It is a quiet Sunday, but I don't like how it has begun. My taxi driver doesn't know the way, and each of his U-turns costs me fare money. I point this out to him, and feel badly immediately at being so petty, so tell him the girl in the photo on his dashboard (a grandchild obviously) is really cute. He then turns off the meter.
I look for my farmer chauffeur but don't see him. I'm hoping the neighboring beasts are similarly sleeping in. Within minutes, I'm already in the forest, facing a steep uphill push. The can of coffee and single piece of bread are quickly proving insufficient as fuel. I'm already exhausted when I come to a Youth Camp at the top of the mountain, the middle-school boys eating noisily and excitedly, the girls jogging along in a wide variety of heights. Like my energy levels, the signage soon eludes me, so I walk to a tall building to ask directions. A man in the window cautions me against bears, which have become more active the last few years. I take this information with me, fear newly fed.
There is a tourist farm of sorts adjacent, with cabins and a few families milling about. It makes me miss my own daughter, so I have a quick chat with her over another can of coffee. The road then drops me a long way before entering forest again. Each step downward will eventually be paralleled by another one up. It is a roller-coaster day, crossing laterally a series of ranges. Up and up to a pass, then down again to bisect a forest road. And repeat, and repeat. And repeat. This is the nature of the TSH, designed as it was to take in as much of the natural landscape as possible. I mean, the thing actually detours in order to climb the steepest parts.
That said, I would consider this particular sections to be one of the best. Granted, a lot of the forest was cedar, but that too is part of it. Nature, albeit with a lower-case "n." So too were the views, of electrical towers walking the hills much like I was. Boy, do I envy their stride.
And in the hills I remain, the ground alive with leaping insects, the narrower grassy sections the abode of spiders, awaiting the next home-delivered meal. The constant shifting of elevation is doing a number on my legs, and thus inspired, I pull out my poles at some point, speeding along demi-arachnid style.
I reach something called the Ise Pass, which has an elaborate torii framing the direction of the Grand Shrine itself. My map shows that another farm was coming up, which promises a cold drink. But it has closed long ago, so onward I push, through a mixed growth forest, the varied leafy vegetation punctuated with signs warning of bears.
And finally, the morning side of noon, I reach the base of the stairs leading to my final peak, Nebiso-ga-take. Despite all the up and down, I have stayed relatively high, but still face a good 400-meter vertical ascent to its 1120 meter summit. I sit and eat rice balls, day-old and slightly crunchy. Just up the road from me is a carpark with a dozen vehicles. This is good luck for me, as I plan to return to where I am in order to thumb it to a train station. I have three to choose from, each about 45 minutes drive away, and in a different prefecture. I hope to go north, back to Akechi, in order to visit the Taishō period buildings I saw yesterday. But first...
I push wearily up more stairs, leaning into my poles. I begin to pass people heading down, each a potential ride. Most painful is meeting a groups of twenty old-timers, who chat with me awhile amidst a worn away section of eroded steeplechase steps. I accelerate away through the beautiful forest, using the root system of deciduous trees for traction.
I arrive in a sweaty mess at the top. A chubby guy sits smoking over his camp stove. Apparently Fuji is visible from up here, but he's never seen it despite three attempts. A young couple tries to sit quietly not far from the summit marker, but they're interrupted by a group of chatty women in plaid who've come up the TSH from the Aichi side. I too will follow suit and try my luck with the Fuji view again, but that day is long off. For now I have a ride to catch.
I fly down, using my poles as if skiing. I am happy at each person I overtake, but the holy grail is the bigger group. The descent should take 30 minutes, but I'm cutting well into that. Suddenly, an ankle rolls, and I'm down. Structurally I'm sound, but the dust and dirt have muddied an already sweat soaked body. I dry as I go, and reach the carpark to find the group stretching out their goodbyes, as is customary.
Just up the road is a small van, and stepping behind it, I change my clothes into a clean set from my pack. I always take this precaution on summer hikes, as I don't want to revolt a potential ride. But no one comes. One by one, my group all turn west toward Nagoya. The one vehicle that does pass is a younger man I'd met who leaves me by the side of the road. Shit.
I walk east, knowing there is a turn off toward Akechi, which might be easier. It is only about 15 minutes away, but no one passes in my direction. I find the road to be a small one, which isn't promising. Along the way is a bus shelter, which I approach optimistically, to find that the one bus a week leaves on Wednesday.
Just as I have talked myself into giving up and thumbing toward Nagoya, a sports car approaches and stops. The snaggle-toothed driver takes the turns quickly, his wife looking less than pleased with him for picking me up. They drop me at a michi-no-eki on a busy road, telling me that my "chances are better here, that is, if anyone stops." I frown at the pessimism and think as I always do, "Well dude, you stopped..."
It acts as a jinx, and I stand beside the road for nearly an hour. I walk in the direct of Akechi, cursing snaggle-tooth with every step. My curses are eventually directed at each passing driver. By the top of the hour I've convinced myself that the people of Inabu are the least hospitable in Japan. Drastic, I know, but this it is the first time in over twenty years hitching in Japan that I am looking to be denied a ride. And I am really stuck, as I am far from trains or any alternate form of transport.
Finally, a logging truck surprises in pulling over. The driver, a logger, is young and friendly, and we exchange mountain stories over the next hour. I've given up on the idea of any further sightseeing, which suits my feet fine. I arrive finally at the train and once aboard, I gently sway along the border of seasons, as the cool of autumn blows through the window.
On the turntable: The Clash, "Elvis has Left the Building"
No comments:
Post a Comment