Yari-ga-take (3180m), North Alps, Japan

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Yari-ga-take (3180m)

North Alps, Japan
October 1996
Report by Malcolm Field
Party: solo climb

The alarm had been set to sing its electronic whine for 2 a.m. sharp. There was no need, however, as I had woken at 1:45 willing and ready to go. I was packed. I felt awake. I needed only to make some coffee for the journey, indulge in one in the comfort of my chair whilst watching the final round of some gold tournament in the States (very exciting stuff - but it sure beats baseball), and cart the eternally heavy pack to the car and head off on the well traversed Route 41 to the Kita Alps.

Yari had been one of the mountains that seemed to be a prerequisite to being an official member of the Club. It was, after all, probably the first big mountain in Japan that had been climbed by the original members of the Club - if my history is correct. I alone seemed to be the one who had yet to grace its summit - not that that was the motivating factor but it was a point to be considered. Actually, Darren (Canadian Chapter) and I had set off to climb it a few months back but due to some fancy footwork by none other than myself, it had to be canceled.

This second attempt had been on my calendar for about three months. It was the only long weekend that I could get away on. Moreover, I hoped it would be late enough in the Autumn season to ensure visitation (to see the colours at Takayama and Shin Hodaka Ropeway) would be at its lowest. This however, created a new problem in itself - one that I wasn't too pleased about either. The Huts were all closing on the Sunday (it didn't matter that Monday was a public holiday and closing in the middle of a long weekend made perfectly good sense to everybody but me). That meant that I was going to have to cart up my `car only' tent and `car only' emergency trusty sleeping bag up the mountain. I had succumbed to this as this was the chance to do Yari. Fortune smiled on me and there was one hut to remain open on the Sunday night but it was 40 minutes from Yari toward Kamikochi. I was in it.

The weather was wicked on Thursday. Friday was worse. The forecast wasn't looking positive but I remained so. Saturday night and the weather began to clear and so did the forecast. However, I had developed some kind of gum infection that had left me like a wounded bobcat as I growled at everybody and everything because of the pain. My right upper gum had swollen up and it was nigh on impossible to eat anything other than Weetabix. Furthermore, my old war wound on the left knee flared up because of the running I had been doing. But, I was determined that these were all little obstacles to test my resolve and keep my from achieving this personal goal - to get the monkey off my back so to speak.

Route 41 at 3:45 a.m. is always a joy to be on. The traffic lights are all amber flashing and the corners are just wonderful to keep you on your toes as you double the speed limit through them (not that that is such a difficult feat to do in Japan - actually it is - during the daytime when there is always somebody obeying the 40kph speed limit). I did meet a few cars (and dreaded sightseeing buses traveling in packs - but no demon tucks) but they quickly dispensed with at the frequent overtaking lanes. I was through Takayama by six, and at the Shin Hodaka Ropeway - well a little beyond - by 6:45.

The path up to Yari started at the Ropeway (area) and followed the west side of Alps up to the Yari Sanso. The start was less than 1200 metres and so in all I had nearly a 2000 metre elevation climb. The map times suggested more than eight hours so I figured I could do it in five (ha ha silly Mal).

The first section just followed the access road up for about an hour or so until it abruptly stopped at a river crossing and the path began in earnest. For the next hour and half the path meandered through the Alpine Forest over lots of slippery rocks due to the previous wet days and the falling leaves. The conditions reminded me a lot of hiking in winter in the highlands near Brisbane.

This forest section ceased at YariDaira (Hut) the halfway point of the route - in distance not elevation). From here, the route began to get steeper. To deviate a little, I met a couple of chaps who were marking out a new route to Yari which they were going to do in winter. I examined it carefully as I continued on my way and found that some spots would be a little more than polar plodding in two metres of snow. Good luck to them. They actually wanted me to join them on their days hike but I declined as I had my own goals to achieve first.

At first the route got a little steeper. I pondered that I would surely be on top in five hours if this was all it was going to be. Then it got steeper and I encouraged myself to do the hour before breaking. I achieved that and reached the next checkpoint on the map well ahead of the scheduled time. I was really enjoying the day our and stopped to try and take a few self portraits. (Luckily I borrowed Katsuko's instamatic camera as mine did it's usual trick and packed it in under the cold weather - though it has been more than six months since I changed the batteries - and I knew it was time so it is really my mistake). The first was a bit of a disaster and the second none better but it was good practice for later.

Before setting off I looked up and ahead to see the path to be traveled. It looked a little steep - a bit steeper than Yatsu - but nothing to get too excited about. I set off as bold as Punch. Fifteen minutes later I was beginning to talk myself on and up. "C'mon Mal. On and up. One hour. Polar Plod. You can do it. He's slowed down!" and the rest of the chit chats. After about one hour of this, I needed to break. I was really feeling the climb. The altitude was affecting my speed...at only about 2700+ metres too. A drink of water, a few plans about the report (since forgotten) and off again. A few downward travelers bounded past saying their polite "ohayo gozaimasu's" and probably thinking `poor bugger... he's only just beginning the hike up there'. I pressed on.

Some thirty minutes later I hit the wall. I was rooted. I was plain and simple rooted. I then made the unenviable mistake to look up and see how far it was to go. It was a bloody mile and I was not impressed. The nearer my destination the more I was slip sliding away. A few expletives and I plodded on vowing never to look up again. (What a joke that was). On one of my `brief' glances upward, I caught sight of a few people near the ridge and was definitely encouraged to press on. Upon reaching that point (some fifteen minutes - grueling fifteen minutes mind you) I was shocked to find I had yet another rocky knoll to get over before I reached to Yari Sanso. I sucked in a few deep breaths, bit my tongue and plodded on.

Upon arrival at the Sanso, I was surprised to see about twenty or so people either coming from another direction or already with tent and brew established. I looked to the Yari climb and figured relaxing (indeed required) and putting a brew on to warm up (indeed definitely required as it was a little nippy). My legs immediately tried to cramp up but I caught them before they seized and did some very painful stretching. I then gulped down two cups of coffee, half an instant ramen, quarter of a Mars, a muesli bar, and some Energy Jelly, as I watched some people climb up and down (some very gingerly) Yari. I was satiated and I was motivated and full of energy again.

The final 150 metres is the infamous Nippon Matterhorn. If only they knew that the real thing is 10x as high doing the same with no chains or ladders. It was all very fun though and I was on top in about ten minutes - passing a few straggles on the way. In fact it was over so quickly I tried to figure what all the fuss was bout. Later, when I saw some pictures of Yari in winter, I began to appreciate what they have to do in winter conditions. It would be a nice challenge if I had somebody who was experienced or I could trust and know. Another story. On top were a few other climbers and they were too happy to oblige with the photography - luckily as my self portraits were not a big success.

I didn't hang around long on top - about fifteen minutes only - as I had to press on to the hut. I could see it way down the slope and it was a good warm up for the muscles for the downward journey the next day. The Hut was a little expensive but I figured it would be worth it to get a good nights sleep.

At first, when I could steal some extra futons, my nights' sleep looked like it would be wonderful and comfortable. After a really good meal, I returned to my self made bed and dropped off quickly. At about nine, I was startled awake by some others clambering up into the same area. Alas, there was going to be five in with me - the result being that I had to pull apart my very warm and comfortable bed. Thereafter, I could have been sleeping in a tent on the hard ground freezing my butt off. It was f#$%&@g cold and ridiculously so. I had all but my thermals and ski jacket on (i.e. Polar 200 Fleece pants, jacket and socks) and still I was freezing. Some of the other guests even had their North Face Down Jackets on and still they were cold. It was cold. I guess about minus five to ten as the ground had turned to ice.

Once awake - again not hard to do with alarms going off at five a.m. (but no-one venturing into the cold) and the lights going on at about half after. I changed into some thermals, and my hiking clothes and went outside. The view was spectacular as the sun rose over Fuji. The whole valley below was clear with a few covered in a morning mist and Fuji peered over and around the top end of the Southern Alps. It looked so great on its own and so big. I regretted not having my camera working as it might have done some justice to the scene. The little camera just didn't do it justice. I was impressed and quickly went back inside to get my gear and head back up to Yari for a better look. It was great - as was the new route I took going back up there.

I boiled the billy and made a brew in the minus temperature and admired the morning. I was truly blessed to have two such superb days of weather (the day after returning the rain came again). I considered traversing across the Northern Alps through to Kita Ho but as no Huts were open, I figured it best to head back down and enjoy the day.

It was a relaxing walk back (all five hours - and half less than going up to the top). I met a gaijin couple who were on their way up who live near Anjo. As I had no meusli I gave them my name and workplace and asked them to call me for future climbs. They, the poor buggers, had camped at about 2700m and were still thawing out. They were from Canada so I joked that they should feel at home to which they gave me a wicked stare. We chewed the fat a bit and I left them to hike their heavy packs (with crampons and picks they had brought on recommendation from a Japanese person. For the record, I had instep crampons but as I had seen a picture of the Alps a few days before, I didn't think I would need them).

Back at the car I made another brew and relaxed and considered the last 36 hours. Thereafter I headed home, getting caught in the bloody traffic between Takayama and Gero (2.5 hours) and after getting our o that between Nakatsugawa and Tajimi on the Chuo (1 hour). The return trip home took six hours and I was lucky. The news said the jam on 41 got worse.

It was a safe and blessed trip on all fronts. No accidents, no mishaps, great weather, my gum infection disappeared, my knee behaved until I got home, and even though it was cold and hard at night - like a tent - it saved me some weight. Thanks.

Southern Appalachians, North Carolina, USA

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in the United States

Southern Appalachians

North Carolina, USA
Tuesday 25th - Thursday 27th September, 1996
Report by: Iain Williams

Like so many good trips this one quickly came out of the blue.  The purpose of my visit to the US was to catch up with John, who I taught with in Toyohashi plus climbed Fuji with, and to run a 10km road race. My knowledge of North American mountains is not what it should be and my knowledge of the Appalachians prior to my visit was non-existent.

Whilst staying with John in Atlanta we formulated a plan to do a couple of the nearest peaks. We set off from Atlanta on a warm humid Tuesday lunchtime. Our first port of call was Tallulah Gorge in NE Georgia at the southern end of the Appalachians. The drive up there was very pleasant even though we were on the wrong side of the road. Before heading down into the gorge we registered ourselves in the local visitor's centre. We were told that the descent was about 700ft and steeper than 45'. It was then a short drive back to a small well hidden car park. After moaning about the car park we commenced our descent. It was very steep and very rocky. Shoes with good grip were definitely the order of the day.

Once at the bottom we found ourselves beside a rocky pool surrounded by the gorges near vertical walls. There was a 20m rock slide leading into the pool. A man was swimming around while his partner watched. Within minutes we were in the water eyeing the rock slide. Before long and after consultation with the other bloke we were on the slippy rock sliding into the water below. Excellent fun. After getting dressed we walked down the gorge for a short distance and saw some fine high granite walls that swept down to us. They were very impressive but were weeping too much for rock climbing. Finding pro would have been testing. We walked on a little further on a sandy track through some small trees. John remarked that he wasn't keen to meet any snakes. Walking behind him I immediately spotted a perfectly shaped, dead, black, leafless branch and quickly threw it down beside where he was walking. It had the desired effect. John sprung to the right in horror while I laughed at the expression on his face. I learnt this little piece of knavishness from Wyane Daly who did the same to me on Ishimaki just after we really had seen a snake.

Climbing back out of the gorge was a real sweat producing exercise and I was glad it wasn't any longer than 700ft, John even more so.  Back in the car we drove on up to a paper mill town called Canton for dinner at the local Pizza Hut. After the pizza we crossed the car park to a MacD's for an ice cream. Standing in the queue we were behind a mother with her two young kids. John whispered to me that the kids had real redneck accents which amused me. The mother also heard John and wasn't so amused and gave him a dirty stare.  Unfortunately she never threw a cheeseburger at him.

The plan for the next day was to do Grandfather Mountain (1818m) which was about 2 hours NE of where we were. Our guidebook described it as strenuous and dangerous with not too much of an elevation gain. It sounded good although the name didn't do much in the way o striking fear into our hearts. That morning we stopped for breakfast just outside Asheville in a Waffle House before heading up through the mountains.

Again the drive was very scenic and in many ways it reminded me of Japan, although I don't think this impressed John. The mountains were of a similar height and were covered in thick forest, all be it, of a more deciduous variety. We drove high on to the mountain whereupon we came to the gates and forked out $9 each entrance fee. Ouch! The mountain was on private land. It was then up to the top car park where we parked and got ready.

The weather didn't look too great. There was a lot of cloud around and rain was forecast for later in the day. This didn't have the usual effect on me. It was great to be where I was. We headed off into the forested mountainside in search of our summit. We passed a few people of the pure tourist variety and then the track started to descend. In front of us we could see the first of the summits that we were to encounter. The climb up to it didn't look too tough and before not too long we found ourselves sweating and steadily ascending. In the guidebook we were warned of rock pitches on ladders and dangerous ground. As we hiked up we met a man who had turned back after encountering the ladders. He didn't like them and had decided to plump for the easier route. This sounded interesting. We arrived at the ladders and moved up without any problems. If they hadn't been there it would have been an easy rock climb. Once on flat ground we found ourselves standing below a rocky tor with a ladder tied to the side of it. We climbed on to the top and took a few photos. We were standing atop of Macrea Peak (1810m).

The mountain was made up of several peaks. We had to climb three of them with the third one being the highest. Leaving Macrea we marched on and down towards the next one. We were on a ridge and in amongst cloud which did nothing to enhance the impressive surroundings. Nevertheless I was enjoying it. I'm sure I could also feel some effect from the altitude, I'm surprised to say. Not being very high I wasn't too happy with how I felt. As we approached th next peak we climbed up some more ladders and we then entered what was called the chute, a steep rocky gully. At the top of the chute we found ourselves on top of Attic Window Peak (1813m) where there was a couple sitting down. The bloke was clearly a mountain man, out to try and impress his woman. I found it quite amusing listening to him. We were also a bit on the tired side so took a 5 minute chocolate and water break.

As we set off John was looking a bit worn out and the thought of descending and ascending again wasn't a pleasant one for him. As we scrambled down we went off track and followed a sign post to an old Indian cave. The outside was a huge ceiling. If we'd had headtorches it would have been interesting to have a look in the small interior. Leaving the cave we made out way along the ridge which was now flatter and friendlier and headed up to Calloway Peak (1818m). As we both hiked up through the trees I think we were both thinking I hope its not too far. It wasn't, and we were soon on a large flat top in amongst bushes, small trees and long grass. In trying to find the top we were not the proud recipients of the "22B Baker St Award" for summit finding. After about 5 minutes of careful thought, consulting the map and realising that the track descended in both directions we arrived at the conclusion that we were actually on top of Grandfather Mountain (1818m). Worn out after straining our powers of deduction we took a break and some photos before heading back.

The trek back to the car park was pretty much the same and we moved at a leisurely pace. It never rained on us but it came very close. Climbing down all the ladders was done with ease and about 2 hours later we were back at the car park. Next to the car park was the "mile high" swinging bridge. We had a look around before jumping into the car and driving back down the steep wiggly waggly road which Forrest Gump ran up in the movie. The cloud still blocked out any good views.

Our next plan was to drive down to Mt. Mitchell, the highest mountain on the east side of the US. Our route took us down the Blue Ridge Parkway, a very scenic route on a beautifully smooth road that was devoid of any commercial traffic. The views from the road were extremely picturesque and I was very impressed. About an hour later we were driving up Mt. Mitchell and back into the cloud. The road terminated in a large car park, surrounded by some rather poor looking trees. The trees on the upper slopes of the mountain have allegedly died from air pollution. It did seem strange to us that only these trees had been affected and none lower down or on the adjacent mountains. Mt. Mitchell was my kind of mountain though. From the car it was a 200m walk up to the top (2037m). After effortlessly conquering it we did the usual photo shoot and headed back down to the car with hungry rumbling stomachs. Our mission was now to head into Asheville for a feast and to find a motel. This we did and had a well earnt meal in an Olive Garden followed by a swim, video and a good night's sleep in the Holiday Inn.

I started the next day with a swim which was followed by a longish drive south to Whiteside Mountain (1503m). Again the drive was very scenic and enjoyable. The guidebook said Whiteside was easy and would take only a couple of hours. It was also a popular rock climbing destination and its name came from the white granite cliffs that surrounded it. In the car park the weather didn't look at all promising. Our route was a loop basically going around the top of the mountain, taking in the high point, through damp woodland. Because of cloud, views were nonexistent. It wasn't a climb, we walked and talked about war and never realised when we passed over the highest point. Most of the route ws in the trees with one exposed section where the wind was rather strong. On that stretch we managed to see the upper sections of one of the cliffs. Unfortunately that was all we saw in the way of views. We were back at the car before we knew it and driving south towards Atlanta.

The other memorable excursions on the trip happened on the first weekend. The Saturday afternoon after the race we drove out to Stone Mountain with my father. Stone Mountain is supposedly the largest outcrop of granite in North America and in my opinion was not unlike Ayres Rock. The three of us hiked up to the top, had a coke, sat on a slope and watched some small looking golfers playing some interesting water holes well below. As impressive as the rock was I didn't spot any interesting routes for climbing. It was an interesting place though, one side of the rock had a huge engraving of three Civil War generals (sorry John but I can't remember all their names).

The following morning we were up at 5:30, which must have been hell for John as it was his second early morning in a row but was no problem for me as my body was on English time. We drove north just into Tennessee. It was an interesting drive for me. Once it got light it was very misty and rural. It felt like a damp misty morning in England. The nearer we got to our destination the hillier it got. John's plan was to take me white water rafting and it was a damn good one. Stopping at the first rafting establishment we got in with a group for a cheap $25 each. A bus took us up a road that ran beside the river. We were slightly downstream from where the Olympic kayaking events had taken place a few months earlier. The valley was full of trees and the early morning mist was still clinging to them. The drive of the bus, John whispered to me had a strong redneck accent, again it was very amusing to listen to. Once off the bus we carried our blue inflatable down to the water with three others plus guide, received a few dos and don'ts and set off. Going down through the rapids and bubbling water between the large rounded boulders was excellent fun. The slowly lifting mist and steep tree clad valley sides also added to the experience. We also had a long drift down a calm stretch where I jumped in and floated down. It was very relaxing. The sun by then had started to break through, clearing the mist and giving us blue sky patches and a little extra warmth. Back on board we went down through some more white water and ended up getting thrown out which came as a real surprise as the rapids there were small and we'd been through much bigger drops. We swam to the side and regrouped and set off again on the prowl for John's paddle which he had so carelessly and thoughtlessly lost. As we neared the end I was feeling quite cold and when we finally got back to the car it was nice to put some dry clothes back on. It had been great fun and a totally unexpected pleasure. We spent the rest of the day driving around the mountain roads of NE Georgia.

All in all my experiences in and around Georgia were excellent. John made some first class suggestions as to what we should do. I just hope that when he gets to the UK I can better him as a host and guide. It's good to know that the Southern USA branch of the Toyohashi Alpine Club is in good hands.

Koma-ga-take (2956m), Central (Chuo) Alps, Japan

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Koma-ga-take (2956m)

Central Alps, Japan
April 1996
Report by Darren DeRidder
Party: Malcolm Field and Darren DeRidder

We drove up the expressway zipping past the other cars. Mal has a way of driving...fast. I don't blame him when he gets out on the expressway for wanting to hit the gas; most of the driving elsewhere is so plugged up with lights and traffic it takes ages to get where you're going. Today traffic could have been worse, it being a national holiday and all. As we drive along, the flanking foothills of the South Alps rise up on our left. The giant bony ridge that comprises the Akaishi range looms faintly above the steep forested slopes, an ethereal blue grey massif floating in the pale light-washed sky. How clearly I can recall the days I spent walking among the mist shrouded high places there, the howling chasms spewing blasts of smoky cloud and wind, the tiny wildflowers nestled in the rocky ledges, the harsh sun, untempered in the thin alpine atmosphere.

The melancholic strains of one Van Morrison tune after another playing on the car stereo sets a relaxed mood as we ride along. Soon we are right alongside the Central Alps, which rise up in a series of ever higher mountains on our left. Japan is a small country, but it often seems bigger than it is because of the difficulty in getting anywhere. On the expressway, making good time, we were nearing our objective just a couple hours out of the city. It was my normal day off, and since it was a national holiday, Mal was off, too. I was envious, since I had to work on national holidays as a general rule. I had invited him along to Koma-ga-take, in the central Japan Alps, for an easy day out in the mountains. I had planned to go with H., but we all three ended up in his car. Having been to Koma already, Mal knew the road and the route.

Spring is a wonderful and complex time in Japan. The cold Siberian air masses retreat over the Japan sea and are replaced with warm air currents welling up from the pacific. Before the arrival of the rainy season, the weather is crisp and clear, the air laced with the lingering chill of winter, a hint of the warmth of the approaching summer, and the smell of cherry blossoms wafting on the lightest breeze. The warming air gives rise to a haze that dissolves into the sky, and the sunlight filtering through illuminates things with a glare, seeming to bleach the color out of everything. Photos have an overexposed look about them. After the colour-saturated richness of the fall, and the clarity of winter, spring is a pastel panorama of faint and delicate hues. We are early enough in April yet to enjoy the gracefully extended arches of blossom laden boughs that hang over the road at intervals. The cherry trees scattered along the hillsides announce themselves with a beautiful splash of pinkish-white.

Suddenly the peaks of the central Alps themselves become visible, still dressed in their winter covering of snow. The brilliant snow clad summits sparkle clearly high above the lower slopes. I grab my camera for a few hopeful shots through the window. Turning off the expressway, we make our way to the bus station. The road points directly at Koma-ga-take, and the mountains seemed to rise in front of us like a wall. Framed by the cherry trees growing along the road, the sight of the mountains covered with dark pine trees and the peaks covered with white snow is breath-taking.

We are in for a bit of a surprise at the bus station. The bus takes you up to the ropeway, and the ropeway takes you up to the cirque, from whence you can climb up a relatively easy snow slope to the top of the ridge, and make your way across to the summit of Koma itself. The ticket prices are on special for the national holiday - specially steep. They have jacked the prices up a few notches just for us. Oh, well. If they can get away with it, they'll do it.

H and Mal and I are an interesting trio, for sure. H with her neatly coordinated outfit, and tiny little backpack, me with my mountaineering gear all on and ready, and Mal, with his assortment of gaiters, jackets, and who knows what all thrown into an enormous pack that must have weighed a ton. He frets over the size of it, digging various items out and tossing them in the boot. Mal and I are gearing up mentally for the climb, but H is off here and there, unconcerned, as if we were in for a picnic. We manage to get everyone organized and onto the bus, and then we're off.

So began our excursion to Koma-ga-take in the central Japan Alps.

Having been to the mountains far more often than H, both Mal and I were aware of what we would be facing. But H was rather happily oblivious to what we were up to. I had planned to take her up at her own pace, and be content if we didn't make it to the top. But with Mal along, my summit fever was fueled, and together we started to become psychologically unified in our focus for the summit, adopting the partner mentality that is the strength of mountaineering teams.

The bus ride up was thrilling. We drove right past steep drop-offs that seemed to tumble down a thousand meters to the rocky riverbed and rushing whitewater far below. The peaks around us rose so steeply that we could glimpse them now only occasionally. A family of wild monkeys beside the road drew the enthusiastic attention of the passengers, and while everyone strained their necks to see, I looked on the other side and saw six more monkeys.

The ropeway had a ski-hill atmosphere about it, and there were even some college boys with snowboards in search of a little late season snow. The ropeway serves only to take hikers and sightseers up to the cirque; they would have to climb the snow slopes just like us. There were a few people equipped for climbing on the snow, but most were simply out for a good view from the top of the ropeway, a light lunch and a few souvenirs from the inevitable trinket shops. Once at the top, we wasted no time inside the heated building, but walked right out to the snowfield. Mal and I began to make final preparations and adjustments to our gear. We had slipped into that sense of urgent determination that goes with climbing. H on the other hand was completely unaware of this and was interested in looking around a bit, running to the shop and getting ready at a leisurely pace. Mal and I were not impressed. Finally she decided against going up with us.

Mal and I were happy to take off on our own, knowing we could really push for it and certainly make the summit and back, perhaps exploring a new route on the way down. A trail in the snow was already well established and at the start, Mal spoke with two old-timers sitting at a table, apparently in charge of regulating who went onto the mountain and who did not. Our gear checked out, and we were off and away, gaining altitude quickly. About halfway up the snow slope, on a ledge of snow against a rocky rib that led up towards the summit ridge, a couple of climbers were keeping an eye on things. They had a look at our gear and wanted to know what we were up to. Mal didn't have an axe, but we sort of bragged our way past them, saying we climbed a lot, even in Europe, etc. They were suitably impressed and chose not to question us further.

The climb up the steep snow slope was super. The wonderfully shaped granite ridges cut up through the snow and climbed almost vertically right up to the ridge. There were fissures and cracks and ledges in abundance, and even some snarled stunted pine trees clinging resolutely to their meagre perches. Perfect for an easy on-sight rock climb. We were not prepared for that however, so continued to plod up the snow slope, looking down occasionally to see the ever-receding ropeway station become smaller and farther and farther below us. Looking out across the cirque, we could see that we were almost level with the tops of the surrounding ridges, and across the broad and haze-hidden valley the walls of the south Alps opposite us rose in the distance. Near the top of the ridge, the snow grew thin, and we saw wire mesh laid over the scree, placed there undoubtedly to preserve the edge of the ridge and for the safety of climbers, but unsightly none the less. I felt glad to be doing the climb on clean white snow, in the cool of spring, and not on muddy, crowded trails in the humidity of summer.

We were the only ones around. We had the place almost completely to ourselves. Once atop the ridge, the ground was quite easy. A wide snow-covered saddle connected a lower peak on the north with a higher peak to the south. Back the way we had come up, the ropeway station was now out of view and we could look across to the south Alps miles away. The haze was increasing as the day wore on and our views began to deteriorate after that point. The peak on the left was one over which Mal, Iain and Joe had climbed on their descent from Koma in the winter time. It was tricky and apparently a real eye-opener for Joe, who was unaware of what climbing involves at times. It was a very pretty peak, looking like a piece of marble sponge cake, swirled as it was with white snow against dark brown granite. A wooden signpost directed us ahead to Koma however, and so we crossed the ridge and made way over easy ground down a gentle slope on the other side which landed us on a wide and rounded plateau that in turn joined another snow slope. It loomed in front of us like one last obstacle, but was put to scale by a couple of climbers coming down from the top. It wasn't that big after all, it just seemed like a long way to haul our out of shape and oxygen-starved bodies. In fact, aside from the normal weariness that comes from exerting oneself, neither Mal nor I felt the effects of the altitude, really, and were enjoying ourselves greatly. The thought of having left Hiroko back in the ropeway station made me anxious to get the climb done though. Up the final snow slope we went. It was like a large dome , and angled off nearer the top. Mal took a separate way than I, since I wanted the security some scattered rocks and Mal preferred to stay on snow.

The top of Koma was quite nice. The views of the surrounding peaks were magnificent of course, and there was plenty of space to throw off your pack, clear a spot in the snow and plop yourself down. We chose to plop down next to the small shrine that adorned the summit, a common sight on Japanese mountains. Only the roof of the dog-house size construction poked through the snow, and we snuggled our packs against it while we got out our cameras for a few summit photos. We each posed for a couple of shots at the edge of the snow slope. Then Mal pulled out of his enormous pack a bottle of water and the one thing no respectable member of the Toyohashi Alpine Club should be without whilst on a summit of any size...Mars bars. We savoured the sweet taste of a finely crafted chocolate bar mixed with the gratification of our achievement.

We had taken about two and a half hours to this point and were ready to head back. A little bouldering before shouldering the packs, and then we were off, back down the way we had come, over the ridge, and then down the steep snow slope of the cirque to the ropeway station. We walked part of the way down to the ledge where the Japanese climbers were still keeping an eye on things. They asked us if we'd been to the top, and we said yes. I asked them about the possibility of the slope avalanching but they said it was quite unlikely. The slope had already avalanched some time earlier in the spring and the debris field was still visible, a large U-shaped area of bumpy snow and partly melted snow blocks. The long descent back to the ropeway didn't overexcite me, so I decided to try a quicker approach. I sat right down, and with my ice hammer in hand as a brake, took off shrieking down the hill, sliding as far as I could go until wet snow halted my progress. I called at Mal to give it a try, and he did, coming right down behind me with his crampons aimed right at my back. I only just managed to leap out of the way before he swept into the place where I had been sitting, all twenty-four crampon points glinting like little knives.

When we arrived at the ropeway station, H was having lunch. She had made a fantastic box lunch for all of us. But she was chilled and not in the happiest mood. Mal and I had lunch and then we headed back down on the ropeway.

All in all the day was fairly good. We all enjoyed the beautiful mountain scenery and the mountain wildlife, like the monkeys and the serow we saw at the upper bus terminal while waiting for our transportation to arrive. We enjoyed the fine weather and the cherry blossoms on the way in as well, and had a chance to get out of the city, which is important for those who have grown to love the outdoors. We talked as we drove back, with Mal offering some encouragement to H, and then the conversation drifted and flowed onto other topics like the cherry blossom scented wind that came whispering down from the hills and through the valleys where we had just been.

Dando-san (1152m), Aichi Prefecture, Japan

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Dando-san (1152m)

Aichi prefecture, Japan
March 1996
Report by Darren DeRidder
Party: Solo climb

[Note: Dando-san is now commonly known as Takanosu-yama]

It's too bad but there really aren't any high mountains in Aichi. I always felt that if it was under 3000 meters it wasn't a "real" mountain and wasn't worth climbing. I'd set my sights on climbing Japan's ten highest mountains, all of which are 3000er's and didn't want to spend too much effort on other stuff. But there are times when you just need to get out and do something. You can't go climb a 3000 meter mountain every weekend. Having Mondays off, I sometimes get caught with nothing to do and no one to do it with. Well, there's always the apartment to clean, but that doesn't count.

On this particular Monday I really wanted to go out and do something. Iain's various trampings around in the Toyohashi area, which involved climbing a number of small mountains, had an effect on my opinion of climbing mountains under 3000 meters, as I read some of his reports about his climbs of mountains like Horai and so on. They can be a lot of fun.

A couple years back, one of my students gave me a book called "100 mountains in Aichi" which he wrote. The problem is it's all in Japanese. I can at least look at the pictures, and find the places on the little map. Comparing it with my road atlas, I can figure out where things are. Anyway, from my previous experience at Ibukiyama, I knew there was another mountain or two over 1000 meters up north of Asuke. Dando san is around 1100 meters and isn't the highest in Aichi, but could well be the second highest. Looking at it in the book it seemed to be a nice mountain in a really nice place. I got a bit of a late start, packed very lightly, although I took along my "new" ice pick which an old fellow gave me at Nanzan a couple weeks before. Finding Dando-san took some careful map reading, but surprisingly I managed to get there, using the road map combined with the hand-drawn map in the hiking book, without any detours. There was a fair bit of snow around on the ground at the trail head, which started as a snowy road that I didn't want to risk in my car. It was still pretty cold. The road crossed a little concrete bridge at one point and a stream ran under it, fanning out over a wide flat shelf of red rock on the lower side. Soon I came to a little spillway on the right where the water was still frozen into an icefall, and I played around with placing my pick in the ice. It's a tubular pick and requires a sideways twist to remove. If I'd brought crampons, I would've attempted to climb the thing, but as it was I only had my Hi-Tec hikers on, which are basically high top tennis shoes with lug soles.

I used the map in the book and found the actual trail right about where it should've been. There were just a few tracks going up it. It looked like maybe three people had been up it since the last snowfall. In a few minutes I came to a sort of bridge over a stream which was made of rotting logs and covered in pretty deep snow. Here I just about stepped right through into the water, when I stepped on a snowy spot and found there was no wood support underneath! On closer inspection, I saw another footprint sized hole that actually did go right through, and judging from the way the tracks sort of disappeared after the bridge, guessed that whoever had been up here had stepped through into the water and gone back. There were a few footprints still, but after another few minutes of walking up over the snow, they took a wrong turn and disappeared. I had a little trouble finding where the real trail was at the point where the tracks left it, since the snow was untouched except for golf-ball sized holes all over that I finally figured out came from little clumps of snow falling off the branches of the trees. Once I was onto "fresh" snow, I had to watch out for the trail a bit more carefully, but it was pretty easy to read where it was from the angle of the ground, depressions in the snow or spots where the snow had actually melted. There were also plastic marker ribbons tied at intervals along the less obvious parts of the trail.

All was peaceful. And white. The air was crisp and cool. I knew I was completely alone, and felt none of the suspicion of creatures lurking in the dark woods that I felt on Ibukiyama.

Although it was overcast, the bright snow made everything clear to see. The trail got progressively steeper, and I finally had to pull out my ice pick again and use it like a mountaineering axe. It was really too short, but it worked. The slope was pretty steep and was covered with water ice under a layer of snow. Without crampons I had to balance and pick my way up it like a man with a metal detector going through a minefield. A few of the slender cedar trees turned out to be good hand and footholds. I'd reach up for one and then plant my foot behind the trunk to make sure I wouldn't slide anywhere. This went on for a couple hundred meters and then the slope angled down a bit, and in place of the young cedar trees, there was the familiar bamboo grass that covers ridgetops at about this altitude. Coming up onto the ridge I hit a more heavily used trail that connected the summit on my right with another way down on my left. I checked the map and found that there was good reason why the trail seemed to be more heavily used - it was lot more accessible. The way I had come, using familiar old route 153, had taken me up and around behind the mountain. My trail had then wound even further around the side of the mountain, until I was finally approaching the summit from exactly the opposite side I had parked my car on. It was like a big upward spiral starting in Miyoshi and ending at the top of Dando-san. In spite of the trail being more difficult, I was glad to have taken the less traveled path. The snow was nicer than mud, and it was mysteriously quite and peaceful back down in the gully I had climbed out of. The summit was one of your standard clearing-and-a-signboard Japanese mountain tops. The only view was to the north, and unfortunately the cloud cover totally hid any views there might have been of the North Alps or Ontake. I suspect that there would be some super views in fine weather though. I tried to look through my binoculars, but although I could see some of the forests, buildings, and rice paddies down below, I couldn't see through the cloud cover on to where the mountains should have been.

After a quick snack and a look at my compass, I was off back down the way I had come. It was a solitary walk back, made interesting again by the steep icy slope just below the ridge. I simply followed my own footprints back the way I had come, past the false turn and the dangerous bridge, and out onto the snowy road, then past the ice-fall where I played around a bit more, smashing away at it violently with my pick. I noticed that in places where I had hit the ice, there would sometimes be cracks or fissures created which hadn't shattered and were clear through the smooth transparent ice, and the light was being refracted through them to form a rainbow mixture of colours in the ice like gas on a puddle of water. I took a picture of it and then walked slowly back. The way back usually seems a lot longer than the way in, but this time, the hike back out went quickly. I paused for a picture of the mountain at the bridge where the stream fanned out over the red rock shelf, and then got the car and drove home.

The roads were a little confusing on the way out, but it was still daylight, and I just headed in the general direction, noticing familiar points along the way as reassurance. I got home feeling proud to have one more mountain under my belt even if it was small and having enjoyed myself quite a lot. I didn't meet or talk to a single soul on the whole trip. I was perfectly alone, and I was even alone again at my apartment, and the whole experience I have shared only with myself until now that I have shared it with you.