Unconditionally

In the warmer months, I've climbed mountains in the cold, wind, rain, and sleet.  I never gave up on a summit, and persevered in the face of less than ideal conditions.

Winter, I learned, is a completely different ballgame.  The stakes are much higher--even on a good day with clear weather; a fall, slip or misstep can send you to your maker.  I turned back on half the mountains I attempted to summit this winter due to my own inexperience or bad weather conditions.  

I'm slowly taking "revenge" on these half-climbed mountains, but I was thwarted yet again on the first mountain I ever tried to climb--Komagatake.  Avalanches destroyed the supports on the ropeway, leaving the mountain inaccessible for the entire winter.  It was finally repaired at the end of March, but I had to wait until mid-April to find the time to make it down.  I saw evidence of these avalanches on my way up the ropeway, including the largest one I've ever seen.  Not a mountain to be caught on in avalanche prone slopes.

The weather forecast for the weekend was mixed, alternating between sunny to partly sunny to partly cloudy.  I decided to give it a try anyway.  Though I deliberately ignored my alarm, I made it to the ropeway only an hour after my planned time.  I lucked out with the bus times as well, and caught the bus only a few minutes after buying my ticket.

As I rode the ropeway up, I saw the clouds moving in.  I was able to catch a brief glimpse of the Senjojiki Cirque before everything was enveloped in white.  As I climbed the nearly vertical path to the ridge, I couldn't see anything besides what was immediately in front of me.  When I got to Hokensansou, the wind picked up, and it started raining with bursts of sleet.  There was no one else on the trail, though I could hear voice somewhere in the white.  

Nothing but white on Komagatake.

I asked the advice of the hut manager regarding the weather for the afternoon.  She told me a high pressure system had moved in, and the weather wasn't going to change anytime soon.  She advised me to catch the ropeway down ASAP, as it was closed during high winds and bad weather.  I ended my second attempt up Komagatake in the exact same place as the first.

This past weekend I attempted my second thwarted mountain--my much-anticipated New Years hike up Tsubakuro.  Bad weather forced me to change my plans to later in January, and lack of strong crampons turned me around after hiking 12 km on the closed mountain road to the trail head.  Because the views from Tsubakuro are of some of my favorite mountains, this peak was high on my must-climb list.  It was opening weekend of the mountain road, and I knew it would be horribly crowded.  I set my alarm for 3:10 and planned to hike part of the way in the dark to get a leg up on the masses.

However, when I arrived at the road gate about 4:20 a.m., I found a line of cars.  Thinking they must be parked on the side of the road for some obscure reason, as Japanese cars always are, I drove past them up towards the gate.  The proverbial light bulb went off, as I saw the gate was locked with a

Queue on the mountain road at 4:30 a.m.

sign that said it would not be opened until 5:30.  I backed up slowly and got in line behind the 9th car, inwardly fuming at the idiocy of such an arbitrary time.  It was already getting light, and as I sat in my car, I could hear my solo hiking minutes ticking away.

As the sun rose behind the trees and my irritation level with it, a speedy white Prius drove by. Thinking it was someone else who didn't realize the gate was locked, I waited for it to come creeping back.  It didn't return, and I noticed the front cars had their brake lights activated--within seconds, the lead cars were through the gate.  I impatiently waited for a count of 10 for the cars immediately in front of me to move, then swerved past them to freedom.  My new favorite Prius had unlocked the gate a whole half hour before the posted time, and I was ecstatic.

I raced along the narrow mountain road, and secured one of the first parking spots in the lot.  I'd already prepped all my gear while I was waiting; so I checked the parking brake, grabbed my pack, and dashed to the porta potty.  To my surprise, I was the very first person to use this potty all season.  It was immaculately clean with nothing in it--the toilet paper hadn't even been unwrapped yet.  I almost took a picture as I doubt I will ever see a porta potty that clean again.

Not a speck of snow at the trailhead.

I headed confidently towards the trail, and was shocked to see not a speck of snow.  When I had attempted this mountain in January, I had to cut steps with my ice axe and walk through snow walls taller than me.  A few minutes after the first bench, I stopped to put on my crampons.  The snow was very inconsistent, and I had to be very careful not to fall through the weaker areas.  I did fall once, earning myself a sharp stab with a tree branch to the ribs.  I now know why we have ribs. :)

I was surprised at how steep the trail remained; I had expected it to level out at some point.  My calves were screaming, "Why?!" and I had to take short pauses after about 2 hours.  I felt like the ridgeline would never appear, and I would be hiking up and up forever.  Finally, after 2 and a half hours and one last big climb, I reached the ridge.  Yari peeked out to greet me.  Hello my old friend...

I could hike forever once I reach the ridgeline of any mountain, as the scenery is like a natural shot of adrenaline.  After the steps to Enzansou, the snow disappeared, and I took off my crampons and absorbed the view.  It took exactly 3 hours from Nakabusa onsen to Enzansou, against a map time of 4 hours in summer, 5-10 with snow.  Despite

First peek at Yari.

how difficult the climb felt, I'd apparently still made very good time.


I couldn't believe how lucky I'd been so far not to meet hardly anyone else on the trail.  In fact, the trail was so pristine at times I had to stop for a moment to make sure my route was correct.  Not wanting that luck to change, I hurried on towards the summit.

Summit bound!

The rocks around and leading to Tsubakuro are very fun, and I had a good time taking selfies and trying different combinations of the rocks with the surrounding mountains.  I was surprised when I reached the summit, as there was no large shrine or post typical of most mountains in Japan, and I began to worry I'd somehow
reached the wrong summit.  I saw a sign towards KitaTsubakuro, but there was no trace and it didn't look like anyone had been that way in some time.  I decided to go back to the map at the hut and double check to make sure I had the right summit, and double back if I'd made a mistake.

On my way down, I began to meet my first people.  They all kept asking me if I'd seen the dolphin.  I had no idea what they were talking about, so I just smiled and nodded.  One old man, not satisfied with my obvious lack of understanding, dug out his camera to show me his picture. I saw no dolphin, so he made a shape with his hands, in case I was still unclear what a dolphin was.  Finally, I said "Oh yeah, a dolphin, I will take a picture too" in an incredibly unconvincing voice.  Finally giving up on my idiot self, the old man continued down the trail.  I stared for several minutes at the place where the old man told me to

At the summit.

look for the dolphin, still not having a clue where it might be.

I arrived back at the hut around 9:30 a.m. and asked them if it was too early for any kind of food. I ended up with some cup ramen, a bottle of water, and another mountain bandanna to add to my collection.  I sat down next to another woman hiking solo, who after confirming I'd already been to the summit and back, asked me if I'd seen the dolphin.  Well prepared for this question by now, I said "Oh yeah, I saw the dolphin, I took a great picture."  Wtf...

The hordes were beginning to arrive at the hut now, and I spent a lot of time waiting on the sides of the trail for people coming up.  I counted over 100 people coming up on my way down, and the trail was no longer pristine. It looked like it had

My completely accidental photo of "the Dolphin"!

been trampled by a horde of somethings, with pine needles, branches, and mud tracked every which way.  Despite wanting to see the sunrise the next morning, I was very thankful I'd decided to do a day hike instead.

When I reached the bottom, I hauled my gear to my car and came back with my onsen bag in tow.  The outdoor onsen had no hot water in its showers, so I had to shovel buckets full of onsen water for a bucket bath instead.  However, I had the bath entirely to myself, so I lingered; wandering idly from one bath to the other.  There's nothing better than an onsen at the end of a successful climb and I felt at peace with the mountain and with life.

Views from the summit.

My person onsen. :)

Conditions are everything.  The mountain has nothing to do with whether or not I can climb it, but rather the conditions surrounding the mountain.  The mountain simply is, and I have to choose when best to access it.

Today I sent my husband off back to the U.S.  Japan has been a little like climbing a winter mountain in bad weather.  The conditions just weren't right for us to reach the summit.  Perhaps coming to Japan only a year after our marriage, when so many things about us were untested, was not the best idea we've ever had.  After all, it's best to have some summer mountains under your belt before attacking the big daddy winter mountains.

Just as I've been forced to realize my limitations in the winter context, I've been forced to realize my limitations here in Japan. These are not the best conditions for me to be successful, but that doesn't mean there is anything wrong with me or wrong with us.  I am optimistic our return to the States will be like revisiting previously thwarted mountains.  The mountain is still there, with its beautiful views and invigorating challenges--but perhaps now the conditions will be right for us to enjoy them. I plan to savor my last month here in Japan, while planning and looking forward to our future elsewhere.    

A Simple Gift

Coming back to work immediately after returning from the Philippines feels like repeatedly getting slapped across the face.  From the minute I walked in the door at my school this morning, I was reminded of all the things I need to attend to sooner than later.  The peace and simplicity I experienced in 4 days of rural Filipino life has all but slipped away.

My initial arrival in the Philippines was less than favorable.  My welcoming committee was health check security guards offering pieces of white paper stating I had probably been exposed to Ebola and should closely monitor my health.  As I made my way into the airport, I was surrounded by throngs of pushing, yelling, sweating people and harassed by whistle-blowing 厳しい security guards.  There are whole towns in between airport terminals (literally-it took me 20 minutes to get from one to the other).  I had to take a taxi from Terminal 3 to Terminal 1, and waited in line for a half an hour to get one.  As a woman traveling alone, I was instructed to hold onto another piece of white paper confirming my departure time and destination "for my safety".  If they didn't receive the paper at my destination, they would alert the police.

When I finally arrived at Terminal 1 to meet my roommate for the evening, E, I had to battle more 厳しい guards as you aren't even allowed to walk in front of the arrival or departure areas without a valid ticket.  After arguing with no less than 5 different guards, I finally made it to the arrivals area and met E.  We were totally screwed over by an expensive private taxi, but I had no energy to argue my way to the metered taxi area.

Our hotel room was positively spacious by Japanese standards, with cool air conditioning and a warm shower.  If you have cause to stay in Manila, the Tune Hotel Ermita is a nice choice.  The next morning we got up and took a walk by Manila Bay, stopping for a delicious Filipino breakfast with real fruit and whole wheat bread!  We returned back to the airport to meet the rest of our group, and piled into vans for the long trip to our hotel.

Manila Bay

We were all fascinated by the giant dorm-like hotel room they put us up in, with 7 people (and beds!) per room.  We tromped over to one room for orientation about the organization we were working with, Gawad Kalinga.  If you'd like to know more about this inspiring organization, you can check out their website here: http://www.gk1world.com/home  I urge you to check out the "Our Model" page to see what makes GK different from so many other NGOs, and the reason why I wanted to work with them.

After an amazing breakfast at the hotel, we set off for the village where we would be staying for 4 days and 3 nights. We took a pit stop at a local resort for a swim and authentic Filipino meal.  Filipino people LOVE to eat, and we weren't hungry a single minute of our time there.

Sun sun sun... here we come!

We arrived at the village in the early evening.  We toured the village, met the president of the community, and settled in with our host families.  All the families live in houses built by GK, and ranged from simple 1 room apartments without a flush toilet or shower to houses with lofts.  All the families gave us their own bed for the duration of our stay, and repeatedly encouraged us to make ourselves at home.

The village at dusk.

The work we did was hard.  As part of the agreement for living in the village, all families must donate a certain amount of service hours.  My host mother was doing her service hours while we were there, so I had the opportunity to work with her and her friends every day.  Because none of us were skilled laborers, and all but one of us were women, we excavated dirt to lay the foundation for a new set of houses.  It's dry season in the Philippines, with temps around 32 C every day in the hot sun with no shade and no rain.  After only about an hour of work, I had fine dust in every part of my body.

Our work.

But, we took a lot of breaks.  It's shocking how quickly I became overheated shoveling in the heat, and I drank at least 6 bottles of water daily.  We spent our break times interacting with the children of the village, whose English levels varied widely, but all operated at maximum genki.  We learned how to take cold water bucket "baths" because there were no showers or hot water, and how to use regular toilets with no flushers and no toilet paper.

Selfie!

While I can't say our short time in the village was easy, it was definitely meaningful.  The villagers are a close-knit community who pop in and out of each others' houses, take care of each others' children, and know everyone.  Their infectious good-nature and endless teasing was so refreshing after three years in Japan--I honestly can't remember when I last laughed so hard so often.  The fathers work hard to support their families, and the mothers work equally hard to take care of the house and the family.  While I know that life for these families is not easy, and we were only there long enough to just see the surface, I was inspired by the simplicity and surety of their purpose.

Our beautiful host family.

I have always struggled with too many choices.  My priorities are all over the map, and I tend to flit from one thing to the next.  I want to do everything, and I want to do it now.  My personal "road map" is poorly drawn and not to scale.  Talking with the villagers, their lives have very clear paths centered around family, faith, community and country.  They are optimistic the next generation will do better than them.  They have hope and conviction, and I am grateful to them for reminding me of what really matters.