Sometimes it really is about the journey

Trailhead to Akadakekosen

I recently returned from a winter hiking trip in a small range of mountains called Yatsugatake.  It's one of the most popular destinations for winter hiking and mountaineering, and is one of the few places in Japan with a mountain hut open all year.  Several mountains can be accessed from Akadakekosen, including the highest mountain in the range, Akadake (2889 m), and Iodake (2760 m).  Because I want to climb Tsubakuro for the new year, I thought it best to practice first.

I researched the routes available from the hut by looking up various blogs and asking the opinions of the few winter hikers I know.  I was advised to only attempt Akadake with the help of a guide or more experienced hiking buddy, but told Iodake was easier and probably doable.  I made a reservation at the hut; planned to summit Iodake on Saturday and return back home Sunday.

Those of you who saw my pictures may have noted one glaringly absent photo--a summit shot.  That's because despite two attempts, I never made it to the summit. I have been accused (and rightly so) of somewhat reckless decisions in the past regarding choosing when and when not to continue with my hikes, so why the sudden change in attitude?

Winter hiking is serious business.  I've been reading Snow Travel: Skills for Climbing, Hiking and Moving Across Snow by Mike Zawaski http://www.amazon.com/Snow-Travel-Climbing-Mountaineers-Moutaineers/dp/1594857202/ref=sr_1_2?s=books&ie=UTF8&qid=1419238497&sr=1-2&keywords=winter+hiking+and+climbing to learn about proper technique, equipment, etc. when hiking in the winter back country.  Ideally, I would have liked to have taken an avalanche training class before beginning hiking, but sadly the earliest I could get into one was February.  So, every night I read this sometimes terrifying book about staying safe.  It covers topics like what to do when you find yourself sliding towards a boulder field, how to safely jump a crevasse while falling over backwards, and more basic things like ice axe, crampon and kick step technique.  Snippets from this book kept flashing in my head throughout my hike.

The trek in to Akadakekosen begins horribly.  If you don't have a 4-wheel drive car (preferably with chains) there is no way you will make it up the single lane mountain road to the nearest parking lot, so you will have to park at the bottom, near the Yatsugatake yamagoya.  This means you have about a 30 minute walk on a mountain road until you reach the official trail head at Minoto.  Because the roads to Yatsugatake are not in good condition either, I would seriously consider taking the bus if you have a small car that doesn't do well in ice and snow (like mine).  The drive there and back was nearly as stressful as the hike itself.

Once you reach Minotoguchi, most people take the left fork towards Akadakekosen.  Guess what?  This means another 20 minutes or so of slogging away on a mountain road.  For this trip, I was carrying a pack about twice as heavy as usual and by the time I got off the mountain road and onto the proper trail, I was already tired.  My pack contained snowshoes, trekking poles, ice axe, crampons, helmet, 3 layers of clothing, extra gloves, hat, hand and foot warmers, food, water, etc.  If I wanted to camp, I would need a bigger pack, as I had no room for anything else.

The hike on the actual trail to Akadakekosen is absolutely lovely and I highly recommend it even for inexperienced people.  You don't need crampons or any special gear except warm boots and clothes.  It would even be possible to hike in and out of Akadakekosen in one day if you got an early start.

The hike into Akadakekosen.

All geared up on the descent on Saturday.

I was a bit befuddled why everyone was wearing crampons on this stretch of the hike.  According to Mr. Zawaski's book, you should only wear crampons when you absolutely need them--typically when it is too icy or steep to safely kick-step your way through the snow.  He says wearing crampons unnecessarily can actually cause more accidents than they prevent.  People often become careless when wearing them because they give them a false sense of security, and a fall when wearing crampons can cause you to cut yourself with your own feet, or even cause you to fall by getting caught on your pants.  I did this on the way down from Iodake--I misjudged by a fraction of a hair with my left foot on a single line track, caught one of the spikes from my left crampon on my right pant leg, and down I went.  He also says it's more dangerous to self-arrest while wearing crampons, and the best way to determine when and when not to wear crampons is to know your course well.  That way, you can put on crampons before you absolutely need them, so you are not stuck up a slope with no safe way to get your crampons on.

Less than ideal trail conditions.

I arrived at Akadakekosen around 10 a.m., checked into the hut, and raced up the Iodake trail hoping to beat the snow and wind that was forecast for the afternoon.  The trail was easy to follow, but the snow was hard and iced over in places, so I had no flexibility in my steps--I couldn't kick new ones over the old, and the trail was too narrow to kick a new trail off to the side.  The trail was also in pretty bad shape, with numerous trees fallen over across the trail that I had to crawl over, under and through.  When I was about halfway up, the wind started blowing fiercely, knocking large chunks of snow off the trees and onto my head.  Luckily, when that happened I was on fairly stable parts of the trail, as had it happened on steeper bits, I would have been knocked down.  The trees were creaking ominously under the weight of the snow and force of the wind, and I feared it was only a matter of time before I got hit with a tree next.

When I got to about 500 meters from the ridge line, all I could see was white.  Snow was whipping everywhere, including in my eyes, taking my breath away.  I rounded a corner and met a short vertical slope completely iced over.  Looking around at the lack of scenery, thinking about the likelihood of falling trees, and not wanting to attempt that slope sent me back down the mountain in defeat.  I decided if the weather was nice the next day, I would try again.

Returning to Akadakekosen, I had a futon to myself, a nice dinner, and plenty of room to relax.  However, I don't recommend hanging your things in the drying room, as they don't turn on the heater.  When I went to retrieve my things the next morning,  I found them not only still wet, but also partially frozen.  Luckily, I had brought extra gloves, but there was nothing to be done about my jacket except put it on.

The night had brought a horrible storm with wind whistling through the gaps in the hut and about 10 cm of new snow.  I was apprehensive about trying the course again after the snow, but found it much easier to climb as the deeper snow made for more stable footing.  Inclines that had been very steep before were now much easier because I could kick a broader step.  The weather was absolutely perfect, and I could see pristine white mountains in every direction.

I easily made it over the steep bit where I had been stopped yesterday, and finally could see Iodake and the entire ridge.  I got to about 100 meters from the ridgeline when I paused at another almost vertical slope.  Someone had blazed a trail already using feet, knees and hands to crawl their way up.  Testing it, I found it no problem to get up, but worried how I would get down.  Turning around, I tried a few steps down, and the angle of the steps almost sent me face first down the mountain.  Instead, I caught myself and only slid a few feet on my bum.  After reading this blog http://climbjapan.blogspot.jp/2010/03/yatsugatake-winter-ridge-hike.html about climbers who had been in an avalanche on this very slope and died, I decided that attempting to glissade down would not be an option either.  I turned around for the second time.

The closest thing I would get to a summit shot.

It was only 100 meters.  I could literally have thrown my axe up and hit the ridgeline.  The summit was so close I could see the faces of everyone on it.  Why did I turn around? Missing the trail in the dark on Kitadake and climbing up the "X" side to the summit, sideways skittering searching for hand and footholds on Tsurugi, falling down Kashimayari and catching myself on a branch--fear had never stopped me from continuing before.

Besides the genuine concerns for my safety, my body was toast.  Just like the trail race I bailed on in November, if I would have fallen I didn't trust myself to have the strength to get myself out of it.  Two 5+ hour climbing days with a heavy pack had taken an unexpected toll on my body, and my calves had nothing left to give.  I took two falls on the way up the trail, and I wasn't able to successfully get myself into the self arrest position either time.  I needed more practice at falling properly in snow.

On the trail down to the car park.

Hiking in snow is to hiking in summer as trail running is to road running.  Or driving in the dark is to driving in the day.  It takes a lot more mental energy, concentration and focus.  I know that I get sloppy at the end of every long trail run or hike because I'm mentally exhausted as well as physically exhausted.  Knowing I had to descend all the way back down to the car and drive back home was another factor in deciding whether or not to push myself further mentally.

 Additionally, I was taking a lot of heat for attempting a snow summit on my own.  Though I took every precaution possible (submitted a climbing plan at the base, notified family members of my itinerary and where and when to call if I didn't arrive, packing emergency gear for injuries/getting stranded, etc.) I felt keenly that if something happened to me on this hike it would be blamed on me climbing alone.  I value my solo hikes more than any other hobby in my life, and I've worked hard to earn the trust of those I care about.  Though I find it illogical to assume that accidents won't happen when climbing in a group (I would argue they are more likely, because people are distracted talking to each other) I always feel like I have to be *extra* careful to compensate for the fact that people think I am taking a large enough risk simply by hiking alone.

So where does this experience leave me?  Slightly worried about my hike up Tsubakuro, as it's most likely a 7 hour hike, since the 12 kilometer mountain road is closed in winter.  I was completely toasted after only 5 hours this weekend, and I plan on taking a pack of similar size.  However, I'm very thankful I went to Yatsugatake because I was able to learn a lot about my limits in the snow, while practicing a variety of winter hiking techniques.  I know that the more experience I have in the snow, the more confident I will become in trying more challenging routes.  I hope for the best on Tsubakuro.

Akadakekosen, the ice climbing wall and the ridgeline.