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"
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