Stalking the Shimanto

 

 

Japan's relationship to its natural environment is a complicated one.  Its literature and culture exude about a close affinity for nature, blessed as the nation is with a diversity of landscape, vast food sources, and four (if not more) truly distinct seasons.  Yet that same landscape and those same seasons too often turn deadly, if the form of earthquake, volcano, or typhoon.  Over time, living in harmony with nature has shifted to an attempt to control it, be it a bonsai tree, a tidily tended garden, or, at its most extreme, massive public works projects.  The visitor to Japanese countryside will be quick to note the impact that the construction industry has had, its coastlines tetrapodded, its hillsides shored up, its rivers dammed.  

Luckily three of Japan's rivers have been allowed to run free.  The longest of these is the Shimano-gawa, which wends its way for 196 kilometers across Shikoku.  The smallest of Japan's four islands, Shikoku remoteness makes it almost an afterthought, which is a boon for the traveler looking for the "lost" Japan.  Distant as the river is from large cities, tracing the Shimanto as it flows in an inverted-S across southwestern Kochi prefecture seemed an ideal way to get into the heart of the Japanese countryside.  

It feels only fitting to start at the source on the slopes of 1336 meter Mt. Irazu, below the Tengu Highlands.  In the feudal days, the mountain was referred to as Otome-yama, or maiden peak, whose forests were protected by the local lord from logging and trespassing.  As such the landscape is wild, its rocky trails lined with moss and lined by a lush natural growth forest.  The Shimanto has a quiet birth, a small spring which gathers together the water emerging from the nearby rocks to tumble slowly down a gradual slope.  Quite characteristic of this placid river.

But like all to often with character, rambunctiousness hides beneath the surface.  The water running through Inaba Cave is wild and violent, spilling through the narrow openings worn smooth and streaked with the color of mineral deposits.  Discovered it 1972,  the cave became an object of study for Swiss scientists  due to the rare geological formations that were pushed up from Antarctica and New Zealand 200 million years ago.  To the locals, these formations resembled the scales of a dragon, considered the ruler of all the dragon gods in the country, and it is here that the Dragon God summit is regularly held.  My guide, Tanizaki-san slides thorough the narrower chambers with apparent familiarity, leading us to the White Dragon cave about 30 meters in from the shrine at the cave mouth.  I peer down the beam of my torch at the underground river that is the Shimanto.  

Reentering the sunlight, I walk beneath pleasant autumn skies, past terraced tea plantations, and rice fields already shorn.  Halfway down to Tsuno town, I stop at the birthplace of Yoshimura Torataro, one of the Tosa domain's most famous samurai.  Lunch is on offer here, so I naturally choose his namesake set lunch, the Yoshimura Torataro Gozen, which uses local ingredients, such as ayu sweetfish, fried konjac Tatsuta, and wild vegetable tempura.  Thus repleted, I carry on toward town.  

The town of Kubokawa, my base for the night, is a gentle afternoon's ride along narrow back roads that more or less stay true to the course of the Shimanto.  Villages frequently come and go, but the true highlights are the twenty-two chinkabashi bridges that cross the main river (another twenty-six span the tributaries).  The distinctive feature of these bridges is their lack of balustrades, which allows them to become submerged as the waters rise in storm, allowing debris like fallen trees to flow over them.  But more than that, they are incredibly picturesque, set against the bucolic rural landscape, and in summer, would incredibly fun to jump from.   I begin to use these bridges as way points cross-crossing them in a kind of river slalom.  The oldest is Ittohyo, built in 1935, is less than an hour from town.  

Before going to my accommodation, I take an iced coffee at Hanpei Cafe, a tastefully nestled in an spacious old house whose abundance of windows hints at a Taisho era construction.  I am lucky to nab one of the tables, a front row seat for the garden making its final bows in the warm sunshine.  Nearby Iwamoto-ji, temple number 37 on the Shikoku pilgrimage, is the place to stay due to its friendly priest and friendly vibe.  While the temple has been here since the 8th century, it was after the 1978 construction, that the main temple hall became famous, due to the 575 painted tiles that form the ceiling, each representing not only images of Buddhas or nature, but more contemporary figures made familiar from pop culture.  The current priest has extended the temple's artistic connections to include the rooms themselves.  'SHETA's Room' is perhaps the highlight, the walls adorned twith colorful cartoon images drwan by Tokyo-based artist Sheta during an artist-in-residence stint here.  It is always makes for a pleasant stay, enhanced by sake tasting, the rooftop sauna, and BBQs in the summer.

As I've previously stayed here, I opt out of meals, in order to see what the town has to offer.  Unfortunately it is Sunday, and the town is dead.  I wander around, looking for a sliver of light, the red glow of cho-chin, but find no activity except for a modest eatery called FORM, which takes up one corner of the train station.  It feels right out of an old English film, where the lead characters have a final cup of tea before parting ways, perhaps forever.  Not needing to run off anywhere, I pass a long meal in conversation with the friendly owner, picking and choosing of this izakaya's menu, local pork and river fish, and a side order of fried clams.  The sake too is local, though the craft beer traveled some distance here from Tokyo.  

What I'd been most looking forward to in Kubokawa was breakfast at Jun, one of my favorite cafe's in Japan.  The walls are covered ceiling to floor with photos, drawings, pamphlets, magazine cutouts, with jazz is always on the hifi.  It feels as if the entire Showa period simply exploded in here.  Again, I am the only customer, so I am able to pass the time chatting with the friendly couple who run the place, my eyes pulled here and there to book titles I see on the many bookshelves.  The front door is probably the only part of the building not covered in ivy, and passing through,  I take only a handful of steps to reach Iwamoto-ji again.  

Perhaps the temple's most unique amenity is the river meditation.  After slipping into samue, the work clothes of Japanese monks,  I follow the head priests into the shallow waters of the Shimanto,  the find a comfortably flat stone on which to sit and perch.  We are in late October, a few weeks past the usual cut-off date for this activity, but the water isn't unforortably cold.  While the waters that I'd been tracing the day before had long flowed to sea, that which followed now coolly caressed my back and flowed around me.  I had become part of the river. The mind found calm in the soothing sound of water over stone, and in the patterns the ripples took through half-closed eyes.  

While departing Iwamoto-ji later,  I was seen off by a dozen schoolkids, who were handing out treats to passing pilgrims.  While not in that particular role today, I graciously accepted, and later added to loot with Choux creme at the Hiromi pastry shop, happy to have something to have snacks for the train.  As the JR Yodo line ran along a good portion of the Shimanto, I thought I'd pass an easy day with the river as travel companion.  It's a short trip, broken at brief stop at Tosa-Taisho for a quick lunch, but more to visit the shochū museum, housed in a former bank.  Hundreds of bottle climb the shelves, making almost wish I enjoyed this strong, distilled spirit.   But I'm here more for the bygone vibe, and a return across the street to the old-timey train station is a journey back a century more, though I know all to well it is only as old as 1974.  I leave the train again at Hage, cross the Nakahage bridge, and walk off the rest of the afternoon to my accommodation.   The Hotel Seira Shimanto is a beautiful building of stone and wood, offering incredible views down river, the water below shimmering, as the sun leaves this narrow valley.  

It is a short drive downriver to meet my river guide at Yanai bridge.  I realize within seconds that my guide Horikawa Ken is a laid back guy, at ease on the river, at ease with himself.  He is quick to joke, and his gentle teasing is sure to gain instant familiarity with his clients.  I suppose to be at ease means not to fight the river, but rather to paddle amiably with it.  In that spirit, it is a relaxing day, though these Canadian canoes are a little more technical that the usual kayak.  Other too have found equanimity with the waters, fishermen attempting to beckon amago salmon or Japanese trout, or one of the 150 other species that live in this river.  In the summer, some of these men might even undertake torchlight fishing, a method in which fishermen strike the water's surface with a pole in order to frighten the trout, then drive them into an underwater net by waving a torch.

We take a long, well-deserved break beside the Katsuma bridge.  That is to say, I take a break, for Ken is busy preparing a lavish barbecue, constructing an entire camp kitchen with enough gear to fill a station wagon.  Not far off, seiran, a form of river seaweed, waves placidly in the limpid water.  Breaking camp is surprisingly quick, and the steadily increasing flow of the Shimanto ensures that it is a mere hour or so paddle to our takeout spot above the Takase bridge.  Ken's place is a short drive from here.  It brings to mind old frontier homesteads from Western films, the tools and equipment laid out across the grounds a reminder that a life lived in the heart of nature requires regular work, a far cry from the convenience of cities.  Guests on his overnight or four-day canoe tours will get a taste of this as they camp onsite and cook over the open fire, possibly gibier meat that Ken's hunting tours bring in.  The skins of two wild boar hang nearby, waving gently as the late afternoon wind begins to pick up.    

A look at the forecast shows that the weather is no longer in my favor.  A half-day's walk or pedal away, the eponymous town of Shimanto tempts, particularly its twin surf breaks beyond, Hiroano and Futami.  (I’d also like to break my ride for a float upon one of Nakamura town’s Semba Roman Matsuhiroya senba boats, a roofless style of vessel used in the 1930s for the transport of goods.) When I can return to complete the journey only time will tell, to be revealed in the wisdom of its own flow.  

On the turntable:  The Shins, "Wincing the Night Away"

 

Muroto

 

 

The island of Shikoku's principle attraction is of course its pilgrimage.  While the 88 temples that serve as waypoints are of varying grandeur and importance, Cape Muroto's Mikuriyajin Cave must certainly be considered of primary significance, for if Kukai had not had his spiritual epiphanies here, it is doubtful that the pilgrimage would exist at all.  Legend has it that the holy man, then known as Mao, lived and trained in the cave during the early 9th century.  During meditations, his gaze would have been limited by the narrow rock mouth to the separation of sky and sea beyond (from which he took his name, "Ku," sky and "Kai, "sea), a separation that would have been erased in times of the cape's foul weather.  

Cape Muroto is infamous for being a typhoon magnet of sorts, including the 1934 storm that was considered the strongest ever at that time.  Yet the violent intensity of the accompanying wind and wave have bestowed a bounty of sorts, in the stunning rock formations they have carved along the shoreline.  Forces below have provided the foundation, in this seismically active region ever sculpting and expanding.  The area's unique beauty was the centerpiece of the founding of the Muroto-Anan Kaigan Quasi-National Park in 1964.  The Cape itself was listed as a Place of Scenic Beauty in 1928, with the local vegetation receiving its own recognition as a Natural Monument the same year.  The waves here have even been selected by the Ministry of the Environment as one of the 100 Soundscapes of Japan.     

But it is Cape's 2011 designation as the Muroto UNESCO Global Geopark that drew me here today, as I find this special landscape to be indelibly connected to Kukai, and the three pilgrimage temples found nearby.  I leave the bus at Taishizo-mae, just in front of the towering statue of Kukai, a clean white figure that pops out against the green of low scrub trees behind.   The Mikuriyajin Cave is just a few minutes walk away.  The cave had been closed for a number of years due to rock fall, but chain link fencing now help protect visitors from gravity-enhanced enlightenment.    

A low candle-lit altar is now set against the back of the cave, marking where young Kukai had presumably sat, when he too had been part of the geology.  He'd vowed to chant the the Kokuzo buddhist mantra one million times, which surely would have resonated powerfully off the narrow walls of the cave.  One morning while going through these aesthetic practices, the Morning Star, Venus, rose from sea and into the sky, entering the young monk Mao’s mouth.  Kukai, and Shingon, were born.  It is as easy to see how the sight of Venus, cutting through this cold damp darkness, could jar one into Enlightenment. 

I backtrack a short ways to enter the narrow trail that runs for two kilometers, through the heart of the Geopark.  Bisago-iwa towers above me, its name (like many of the rock formations here) having religious connotations, in this case, Vaisravana, the guardian god of Buddhism.  But this 14 million year-old piece of magma jutting horizontally into the sky predates all religions.  As if in contrast, Eboshi-iwa, mimics the shape of the headwear of a Shinto priest.  I move to past the Gyosui-no-Ike pond for bathing, and the Me-washi-no-Ike pond for washing eyes, which is said to cure eye disease. There are also a good number of uplifted marine terraces, the land here having risen 1.2 to 1.6 meters every thousand years.  The walker can also spy the fossils of tube worm colonies that bring intricate paterns to the towering rocks.

I follow the trail down toward the cape.  The sky is a brilliant blue, the aki biyori of a perfect autumn day.  The path climbs and falls over the lessor rock formations, then on through the cavernous covers of low scrub and tree.  At times I feel that I am in a dense, prehistoric forest.  Emerging out the other side, all is spiny yucca-like plants, driftwood, low brush.  The hillside above is what in another continent would be called parasol pines.  Probably most noticeable is the wealth of birdlife, far more than I usually see in the hills and forests of Japan.   

Around the cape's sharp tip and the ubiquitous Meoto-iwa pair of wedded rocks, conjoined by a rope.  Muroto is unique in that from here one can see both sunrise and sunset, and legend dictates that if one views the sunrise between the rocks on any day between the autumnal and vernal equinoxes, he or she will be blessed with a good marriage.  Another trail extends away from the road, this one wild and overgrown, forcing the walker to scramble over the rocks in a number of places . It leads to a small cove of remarkably clear water, well over a meter deep, and if the day were five degrees warmer, I'd have a dip.  Stone steps cut into the rock face away from the direction of waves, a sign that this would be where fishermen of old had moored their boats.  Amazingly enough, the rocks on this side are smoother and less dramatic than their counterparts around to the east.  The cape creates an obvious waterbreak, which is no doubt a clue as to why the town of Muroto stands where it does.          

I return to the cape's east side, and find the trail for the steep climb up rock staircase to Hotsumisaki-ji, the 24th temple of the Shikoku Pilgrimage.  Though this picturesque temple has a 1000 year history, the curent building are just over a century old, rebuilt after a fire.  A horseshoe of low buildings make up the grounds, anchored by a low pagoda in one corner.  As it has one of the few remaining shukubō (pilgrim accommodations) on the entire circuit, walking pilgrims would find that it makes for a good place to stay after the long arduous approach down to the cape. 

Temple 25, Shinshō-ji, is six kilometers away, in the center of Muroto town.  After a pleasant descent through the forest, I traverse a long narrow village that parallels the shore.  At its center stands a beautiful house surrounded by stone walls, more reminiscint of those seen on the outer islands of the Ryukyu islands far to the south.  Muroto's port dates to the feudal Edo period, and ships used to wait here for favorable winds before carrying on to Osaka and the Kansai.  Today, motorized ships can go out in most weather, in search of the tuna that enliven the meals of the many restaurants standing just above this deep harbor.  The seawall that surrounds it is an impressive piece of work, built like a labyrinth in order to protect the boats and the town from the typhoons that return again and again like the fishing boats themselves.  

Shinshō-ji has pride of place, at the top of a long flight of stairs extending away from the harbor's edge.  The arched gate near the top is almost Chinese in style, and turning around I am rewarded by marvelous views aout to the Pacific and up the coast to the north.  Though of an older history, the current structures date only to 1881, on grounds far more modest than they'd been in the past.  

It is only about an hour's walk to Temple 26, Kongōchō-ji, through an older section of town, which empties eventually into quiet countryside.   This temple too requires a steep climb, though I am rewarded by the fine views, and a pleasant atmosphere of weathered halls pleasantly nestled by old growth forest. It is obvious why this place was chosen as a location for ascetic practices, seemingly far off from the complications of the modern world.  Apparently it was here that Kukai had engaged a tengu goblin in debate, who, if I understand correctly the explanation overheard from a nearby guide might actually have been a foreigner.  My own pet theory is that the tengu might have been a tree, as the forest here is filled with twisted and fantastic shapes.  Ironically, on the way down the mountain, my pack caught a tree limb, which broke away from the trunk to crash down a few inches to my right.  Most of the wood is rotten (and currently sprinkled across my clothes and pack), but the center of the limb is solid enough to have broken a bone or shattered my skull.  It's a close shave, but somehow I survive the tengu's revenge. 

I could take a bus to Kiragawa, but the day is warm and pleasant and the path pointing downward.  I take a a late lunch at Sadamaru Burger, rewarding myself for the 18 kilometers I'd walked through the morning.  The simple interior charms with its laid back beach town vibe, but I sit on one the benches out front, admiring a pair of Harley Davidsons that pull in, the sun shining off the chrome. 

My digs for the night are a very short walk away in Kiragawa, a once-prosperous charcoal-making town.  The narrow lane that runs through the center is framed by houses and shops of an older vintage, and even the newer buildings have the almost English look of late Meiji.  To walk up the main street, the pilgrim wishes the entire Shikoku circuit were like this, which is one of the finest parts of the Kochi section.  I spy the familiar kura storehouse whose upper layers look like a wedding cake.  I often stopped here for coffee while guiding the pilgrimage,  allowing my guests to marvel at the guitars and the records and the sci-fi hi-fi, while I caught up with the friendly man running the place.  Today, his wife tells me that he has passed on, the cafe opened sporadically.  She leads me through an attractive open garden courtyard of rock and green, all ringed with rooms facing in.  I'm given what I assume is the best, with a large tatami room complete with sofa, and a pair of beds hidden away in a smaller room off to one side.  The sliding doors in front make it simultaneously private and pubic, and to open them invites conversation from the rooms adjacent.  

Meals are not included at Kura Kukan Kurashuku, so  I make my way up to Home Bakery for tomorrow's breakfast, then backtrack to an old renovated house that is now Gen~kuro, a small izakaya with a growing reputation. As it is early, the owner is free to sit awhile and chat.  Besides serving as chef, he further specializes in charcoal making, which forms the base of his food prep.  I try a few types of his grilled vegetables and fish, (including the region's famous katsuo tataki), and even my beer gets a dose of charcoal.   

I cross the now quiet Highway 55 and descend to the cobblestone beach.  Today in its full glory, the moon extends a long length of silver tinsel across the water to my feet.  The waves are soft, and the wind light, but I've seen what they can do when provoked, shaping and reshaping this entire shoreline.  The Buddhist monks in the hills above can encapsulate their entire practice in the concept of impermanence, to which the geology of the Muroto peninsula would certainly concur. 

 

On the turntable:  Soul Flower Union, "Winds Fairground"