decided to carry the bear spray. We scan the horizon but no creatures big nor small can be found.
Several more hills are traversed before we pass by a small pond and yet more groves of virgin beech. As we edge closer to the parallel ridge, the forest finally transitions to a mix of oak and cedar trees briefly just before the summit of Peak 889 before we duck once again into the sprawling city of beech. The shadows cast by the early afternoon sunlight provide an artistic blanket on the forest floor.
Finally, at 12:30pm, we meet the east-west ridge, where the Takashima takes a hard right turn and enters an ancient route known as the Ōmizaka Kodo (近江坂古道). The ridge line that we are now beginning to walk was once the main walking route between the ancient provinces of Ōmi and Wakasa and we are pleased to find not only the trail well-marked, but also the gentle gradient easy on the feet. Rather than taking a lunch break here, we decide to push on to Ōmikage.
The route is pretty straightforward at first until transitioning to switchbacks on the long approach to the summit. Ted starts to fall behind a bit, making us regret postponing lunch, so I slow up a bit to give him a chance to stay within earshot. I feel surprisingly good despite the distance we have traveled so far. It takes us an hour to reach the microwave antenna on the summit of Ōmikage (9), but we are relieved to find the true triangulation point a bit further along the ridge on a more pristine knob. I drop the pack and rest in the shade, and Ted makes his way up to the summit a few minutes later, where it is time for a proper lunch. Both of us are ravished and glad to make our packs lighter.
The half-hour break helps restore our depleted energy reserves, which we will surely need for the long journey back to the car. During our sandwich break, we once again pore over the paper map and agree that traversing over to Nukedo pass will allow us our best chance of perhaps catching a ride back to our car, for the pass is the junction of a trio of forest roads covering from both Shiga and Fukui Prefectures.
Shortly before 2pm the packs are once again strapped to our shoulders and we continue east towards the pass. By now the sun is starting to sink lower toward the horizon, lending softer shadows and providing excellent photographic lighting through yet another phenomenally beautiful section of trail. We have yet to meet a single other hiker on our entire route, a testament to just how remote and inaccessible the hidden folds of the Takashima truly are. At the top of a long rise, a shortcut trail to our right cuts down to the forest road, but we decide to push on to Nukedo by all means necessary.
Once past this rise, the trail begins to drop, gently at first, towards our elusive pass. The closer we get, the more abrupt the descent until we finally reach a trickling stream and pop out onto the roads at Nukedo (8-1). A paved road on our left leads down into Fukui Prefecture. I walk a short distance to a parking lot but am gutted to find no cars—our chance for a free ride is gone. On the Shiga side, the forest road back to our car is barricaded by a locked gate and looks as if no vehicles have been up here for at least a decade. I sit on a concrete wall to give my legs a brief rest as we think. Our original plan was to continue east to Mt Ōtani and a long escape route down towards Makino, where we could hail a taxi back to our car, but there would be no way to make it down before dark. Plus, the prospect of another ascent on weary legs is too much to bear. There is only one other alternative.
Ted and I look at each other and nod wordlessly as we climb over the barricade and onto the gravel forest road. It is preciously 3pm when we start the long slog back to the car. At least all we need to do is to follow a road back, but we are both shocked to find the road climbing. And climbing. And climbing back towards the long rise we had traversed on the way down from Ōmikage. Morale is at a new low as we walk in silence, leg muscles burning, past research cameras placed to keep tabs on the local ursine population. After a grueling 40 minutes we pass by the shortcut trailhead leading up to the ridge and the road finally begins its descent toward the valley far below. Ted double checks our location on his phone GPS and lets out a gasp as he inadvertently looks at the amount of horizontal distance left to cover. “Please don’t tell me how many more kilometers we have left”, I shout, knowing that it will only lower our sinking morale. Silently, I guess that we have about 15km to walk on the road, but we manage to avoid talking about this for the remainder of our walk. We do engage in small talk while trying our best to simply put one foot in front of the other. We are in a race against the setting sun but it is important not to rush when you have such a formidable distance to cover.
The road drops to meet a stream and after 40 minutes we reach an alternative trailhead to Mt Sanjo. This is the route we were originally planning to descend on day 5 before opting for the escape route that we had used for our approach to start our day. We break here for about 10 minutes, sitting next to the trailhead and stretching our legs for one final snack to help sustain us for the remainder of the walk.
We continue to traverse through bear territory, half expecting to come across one at every bend in the road. Somehow, the creatures continue to elude us as we make good progress on the long gravel thoroughfare. Further downstream we pass through a locked gate that looks remarkably similar to the once erected at Nukedo. Perhaps we are once again in an area where vehicular traffic is allowed.
30 minutes later we reach the end of the road, where it deposits us on a paved road that connects Ishidagawa dam to Hakodateyama ski resort. I recognize this road, as we walk past the place where we parked during my first ascent of Mt Sanjo back in 2015. This road has fallen into ruin during the last several years and now no vehicular traffic is allowed until repairs are made. The pavement looks to be in pretty descent condition until we reach a massive landslide just 10 minutes further long the road. After scrambling up and over this obstacle we continue past several other washed out sections of bitumen in the fading light of the day. We reach the car at 6:30pm in near total darkness. We have walked over 30km on this mammoth 10-hour day, but with vehicular access to Nukedo on the Fukui side of the mountain, we now have a clear path to finishing the Takashima trail, which will take just two more days according to our newly hatched plan. The hard part is over, or so we think.
Part 7
The Tozan Tales 