Taking Tiger Mountain

After the mad dashes of rush hour, the loneliness and serenity of the spur line...

I'm nearing the end of my 90 minute trip from Kyoto, which bizarrely takes the same amount of time for Wes, who lives just over the mountain, as the crow flies.  But here in the suburbs crows rarely fly, too heavy they are from dining on improperly placed rubbish bags. 

We meet on an unseasonably warm January morning, which grows even warmer as we begin our slog up a 30 degrees slope that cuts directly into the heart of the suburbs, the lesser lanes radiating from it and plummeting suddenly downhill.  While the trip down to the station would be a skateboarder's delight, to do this climb after a long workday would feel like a cruel joke.

The arrow straight road ends where the green begins.  On its verge we find a small encampment of sorts, composed of a single table, a flimsy covering, and some swively office chairs.  Just below is the trail, climbing at an even greater angle along a disused funicular line that had once serviced the temple and the affiliated community above.  Its rails have been pulled up, though the concrete base is still there, now beginning to grow wild as the forest once again makes a claim.  It isn't just the flora, for a sign warns of vipers and wild boar, falling trees and tumbling stones.   

But we survive somehow, arriving at the top 25 hot minutes later.  The old funicular rail office has been repurposed for buses, and beyond is a small quiet lane running through a nice, older looking village which had no doubt been quite lively when the temple had more importance, its sangha younger and more engaged.  A few pleasant ryokan continue to survive, going back centuries.   

We continue our climb, the structures growing grander at each level.  One is lined with flags, still in the warm sunshine of morning.  Tigers were everywhere, a symbolic form I've elaborated on before.   The mountain's peak is quiet, empty of all the usual circumambulators.  I don't see any of the  small ceramic snake offerings that usually infest this peaceful space.  We instead find the metal peak marker stabbed down onto a tree truck, like a little insignificant license plate.   A few snapshots later, we descend.

The trail leads us along the ridgeline, dropping laterally to the northeast.  Clearings in the forest suggest the places where older temple buildings would have stood, although it isn't until Oku-no-in that we actually see a structure.  Out back is an ancient looking statue of Bishamon, supposedly Japan's oldest.  It is quiet here, as expected, but what is odd is the location, for most Oku-no-in are found high atop peaks, and this one is not only lower than the main temple itself, it is at the edge of the encroaching suburb.  Out in front of the temple is an old kiln, no longer in use.  A woman raking nearby confirms this, but for some reason is not forthcoming with any history or dates.  Shrugging we move on.  

As usual for Kansai, where suburbs hit foothills, gardens appear, tended by old-timers occupying their retirement years.  We wander through such a band before dropping unceremoniously into the suburbs proper.  They don't hold much interest, but we are coaxed along by the promise of temples and shrines hence.  Most of these are modest and small, though with ancient statuary common to this region.  One shrine does impress, not only the sing-song name of Iwatowa Jinja, but the massive rock face that is the actual focus of worship, free of any other cluttering of buildings but for the tell-tale torii gate.  

We have raced through the day, in anticipation of a second hike later on, but the silence and spirit of the place begins to work its magic.  We decide to slow down, and follow the tiled tigers ("They're great!") that mark an old pilgrimage route to a small burial mound that rises bald and grassy from the middle of the suburb.  We take a long lunch here, enjoying the last of the sunshine, as an encroaching storm front brings in what threatens to be a week of rain.  And at the end of a day spent bouncing along like Tigger, but finally we take a note from Winnie the Pooh:  "Don't underestimate the value of Doing Nothing."


On the turntable:  Johnny Winter, "Remembrance II"
On the nighttable: Philip Jeyaretnam, "Tigers in Paradise"