During the party that was the Bubble Years of the 1980s, the Japanese government seemed to throw money in every which direction, and luckily some of it landed on hiking trails throughout the nation. Sadly, that money blew away not long afterward, and the dwindling municipal funds were in most cases earmarked for projects that were less niche.
As the Tōkai Shizen Hōdō (TSH) is one of Japan's better used trails, it got a proportionally large amount of TLC back in the day. But its seems to have gotten very little since. I've often singled out Shiga Prefecture for its lack of trail upkeep, as wooden trail markers erode or fade away on rusting metals signs. (If a hiker gets lost in the forest, does anyone hear him swear?) And it was in this very prefecture that Wes and I began our hike.
I finished the Kansai section of the TSH back in 2009, arriving at Tsuge Station after a three day push. I have written before of the difficulty of some of those sections, namely the horizontal, faux-wooden slabs of concrete that had been staked into the ground to form steps up and down the steeper sections. Somehow these engineers skipped class on the day their textbooks covered erosion. The result of two decades of neglect was the creation of concrete hurdles about 30 centimeters off the ground, resulting in a goosestep that would be the highlight of any North Korean parade. Finding a steady rhythm proved impossible, and even as I write, my legs rest heavily beneath my laptop.
Being close to Iga and Koga villages, we were moving over mountains that were once trod by ninja, and the trails, and the higher peaks above which shadowed them, are even today used by yamabushi, which makes sense as ninja were simply yamabushi who had found a steady paycheck. Yet the ninja never had the challenge of these stairs (for as we know, their tricks included moving up steep surfaces without steps at all).
All these steps led us over three passes, as we moved laterally over three mountains ranges. The watersheds that lay between were a delight, especially the first, moving through Fudō Gorge whose waterfalls took their names from esoteric deities. The path through here was badly washed out, with multiple water crossings that required a few moments to find the trail again on the opposite bank. The path itself fell off into space on a few occasions, with bridge hardly deserving the name. A good bit of fun and not at all for the novice hiker. Yet it was here that I found the most beauty, the water below running clear, over stones polished to the fine smooth of marble.
A second pass led beneath electrical towers and toward a small village that clung to the last vestiges of population. Tea bushes grew into Angela Davis-like proportions, and an old weathered shrine still had lanterns from a century before. The latter hosted our weary forms for lunch, and as we dined, the last of summer's mosquitoes dined upon us.
The TSH eventually dropped us onto a busy road that would have been an unpleasant hour-long walk down to Seki. We'd decided earlier to instead traverse the Kannon-yama trail through the hills above. It wasn't a long climb to the admittedly diminutive Fudesute-yama, but the previous sixteen kilometers had us running on fumes by this point. Hiroshige had found inspiration in this mountain, dedicating to it one of his prints on the Fifty-three Stations of the Tōkaidō. I instead was finding it difficult to inspire my legs to move onward. The trail was better here, the best of the day, moving over rough volcanic stone. But the steps still made the occasional appearance, and over this last four kilometers, my thighs would spasm during the climbs. And these steps were some of the worst of the day, as the trail had slid away to bury over most of them. When facing a new set, I'd mutter in frustration, "Your mother's ass." I paused at one point to remember where this expression came from (Dom DeLuise ad-libbing during outtakes for Smokey and the Bandit 2 bizarrely enough, which I hadn't seen for maybe 35 years ), and while I thought I had stopped for no more than a minute, Wes's voice calling from above pulled me back to what must've been a five minute reverie. Mind was now as tired as the body.
I do recall a nice overlook of Matsuzaka and Ise Bay beyond, then eventually, a long steep descent into the picturesque post-town of Seki. Trains were sparse through here, but we'd timed it well enough to not have to rush, and even had time to grab a coffee in town. And finally the small train pulled in, where we sat with another hiker who looked equally spent. Or perhaps he was faking. There were ninjas about after all.
On the turntable: Joe Strummer, "Acton Town Hall Firefighter's Benefit"
On the nighttable: Frederick Burnaby, "A Ride to Khiva "
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