A Bittersweet mountaintop goodbye

Senjo-ga-take, or Mt. Senjo, is one of the tallest peaks of the Minami Alps range as seen from the Ina valley, and certainly the most magnificent rock face of the group to catch the sunset in it’s creases on a clear day.

After more than two years of knowing this great rock from the valley below, I had to finally make the trek to her peak and say goodbye.

photo by Tomokage Mikoshiba

4:30AM, I wake up to an unpromising sky.  The forecast holds a good chance for rain, but it is decided to go up anyway.  Our small party of three sets off at 5:00 for Senryuu-sou (仙流荘) in Hase. From there, there is a bus through the one-lane mountain road to the Kitazawa pass (北沢峠).  We arrive at the Senryuu-so bus stop around 6:00 to find that we weren’t the only ones with this idea today.

With a national holiday on Monday, the first day of a three-day weekend, we see license plates from as far away as Hiroshima and Hachinohe, Aomori.  Later, we are told the crowd was a record for the Kitazawa pass.  It took 30 some bus-fuls – back and forth –  to move all the eager climbers to the many trailheads there; we arrive finally around 8:30.

Following the main line from Kitazawa, we pass halfway point around Otaki (大滝) before reaching ko-senjo-ga-take (小仙丈ヶ岳), or Mt. Senjo’s smaller peak.

Above the tree line now, the view becomes spectacular just before vanishing into a cloud of frigid wind and stinging rain.

Stopping and struggling to put on extra layers, we fumble with numb fingers in the pelting gusts of assaulting precipitation.  My friend compares the rush of cold, poor visibility, and sting on his face to the same feeling we get atop mountain snowboarding.  Conditions are suddenly too harsh to wait, or to look anywhere but where our feet go next.  Our party becomes completely split up.  It’s amazing how quickly the weather can take a dramatic turn at this elevation.

I reach the top finally, with no other picture to snap but the sign.  Trying to settle out of the wind behind a rock, I eat a calorie-mate lunch and hope for my husband and friend to show up.  The cold and wind is bad enough though, I know I must start back down soon with or without them.

In a transparent 100-yen poncho and a towel wrapped around his face, my friend drags himself over the ledge before the peak at last.  We celebrate the feat for a moment, but the conditions have stolen most of our sentiment for need of warmth.

With time running out, we wish the best for my husband and set off to make our way back as quickly as possible.

He finds us at last at ko-senjo.  The rain is still coming but the wind is bearable at this point.  Having ran up the mountain in what must have been only 1.5 hours, he had sought shelter just off the main trail at the Senjo-goya lodge (仙丈小屋), and peaked twice looking for us.  We rest briefly, but decide it’s better to hurry back to the calm below the tree line.

About halfway down near Otaki again, the forest becomes astoundingly warm and serene.

Back at the Kitazawa pass in a round-trip total of about 6 hours, we beat our expected time goal within plenty of time for the bus.  It wasn’t quite the goodbye I had envisioned, but I suppose it’s never that way.  I’m happy I went through with it.  I may not live as close to them, but I have a feeling I’ll be back for more Minami Alps.

Sun-women and the non-fuzzy mountain

photo by Natsuko Okaniwa

A national holiday on a weekday in mid-September: rest is tempting but the sun is peaking out between clouds.  Exhaustion takes a rain-check; fall slips away too fast to miss it.

A friend and I throw together a last minute plan.  We want a nice view but not too long of a trek.  Just about an hour from Nagano city, Ke-nashi yama, it means “no fur mountain”.  From the trail head parking lot we’re above the treeline, thus revealing the mountain’s name; with no trees the mountain doesn’t look fuzzy like the rest.  Sunny, but windy, fog clouds begin to pass through, causing intermittent blindness in the scenery.  We snap photos between the clouds.

We step into Gunma prefecture for a moment.  Then, back to Nagano.

Our attention is caught by a zig-zag trail through a shimmering field.  It’s not Ke-nashi, but with such fussy weather, we agree it’s best to hit that peak, Hafudake, first; it’s only a 30 minute hike.

photo by Natsuko Okaniwa

As we climb the trail the sun comes out, casting a light on Gunma’s landscape like littlefoot’s great valley.  My friend says we are sun-women.  She explains to me the old Japanese superstition of the ame-onna, a woman whose presence seems to cause rain.  Conversely, we are hare-onna, bringing the sunshine with us, painting the mountain in gold as we climb.  I love the image.

photo by Natsuko Okaniwa

At the top of Hafu-dake, we get a glimpse of Nagano’s side of the valley before the fog envelops us again.  Peering over the cliff into opaque clouds has an ominous, but thrilling feel.

photo by Natsuko Okaniwa

After making our way down, we spot the trail to Ke-nashi yama, and start up the non-fuzzy mountain.  Half-way, we break for a humble lunch of calorie-mates and trail-mix.  Higher up than the sister peak, the wind is more intense and the fog limits us to a few-meter’s of vision at times.  The trail is not as clear from our rest point onward, and it’s nearly 3pm.  We decide to leave the peak of Ke-nashi for another day, as our sun-women powers seemed to diminish.

On the trail back, Several bright green patches of moss catch our eyes.  For the mountain without fur, they seem so fluffy and inviting.  I jump in.

photo by Natsuko Okaniwa

Another day above the clouds, Nagano just has so much left to explore.