When I left the hotel, I was like a coiled spring, after a full day trapped in the room. I waited at least until the second train of the day, to give the storm a chance to completely move out. The sun was poking through now and again, but the clouds still dominated the sky. Thankfully, the winds had finally abated. This last point would be important since I would be starting with a two hour loop in the mountains above Nachi Taisha.
The typhoon was well out into the Japan Sea by now, but the JR lines were not running yet. I had no choice but to take an expensive taxi up. Along the way, the skies broke open again, and it literally dumped with rain. I was in a foul mood by the time I got there.
I wasn't really in a hurry anyway, so decided to sit awhile with my book and wait out the rain. The loudspeakers in the village below began to drone on about lingering heavy rains. Despite this, the skies began to clear, the cicadas began their song, and the birds joined in. It seemed as good a time as any to go.
I noticed on the drive up that Nachi Falls was exuberantly hurling itself over the abyss. From the trail it sounded like the roar of a jet engine. The forest was dark and misty, with the type of look that fairy tales are born of. Humans aside, I figured that most animals were sensible and wouldn't be out in the rain. However, at one point, up where the forest cleared, the call of a deer rang out of the mist, warning of something approaching, not too dissimilar to what the loudspeakers had been doing over the last few days. Something wicked this way comes.
I came to a diversion in the trail, with an familiar English sign that I love to misread as "Not a Thorough Trail." I'll sometime ignore these, as the landslide damage beyond the signs usually presents little obstacle. But today I thought that perhaps it wasn't the best idea, to walk over unstable terrain after three full days of torrential rain. I obeyed like a good schoolboy and followed the detour.
The detour doubled back to the original trail, and as I looked down upon the former section, I saw that it was a more creek than trail, as the rain continued to fall. I ascended, and ascended some more, and arrived at a pass of sorts. The descent down the far side was over an incredible accumulation of debris from the trees above. The larger of the fallen trees had a darker scarring, therefore victims of older storms.
Amida-ji rose out of the fog, a refuge of sorts. I had been expecting a small hall so was surprised to find a large complex, with a number of structures standing at a variety of levels across the mountainside. They were very compact and tidy and attractive. The priest's wife was out sweeping the courtyard, an obvious work in progress as the wind was now pushing the treetops around. A beam of light fell upon a statue of Jizō, forming a halo in the surrounding foliage, which was beginning to take on autumnal tints.
It was a tough slog up the set of ishitatami steps to the peak of Myōhō-zan, capped with the Oku-no-in of the grand Nachi temple far below. I noticed that I was standing at the same level as the clouds, which were whipping past. Just as I was dropping down the far side of the peak I startled a wild boar. Or should I say, we startled each other. This was the closest I've ever come to one, the animal just off trail. He gave me a annoyed snort, then raced off.
I continued to whistle awhile, not wanting to run into the rest of the boar's inevitable pack, though luckily all I'd encounter was the answering whistle of another deer. The trail kept dropping, past a Fuji viewing platform, which marked the most distant photograph of the mountain, taken back in 1997. (I believe that record was broken in the mountains of Shiga not too long ago.) But in today's weather, I couldn't even see the trees twenty meters away.
I came finally to Nachi Park, a wide open area for picnickers and day trippers. I sat awhile beside a koi pond, filled with a hundred very small fish. I made an attempt to see the Falls from here, but the clouds had closed in again. On the descent a few minutes later, I came to a sign which I believe may lead to to the top of the famous falls. As usual, I'll leave Kumano with something for a future visit.
I'd called for a taxi, which picked me up at the base of the Falls. I had walked the section down to Nachi Station (and have guided it a few times), so would skip that, plus a good stretch of Route 42. I walked from here to Shingu back in 2005, the subject of one of my first blog posts. I recently discovered that I'd missed the most interesting sections by keeping to the busy road. I was not keen on repeating that dull road walk, hence the taxi.
The driver dropped me at the trailhead to Ōkuji-tōge, and as I looked back, I was embarrassed to see that I'd left a large wet spot on the backseat. The weather down at the coast was far better than up in the mountains, the sky clear and running hot. The first pass was a quick up and over, the second needed a little more effort. Along the way, I noticed a group of surfers taking advantage of the storm-borne swells.
Back down again at sea level, the map showed that I was facing a 50 minute walk along the dreaded Route 42. Luckily I was able to hitch a lift pretty quickly with a genki young guy who, though seemingly eager to practice his English, kept defaulting back to his mother tongue. He asked what I thought of Kyoto, and about the tourist boom there. I answered that its good for me from a work perspective, but not so good regarding quality of life. He pointed toward his lap and started to say in English, "Here..." and I thought he'd finish with the usual "...is good. You should move here!" But instead he said the opposite: "Here no good. No money, no job!" Then we quickly reached where I wanted to disembark, and he swung wildly into the opposite lane, nearly wrapping us around a truck.
Narrow lanes followed this narrow escape, with the Kumano Kōdō waving between them, The turns were too tight to be masugata, and I can't imagine what on the ancient landscape would have forced it to do so. The signage here became a bit schizophrenic, alternating between two sets of signs, which seemed to be missing every third one, so I found myself second guessing myself and backtracking a lot.
At the far end of town, a few families were swimming in the deep tide pools of the sea, the rocks sheltering them from the bigger waves breaking beyond. I cut across a farmer's small garden to begin a long meandering crossing of Kōyazaka, which is the most pleasant part of the entire day. More of those large red crabs scuttled underfoot, their pinchers like the white gloves of politicians (and just as crooked in their movements). The forest here reminded me of Okinawa, with low stone walls, tropical vegetation, and of course the heat. Especially the heat. Though here the signs warn of mamushi, rather than habu. I kept alert as I climbed one of the longest set of ishitatami I've encountered in Japan, and was even more alert as I diverted a few times through higher grass and beneath towering bamboo.
The forest diversion led me out to what once was a lookout point for whalers. Today the sea was strangely white, milkier than the whitecaps breaking over the tatami-like stone floor of the sea below. I'd also come across a small shrine for harpooners, whose tendency to actually jump atop whales while out at sea took a certain amount of blessing from the gods. Much more dignified was a small 17th century pagoda that stood at the center of a quiet grove. Later I'd come across a Jizō statue so old and worn that it looked like a meteorite. There was magic at work up here.
I continually stopped to admire the sea. One view presented the curve of the coast, as a train slowly squeaked by below. I reached this rail line after a quick final descent. From here my map offered two choices: one paralleled this line along the beach; the other took a zigzag route into town. I chose the latter, thinking it would be interesting. But I regretted it almost immediately, as I begin with a short steep climb which led to a busy road, through bland suburban development, and no shade. (Apparently I walked the beach route back in 2005.)
The two routes relinked, and I turned inland, weaving through Shingū along another a bizarre series of right angle turns. A few people are out and about, and everyone seemed to be clutching ice cream. This seemed a fine idea, and I grabbed one to take back to my hotel. I ate it while standing by the window, and for the first time in the four days I'd been here, I noticed that my room had a view of the sea.
On the nighttable: The Jam, "Dig the New Breed"
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