Dusk at Okuhotakadake (奥穂高岳, 3190m), the 3rd highest peak in Japan
My idea of a perfect holiday is isolation. A tent, my boots, enough food and clothes, and I’d quite happily sacrifice modern luxuries such as TV and a shower for a week or two in the wilderness. Usually, people don’t tend to think the same as me so I was quite surprised when Pedro asked to join me on a trek into the Japanese Alps in central Honshu. I was a bit suspicious at first, but on acquiring suitable footwear and a rucksack etc., he convinced me that he was up to the challenge. We set off for Murodo, our gateway to the Northern Alps, on July 29.
The Northern Alps is the most popular hiking region in Japan. The words “popular” and “Japan” probably creates an image of bus tours and souvenir shops, but I can assure you it is definitely a place where you can get away from it all. We did an epic 8/9-day trek encompassing the full length of the mountain chain (see photos here if you don’t want to read this!), but if you don’t fancy heading so far into the wild, there are still plenty of shorter options and day trips. For example, as long as you’re not ridiculously fat, you’ll probably be able to drag yourself past the 3000m mark and up Tateyama (立山), one of Japan’s three holy mountains (the other two being Fuji-san and Haku-san) – only a day hike from Murodo. Legend has it that a local hunter, Saeki Ariyori, wounded a bear with his arrow and chased it high up into the mountains, higher than anyone had ever been before. He found the bear where upon it turned into a golden Buddha before his eyes. Instantly converted, Saeki turned Murodo and the surrounding peaks into a training ground for priests.
Tateyama (立山): School kids and old people
A shrine remains at one of the peaks of Tateyama, which is quite spectacular if it weren’t for the busloads of school kids and pensioners (see photo above). However, it only takes a few hundred metres to escape the summit crowds and you can sit down to enjoy your lunch in peace, looking down the snow-lined valleys towards the hissing Jigoku-dani (地獄谷; Hell Valley) hot springs below. Bliss!
Our trek started a little further north with an attempt on Tsurugidake (剣岳; 2998m). Not quite topping 3000m, but it is apparently the “ultimate goal of every Japanese hiker”. To my surprise, chains and ladders are bolted into the rock to help you in tricky places – the purist in me tutted, but it was something we would get used to over the following week. The final ascent is known as the ‘kani no tatebai’, loosely translated as “place where you crawl like a crab”. Unfortunately we never got to experience such a sensation as a combination of our late departure and the crappy weather meant we decided to turn back. Stopping for a break, a mountain rescue helicopter flew in to pick up someone who had cracked their head open on the rock. A sign that our decision was a good one? In true sod’s law the next morning revealed a perfect blue sky but we had to get going. I was pissed off, but a reason to return I suppose. We had plenty more peaks ahead of us.
Tsurugidake (剣岳, 2998m) from the campsite
Pedro was coping pretty well. The initial excitement of snow and the most incredible night sky I have seen in a very long time (ever?) had worn off when he realised how steep Alpine mountains are. After lot of sweating and a lot of swearing (“puta montanas…” etc. etc.), I’m sure he’d admit it was worth it – all beauty has a price. My own personal suffering began on the second day and was due to the sun rather than the slopes. As a fair-skinned British white boy (”un guiri” according to the Spanish), I can tell you it is not to be underestimated. Even a couple of Aussies we met couldn’t believe how strong the sun got, even early in the morning. I should have taken advice from the Japanese hikers who were covered head-to-toe in expensive-looking ‘Montbell’ endurance clothing. A little extreme maybe but at least they didn’t look like Spiderman (see photos).
We continued. The trek continued south where you get the most fantastic views east over the Kurobe-gawa and deep glacial valleys towards the mountain range running south of Shiroumadake (白馬岳, 2932m). The You can imagine the Northern Alps to be shaped like a big Y and we were heading along the north-western branch of it (Shiroumadake being to the north-east). Eventually we would finish at Kamikochi, right at the base of the Y. We stuck to the ridge and every time we stopped at a summit we could look back north towards Tateyama and Tsurugidake and feel like we were making good ground. It was certainly up and down, but this allowed us to experience different terrains from alpine grasslandsand snow fields to cliff paths and rocky mountain ridges. Ignoring my sunburn, I was thankfull for the blue skies and for a few moments I might as well have been in heaven.
Looking north towards Tateyama and Tsurugidake
Although of course I wasn’t. Firstly, no offense to him but if I was in heaven I wouldn’t choose to squeeze into my one-man tent with Pedro. We managed to do it, albeit with a few scares waking up in the night with a Spanish nose in my face, and I’m happy to report a ‘Brokeback Mountain’ situation was avoided… Secondly, the huts. I shouldn’t complain – we benefitted immensely from them, be it through water, the toilets or a big bowl of gyudon when we were hungry – but I felt their presence was a little too much. You have to consider that the majority of Japanese hikers are old people and so the huts offer the conveniences they may need. Apart from a few university students and a handful of keen mountaineers, young people or those of working age simply don’t have the time, or are unwilling to make it, to head into the outdoors. This is a reoccurring theme in Japan and hence the ‘hiking industry’ caters for those who are old and, more importantly, have money to spend. For 8,000 yen you get a version of a mini-hotel with everything you could need flown in by helicopter, plus you don’t need to carry a tent, sleeping bag etc. Camping, however, will save you money at only 500 yen per head and if your sly like us (or just use your “gaijin power”) you can use the facilities anyway, especially when it’s raining!
And so a “silver” hiking boom exists in Japan. Ironically, in a country of mountain chains and volcanic peaks, hiking and mountaineering never really endeared itself to the Japanese until recently. Traditionally lowland farmers or fishermen, it took a couple of Englishmen (ha!) to open the ‘Alps’ as a destination for recreation. Previously mysterious and univiting, William Gowland likened the mountains to the European Alps in 1888 and ever since the name has stuck adopting the katakana writing, アルプス (Arupus!), especially after the exploits of Walter Weston (considered the “father of Japanese alpinism”). Of course there is the original Japanese name, Hida Sanmyaku, but it seems this has been relegated to a fact, which is a shame. Bloody English! As an interesting side story, the first recorded climb of Tateyama took place in 1894, but a second expedition in 1907 found at the top a steel top piece of a priest’s staff and a samurai sword dating from the Heian period (794-1185). Maybe not so much of a recent fad afterall.
Closing in on Kamikochi, we approached the highest part of our trek. Encompassing the third- (Okuhotakadake, 奥穂高岳, 3190m) and fifth-highest (Yarigatake, 槍ガ岳, 3180m) peaks in the country we were going to encounter more chains and ladders. And more people. The hut next to Yarigatake, or just Yari, has an alleged capacity of, cringingly, 650 people but thankfully it didn’t seem like so many. We were closer to civilisation and a lot of groups were doing to the two/three-day hike from Kamikochi, but our cool tent site, nestled in a rocky outcrop next to a big scree-slope, kind of made up for the crowds. Yari itself, a mountain compared to the Matterhorn in the real Alps (I’ve never been), was a little disappointing. I tried to ignore the ladders as much as possible, but to be honest the bare ’spike’ did little to excite me. We ran up and down in 20 minutes and as the photo shows below, it was still pretty spectacular to look at.
Yari (槍, 3180m)
We continued our rock climbing into the next day as the route took us through the “notorious” Daikiretto (大キレット), where you drop from 3033m into a valley at 2748m and then back up to 3106m. The Lonely Planet described it as “the most exhilarating (or the scariest) bit of hiking in Japan that does not require any specialist skills“. Not sure about that, but it was good fun scrabbling about on the rocks (welded ignimbrite if you’re interested – the whole of the Northern Alps seems to be a mixture of this and various granites – not so easy to figure out). At the end of it we treated ourselves to more gyudon at Kitahotakagoya (北穂高小屋), the highest mountain hut in Japan (3106m).
During the final night it was a privilege to experience a fine sunset. After finishing the last of the pasta, we decided to dash up Okuhotakadake (奥穂高岳) to catch the sun going down and we weren’t disappointed. There is definitely something special about being above the clouds. To the north Yari was poking its head out, while to the west atmospheric conditions had seperated a sea of fluffy clouds below us from the wispy overcast blanket above. Both contrasted with purples with golds. Maybe this was heaven. I’m pretty sure noone was on Fuji-san or Kitadake (in the Southern Alps) at that time, so at 3190m for this moment, we would have been the highest people in Japan! We scuttled back down just as quick as we came up.
In the end we avoided the mass gateway that is Kamikochi. On the advice of a Finnish guy we took a near vertical track directly west dropping all of approximately 2000m! It was a killer on the knees, especially for the last day, but for me it was amazing to watch the change in environments. We had to pass over a very slippery snow field, which after a few falls got Pedro shouting a lot of expletives and cursing our advisor from Finland. Unfortunately he wasn’t in the mood to appreciate the geographical delight unfolding in front of us: after the snow we came to a magnificant glacier feeding into a beautiful river, which we precariously had to cross. Just running water and singing birds. As it was such an obscure path, I think few people would have had chance to see this hidden section of the mountain. We passed one man who was heading up what we just came down – I don’t know who was crazier: him or us?
Eventually we made it into a forest and followed a dirt track that seemed to go on forever. Somewhat delirious (a volkswagon golf passed us and I swear we had been transported to France), we wandered into a hotspring town and jumped on a bus stinking of crap.
Happy times. You should go one day.
P.S. Sites for hiking in Japan: everything you ever need to know at Hiking in Japan, and some amazing photography and more at this mountaineering blog, i-cjw.com (particularly the awesome shots of Tsurugidake – I wish I could do a blog like that!). I’ve put links in the side bar as well.
