I usually refer to mountain climbing as hiking, because
I think mountain climbing brings forth images of rugged mountain men with
ropes, helmets, and beards. I am not a
mountain man. But climbing Tsurugi truly was climbing—I used my whole body to
pull myself up and down rock faces, maneuver narrow ridges and carefully
negotiate boulders and trees perilously perched over gaping crevasses.
Tsurugi was never on my original list of must-climb
mountains. But, with each climb, I
continued to hear many things about it from both foreign and Japanese
acquaintances. All agreed that tackling
the mountain was serious business and that the views from the top were arguably
the best in Japan. So, I decided to swap
a couple peaks in the Minami Alps for Tsurugi instead. My only challenge was finding an appropriate
route.
I wasn’t interested in the typical route to Tsurugi for
two reasons. First, it starts in Murodo,
which is only accessible via the Alpine Route (http://www.alpen-route.com/en/).
This route not only costs one man (about $100) round trip, but requires
taking buses, cable cars and ropeways to get there. Factor in waiting in line, and you’re looking
at likely spending half your day getting to the trailhead. Secondly, this route is extremely popular and
crowded, often resulting in lines on the mountain to navigate the notorious
kaninoyokobai and kaninotatebai as well as some of the other ropes, chains, and
ladders along the way. Despite the fact
that approaching from this way allows you to hit several other major peaks in
Japan (Tateyama’s Oyama and Onanjiyama, Bessan and Masagodake), the potential
for crowds and lines both on the mountain and off sounded like a nightmare to
me.
So my go-to English mountain blog (http://www.japanhike.wordpress.com)
offered me an alternate route starting from Banbajima in Toyama
prefecture. My GPS was in a giving mood,
and found me a route that knocked the highway tolls down to only about 1600￥ ($16) one way, and
I set out from Ikusaka at 4 a.m. Sunday morning. After getting stuck behind
truck over truck on the road from Hakuba to Itoigawa, I still managed to reach
Banbajima by 7:30.
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| The trailhead at Banbajima. |
Banbajima is a lovely area with a campground, small
hotel, restaurant and most importantly post-hike, a public bath. I don’t know what people do in countries who
don’t have public baths… the thought of being clean is what sustained me the
last steep 200 meters of the descent. At
any rate, this route is much longer, with a greater elevation change than the
Murodo approach. Banbajima sits at
around 750 meters above sea level, ascending to 2200 meters the first day, and
2999 meters the second day. Conversely,
the route from Murodo starts around 2400 meters.
There is no good way to plan this route unless you have
lots of time. Probably the best plan is
to allot 3 days, and get a late start on the first day. The second day summit Tsurugi, and the third
day descend back to Banbajima. Because
I’m saving my nenkyuu for my trip to America in September, I didn’t have the
time (or the extra 8000￥）
to
stay two nights at the hut, and did this route Sunday-Monday.
I made excellent time the first day, arriving at the
Hayatsuki hut a little after 11 a.m. Sunday.
The route from Banbajima to the hut is straight out of the Hobbit, with
huge ancient trees, moss covered rocks, and faint sunlight streaming in eerily
through the branches. It’s arguably the
most beautiful forest course I’ve ever done in Japan, but it’s not for the
out-of-shape, as it pretty much goes directly up for the entire 3.5 hours.
 |
| The trail to Hayatsuki hut. |
Because I arrived so early at the hut, I considered
summiting Tsurugi that day, making Monday’s hike a lot shorter. When I arrived, clouds were dancing over and
around the mountain, and I was advised not to attempt the climb. Rain was forecasted for the afternoon and the
hut manager warned the clouds alone may make the visibility dangerously bad.
This hut was unlike any I’ve stayed in previously. Instead of one or two large rooms where
everyone bunks, this hut was a two-story building, with a series of medium size
rooms on the upper floor. As a woman
traveling alone, I scored the “woman only” room, and shared a 6 tatami mat room
with only two other older women. It was
the first time I’ve ever had a futon to myself, and because the room even had a
door, I was able to change my shirt and bra in peace and quiet. It really isn’t fair that I’m expected to
wear the same smelly clothes because it’s not appropriate for me to show any
skin, but I have to put up with fat old men strolling around in their underwear…
Unlike at Kitadake, this group of hikers was a strange
assortment of mostly older people with interesting personality quirks and
difficult to understand accents. I found
an English version of Harry Potter on the manga bookshelf, and spent the hours
until dinner re-reading the Order of the Phoenix and peeking out the window at
the weather and the views.
After dinner, there was much discussion as to the
appropriate departure time for the 3 hour trek to the summit the next
morning. The weather forecast predicted
spotty clouds in the morning, sunny in the afternoon, chances of rain in the
evening. Heartened by this forecast, I
set my alarm for 3:30 and hit the futon by lights out at 8 p.m.
Everyone else woke up at 3:00, so I did too. I have no idea what they were doing that took
them so long, as I was ready to go by 3:30.
I dawdled for a while, waiting for it to get a bit light, but finally
gave up and headed out about 3:45. The
route was easy to follow with a lamp, but after about 30 minutes, rain started
falling. Faint light was starting to filter in, and all I could see around me
was white.
I stopped at the 2400 meter mark to consider my
plan. It was too dark to continue past
there in the rain, and I worried about the wisdom of continuing considering I
was basically hiking in a giant cloud that was leaking on me. I finally decided to go a bit further, and
clicked my lamp back on and nervously made my way along the path.
The first “scary” bit nearly sent me packing back the
way I came. This course’s main advantage
is it is almost completely sheltered from the strong winds that come from the
Murodo side, but there are several narrow ridgelines that must be crossed
without the protection of the mountain on your right. This first intersection is composed of some
perilous looking trees and boulders connecting the two parts of the ridgeline
over a large gap. The winds here are
very strong, and the footholds are sketchy. Successfully navigating the first
bit, I found myself facing two large, smooth boulders with a deep gap in
between. With absolutely no footholds or
handholds whatsoever, I had no choice but to hoist myself up on the first
boulder using a rope tied around it for grip, battling the wind and trying my
best not to look around. I tentatively
reached my foot towards the second boulder, missing twice before making contact
the third time. Holding my breath, I
brought the rest of my body slowly towards my foot, letting go of the rope and
transferring my weight to the second boulder.
I scrambled off as quickly as I could, and spent a good minute
considering once again the wisdom of continuing.
From here on out, it was a battle of wills with myself
and my fears. I absolutely hate rock
climbing, and I lost track of the number of rocky inclines I pulled myself up,
going slowly, hand, hand, foot, foot. If
it hadn’t been raining or such poor visibility, this course might not have been
as bad, but in addition to worrying about finding a hold that was stable (i.e.
not tumble down the mt. with my weight) I also had to find one that wasn’t
slippery. By the time I reached the
infamous kaninohasami after 2800 meters my nerves were completely shot and I
had to take a good minute to get my head on straight.
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| The start of the kaninohasami. |
The kaninohasami is not fun, but at least it has chains
and ropes as a safety net. There are
many parts on the course that are just as dangerous, but have no ropes or
chains whatsoever. The worst part of the
hasami was a narrow ridge lacking any footholds. Someone had drilled what looked like a thin, extra-long
screw about halfway between the last foothold and the next, requiring a large
step to reach, with very shallow handholds.
Wrapping the chain around my right arm, leaving my hand free, I clawed
the rock face with my right fingers.
Slowly, I brought my left hand around to the other side, feeling for a
hand hold. Finding a small one, I
pressed myself against the rock, gripping both handholds tightly. Twisting slightly to the left, I stretched my
right foot to the narrow bar, reaching it, I immediately pushed off my right
foot, giving me the power to bring my left foot up and around the foothold on
the far side. Being pretty much diagonal
on the rock face, I used my upper body to switch my right hand to the handhold
formerly occupied by my left hand, and move my left hand to a hold in front of
me. Then, safely facing the rock once
again, I pressed my face against the coolness and took a deep breath.
After what seemed like 15 years, I reached the main
Tsurugi ridgeline about 6:30 a.m.
Expecting to meet hordes of people coming from the Murodo side, I was
disconcerted for a moment about where to go, as the signs were rusted and
unreadable. I saw two yellow suited
climbers faintly through the clouds descending on the far side, so I deduced I
must be in the right place after all. The winds coming from the Murodo side
were strong and painful, bringing icy drops of rain and rolling waves of
white. Fearing I would be blown off and
die so close to the top, I hunched low and made my way the last couple meters
to the summit.
I had the entire place to myself, the first time I’ve
ever been able to see the shrine that is often at the top of mountains. As the shrine sheltered me from the wind, I
sat in front of it, taking a few obligatory pics, and psyching myself up for
conquering my fears again so soon by returning the exact same way I came up.
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| The summit, Mt. Tsurugi, 2999 meters. |
For me, knowledge = courage, as knowing what and where
the “scary bits” were made going down not nearly as bad as I’d feared. I also
did better looking at things only on a “need to look” basis. When on narrow ridgelines with deep falls
into nothingness on either side, or on seemingly never ending rock faces with
shallow hand and footholds, it is not necessary to look around you. You need only look at where your next hand or
foot will be placed. It took me almost
as long to go down as it did to go up, returning to the hut about 9:15.
My return made me a minor celebrity among the hut
inhabitants, as 97% of them had chosen not to climb that day. They eagerly asked about conditions, whether
or not I thought it was advisable for them to try, etc. For those of you who are often frustrated
with me for taking what could be deemed “unnecessary risks”, I was gently
chided by the hut manager for attempting the hike that day, and I graciously
agreed that it probably wasn’t my best idea.
After that, he allowed me to eat my soup in the generator room, which
was warm and dry, as I was soaking wet and starting to get chilled.
I left the hut for the final descent to Banbajima about
10 a.m. At this point, I already had
almost 6 hours of hiking under my belt.
My legs were not happy with yet another 3.5 hours of steep descent, and
by the last 400 meters, I decided that my own personal hell is hours and hours
of descending a mountain. I have no idea
how everyone else practically runs down these trails, I channeled my inner
obaasan and crept slowly down, sliding at least twice in the slippery mud.
When I reached the bottom, I went straight to my car
and gathered up my bath gear and fresh clothes.
Hobbling into the hotel, I finally got a chance to ask where the
reception counter was after being assaulted by an eager older Japanese lady who
wanted to tell me tales of her disappointment hiking in the Rocky
Mountains. Emerging clean and much
happier, I sat down for lunch, only to find 3 large groups of older men who had
also been at the Hayatsuki hut but chosen not to climb. They demanded tales of
the conditions of the climb, and compared stories about their climbs in bad
weather, and the potential awesomeness of a climb up Tsurugi when the weather
is fair. Warm, fed, and slightly
caffeinated, I gave the Hayatsuki mountains one last look and drove away back
to Nagano.
