tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5479172968078893212024-02-18T20:02:31.137-08:00The Mountaineering JournalsDarrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.comBlogger24125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-65491850800164049612023-08-27T12:59:00.002-07:002023-10-07T12:47:39.739-07:00Ishizuchi-san<p><span style="font-size: medium;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br /></span><span style="font-size: large;">Mountaineering in Japan</span></p><p><span style="font-size: medium;"><span>9 September 2022<br /></span><span>Saijo, Shikoku, Japan<br /></span><span>Party: Darren DeRidder</span></span></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhoytiWCOrwbDpczHnLnIs7VayjDHx9V10j9IKRWVBkqnZNwVCasTBX_EQaz6Bny4OXpy84f6FujuitfjCM0c4mtLdLocVxSGNY-KFVSFd5zoG6OKMCabg5Teql8UmMuQyfipRnJGxDLMokK4HFrHAl7ofDbxDKe4b12rybmVWDATeOkEI2iRBnJy1uQw" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img data-original-height="1765" data-original-width="2979" height="238" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhoytiWCOrwbDpczHnLnIs7VayjDHx9V10j9IKRWVBkqnZNwVCasTBX_EQaz6Bny4OXpy84f6FujuitfjCM0c4mtLdLocVxSGNY-KFVSFd5zoG6OKMCabg5Teql8UmMuQyfipRnJGxDLMokK4HFrHAl7ofDbxDKe4b12rybmVWDATeOkEI2iRBnJy1uQw=w400-h238" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ishizuchi-san summit shrine from Tengu-dake</td></tr></tbody></table><p></p><p>The end of a summer spent in Japan turned out differently than expected. Not long after I returned from my trip to the North Alps with Iain, I came down with a fever and tested positive for COVID. I'm fairly sure I picked it up in the Karasawa Hutte. By the time I fell sick, my return flight to Canada was only a week away, but I was required to self-isolate for ten days, and had to postpone my departure. There were no affordable flights until mid-September, so my stay in Japan had to be extended by another three weeks. That was also when my visa was set to expire. It was all a huge hassle and sitting alone in a tatami room for ten days was also not at all how I wanted to finish my summer in Japan. It did give me an opportunity to mull over what I might do after I got released from quarantine, however. </p><p></p><p>I had come to realize that in the sweltering heat of the Japanese summer, there are really only two places I want to be: at the beach or in the mountains. And after the trip up to Kamikochi for an attempted rock climb that was unfortunately stopped by bad weather, I had been struggling with a lingering feeling of disappointment at not having climbed anything noteworthy. Iain, who by this time was back in London, suggested that I might make a trip up to Daisen, or down to one of the notable peaks in Shikoku. My old copy of Paul Hunt's "Hiking in Japan" contained an interesting write-up of Ishizuchi. Its description of chains adorning sheer rock faces sounded intriguing, so a plan came together to go and climb it.</p><p>Leaving on a Thursday afternoon from Himeji I took the Sanyo Shinkansen line to Okayama and transferred to a slower train on the Seto-Ohashi line over the impressive series of bridges that also carry the Seto Chuo Expressway, island-hopping all the way from Kansai to Shikoku and onward to Saijo city. </p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqgcaKe_i-xph00YTbz7SQ-wf44DmpfXLN8Qe6vZOjZ-zFg4ziPWcVI5Q6KU-OhZU8nUsRYSPW0jVPuTvIk_zwBmqE041X-OGX2z1pglc-vckAZACtMd1_EMJ2y1ItQ7xGnUpMI8n87RC9adjAryLUyVlnX45bDuBENAfI1O6e03TFrDWdN9Xoj28-Bg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2848" data-original-width="4004" height="228" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiqgcaKe_i-xph00YTbz7SQ-wf44DmpfXLN8Qe6vZOjZ-zFg4ziPWcVI5Q6KU-OhZU8nUsRYSPW0jVPuTvIk_zwBmqE041X-OGX2z1pglc-vckAZACtMd1_EMJ2y1ItQ7xGnUpMI8n87RC9adjAryLUyVlnX45bDuBENAfI1O6e03TFrDWdN9Xoj28-Bg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">View from the Seto Bridge</td></tr></tbody></table><br />It was dark by the time I got to Saijo, but the hotel where I had a reservation was mere steps away from the station, so it didn't take long to get checked in. It was after 7pm and a lot of restaurants were already closed, but I came across a casual and trendy looking pub on the main street in front of the station that stayed open late and specialized in Okonomiyaki. I asked for the chef to choose one of the more popular dishes for me, ordered a beer, and enjoyed a really good meal before heading back the hotel and taking a soak in their hot spring bath. <div><br /></div><div>I didn't get a particularly good night's sleep, but was up early to make a quick stop at the convenience store before heading back to the station to get a ticket for the bus that would take me up to the Ishizuchi ropeway. With some time to spare before the bus arrived I took a short stroll around the station area and admired the buildings and views of faraway peaks from a vantage point nearby. In the early morning, Saijo seemed like a pretty if not particularly exciting town.<p></p><p></p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDsi2mBn6fTYlyl4RuLTP_FGfUy39THaExN0LteWIGk6ohfiWQNbw8QE_YFvqUbv2x0bl_5CE39Hg8xtIv8rpw7DoXnIoyno3Wy36I4Z9do-15wZ9KvrvD-FOusEB49yHJN7MzUnrJVlfcW2V-gbXaa16kTBpwQ_t6cNxego8CNpgzJkpFxyUh6FNz9A" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgDsi2mBn6fTYlyl4RuLTP_FGfUy39THaExN0LteWIGk6ohfiWQNbw8QE_YFvqUbv2x0bl_5CE39Hg8xtIv8rpw7DoXnIoyno3Wy36I4Z9do-15wZ9KvrvD-FOusEB49yHJN7MzUnrJVlfcW2V-gbXaa16kTBpwQ_t6cNxego8CNpgzJkpFxyUh6FNz9A" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Views near Saijo Station</td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div>The bus stop in front of the station wasn't hard to identify since there was already a small gathering of hikers in the shelter, who sat in silence and pretended they didn't notice one another. With a few minutes before the bus was scheduled to arrive, I made one last run over to a nearby drink vendor to get a bottled drink. When I got back, a bus was pulling away but the group of hikers was still sitting in the shelter. Amongst the group were a young fellow in typical street wear, and older gentleman in blue jeans, and like the proverbial rose among thorns, a young lady who was the only one that looked properly dressed for the occasion in proper outdoor gear. The scheduled bus time came and went, and I began to worry that I'd missed my ride, but after a few more minutes the bus to Ishizushi Ropeway came rolling into the terminal area and we all got on board. Winding our way through the town we soon got up into the forested hills and followed a precipitous course along a river valley with impressive views and the odd section of road work, were construction crews were busy shoring up the near-vertical slopes. It looked like dangerous work. Along the way we passed under a house that was clinging to the hillside above the road, and the driver slowed to call out to an old man who was leaning out the window, waving. A couple of sentences were shouted back and forth, with smiles and waves; in such an isolated location I suppose the passing bus was a highlight of the day for the old fellow. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdN8e5EuukxXJJoj11vQTx6iTYThcS0cA9tamxQU5v30trtNx7xl8O6j4MaYLw_11HmzzUMykQ0RtfLfgpjeu8RmzoqJHfVhyno_ZWMFaaRIHjFFvwxigtnyzH1EDfTLqBtu-L8Cr5KjejWNLaXfl24FS-i7oDBzpd33CAPIyEK57qM2hGtlRriq8shnPf" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgdN8e5EuukxXJJoj11vQTx6iTYThcS0cA9tamxQU5v30trtNx7xl8O6j4MaYLw_11HmzzUMykQ0RtfLfgpjeu8RmzoqJHfVhyno_ZWMFaaRIHjFFvwxigtnyzH1EDfTLqBtu-L8Cr5KjejWNLaXfl24FS-i7oDBzpd33CAPIyEK57qM2hGtlRriq8shnPf" width="180" /></a></div></div><div><br /></div><div>The lower end of the route was the ropeway station, or more precisely, a hovel of roadside shacks leading to a decrepit covered stairway with a very rusty sign over it declaring the entrance to the ropeway. I had hoped to fill my water bottles here at the base of the ropeway, and although running water was present, the staff at the ropeway station said it wasn't drinkable. I'm not entirely sure about that, as most tap-water in Japan is potable and I've never gotten sick drinking from mountain streams there either. I decided to see if I could find a water source at the top end of the ropeway. In the worst case, I understood that there were a few huts along the way where drinks could be purchased. The number of hikers waiting to take the ropeway up had grown beyond the group who had arrived by bus. They included a few folks in flashy running gear. </div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhn1bFmpR6P7eXDC9Vz3zWb6a4PbGIlA2EoGPGGRF90w7UHQJ5DWkP93jZTyILpn4Q-sVe-s6SGTAQ3juFSTSHn6XS0MtP2F3LvZ6btFp8J5FATJnxzlpvE6PWY-7TNyOZtwhUi-grS0iTJDqhtGnqbAFmhPbQBj0pPVc6SOXfHZNE1iiTmxMDEeJ-fx4Er" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhn1bFmpR6P7eXDC9Vz3zWb6a4PbGIlA2EoGPGGRF90w7UHQJ5DWkP93jZTyILpn4Q-sVe-s6SGTAQ3juFSTSHn6XS0MtP2F3LvZ6btFp8J5FATJnxzlpvE6PWY-7TNyOZtwhUi-grS0iTJDqhtGnqbAFmhPbQBj0pPVc6SOXfHZNE1iiTmxMDEeJ-fx4Er" width="320" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The ropeway took us quickly up the mountainside, climbing ever more steeply the higher we got. Normally, the idea of taking a ropeway to get partway up a mountain wouldn't appeal to me, but in this case, it avoided hours of what could only be a monotonous, soul-destroying slog up an unforgivingly steep and densely forested slope, and it was the only way to get the route done in one day as a round trip from Saijo. The interesting climbing would begin once we got up out of the deep valley.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUbeeBnRjwApKZ7PTTfBMSSgNGlLLQLYh1FXP9x9n17SX32-DjtAd-WgEOtg5gitf_tlZZQ0QGPN3gPIyx9pWpOQsbpWTa9RS0hbXJYKIGT-bft_lxByBrPX2WgX2FYCKujzBOHnJkqL8sX9lg_3zAAlgGzgdVK5GclHF0bvfKExfLS7Ugbj862AGkMXiT" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjUbeeBnRjwApKZ7PTTfBMSSgNGlLLQLYh1FXP9x9n17SX32-DjtAd-WgEOtg5gitf_tlZZQ0QGPN3gPIyx9pWpOQsbpWTa9RS0hbXJYKIGT-bft_lxByBrPX2WgX2FYCKujzBOHnJkqL8sX9lg_3zAAlgGzgdVK5GclHF0bvfKExfLS7Ugbj862AGkMXiT" width="320" /></a></div></div><div>At top of the ropeway was a small building with some washrooms, a small shop and a couple of vending machines, and this led out after a short walk to a collection of buildings with little shops and such, which in the busy season are probably in full swing, but appeared to be mostly shut down as I wandered through. I took the opportunity to get a couple of bottled drinks from a vending machine and organize my gear a little before setting off onto the trail, which led through a large shrine gate and, much to my dismay, downwards.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6FiImhHYdLsHez8Vfv5DWPRwwteR87_U46e0xLd7qxmzxTomCYTV_NgV7TVaEB0ySy7ewHcVtv7b0NGd0ikQCuoS9gfOkpHkGbiT84bKntW7hj3DjAV1yqFhpAa0rYTnlE3h-cqpS7X4T6x-Q8i7-xi7KYmDnQTNK_ppUkEdCxp4zG6c9OEXIceiIIdAv" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEi6FiImhHYdLsHez8Vfv5DWPRwwteR87_U46e0xLd7qxmzxTomCYTV_NgV7TVaEB0ySy7ewHcVtv7b0NGd0ikQCuoS9gfOkpHkGbiT84bKntW7hj3DjAV1yqFhpAa0rYTnlE3h-cqpS7X4T6x-Q8i7-xi7KYmDnQTNK_ppUkEdCxp4zG6c9OEXIceiIIdAv" width="180" /></a></div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>The trail carried on downwards for a good ways, and I started thinking that not only would I have to make up this lost elevation on the way to the summit, but I'd have to be climbing back up this hill on the final stretch of the return trip as well.</div><div><br /></div><div>I was feeling eager to put some distance under my boots and had pushed ahead of most of the other climbers, which was somewhat pointless considering that the slower-moving hikers always tend to be more consistent and end up arriving at the destination within a few minutes of the speed-hikers anyway. Sure enough I got overheated enough that I needed to stop for a couple of minutes, and was passed by a few of the stronger hikers. Later on I again caught up with a couple of them, including the young lady who looked like the most experienced climber, and we exchanged a bit of small talk before each pushing onwards. The trail got fairly steep and had many sections of crude steps fashioned from tree branches rough-hewn timbers wired together, many of which were collapsed and had to be carefully navigated.</div><div><br /></div><div>The trail seemed to be pretty wet but true to the guidebook there wasn't any fresh running water to be found along the way. Pressing on I came to a section where large iron "kusari" chains were hanging down a steep rocky section, which the regular hiking trail bypassed on the left. These were the "practice chains" which, it is said, are a suitable test for one's ability to complete the three subsequent sets of chains which are the "real deal". I didn't particularly want to expend my energy on the practice chains, preferring to save my strength for the longer more challenging sections ahead. Later on, I learned that this initial set of chains isn't meant for practice so much as it is as a test to see whether or not you've got what it takes to do the other three sets of chains, and as such, they're quite challenging in their own right.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJijwJCIphVvY8qO7MbxIyfQ5qW6nAZMhKPmiXCugfj9m1AC5qpilyA6ff_nB-kIb-gfrqbAS-1NXX-YK6-Z4p_dMzTRU9WKHK_6KMur8prXLtbayoH_2QlU7wjtPvrd3pfL9mX69uAKoX-7eqWNWRKXAP_8quxZu9mGYA5XDiukEfrO2c5bDstBu7EIOA" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjJijwJCIphVvY8qO7MbxIyfQ5qW6nAZMhKPmiXCugfj9m1AC5qpilyA6ff_nB-kIb-gfrqbAS-1NXX-YK6-Z4p_dMzTRU9WKHK_6KMur8prXLtbayoH_2QlU7wjtPvrd3pfL9mX69uAKoX-7eqWNWRKXAP_8quxZu9mGYA5XDiukEfrO2c5bDstBu7EIOA" width="180" /></a></div>Somewhere after this a rather steep set of steps led up to a col where a very decrepit old hut was sitting, manned by an old guy who seemed to be mostly ignoring people passing by. There were some drinks for sale, and I took a mental note of that in case on the way back I needed to rehydrate, as the drinks I had purchased lower down were already running low. Following the ridge, the trail emerged out into an flat section of low bamboo grass which provided views in all directions, but unfortunately the clouds obscured what would have otherwise been a spectacular vista.</div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEjFMrUrI515ABoBolQ_FuS1WZcRGr-0GmzzaTglpBGFkrhmfOCcfpL9mtH5zKtd1rhvwz0YXjhhpAuIANlad8yGJZ_XoFXqnBSQ2hvpCro6g4CJrE0uEFGqMWRSwvm2SUdMpx9BZQxMWVCqPhh02FEYsdGkn4Gjzc9_31jcwqxifq7-s8yX2Wpl0vUZFw2q" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEho_Rg_GmNb7ZnMZKANBmJ_it1jvzRGgtz6HD1oo5vwNHIAx6SthrcGFU4tLUUGEikvbTzW8yNi8weXvoyk048D-jp0rHy4qECy0ATWJzOSkJjzYXbRRg-DpKb4mj6sDV8S0F4B30bF63cRO55PFt7RCLJOBm4ultZzEFZ4KpyQVjeAjMMbKpaamVO9VyD8" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="2779" data-original-width="3890" height="229" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEho_Rg_GmNb7ZnMZKANBmJ_it1jvzRGgtz6HD1oo5vwNHIAx6SthrcGFU4tLUUGEikvbTzW8yNi8weXvoyk048D-jp0rHy4qECy0ATWJzOSkJjzYXbRRg-DpKb4mj6sDV8S0F4B30bF63cRO55PFt7RCLJOBm4ultZzEFZ4KpyQVjeAjMMbKpaamVO9VyD8" width="320" /></a></div><br /></div><br />Although it seemed from the bamboo plateau that there wasn't much higher to go, behind the clouds ahead the true summit of Ishizuchi was hidden in mist, and the real challenges of the climb were about to arrive. There were three sections of near vertical rock down which were hanging these enormous kusari chains. The rock itself provided plenty of footholds in most cases, but in some areas, triangular links like "aiders" had been forged onto the kusari as footholds. The chains themselves were quite polished and didn't provide the most secure feeling. It took some determination to get into the right headspace going up. One of my fellow climbers, who I had started chatting with earlier, led the way and paused to see how I was doing on one of the more difficult sections. Seeing that folks were looking out for one another gave me the encouragement I needed to batman my way up the rest of the chains. Two more sections of chains followed, each longer than the previous, with the final set being nearly 70 meters long.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the day I climbed Ishizuchi, there were only a couple of folks ahead of me on the chains, and spread out so far that I suppose they reached the end of the chains just as I was beginning them. On a busy day, these chains are reported to be jammed full of people, head to toe, and could be a real train wreck if a single person were to slip and fall, taking everyone else with them. Nevertheless, apparently folks of all ages including kids can be seen scrambling up this mountain during the height of the climbing season.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiE3LKJTQa2bQfROpfKcGDz7Z6zRJ6QN55_BU0zp5hVZA_isTKNdE0TWSmolBngoIcomypm7RGr_cS43bfwQXlZir62Kag9ncpaJS-7r-vC5TRlJAJbGDf-FubaYCwuigZs-ptcpX7Zx6rw43tvPQkwwgrMJJ1HofICqnOJqqtMj5KAGR3b23omDOE5B8fI" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiE3LKJTQa2bQfROpfKcGDz7Z6zRJ6QN55_BU0zp5hVZA_isTKNdE0TWSmolBngoIcomypm7RGr_cS43bfwQXlZir62Kag9ncpaJS-7r-vC5TRlJAJbGDf-FubaYCwuigZs-ptcpX7Zx6rw43tvPQkwwgrMJJ1HofICqnOJqqtMj5KAGR3b23omDOE5B8fI" width="180" /></a></div><br />The last set of chains deposited me near the final summit ridge leading up broad stone steps past a mountain shelter to the shrine at the top of Mt. Ishizuchi. Here there was a broad flat area where a lot of climbers were sitting down to have lunch and take in the views. Between the clouds you could catch glimpses of mountain ridge lines leading off into the distance, bits of blue sky and sea.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgm296x1iLrnGBkuDaxGJW81Lj9Ycv-2JnD8D6d_bej0hdCM6CwXbUgo9Mdc3MCqCbWK0HZU2MfAuwVOz11EayCfNxKc_I8l57ZB_UsFSX0Ra4YuaiPBr_nDSzgcsmG0Vau8wWig-cztpUtrL6uKoZT0nmhalrRDNLhzYxiQV-tbS29e9WuvEzYKEiLyA-l" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEgm296x1iLrnGBkuDaxGJW81Lj9Ycv-2JnD8D6d_bej0hdCM6CwXbUgo9Mdc3MCqCbWK0HZU2MfAuwVOz11EayCfNxKc_I8l57ZB_UsFSX0Ra4YuaiPBr_nDSzgcsmG0Vau8wWig-cztpUtrL6uKoZT0nmhalrRDNLhzYxiQV-tbS29e9WuvEzYKEiLyA-l" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div>The highest peak of Ishizuchi is Tengu-dake, a short scramble further along the ridge. Prior to climbing, I had been studying the map and gotten the mistaken impression that Tengu-dake might be a little too far to include in a one-day round trip climb from Saijo and back, but I asked some of the other climbers how long it took to cross over and they said it only took about 15 minutes. After a short break, I decided to head over, and the young lady with the good climbing gear said she would go as well, so we headed over together. There were a couple of bits that required good balance and steady footing, where I crouched down and scampered across while uttering a mild oath... just enough exposure to keep things interesting.</div><div><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTbdEIcCct5XK_7wx4I6ZuzaqJN8lDc-2QPdD4rxJlOof09Dww7d_jZTEQUje47fykhKmVB5pomTdHwstrrOBszROnlMq2UBVD0q6WoUn8Bzifjsz7Ca_N6hZSkDxL1uyBx22hloTV2UdvkBLBhpvdVL1Aqj3SANWMcO_Gn2a5q90nlfYQxzN9qzRkvusR" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEhTbdEIcCct5XK_7wx4I6ZuzaqJN8lDc-2QPdD4rxJlOof09Dww7d_jZTEQUje47fykhKmVB5pomTdHwstrrOBszROnlMq2UBVD0q6WoUn8Bzifjsz7Ca_N6hZSkDxL1uyBx22hloTV2UdvkBLBhpvdVL1Aqj3SANWMcO_Gn2a5q90nlfYQxzN9qzRkvusR" width="180" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;">And then finally I was at the summit of Ishizuchi. Photos were taken, and although the views were mostly obscured by clouds, one side of the mountain had some clear air and view, and looking back across to the Ishizuchi-san shrine the view was really picturesque. Small figures could be seen picking their way along the ridge towards us as we headed back.</div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJU6kyAYt-xgfYHUp9iymJoSNV3GMZurIHTYDo5CBWXw81gsraLtBqLmXrZX5ohUOlwSPaGb6QsNwTHyk0CZ200GADa2Gn-pwBvt-YZi24TW7d5IYeCnHt-cvJvvVLktmuUNOGswWILmRX_RPXN7Ld65Cb9ZuefuYRNVNmKxhwzG-FO5WfeLkylWcn864W" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/a/AVvXsEiJU6kyAYt-xgfYHUp9iymJoSNV3GMZurIHTYDo5CBWXw81gsraLtBqLmXrZX5ohUOlwSPaGb6QsNwTHyk0CZ200GADa2Gn-pwBvt-YZi24TW7d5IYeCnHt-cvJvvVLktmuUNOGswWILmRX_RPXN7Ld65Cb9ZuefuYRNVNmKxhwzG-FO5WfeLkylWcn864W" width="320" /></a></div><br />On the way back down, the sections of chains can thankfully be bypassed by some very robust sections of aluminum scaffold and stairs, and my defacto climbing partner, who turned out to be from Taiwan, kept me company for most of the way down. She had memorized the ropeway and bus timetable for the trip back to Saijo, where we both were headed, so we chatted most of the back to the ropeway station and I got to hear about various mountains of the Nihon Hyakumeizon that she had climbed or was planning to. The trip back home was long but uneventful, and I was really glad to have climbed something before the end of my extended Japan stay. Ishizuchi was actually a lot of fun - not a high mountain, but challenging and with an interesting character. It helped me to appreciate that there are mountains not in the 3000 meter plus category that nevertheless are very enjoyable to climb, and that plenty of good climbing opportunities exist without having to go all the way to the Kita or Minami Alps. The idea of sorting out other future objectives based on the "100 Famous Mountains of Japan" book started to take shape, and luckily for me, when I arrived back in Canada a couple of days later, a copy of that book was waiting for me in the mailbox. Iain had kindly sent me a copy, and it provided excellent reading through the cold Canadian winter, firing my imagination for future sunny days in the mountains of Japan.<br /><br /></div><div><br /><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /><br /><p></p><p><br /></p><p><br /></p></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-84786618159677361632022-08-11T07:06:00.078-07:002022-08-22T18:18:56.657-07:00Hike to Karasawa<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Karasawa Cirque</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">August 9, 2022<br />North Alps, Japan<br />Party: Darren DeRidder, Iain Williams<br />Report by: Darren DeRidder</h3><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirSTTs2hjdctlBdS5APimxnWmA9kLtCydU5KML9czkdS2cH6L-YA4PO292hZVhTbcALuQQu9eZ6OVRGRNhBvJ1PT2HBFZqaB7u99LNsdCt9kKvX-5S0ydUiSgzK3PHHIi2UenV2uYLB9pvBvCJ6uPlMqBn53Qb9uxcmMOSQIQMAisf0-nAy-PfkR2WtA/s4032/FB6DD7BC-5F4D-4935-B4F1-B5A49D616370.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirSTTs2hjdctlBdS5APimxnWmA9kLtCydU5KML9czkdS2cH6L-YA4PO292hZVhTbcALuQQu9eZ6OVRGRNhBvJ1PT2HBFZqaB7u99LNsdCt9kKvX-5S0ydUiSgzK3PHHIi2UenV2uYLB9pvBvCJ6uPlMqBn53Qb9uxcmMOSQIQMAisf0-nAy-PfkR2WtA/w400-h300/FB6DD7BC-5F4D-4935-B4F1-B5A49D616370.jpeg" title="The Karasawa Cirque" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karasawa Cirque looking towards Kita-hotaka-dake<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><p>"I wonder if that's the last time I will see that view", said Iain behind me. Turning around, I saw Kappabashi bridge, the Azusa river and the walls of Mt. Myojin rising up into the clouds. It really is a beautiful view. The gateway to the North Alps; starting point of so many good memories. "Nope", I replied, "Sorry, but you've got to come back and finish that route!"</p><p>This was the second time we'd tried to climb the north ridge of Maehotaka-daka and been put off by the weather, and I'd like to think that we'll eventually be able to tick that route off our list. But Iain's question caught me off guard, a little. It's hard to believe, but it's been nearly 30 years (<i>thirty</i> years!) since I first came here, and back then I didn't think about a "last time" for anything. Now decades later that perspective has changed. Who knows if, or when, we'll be back. I certainly hope we'll get back here again, both of us, and climb our route or something similar to it. The Kita Alps are one of my all-time favourite places in Japan, and simply being there and getting the old hiking legs back into action rekindled a love for being in the mountains that has been laying dormant for several years as family and other activities took precedence over climbing trips. I might not climb at the same level, with the same speed, or with the same level of risk that I used to in my 20's, but there's an awful lot of great climbing at moderate grades still to be done. And who am I kidding, I only ever climbed relatively safe and moderate climbs anyway.</p><p>This trip came together somewhat unexpectedly when I got the news, just the day before leaving for a two-month trip to Japan, that Iain had decided to go to Japan as well for 2 week in August. When he realized that his trip coincided with the O-Bon holidays we decided to go as early as possible after his arrival up to the North Alps to try and beat the rush. Scheduling required juggling some work responsibilities on my part, because of an "on-call" schedule, which has never been part of any previous software engineering job I have done, and which I have decided I really don't like and won't be part of any future job.</p><p>After meeting with our families in Kyoto on Sunday (7th August 2022), and spending a very hot day walking around some of the tourist areas, on Monday Iain and I took the Shinkansen to Nagoya and then the Tokaido/Takayama line up to Takayama, enjoying views along the way. Once in Takayama we dropped our luggage at the hotel, a new and impressive facility conveniently located right next to the station, and then spent an afternoon wandering around an old and very picturesque part of the town, although like everywhere else in Japan this summer, it was awfully hot. My hiking boots were uncomfortable in the heat and I quickly saw the wisdom of Iain's sandals, so we found a small climbing shop (Kong) and had a look around, but I failed to find any sandals in my size. I would just have to endure hot feet and appreciate not having to carry the extra weight of boots in my pack.</p><p>The hotel in Takayama gave us a good jumping off point to be able to get to Kamikochi and hike up to the Karasawa cirque in a day, from where we planned to climb the north ridge of Maehotaka-dake. We left Takayama on the bus to Hirayu Onsen about 9:30 AM -- a bit late but it got us to Kamikochi around 11:30 AM which we thought was plenty of time. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRgar_q_ot24-ibHUAa8snHCgRys235QFvaqgA8HePdx9NLJjT0XUMNsKwtmGOYyqlTBnBmdinWOTr53bMpsbXW3j2IlLnP2MBOQd6tcDG-YK8kCe2zgx1G-sLWFOJPmNSfX9oY3op756poqgYyHr1HEIpvHNQsngv8kqgc-fszrcNzR9WolhWDEvtzw/s4032/E52FB37B-08B3-4F01-B9D8-8E4CCA50B581.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRgar_q_ot24-ibHUAa8snHCgRys235QFvaqgA8HePdx9NLJjT0XUMNsKwtmGOYyqlTBnBmdinWOTr53bMpsbXW3j2IlLnP2MBOQd6tcDG-YK8kCe2zgx1G-sLWFOJPmNSfX9oY3op756poqgYyHr1HEIpvHNQsngv8kqgc-fszrcNzR9WolhWDEvtzw/w320-h240/E52FB37B-08B3-4F01-B9D8-8E4CCA50B581.jpeg" title="Bus en-route to Hirayu-onsen" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">But en-route to Hirayu-onsen</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5Ij_u6C1YrT6z7wdD1DjHtUhPpKT1G_SBImtz3IuCXrBj0n6ZPd83cITDEZwsKiYDdVux8lmJ5SXu5UCKQYwK0wiCVer0b23hrOGCBflFhOFWiiLMPK9vz7DKqN-w_dtGPOEaToB_D7XTC4lybvgLQ5GTRn3WCsD3BmP0b8-0fNRMY5BsFek8xiv-A/s4032/F263EEC2-137B-4862-B570-C8517688CD4A.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW5Ij_u6C1YrT6z7wdD1DjHtUhPpKT1G_SBImtz3IuCXrBj0n6ZPd83cITDEZwsKiYDdVux8lmJ5SXu5UCKQYwK0wiCVer0b23hrOGCBflFhOFWiiLMPK9vz7DKqN-w_dtGPOEaToB_D7XTC4lybvgLQ5GTRn3WCsD3BmP0b8-0fNRMY5BsFek8xiv-A/w320-h240/F263EEC2-137B-4862-B570-C8517688CD4A.jpeg" title="Kamikochi bus terminal" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kamikochi bus terminal</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We did a last-minute gear-sort on the picnic tables next to the Visitor Center in Kamikochi, and I grabbed some fresh water from the faucets there. I took a quick peek inside as well, where I once again saw the bulletin board featuring the "10 Highest Mountains" in Japan which lists one peak that is not in the "Hiking in Japan" guidebook by Paul Hunt. It lists Mt. Obami somewhere near the bottom of the list, but it seems highly debatable as to whether this peak really qualifies as a mountain on its own, or is just a subsidiary peak. It is essentially just one of the bumps along the ridge below the summit of Yari-ga-take.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx30TJuRau69O8kA417XN96sGJaEESaKrN-_k0-WbUPFHhIbg2brjrGj7xCDmumQYLUrSG6WG8OqH1E97fqaVeJ_mp8k1JemZ_3AYWc1ChGWioqvWD2GmIetxc_1vWqQ8jKEqBrRpRtVr4O8Uc6nYxdzSjxq8TeI5Jmo_mMJWCT85sPIXi8vjaxqbTyQ/s4032/FC8EB4D6-88E5-4A21-92C0-E7BD3FC0A7D9.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhx30TJuRau69O8kA417XN96sGJaEESaKrN-_k0-WbUPFHhIbg2brjrGj7xCDmumQYLUrSG6WG8OqH1E97fqaVeJ_mp8k1JemZ_3AYWc1ChGWioqvWD2GmIetxc_1vWqQ8jKEqBrRpRtVr4O8Uc6nYxdzSjxq8TeI5Jmo_mMJWCT85sPIXi8vjaxqbTyQ/w240-h320/FC8EB4D6-88E5-4A21-92C0-E7BD3FC0A7D9.jpeg" title="Notice board in the Kamikochi Visitors Center" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Notice board in the Kamikochi Visitors Center</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQftHW5fDD8M24qgyaQq2Io319xl00EWAN1Sr6OC4JF3P-CtwbzDDhk9M4IdVIf5QboI9L4u9WlkuSj2lAQyOX0njJc0j6-S5Ft7AB-IKSKAYO5h93Z6A26wzpP_MXJeCMj2REh_s9hpuLcNPVQ-gw1pdjO9ymW3D6vipBYNbIOrGSPFmhSob3Lb6Eqg/s3840/495BB234-BE72-486E-86C5-BA992EF134BD.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2160" data-original-width="3840" height="180" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQftHW5fDD8M24qgyaQq2Io319xl00EWAN1Sr6OC4JF3P-CtwbzDDhk9M4IdVIf5QboI9L4u9WlkuSj2lAQyOX0njJc0j6-S5Ft7AB-IKSKAYO5h93Z6A26wzpP_MXJeCMj2REh_s9hpuLcNPVQ-gw1pdjO9ymW3D6vipBYNbIOrGSPFmhSob3Lb6Eqg/w320-h180/495BB234-BE72-486E-86C5-BA992EF134BD.jpeg" title="Gearing up in Kamikochi" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Gearing up in Kamikochi</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW2KFD8V5q8996r2XTHdcbQDwzFX1YTrYPwKQcRlSApWW3-8SqoLSUpDNMiYaBs7WQI7mijnuIPN8c1sglODFf-fP1MtWAmXEVq_PobdTRDEZLiQKYf-cbLgDxEka-5XosU66rFo7m51-M3Vp5fz7raySCTG-_dLBEhZ60mOPyn4aOcL0ixakoSVqjnQ/s4032/B6B4DEFA-AE05-4038-A8AA-BDB82A90A2A5.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgW2KFD8V5q8996r2XTHdcbQDwzFX1YTrYPwKQcRlSApWW3-8SqoLSUpDNMiYaBs7WQI7mijnuIPN8c1sglODFf-fP1MtWAmXEVq_PobdTRDEZLiQKYf-cbLgDxEka-5XosU66rFo7m51-M3Vp5fz7raySCTG-_dLBEhZ60mOPyn4aOcL0ixakoSVqjnQ/w320-h240/B6B4DEFA-AE05-4038-A8AA-BDB82A90A2A5.jpeg" title="Kamikochi trailhead" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Kamikochi trail-head</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18OgM1V9llibvXdgIC210kW7hVxShZKUw4zU6lM2Lug-5EYtOGsk28C4tr4GCnITmr6E9Fp4aKpLqjH-n6nqNU89MYEgnMJZOSmqlrBDjvJIFzvsJFNti6Lyh5kS1Hx7os0OtmuuG0qqQ-BxDq1OXfrw2gqvgKDlqjwF_wf6fNud4yBu6ibAYP36hug/s4032/0B745181-626A-48B2-859F-E697696D5E89.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi18OgM1V9llibvXdgIC210kW7hVxShZKUw4zU6lM2Lug-5EYtOGsk28C4tr4GCnITmr6E9Fp4aKpLqjH-n6nqNU89MYEgnMJZOSmqlrBDjvJIFzvsJFNti6Lyh5kS1Hx7os0OtmuuG0qqQ-BxDq1OXfrw2gqvgKDlqjwF_wf6fNud4yBu6ibAYP36hug/s320/0B745181-626A-48B2-859F-E697696D5E89.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Myojin peak en-route from Kamikochi</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It was a bit of a dilemma whether to take my new trekking poles; I didn't want them to get in the way during technical climbing sections, but I also knew I'd be happy for them if we descended down the steep Dakesawa route. In the end I decided to leave them behind to cut down on the amount of stuff. For climbing gear we had our harnesses, helmets, a selection of slings in the 160cm - 240cm range for belays plus a few smaller ones, a couple of prussik cords, about 8 quick-draws (including a few "alpine" draws with extendable slings), Iain's 8mm 60M rope, a set of nuts, a Friend in the commonly-used #3 size range, a couple of large-ish hexes, belay devices and a couple of locking carabiners each. </p><p>After leaving a couple of bags at the luggage storage counter and depositing our "trekking itinerary" form at the Technical Information desk in the visitor's centre, we were off, departing Kamikochi at right around noon. Incidentally, these trekking itinerary forms are now legally required by Nagano prefecture police, and you can get fined for not doing them. Most people apparently submit them online using a website called Compass, but I couldn't figure out how to use the web application which was in Japanese. The paper form was in both English and Japanese and simply asks where you plan to go, and whether you have the essentials with you. The old gentleman at the Technical Information desk where I handed in the itinerary was delighted to meet a foreigner who could speak Japanese (albeit far from perfectly), and he was even more impressed that I had filled out the hiking form. He saw that we had a rope and was quite excited when he heard our plans to climb Maeho's north ridge, giving us a big thumbs up.</p><p>It was refreshingly cool in Kamikochi, and the fresh breeze as we walked along the wide easy trail beside the river was heavenly after weeks spent sweltering on the Kansai plains. We soon passed Myojinkan, the climbers hostel where I had stayed a couple of times before. Not long after that we passed by the turn-off to Tokugo-toge Pass, which Iain reminded me was once a high mountain pass that cattle were taken over in the summer and brought down to our current location to graze in the riverside meadows. I believe this bit of information is something Iain got from reading early accounts of the area by Walter Weston and other early British visitors to the area, in the excellent library of the Alpine Club in London (by which I mean "the" Alpine Club, the original, British, hard-to-get-into one). This was also the route that Iain and I had decided to climb back in 2011 when we had come here with the same goal of climbing the North Ridge on Maehotaka-dake only to find the weather to be cloudy and drizzling. On that trip we had slogged up to the Tokugo-toge pass where we stayed in a small climbers hut and were rewarded with a meal of steak, prawns, and beer as part of a work-party celebration that was going on when we got there. I can't believe it's taken us this long to come back here (11 years). Life happens; I have a lovely daughter who means more to me than all the mountains put together, and taking a break from mountain climbing to be the family man has been worth it.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7xbchmv21a4uWksmN8dwTfkzb-G7DdDU9MMLFREy1KkZXpcheE4kKMVisGKusE5hDkPtiLpSO7diqV2uSIHhBNP8v1SHBVy7LMbsY1GH9MUBEJXTbHu_iCTX2m3EldIufYzISCk0WhkixPkywNZHfWrwU3BwnhWI0HdGcAz1dXwcLhlDBqRB0oDuSg/s4032/3B30839E-56B2-4A53-8929-D3C65A96EB5A.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD7xbchmv21a4uWksmN8dwTfkzb-G7DdDU9MMLFREy1KkZXpcheE4kKMVisGKusE5hDkPtiLpSO7diqV2uSIHhBNP8v1SHBVy7LMbsY1GH9MUBEJXTbHu_iCTX2m3EldIufYzISCk0WhkixPkywNZHfWrwU3BwnhWI0HdGcAz1dXwcLhlDBqRB0oDuSg/w320-h240/3B30839E-56B2-4A53-8929-D3C65A96EB5A.jpeg" title="Fork to Tokugo-toge pass" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Junction to Tokugo-toge Pass</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzisT6FG_-h9Sf7j7m6lBD0EMJubp0_SzhoJBwCZXdySprL6f-tKhzI4NZtQITRolD-Huc3Z0hvqXZEaf9ODXfkO6-Z9xQX9RXeG5mF64afQRI8xRiyZ553ZN78ocyuR-vnXYm7w81xdNmwDI4jvwks3boWRGZ8nXvkMx313oPbZRODplE9DzK_vCxQ/s4032/9C3669B9-70E4-43F4-AB96-B0BC6E0A28B1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgGzisT6FG_-h9Sf7j7m6lBD0EMJubp0_SzhoJBwCZXdySprL6f-tKhzI4NZtQITRolD-Huc3Z0hvqXZEaf9ODXfkO6-Z9xQX9RXeG5mF64afQRI8xRiyZ553ZN78ocyuR-vnXYm7w81xdNmwDI4jvwks3boWRGZ8nXvkMx313oPbZRODplE9DzK_vCxQ/w320-h240/9C3669B9-70E4-43F4-AB96-B0BC6E0A28B1.jpeg" title="Signs warning of landslides on the Tokugo-toge trail" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Signs warning of land-slides on the Tokugo-toge trail</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We made good time all the way to Tokusawa-en, arriving at 1:20pm. There we stopped for some lunch and a soft ice cream cone and I took the rope from Iain. At this point I discovered I had left an onigiri (rice ball) in my stored luggage back in Kamikochi, as well as Iain's coffee satchets, much to his chagrin. I had plenty of other food with me in the form of calorie bars, chocolate etc. so I was more concerned about the rice ball making my stuff in storage smell bad. </p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtnwPWNCpyFewbYjcrUrvj1IpeOWK_z_XBiGsvFzjfAsR8oKmSe6HwxLQz-wlscu1SnUYSdfoDf_-4gsF3gufyCU9amnEkWb_eiX8eQfqtYAXbJLYWC7ZuVfWUlrM8vcPKvqK6WREo5XCY5J09LkYoHjjAqKKp16zJc8MS1GzOxEeHXcQS7aiUzeeLw/s4032/C8C2C563-6F56-4927-9E00-3FE04CF4DBB3.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKtnwPWNCpyFewbYjcrUrvj1IpeOWK_z_XBiGsvFzjfAsR8oKmSe6HwxLQz-wlscu1SnUYSdfoDf_-4gsF3gufyCU9amnEkWb_eiX8eQfqtYAXbJLYWC7ZuVfWUlrM8vcPKvqK6WREo5XCY5J09LkYoHjjAqKKp16zJc8MS1GzOxEeHXcQS7aiUzeeLw/w320-h240/C8C2C563-6F56-4927-9E00-3FE04CF4DBB3.jpeg" title="Between Tokusawa and Yokoo" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Easy trail to along the Azusa river</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOn1xsS76r6R1sq3DMoCNFNAZAwe0rcUYv8R7Eehe3AiRd1pAPglWLoCEZzNrzNPM2cOAirOjj7_tAyrGPTvjdFd_B0QDr81csQDQXkQOwDdOK4bTOoENVy2Pi0r9aIKTkGo07Krkq5cDp_v6XmVCparj-XFrtmociFWTP6CC9mGCBkKKGcCN0NClhg/s4032/CDE545F1-B509-4DD0-859A-FE24CC524144.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiCOn1xsS76r6R1sq3DMoCNFNAZAwe0rcUYv8R7Eehe3AiRd1pAPglWLoCEZzNrzNPM2cOAirOjj7_tAyrGPTvjdFd_B0QDr81csQDQXkQOwDdOK4bTOoENVy2Pi0r9aIKTkGo07Krkq5cDp_v6XmVCparj-XFrtmociFWTP6CC9mGCBkKKGcCN0NClhg/w320-h240/CDE545F1-B509-4DD0-859A-FE24CC524144.jpeg" title="Tokusawa hostel, where you can get soft ice cream" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tokusawa hut</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Leaving Tokusawa at 1:55pm, we wanted to take the Panorama Route over to Karasawa but when we arrived at the turn-off it was blocked off with a sign in Japanese that seemed to indicate the route was closed. Knowing that Japanese people tend to be pretty rigid about things being closed for sometimes strange reasons, we debated going anyway, but the trail was indeed looking a bit overgrown so we headed back across the bridge where we'd come from and continued up towards Yoko Sanso. The trail in this area was bifurcated and quite oddly had a large section where land-works were being constructed with heavy machinery. Walking along a gravel bar I stopped and chatted with a girl who had the look of a local and was coming from the other direction, and asked about the Panorama Course. She mentioned something about it being closed due to snow, which I found very strange and not at all believable, because snow simply does not persist through August at those elevations.</p><p>We kept the pace going pretty well, chatting occasionally and stopping once when a troupe of monkeys gathered on the path ahead of us. They weren't at all interested in us as we strolled past. It was the first time I had seen Japanese Macaque monkeys so close, and I found it fascinating and a little scary to pass by so close to them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Is0JikDcZYmIL9U1d9wvbYvu3WMKr_GdK42Hg5IZKbcqIt5G_Mvp1qLAb7ZgJu2BYFHV-CaZ8L8i7iNu8xlusZpF2om6r6_CM1s1uwPWkNhfgjilpOLCUE8RtzbUINBCJxOI1lc-VZ-xGgREstMgB6zZlnmooOuzvQTccY4MjAnCAJlVKNEzpEUafw/s4032/B7505AED-3483-4141-8C76-719335C3E678.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Is0JikDcZYmIL9U1d9wvbYvu3WMKr_GdK42Hg5IZKbcqIt5G_Mvp1qLAb7ZgJu2BYFHV-CaZ8L8i7iNu8xlusZpF2om6r6_CM1s1uwPWkNhfgjilpOLCUE8RtzbUINBCJxOI1lc-VZ-xGgREstMgB6zZlnmooOuzvQTccY4MjAnCAJlVKNEzpEUafw/w240-h320/B7505AED-3483-4141-8C76-719335C3E678.jpeg" title="A bridge across the Azusa river towards the Panorama Route (closed)" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Crossing to find the Panorama Route (closed)</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_LxI4TdFUqf4irDYcglEpxSicZcciKBhPCZRjWLemCnIF9c_McV-Fxi-odHPjDvLvwI9LB3_Igj4wQ2M0u4ZQqbCHn3rmhPFiGEVfEipaTMv1PspJL_x5K_T-loXRRbvS6koHXhhol38hmPPpouzWntDYaDHFuNmoCaLF7zfS50KzCSappC1WyZKlA/s4032/6E061A21-8BA3-4BA1-BCED-50DAD0FB3ABD.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4_LxI4TdFUqf4irDYcglEpxSicZcciKBhPCZRjWLemCnIF9c_McV-Fxi-odHPjDvLvwI9LB3_Igj4wQ2M0u4ZQqbCHn3rmhPFiGEVfEipaTMv1PspJL_x5K_T-loXRRbvS6koHXhhol38hmPPpouzWntDYaDHFuNmoCaLF7zfS50KzCSappC1WyZKlA/w240-h320/6E061A21-8BA3-4BA1-BCED-50DAD0FB3ABD.jpeg" title="Monkeys along the trail" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Monkeys on the trail</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-h9TmJFCSHf98_FoAG-3DMd-TVB-gbXCJek_Ke6MPpmy1tIhjHckGKzY_B-TG4vd_wXDJ8jBPFExrwBHYJLfuJgCrDk-XEEk7znsMXvL7NZUWQFqxAZXe5WT-ky3Je5Xc8HZu9BpBxYtLsWo-3cBQNWeUCJRl6VyNh6WcuyIJTjAuQiE9IdUeE02S2Q/s4032/ADDD04AB-0958-4A55-9716-E37BA7B77960.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-h9TmJFCSHf98_FoAG-3DMd-TVB-gbXCJek_Ke6MPpmy1tIhjHckGKzY_B-TG4vd_wXDJ8jBPFExrwBHYJLfuJgCrDk-XEEk7znsMXvL7NZUWQFqxAZXe5WT-ky3Je5Xc8HZu9BpBxYtLsWo-3cBQNWeUCJRl6VyNh6WcuyIJTjAuQiE9IdUeE02S2Q/w320-h240/ADDD04AB-0958-4A55-9716-E37BA7B77960.jpeg" title="Yokoo Sanso" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Yokoo-sanso</td></tr></tbody></table><p>We arrived at Yoko Sanso at 2:24pm and carried on across a bridge and began the long ascent up into the Karasawa Cirque. Anyone who has hiked up to Karasawa this way knows that the path gets increasingly steeper as the elevation gets higher. The last kilometer or two up the hut are a lot like climbing an unrelenting stairway and with a pack on it becomes a mind-numbing slog. Around 3:35pm about half-way along the slog up this valley we crossed another wire suspension bridge where we took a few photos before shouldering our packs for the final push up to the hut. Iain began saying at this point that he didn't think we would make the hut by 5pm, a statement which caused me some concern as I had been told we needed to check in by 4pm in less than half an hour. I determined to push on thinking we'll get there when we get there. I didn't even dare look up at the path ahead because it was too depressing, so I put my head down and just kept putting one foot in front of the other. At around 4:30pm I made it to a signposted gully called "S Gully". I passed one or two others on their way up to the hut, glad not to be the only straggler.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz58kBDgj4iyQmBwF1FUGpNcOuoheAFESV5UV2QGSMprkkAG4L4LqQftraXcKA0gdPSlvaSWWYwIbKhluHlLv3d1L-gPiH-Djx4IG-WWGaxS6s4JuyoZ2-cAoDUBleQ5BkzlG3HqyF9Zq02BTj5CIBESJcSR4YdtrbVr7JhyxmA7wbD5UxLv5QpZu2rg/s4032/1C48B3E0-1275-43B0-8253-14F3F6AD1ED0.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiz58kBDgj4iyQmBwF1FUGpNcOuoheAFESV5UV2QGSMprkkAG4L4LqQftraXcKA0gdPSlvaSWWYwIbKhluHlLv3d1L-gPiH-Djx4IG-WWGaxS6s4JuyoZ2-cAoDUBleQ5BkzlG3HqyF9Zq02BTj5CIBESJcSR4YdtrbVr7JhyxmA7wbD5UxLv5QpZu2rg/s320/1C48B3E0-1275-43B0-8253-14F3F6AD1ED0.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Mountain walls en-route to Karasawa</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0z7ngL16PHsI3jWrn6kehS7DVJXwRYE2ZiOiWIM6a0IzzS5e9IoF66uG1FfqQ6KJjGzVAyDb90wHY0kF1TllRjHaHw9lfmmYumTESqKDKlOesKtmMPq2ecOL_T3SfJF5yElxdjjgbAvU-j7XYqiNKJey_GV7jsfuxpF6E4bGRnzoiels9cgOnIMqNg/s4032/AC6CEDBB-7B07-488B-8A04-89A66E32ED64.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhG0z7ngL16PHsI3jWrn6kehS7DVJXwRYE2ZiOiWIM6a0IzzS5e9IoF66uG1FfqQ6KJjGzVAyDb90wHY0kF1TllRjHaHw9lfmmYumTESqKDKlOesKtmMPq2ecOL_T3SfJF5yElxdjjgbAvU-j7XYqiNKJey_GV7jsfuxpF6E4bGRnzoiels9cgOnIMqNg/s320/AC6CEDBB-7B07-488B-8A04-89A66E32ED64.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last bridge before the final push</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNhglrSHk-jNuDGJg3mToARqwVrU8BFlWWw_Ilv_daR9Z3shX59i39atql7r10bxnInz0YrwuHc8BCMPC370bO---PhTH_XfHisIMagl08ShX0MJRJUPhGY1h0GnEADqQn1ntSvQBh5mrm2CN-n5pSPzqa1CRU6aO9ifbaXB-e-vFL2-1qFxKCOrhzaw/s1600/13A3FC2C-28CF-4278-B6E2-D6D2DFA6D2E0.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhNhglrSHk-jNuDGJg3mToARqwVrU8BFlWWw_Ilv_daR9Z3shX59i39atql7r10bxnInz0YrwuHc8BCMPC370bO---PhTH_XfHisIMagl08ShX0MJRJUPhGY1h0GnEADqQn1ntSvQBh5mrm2CN-n5pSPzqa1CRU6aO9ifbaXB-e-vFL2-1qFxKCOrhzaw/s320/13A3FC2C-28CF-4278-B6E2-D6D2DFA6D2E0.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Last bridge before the final push</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipeCtfnOaMFW46VqrK5weimjgCyFmWdqxiAhwFWE8xz6CmzUA6JmvAUr9EEwlfd8lyn4Fi7m85tZEzWH089Z92jFVjU40rq6lO-mNJLi75Valgt7A0plghZfR05vWPQcpYvWLimWJ0UEPVaLCPBgFo9JTdqH_knB6dIR9O72H288tvXNoQfhXIdPg4Xg/s4032/A11166FF-E92E-4143-A25C-78EB9E134809.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEipeCtfnOaMFW46VqrK5weimjgCyFmWdqxiAhwFWE8xz6CmzUA6JmvAUr9EEwlfd8lyn4Fi7m85tZEzWH089Z92jFVjU40rq6lO-mNJLi75Valgt7A0plghZfR05vWPQcpYvWLimWJ0UEPVaLCPBgFo9JTdqH_knB6dIR9O72H288tvXNoQfhXIdPg4Xg/s320/A11166FF-E92E-4143-A25C-78EB9E134809.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Steep trail up to Karasawa</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTJNJlgyZBRwLvOhaldPM8-6OoqrCBm_Rd_vLE4tYGUgPpxZHI40GrxnlPsG_O_mJxPx9tV6Nw8V4pUVLcrRYkrbkl2_hUcvXhAlqFZ1lb6OjMBkZo78MkURJMPgjjrTqI5ty8f_-LoLb1nl7is31ieYMCxLgVDsCOedQdbPR5psWNj7_HXiURwitVQ/s4032/F880C135-F9B0-48C3-950F-720A2ABE6E2A.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhhTJNJlgyZBRwLvOhaldPM8-6OoqrCBm_Rd_vLE4tYGUgPpxZHI40GrxnlPsG_O_mJxPx9tV6Nw8V4pUVLcrRYkrbkl2_hUcvXhAlqFZ1lb6OjMBkZo78MkURJMPgjjrTqI5ty8f_-LoLb1nl7is31ieYMCxLgVDsCOedQdbPR5psWNj7_HXiURwitVQ/w240-h320/F880C135-F9B0-48C3-950F-720A2ABE6E2A.jpeg" title="The "S Gully"" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The "S Gully"</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Eventually, I heard conversation from above, climbed the final steep steps on the trail and made it up to the Karasawa Hyutte at 5:07pm where I quickly checked in. Iain followed shortly after, having paused for a moment where the tail splits, going one way to the Karasawa Goya (hut) and the other to Karasawa Hyutte (also hut), both separated by a boulder-strewn camping area in between. He guessed correctly that we were in the Hyutte. We completed the hike up to Karasawa in the 5 to 5-1/2 hour range against a "map time" of 6 hours and 10 minutes. I had beaten the map time by a good hour despite our detour to the (closed) Panorama Route trailhead. If it wasn't for that detour I probably could have made the hike in about 4 and a half hours. Not carrying camping gear certainly helped. The size of some of the packs I saw on the trail looked truly agonizing. We had no intention of lugging camping gear and supplies on this climb; I think those days might be behind me. I'm sure there are people who carry a tent, stove, climbing gear and everything else with them, and climb the north ridge of Maehotakadake with all of that weight strapped to their backs, but I didn't intend to be one of them.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEP926B99fgUU7zy590Z8GclPXCKQ3DcKApy7pH0I1iUie18GaGAbWDQMbjq751OSXbD3I0PjefahceFBzoWffAJP6eu8Uwlwr7Jz_cpKCTYJfTGsCdauztklQ44EkbBb1byDlyI2a869k13pRbXI1PBqVvSpXatKXTvjt9XxyBaSCRffak9vjoPJCxA/s4032/E2B078C9-6155-4612-A2FB-A36475112FEF.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEP926B99fgUU7zy590Z8GclPXCKQ3DcKApy7pH0I1iUie18GaGAbWDQMbjq751OSXbD3I0PjefahceFBzoWffAJP6eu8Uwlwr7Jz_cpKCTYJfTGsCdauztklQ44EkbBb1byDlyI2a869k13pRbXI1PBqVvSpXatKXTvjt9XxyBaSCRffak9vjoPJCxA/w320-h240/E2B078C9-6155-4612-A2FB-A36475112FEF.jpeg" title="Arriving at the Karasawa Hyutte" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Karasawa Hyutte</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QkNwSETiW3iExecytOgBk4lVAn_4wxWTCRjtchVylb6y_Eb0WYZMy9mfj8PEarRH9u6SUrz0n0TzCRIypDyNbNpt29KGnhHej7WMr1tp25D8nzFcoriwyqinX-GsU7BvdJXhme9L5nNyv90kzRCBoYIsI9MIVi9XOOJlDnUIZDx_e43_nzpqAflrSw/s4032/6513F75E-FCFC-4C57-A823-B39E3503D2D2.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh_QkNwSETiW3iExecytOgBk4lVAn_4wxWTCRjtchVylb6y_Eb0WYZMy9mfj8PEarRH9u6SUrz0n0TzCRIypDyNbNpt29KGnhHej7WMr1tp25D8nzFcoriwyqinX-GsU7BvdJXhme9L5nNyv90kzRCBoYIsI9MIVi9XOOJlDnUIZDx_e43_nzpqAflrSw/w320-h240/6513F75E-FCFC-4C57-A823-B39E3503D2D2.jpeg" title="Iain arriving at the Karasawa Hyutte" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Iain arriving at Karasawa Hyutte</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It turns out that when we had not shown up by 4pm the hut called the number on file, which reached my wife in Himeji. A couple of hours previously we had been at Tokusawa eating soft ice cream, and I had sent her a picture of myself since the lodge conveniently provided a hotspot of cellular data access. My wife told the hut people we had been at Tokusawa earlier that afternoon and were on our way, to which they replied we must be close and they would wait for us. Incidentally, for my trip in Japan I used an eSim to get affordable local cellular data access, which is extremely affordable compared to the exorbitant data-roaming charges my Canadian cellular provider wants to charge. In fact, I disabled my Canadian cellular data line on my phone after getting one or two $15 roaming charges when a few kilobytes of data somehow, despite me disabling roaming settings, leaked out onto the roaming network instead of over the new eSim connection I had installed. Incidentally the eSim provider I used is Ubigi, and I have nothing but good things to say about them. It's been a lifesaver here and so much more convenient than carrying around a portable wifi hotspot.</p><p>We were at the "hyutte" well in time for dinner, which turned out to be a very nice meal considering our remote location. An Italian guy was working at the hut, and gave us a bit of information about our intended route. At dinner we had some great views across the valley, and Iain, peak-spotter extraordinaire, was able to identify some of them, which I think duly impressed our table mates. However, I think we may have not impressed them by jumping into the front of the queue when the second seating of dinner was called for. This was partly due to the fact that Iain had sat down at the top of the stairs leading into the dining room and we hadn't really noticed a well-defined queue, and partly because when they called for dinner "number 2" I thought they were referring to our hut booking reservation number, which also happened to be "number 2". I also didn't incur too many favours by needing to get up in the middle of dinner to go talk to the hut staff about our bento-box breakfasts, which we had decided we didn't want as much as a proper sit-down morning breakfast in the morning. But Japanese people are gracious, and at such times I like to think that I can play the "ignorant foreigner" card. The folks sitting next to us did engage in a bit of conversation, asking if I had climbed many other mountains in Japan. Getting a bit over-zealous I chuckled and said its been 25 years since I first climbed in these mountains, musing about how long its been and waxing on about climbing "all" of the 3000er's in Japan -- which I realize in hindsight is not true; between the two of us we've done many if not most, but not all of them -- and I probably sounded boastful. I'll try to do better next time.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_xadhnyHch_JY-pzYtmm9b00dafzUVIBNftamkIUnhzLR2pk5eh3cz3B1xY5r4moxD1qOIrFQ95KTf4vpGrIDqYMKU3cOkz_UNPV3CV-iS_xoTOufLjR_WjxBiimNDUxATStdBACkbEbVp43GKhUtEMqJhQVh8kTTFaIL3jeh0bzjOEAOrFcRtYXxw/s4032/2B38F086-FA99-4054-908A-EFE381C1E05E.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-_xadhnyHch_JY-pzYtmm9b00dafzUVIBNftamkIUnhzLR2pk5eh3cz3B1xY5r4moxD1qOIrFQ95KTf4vpGrIDqYMKU3cOkz_UNPV3CV-iS_xoTOufLjR_WjxBiimNDUxATStdBACkbEbVp43GKhUtEMqJhQVh8kTTFaIL3jeh0bzjOEAOrFcRtYXxw/s320/2B38F086-FA99-4054-908A-EFE381C1E05E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Dinner at the Hyutte</td></tr></tbody></table><p>After dinner there was not much to do, so after a bit of a wander outside to do some stretching, and brushing of teeth, I hung out in the foyer for a little bit checking out the weather forecast, which seemed to indicate similar conditions the following day (cloud cover, potential for rain or thunderstorms). Not ideal. At the front desk I inquired once again about the Panorama Course and got some vague response about it being closed due to danger. Overhearing the conversation, a Japanese man interjected that it was frozen, and we definitely could not pass it unless we had ice axes and crampons. I found this assertion annoying and ridiculous. Japan doesn't have any glaciers, and the few permanent snowfields it has, like the one higher up in Karasawa cirque, are small and easily bypassed in the hot summer. With temperatures at our elevation well above freezing at night, there was no possible way that snow or ice could be the reason for the closure. I assumed it must be because of bear sightings or a landslide, but the Japanese bloke's assertion that it was frozen and required crampons and ice axes somehow really irritated me. It seems to happen more frequently in Japan than elsewhere that you get these know-it-all types who don't really know what they're talking about but loudly pronounce the impossibility of doing something without having all sorts of unnecessary equipment.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCQs2SknzAUwVSe9_zocoReWSEDwTwfEq01G5G7C-ezpTFgz-dlVKIM_mLUHHp0i2hEkGo6jb2H7hsvm9HLL8mb0oqr17SYK69Hjaa1lJaelJlyh3HG2HStpMm0apI1nVomoLLfog_eptf_HWm1JA4aTlhU4f81lgBtLnuhC-Iu7X7_fFJtyoGOH6tdg/s4032/B5AAB9CD-3050-4F80-B033-055499E4AC71.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCQs2SknzAUwVSe9_zocoReWSEDwTwfEq01G5G7C-ezpTFgz-dlVKIM_mLUHHp0i2hEkGo6jb2H7hsvm9HLL8mb0oqr17SYK69Hjaa1lJaelJlyh3HG2HStpMm0apI1nVomoLLfog_eptf_HWm1JA4aTlhU4f81lgBtLnuhC-Iu7X7_fFJtyoGOH6tdg/s320/B5AAB9CD-3050-4F80-B033-055499E4AC71.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Hotaka ridge seen from Karasawa Hyutte</td></tr></tbody></table><p>The accommodation at the hut was better than expected. I thought it would be one large room with a bunch of futons laid out but in fact it was essentially a warren of little bunkies separated by walls with curtains for privacy from the main hallway. It was a quirky little place that had obviously seen a lot of climbers through it. All the the walls, hallways, and floors were slightly askew, and yet polished with age and the passing of many stockinged feet. It had the appearance of a building that had been there for a very, very long time and was gracefully aging and settling into the contours of the mountain. I loved the vibe.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEb9ndAr-REOuVgR-FCcbKplmUlnEjr5go4mq0vhH4WMPU_6wZgi5dtVJGZgoRaViknyHys573-E0PdoYJFHznkipBMls0i3X41mbser-u8TLuTTvKEgJdTuftT89Sd_-PkOVI7Hq3GIjWeJRfXNzS4si2bTZyJSWrF6wQrkxtA4G7Ho_zKt_yCGBCiQ/s4032/0A398FF2-20D6-473C-B454-AF8EB090FF26.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4032" data-original-width="3024" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjEb9ndAr-REOuVgR-FCcbKplmUlnEjr5go4mq0vhH4WMPU_6wZgi5dtVJGZgoRaViknyHys573-E0PdoYJFHznkipBMls0i3X41mbser-u8TLuTTvKEgJdTuftT89Sd_-PkOVI7Hq3GIjWeJRfXNzS4si2bTZyJSWrF6wQrkxtA4G7Ho_zKt_yCGBCiQ/s320/0A398FF2-20D6-473C-B454-AF8EB090FF26.jpeg" width="240" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping quarters in Karasawa Hytte</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHS0bYFpJvG36SOleEF1cjfSN0clueJdk1Pr9j4rwESC3_Bu1L_B4n7urlqqbEqx5lpqlW7GnAxcGcpuXoHvsaz_tupQsOkrmmnXBFEfAL3dg208JWxVJB-F9t5rFI8NVHDsVWOk73aPZjoHb-jWH0OhAWTynZSB6TRMm089Yl9dxdFquzlNW2WvcuQ/s4032/4E14C53B-3377-4707-9982-D415B7228914.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYHS0bYFpJvG36SOleEF1cjfSN0clueJdk1Pr9j4rwESC3_Bu1L_B4n7urlqqbEqx5lpqlW7GnAxcGcpuXoHvsaz_tupQsOkrmmnXBFEfAL3dg208JWxVJB-F9t5rFI8NVHDsVWOk73aPZjoHb-jWH0OhAWTynZSB6TRMm089Yl9dxdFquzlNW2WvcuQ/s320/4E14C53B-3377-4707-9982-D415B7228914.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sleeping quarters in Karasawa Hyutte</td></tr></tbody></table><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKtwN_VGgmJ06o9pb1lJK-8QMH6nGxjVmxZgsG3VgsojksLX5SaJI6-gDKNUju7U_5DpK7QxyIKr57lsUPEu3wF83aJcp5LIPZz5_j0lIVYQzWZ4xltWP6t-wDQZOcgpV6_iL0xQ17Spdm7JomaE9dleN-auq0j_-EX44DMCAtOKftw-JwwCDzXAxUw/s4032/924E8815-5273-46EB-8394-497AA193FCBE.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjKKtwN_VGgmJ06o9pb1lJK-8QMH6nGxjVmxZgsG3VgsojksLX5SaJI6-gDKNUju7U_5DpK7QxyIKr57lsUPEu3wF83aJcp5LIPZz5_j0lIVYQzWZ4xltWP6t-wDQZOcgpV6_iL0xQ17Spdm7JomaE9dleN-auq0j_-EX44DMCAtOKftw-JwwCDzXAxUw/s320/924E8815-5273-46EB-8394-497AA193FCBE.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Boot room at Karasawa Hyutte</td></tr></tbody></table><p>Unfortunately, although the night was peaceful, neither Iain or I were able to sleep. For Iain, it was probably jet lag, still being on London time. But for me, I guess my mind was just too active. Excited to be back in the North Alps of Japan, in a mountain hut. Concerned about what the morning would bring and how we would do on the route. With the small window in our sleeping cubicle open, a breeze wafted from somewhere within the hut, flapping the curtain separating our room from the hallway, and blowing past my face before escaping out our window. A few days later I came down with Covid and wondered if it was because of staying in the hut.</p><p>As dawn approached I may have dozed off for short stretches, only to grow uncomfortable and turn over in my futon, which was cozy although the thinly carpeted wooden floor was hard. Eventually traces of dawn leaked in through the window, a blueish grey faint light and the quiet sound of moving expanses of air punctuated with the occasional sound of activity from the earliest risers getting off to an alpine start. </p><p>That was not for us. We got up for the second sitting of breakfast, which was still early enough. Iain seemed to be of the opinion that our route was easily climbable in a few hours with only 700M of elevation gain, albeit quite a few ups and downs along the way. Essentially a low-grade scramble with one or two pitches of easy rock climbing. I think under ideal conditions that might be the case. Stepping outside and seeing cloud and mist engulfing the entire route, I had my doubts. When a light rain began to fall I felt that it probably wasn't a good idea. We talked again to the Italian staff member at breakfast, and asked for his thoughts about attempting the route. Obviously he didn't want to tell us wether we should or shouldn't do it, he just said he thought it was possible, but would likely be windy and cold, and the rock wet, and that a few days earlier, a party had gone up in similar weather, one of them had fallen, and staff from the hut had to form a rescue party to go up. He offered that as an alternative, since we were planning to stay at the Hotaka-dake Sanso hut that night anyway, maybe we could just hike up there, drop off any unnecessary gear, and make a foray along the ridge to the Gendarme, which he said was one of his favourites. Honestly, I did not like the sound of doing exposed scrambling and climbing on wet rock in cold and windy conditions, and this alternative plan seemed ok as a fallback plan, but after agonizing over the decision, Iain said he preferred to go down, which was also fine with me. If we climbed up into the clouds there would be no views to enjoy anyway. The scheduling worked out well for me to, if I could make it all the way back to Himeji that day, which I did.</p><p>Ironically as we stood viewing the approach to the cloudy north ridge we saw a couple of climbers crossing the scree field and making their way up to the 5-6 Col. They were going for it… But we had made up our minds.</p><p>On the way back, I sped down the trail, almost trail-running in some sections, passing numerous parties. They invariably would pause to let me pass when they heard my footsteps approaching. I said "excuse me", "thank you" and carried on, sometimes picking up bits of commentary about what long legs the foreigner had. I didn't want to appear to be showing off, but honestly I was just having a lot of fun coming down. My knees seemed to be tolerating it well, and I wanted to see if I could beat the map time by a good amount. Probably because of the running I'd been doing, my legs didn't get tired, it was more of a cardio workout. In the end, after blasting down the trail, I think I shaved only about 40 minutes off the 5hr10m map time, and ended up taking a 1.5 hour break at Tokusawa anyway, where I had an ice cream cone, waited for Iain, and then had another ice cream cone.</p><p>Back in Kamikochi that afternoon I met the old genteman from the Technical Information desk again and asked him about the Panorama Course, which he had said would be an excellent way to go. I explained that we had found both the start of the route, and the top up in Karasawa, barricaded with signs, and that someone had told me its because there was snow and ice on the route. He said he really did not believe it was closed due to snow and ice, but that it might be due to rockfall, a statement which made me feel a lot better and justified in taking a dim view of the loud-mouthed Japanese guy in the hut.</p><p>Of course I was disappointed at not being able to climb our route, and the disappointment hung onto me like the clouds that hung around the high peaks. I remained in a somber mood for several days after. But I loved being able to do this trip. I loved going back to Kamikochi, the magnificent views on bus journey there, the sorting of gear in the plaza at the Kamikochi bus terminal, the fresh mountain water and cool air, the hike in to Karasawa, the Hyutte, the mountain views, and the planning and preparation and anticipation that preceded it all. It's all kind of bittersweet. The questionable nature of our decision not to go for it made me doubt myself and feel a bit guilty. If another party climbed it that day, we probably could have, too (but whether we would have enjoyed it or not is another question). Cancelling our planned stay at the Hotaka Sanso hut on the second night, and wondering what conditions might've been like if we'd scrambled out to the Gendarme weighed on my mind al well. And certainly mixed with these thoughts was the realization that such opportunities are rare, when members of the Toyohashi Alpine Club manage to get together and climb something, especially in Japan, wondering if and when the next opportunity will be. And realizing that now, nearly thirty years after my first visit, it's actually a good question to wonder if its the last time I'll see the view of Kappabashi… this question also joined the melancholic train of thoughts running through my mind. It was some consolation to see on the mountain web-cams that the ridge up on Hotaka never did clear up that day, and the weather forecast for the rest of the week was even worse. At least our timing was not to blame.</p><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14IYai1vLCPMBOrTbFfC6YjOXzuxF6PNBZrqcHLRPFWS0hsvr70-LtIOjY1Majoj-I6ooFa9fl0SJW_8orBrl5dZuKALBQ9ARlcsIv5PqVDt1i5tZy230wlJ6VXaLwzMPAmd3V-N-XK2OYOFfzGgGn4ZbG3Fo1koLn4Np97zoIuIxkDNkV2IJzrKINA/s4032/838BDB7F-9351-46F2-BE09-6857EBD4E571.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3024" data-original-width="4032" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj14IYai1vLCPMBOrTbFfC6YjOXzuxF6PNBZrqcHLRPFWS0hsvr70-LtIOjY1Majoj-I6ooFa9fl0SJW_8orBrl5dZuKALBQ9ARlcsIv5PqVDt1i5tZy230wlJ6VXaLwzMPAmd3V-N-XK2OYOFfzGgGn4ZbG3Fo1koLn4Np97zoIuIxkDNkV2IJzrKINA/s320/838BDB7F-9351-46F2-BE09-6857EBD4E571.jpeg" width="320" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Near Kappabashi bridge in Kamikochi</td></tr></tbody></table><p>It was fun to hear Iain reminisce about his activities over the past years. He's an experienced traveller and a seasoned travelling companion, highly motivated to get out and do things. Since our first years of living in the Nagoya / Toyohashi area, he's been back to Japan more times than I, and on each visit he made a point of "doing something in the mountains". The fact that his daughters are older than mine and he was making yearly summer trips to Japan during their childhood years probably has something to do with maintaining his connection and familiarity with the mountains here. He remembered a lot of historical, cultural and geographic details which, to me, seemed like distant memories slowly re-awakening. I definitely must not wait another 10 years to go back to the Japan Alps, and I vow not to let that happen. This trip truly reminded me how wonderful it is to climb mountains in Japan, and it re-ignited my desire to do more. The seeds of planning the next trip have already been planted, so I hope that the next time I write about the North Alps, I can report that we finally climbed our route.</p>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Azumi, Matsumoto, Nagano 390-1516, Japan36.2513203 137.6532357.9410864638211578 102.496985 64.561554136178842 172.809485tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-27292022773190082902013-07-04T10:15:00.007-07:002022-08-20T07:15:37.044-07:00Haddo Peak (3070m), Canadian Rockies<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in the Canadian Rockies</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Hado Peak (3070m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Banff National Park, Canada<br />Party: Darren DeRidder, Dwight Yachuk, Markus Sanchez, André Fink<br />Report by: Darren DeRidder</h3><div><br /></div>I just posted an old photo of Moraine Lake on my blog and it reminded me of a trip some friends and I made to Lake Louise a few years ago. Five of us rented a van and spent a week trundling up and down the icefields parkway, climbing various peaks and frequently turning around before reaching the top.
Back in Lake Louise we were sitting around Bill Peyto's Cafe and thinking what we might get up to, and one of us suggested Haddo Peak. It was supposed to be really easy, and we were looking for something fun and relaxing to do, a nice day out in the mountains. The guidebook called it an ideal route for beginners, straightforward, etc. etc. The descent over the far side into Paradise Valley was supposed to be a breeze, and a nice pleasant hike out. Sounded perfect.<div><br /></div><div>We started out at dawn from the Lake Louise parking lot and hiked up towards Saddleback pass. Early in the morning we angled up to Fairview Mountain and ended up on the summit just by following the trail. We hadn't really meant to go all the way to the top, so we had to drop down the ridge and cut over into Surprise Valley. It put us a little behind schedule, but the views were nice.
It took a while to pick our way up Surprise Valley to the glacier. From the foot of the glacier it was supposed to be a straight easy climb up. It wasn't, really. The glacier has receded a lot over the years, and sections of it are now very steep. It was bare ice when we climbed it. We only had about four ice screws between four of us, so we picked our way up pretty slowly, my friend Dwight on lead. We anchored off our ice axes and a screw, sending the rest of the gear up on the next lead. We had to pitch it out; under the conditions the route was a bit technical.</div><div><br /></div><div>On the second last pitch we found ourselves on a thin slab of ice with lots of water running underneath. We anchored at the top of the ice sheet by shoving a picket between the rock and the ice. The rock was totally rotten, crumbling to the touch. It would have been nice to leave the ice and get on solid rock, but that broken limestone would have been suicidal.
The last pitch was basically vertical ice, and we climbed with classic alpine axes. Fortunately Dwight led it solidly (I think he borrowed a small second ice axe from one of us) and the rest of us made it with a bit of encouragement (ie. pulling on the rope). </div><div><br /></div><div>The time had just flown and after ticking off the summit of Haddo Peak we decided against bagging Aberdeen as well, even though it was just over the col a couple hundred meters.
We still had to get down! There was a really steep scree slope that dropped off into nothingness below us. Supposedly you can "drop down from almost anywhere along the ridge" but I've since learned that there've been a number of fatal accidents involving people who took that advice. The proper descent is over the back of Aberdeen, further up Paradise Valley (or so I have read).
We picked our way down from the ridge anyhow, towards cliff bands and the valley below.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was very slow, meticulous down-climbing. Some of us were more comfortable than others with it. As long as I could see where I was going, I felt okay. Sliding down a scree slope towards a drop off, hoping you can stop if you have to, is a little unnerving though. Fortunately the scree runout funnelled us into a chimney that we could down-climb, and a traverse ended up at some slings... an obvious rappel station.
We took the rappel, but our rope didn't reach the bottom. Markus had a short 15 meter piece of rope in his pack, so with that, he extended the rap and we all made it down after passing the knot with difficulty.</div><div><br /></div><div>It was well into evening by the time we got past all the down-climbing.
Once we got to non-technical terrain we still had a lot of descending to do. It just seemed to go on forever, steeply descending the alpine slopes above Paradise Valley. Night fell around us as we plodded down and down with knee-jarring steps. Out in front, I stumbled onto the trail, a line of brownish sand faintly visible against the scrub brush and grass.
Now we only had to hike out on the trail, or so we thought. We needed to get back to our van at Lake Louise, and I knew we needed to cut over Saddleback Pass to get there. The fork in the trail was a long time coming.
After many kilometres of walking in the dark, we found it and cut off towards Lake Louise. The trail climbed up steeply for a long way through densely wooded ravines. We kept going up and up in the dark, getting very thirsty. Our headlamps were dim circles of light that picked up the occasional fallen tree across the trail. I was confident in our position but at some point, everyone else mutinied. We had a group huddle and the consensus was to turn around and go back. The others felt we were just climbing back up into the mountains where we didn't want to go. We'd already climbed up from Paradise Valley for almost two hours, and I was sure we were approaching Saddleback Pass, which would then be a quick hike down to the parking lot at Lake Louise. But I was voted down, so we all turned around. </div><div><br /></div><div>At that point it all turned into a death march. We were truly worn out, dehydrated, wobbling around on sore legs and feeling miserable. All of us went into survival mode and stumbled on in silence. We stuck together though... there were warning signs for grizzly bears all over the place.
A few hours later we found ourselves at the Paradise Valley trailhead along the Moraine Lake road, where we laid down for a while. Then we took to the road and walked four abreast straight down the middle of it, into the night. </div><div><br /></div><div>I thought I recalled this road being 13km long. Getting to Lake Louise along this road would take forever. There was nothing to do but keep walking.
Behind us the lights of a vehicle approached. It was almost 3AM, and the sound startled us. We turned around and waved like crazy people. A pickup truck pulled up, some dude on his way back from closing time at the bar. He quickly offered us a lift back to Lake Louise. We piled in the back, and all I remember is the drone of the tires and the gentle sway of the truck, looking up at the night sky as we rolled down the smooth pavement of that winding road under a blanket of stars.</div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-13902331880584652422000-08-18T23:15:00.001-07:002022-08-20T07:12:38.256-07:00Midi - Plan Traverse<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br /> Mountaineering in Europe</h2><h1> Midi - Plan Traverse (3673m) </h1><h3 style="text-align: left;"><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;">Chamonix, France<br /></span></span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> 19th August, 2000<br /></span></span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Party: Iain Williams, Adrian Engelbrecht , Jack Brindle<br /></span></span><span face="Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif" style="font-size: small;"><span style="color: black;"> Report by Iain Williams</span></span></h3><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">This was our third climb of the week and it turned out to be a lot of fun. Earlier in the week we had met Jack, on his own, on the Aiguille du Tour and had enjoyed several lazy lunches with him over the following days. He had climbed and skied extensively in the area and was an interesting source of info. We though it would be good to do a route together so over another lazy lunch we made plans to meet up at the telepherique station the following morning in time to get the first cable car up to the Aiguille du Midi. </div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">Adrian and myself managed to get ourselves up and out of the campsite on time. The weather for the day was forecast to be ok for the morning with storms in the afternoon. Our plan was to traverse from the Aiguille du Midi across to the Aiguille du Plan and then return on the same route being back down in Chamonix in the middle of the afternoon enjoying a beer or two. We met Jack, bought our tickets and then waited, with a ton of other climbers, eating breakfast of oranges, muesli bars and chocolate. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The ride up was the usual squash and once at the top we went in search of loos and then got kitted up in the cold damp rocky tunnels of the Midi station complex. Outside the wind was blowing coldly and strongly. I put on plenty of clothing and felt a bit apprehensive. By the time we got going for real it was about 7:15. We plodded out of the tunnel entrance onto the snow. There were many parties heading out and down the ridge, some going our way and some heading down the ridge and breaking off to the right. The initial descent was pretty steep but the snow was good and the steps large. On our left the ridge fell away steeply down to Chamonix. Our route soon flattened off and we plodded along with Jack at the front and myself at the rear. The route rose and fell keeping to the snowy crest of the ridge. At times we had the odd awkward step down to contend with but generally it was easy going. We then started a steep descent down onto the Col du Plan. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">From here the route got more interesting. We left the ridge and skirted off to the left onto a dirty steep snow face. After going a short distance, Jack gave the order to turn around. He was having problems with one of his crampons and wasn't too keen on reversing the section later in the day. Back on the col he said he'd leave us and head back to the Midi station. We then went back onto the steep ground with Adrian in the lead. We front pointed our way round and below some crumbly rock. Above us was an English youth anchored to the rock. We waited for him to move on. Time ticked away so Adrian put in a screw while we waited. Eventually we gave up waiting and climbed up to the rock and carefully traversed along it before front pointing back up on to the ridge. It was a good section despite the dithering English youths. We left the screw in place with the intention of using and collecting it on our return. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We continued along the snowy ridge for a short distance before descending onto another col. It was then a scramble up some loose rocky terrain to regain more snowy ridge. We then came to a cliff section. As we only had one rope we needed two abseils to get down. I decided to leave my crampons on and on the first ab slipped sideways banging my bare elbow on the warm brown granite. A nice bloody gash appeared, not liking the sight of blood I successfully did my best to block it out of my mind. The second ab deposited us onto a steep snow slope, which really didn't feel too secure. We got ourselves roped up and then carefully headed across the steep slope. After a few steps Adrian stopped briefly. There was then a loud soft thud behind me. My immediate thought was someone had fallen but on turning around I saw a large flat rock tumbling quickly down the slope taking plenty of soft snow with it. Looking up at the cliff, we thought where the hell did that come from. It had fallen a long way out from the secure looking cliff above. We didn't dwell on our close call and moved carefully and swiftly across the slope, thinking that at any moment it might avalanche. Thoughts of returning were not filling me with joy. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">I felt some relief once we got back on the crest of the ridge. The rocky summit was now very close. We slowly plodded up to the base of the rock. We met another party of four who had just abseiled down and had caught their rope whilst pulling it down. We had a quick search for the easiest line up and then Adrian took the lead and shot up. The climbing was easy and fun. The next pitch I took the lead and stopped just below the summit to avoid rope drag. Adrian finished the last 10ft off with an elegant mantle move and we were then on the small flat rocky summit. As usual the views were awesome. We had the usual photo shoot and then took a good break and discussed how to return. We decided the snow was now too soft to safely return the way we'd come and that the safest option was to descend the steep crevasse ridden Envers du Plan glacier down to the Requin hut, plod along and down the Mer de Glace and then take the train from Montenvers back down to Chamonix. As we sat there some small birds joined us. They had their heads back, beaks open and were calling out for food. I found the situation a little unsettling. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We sorted the rope and abed off. Not learning from the party we saw earlier, we also got our rope jammed as we pulled it down. Adrian did a nifty little climb to retrieve it. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">At the top of the steep snow slope, on the Col Sup du Plan, the adrenaline started flowing. I set off in front, at first facing out, and then opted to face in kicking good steps as we slowly descended. As we neared the bottom we came to a steep rimaye with snow covered crevasse below. Foolishly I tried to front point down it and swung my ax in to the soft snow for some support. Not surprisingly the head just slipped through the snow and I fell a couple of feet before Adrian held me on the rope. He then slowly lowered me on to the snow bridge where my left leg instantly sank up to my groin. Panicking like mad I tried to scramble out and off the snow bridge. It was hard work but eventually I got out and slumped down onto more solid snow breathing heavily with my heart thumping. I then belayed Adrian down and across while he made short and easy work of the obstacle. We took a short break. As we sat there soft slushy snow was pouring down the slope across to our right. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We quickly got going and enjoyed some flat terrain before the glacier started to drop steeply down. Our route took as around some huge gaping crevasses, often on steep narrow bridges around and across them. At times we had to descend steeply between large yawning drops. I found the descent mentally taxing and was happy to get out of the thick of the crevasses and onto easier terrain. As we neared the hut cloud was rolling in and rain was looking very likely. It had taken us 2 hrs to get down. We took our packs off and sorted out the rope and our gear. The guardian came out to us to find out where we'd come from. We downed a couple of cokes while the guardian explained how we should descend the Mer de Glace to return to Montenvers. We had an hour and half to get down if we were to catch the last train. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">We set off at pace in some light drizzle and descended down onto the large flat dry glacier. We took a line heading down and across to the right. This was what I thought the guardian had instructed. After skirting round a heavily crevassed section we found ourselves on the rubbley moraine on the wrong side. It soon became apparent we were way off course. We slowly plodded up and down the moraine trying to find evidence of a track, occasionally spotting the odd cairn. It was miserable hard work, we were both tired and the chances of making the train were quickly disappearing. Eventually we left the rubble and headed back on to the glacier. We crossed some fast flowing streams, falling in to one would have been curtains, and carried on heading down and across. Adrian slowly pulled away from me. I felt totally beat. We had missed the last train and I really didn't want to hike all the way back down to Chamonix. A few times I stopped and bent down to drink from small pools on the glacier. The water was beautifully refreshing and chilled. As we neared the end of the glacier we found route markers. It was then a steep climb up some metal ladders onto a well worn track above. </span></div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br />
</div><div style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: small;">The hike back down to Chamonix took about an hour and a half. It was quite pleasant being back in the trees and off the snow. I regretted not filling my water bottle whilst on the glacier. As we neared Chamonix it was nearly dark. Once back on the tarmac roads we headed for the station and stopped at a cafe for a couple of cans of cold coke. They tasted great. It was then a quick march back to the campsite before the shower room closed at 9:30. It had been a long day, we had climbed only a few hundred metres but descended close on 3000m and covered about 17km. It was also the first peak I had climbed where my start point was higher than the summit. After a clean a shower and a change of clothes we headed back into town for a mighty feed but when the food arrived we discovered we really didn't have an appetite and only managed to force down a plate of pasta. All in all it was a fine day on a route that seemed to have a bit of everything. </span></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-61526424529260875682000-01-01T06:00:00.003-08:002022-08-20T07:11:58.136-07:00Mt. Fuji (3776m) & Yatsugatake (2988m), Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><h1>Yatsu ga Take (2988m)<br />Fuji San (3776m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Nagano/Yamanashi, Japan<br />December 1999 / January 2000<br />Report by: Iain Williams<br />Party: Iain Williams, Malcolm Field</h3><br />This trip was centred around climbing Fuji for the millennium. The schedule planned for three days in and around Yatsu ga Take, an ascent of Fuji, a few days skiing and an ascent of Yari ga Take in the North Alps.<br /><br />It all started at Chino station, just to the west of Yatsu where Mal, trusty climbing partner of old, picked me up on a fresh Monday evening. We spent that night in a very comfortable pension. The following day we drove up to the trailhead and prepared ourselves, and packs, for the next three days. The last time I'd been there was almost four years ago with Darren when we had completed a one day ascent of Aka Dake after a 2 hr kip in his car. This year we had plenty of time and were under no pressure to beat the clock.<br /><br />We set off from the car park and slowly plodded up the remainder of the road onto the trail. We had the remainder of the day to get up to the campsite. I remembered the trail as being fairly flat and friendly. It wasn't so flat and we moved leisurely up through the trees. The higher we got the more snow we saw. We reached the campsite after just over 2 hours and set about pitching the tent on the snow. The campsite was next to a hut (can't remember the name) at the base of the main Yatsu ridge. The spot was very picturesque and sheltered from both wind and sun. We soon had the tent up and with the rest of the afternoon to kill, we decided to hike over to another hut about 30 mins away. Again the walk was pleasant under all the snow covered pine trees. At the next hut was a large map board where we could check out our route for the next day. By the time we got back to the tent the light was fading and the air becoming colder. Up above us the mountains were bathing in the evening alpenglow. In the other direction, looking through the haze I could see the North Alps with the Daikiretto clearly splitting Yari from the Hodaka massif. The view brought back many memories of my first trip across those mountains way back in 1993 when we got caught in the wind and rain on the top of Yari and then experienced a miserable (?) time getting across to the Kita Hodaka hut.<br /><br />We cooked up some food and then retired for the night. Although it was early, I was jet lagged and ready for a good sleep. It was the first time we had both camped out in the snow and I for one was a little apprehensive about the night as my sleeping bag was only 3 season. In the end I was warm all night, thanks to my gore tex bivvy bag, but I felt that I never really slept. I also learnt the importance of having a decent sized P155 bottle at the ready. The next morning the inside of the tent was covered in icy condensation fur. Once up, hot soup and coffee went down well together with the usual muesli bars and dried apricots.<br /><br />Our objective for the day was to do a circular route, going across to the other hut , then up onto the ridge taking in several peaks including Aka Dake, from where we would descend back down to the tent. The whole route would take a good six hours. We set off just after 9, the weather was fine, plenty of sun with the odd bit of cloud and not too much wind. Once at the other hut the trail wasted no time in getting steep and we were soon switch backing up through the trees. It was hard work and a bit of a shock for my body that was more accustomed to dealing with the large quantities of alcohol and food that it had had to deal with over Christmas. My thoughts were on how miserable the slog up Fuji was going to be.<br /><br />The route broke out of the trees and we found ourselves near the top of a large rocky ridge. We took a quick water break. It was then a pleasant walk up the rocky ridge on the summit of the first of our peaks, Iwo Dake (2742m). The summit was large and flat with a few cairns dotted around the place. Photos and a quick breather followed. The views were pretty good but a little hazy. The one mountain I really wanted to see could be seen sitting proudly on its own off to the south west.<br /><br />The next section of the route started very easily with a sweeping drop and rise across a large section of the ridge. The wind was rather fresh and the snow not that deep or even plentiful. As we started ascending again we got some shelter from the wind. The route also got more interesting. The ridge became a succession of pinnacles. Unfortunately they were covered with chains and ladders, otherwise it really would have been fun.<br /><br />All too soon we reached the next summit, Yoko Dake (2825m). Also on the top were a party of students all roped up and taking it all very seriously. I asked one of them if I would need crampons for the next section, he gave a little laugh and said 'oh yes.' I put my crampons on and we continued across a few more pinnacles before descending down more rock, chains and ladders to a hut. We took a breather in the hut and I took my crampons off, after being more a hindrance than a help. The hut was warm and had the pleasant smell of burnt kerosene. We had a coffee and then went back outside into the cold.<br /><br />The next section involved a very steep hike up to the summit of Aka Dake. There was plenty of snow and lava. We steadily kicked steps up to the top. At the top of the slope we passed a boarded up hut and plodded over to the summit with its small shrine. Out came the cameras and summit photos followed. The views were all familiar. Down below I could just pick out the tent in the corner of the campsite. More impressive though was Fuji. The South Alps were also in view but not much else. I took a good long break and sat down to enjoy the view of Fuji. It really is one of my all time favourite views and due to living in London I really wanted to make the most of the moment. It was still on the hazy side but the almost symmetrical conical shape was very prominent.<br /><br />Eventually I got up and started my descent. It was steep but the rock was generously covered with chains. Once out of the rocky section I turned right and headed down the steep snow slope towards the direction of the tent. Again it was way steeper than I had remembered. I passed a couple of folk having a hard time on the way up. Back in the campsite the population had grown with the arrival of a group of students. I dumped my pack by the tent and wandered into the hut for a coffee and a sit down away from the cold outside air. The route had been enjoyable and the views memorable.<br /><br />That night we cooked dinner in the sheltered foyer of the hut together with others and had a similar night to the previous one, warm and comfortable but not much sleep. I would have been interested to have known what the night time temperature fell to?<br /><br />Next morning we were slow to get going. We eventually left the campsite around 9. It was another sunny but cold morning. I set off listening to the Stones on my MD player. It was the perfect hike out with good music, snow covered trees, blue sky and all the time in the world. Back at the car we quickly threw everything in the back and slowly drove away passing loads of folk heading in. We were gobsmacked at the number of people we saw, presumably all with the intention of seeing the sunrise from the top of Aka Dake.<br /><br />Our next stop was the onsen (hot spring) down by the Yatsu ski ground. It was pure heaven getting cleaned up and bathing in the hot water. I think I managed to set a new 'pb' for staying in the water. I wish all countries had onsen in the mountains, they really are the perfect way to end a climb. From there we drove over to Fujiyoshida, a small town on the north side of Fuji. We wanted to stay in the local Youth Hostel but it was closed for the holiday so we ended up staying in a comfortable hotel in the centre of town. A good night's sleep on a warm comfortable bed was the priority. That evening we watched the weather forecast a million times over. The forecast couldn't have been better, a big high was sitting over Japan and there was a comforting distance between the isobars.<br /><br />I had a great sleep and awoke the next day feeling slightly edgy about how the day was going to unfold. The morning weather forecast was still good. After a quick breakfast we headed for the Fuji skyline road. Driving up to it the mountain was covered in thick white cloud, then it partly cleared giving us glimpses of the white, snowy upper slopes. It all looked very dreamlike and big. At the toll gate we got stung but were happy that the road was at least open. We then slowly climbed up through lower slopes forest counting off all the levels. Fuji is split into ten levels with the various roads ending at the fifth level and the top being the tenth level. The higher we got the more excited I became. Everything was going according to plan and a successful ascent looked very promising.<br /><br />The end of the road came too soon. There was the usual collection of eateries and souvenir shops together with car parks with tour buses. We parked and threw the gear out onto the ground and got ourselves kitted up. There was also another group of lads getting themselves ready which was in a way comforting to see. The view from the car park was rather grand. There was a thin layer of broken cloud below us stretching across to the South Alps and Yatsu ga Take. Up above us were the dark shadowed lava slopes of Fuji and then bright blue sky. It was cold and fresh. As usual my pack was bigger and heavier than I wanted but only contained the bare essentials, plus a small bottle of champagne. [Note: the Fuji Skyline road from Fujinomiya on Fuji's south side is closed from December to April. On the north side, the Fuji Skyline road remained open to the fifth stage of the Kawaguchi-co trail. - Ed.]<br /><br />We set off from the car (2300m) at just before midday and followed the Kawaguchi Ko trail around the mountain away from all the tourists. The plan was to climb to the top where we would pitch the tent in a sheltered spot, celebrate at midnight and then get up to watch the sunrise. On the trail we were joined by another bloke who had done the climb on the previous New Year's eve. He was camping at the fifth stage and would set off early in the morning to see the sun rise. He explained that this was what most people did. The trail, then to my horror, started descending. Down we went and then plodded up again. The view from the trail was good. We were walking along just above the cloud, which stretched away from us, as far as we could see. A cool breeze kept us refreshed and focused. Up to our left I observed some huts and a gate. We headed up onto a concrete platform, the sixth stage, and had a quick breather. The sixth stage had come very quickly and easily. We met an older couple there who were planning to camp at the fifth stage and climb to the top at night. That afternoon they were going to the seventh stage for a hike. I thought they were mad. Plodding on Fuji is not much fun and to just go to the seventh level for an afternoon walk is something I don't understand. They warned us that it was icy above the eighth stage. We followed them up the wide lava trail/road switch backing up and past large barriers positioned to prevent landslides. The seventh stage took a long time in coming. We passed many huts on the way but none were marked as level 7.<br /><br />Not far past the seventh stage we met an American (Jeremy) descending. He had started at the first stage (not the fifth, like 99% of all Fuji climbers). He had been to within a few hundred metres of the top but as he didn't have crampons had had to turn tail. We chatted until we got cold and then headed on and up. Coincidentally, we met up with Jeremy a few days later on the streets of Matsumoto. He was an interesting bloke hailing from Skagway, Alaska and in the summer months guided people on the goldrush trail.<br /><br />The route was steep. I don't understand why it gets so steep as whenever you see a picture of Fuji the slopes never look that bad. The trail was now largely snow with a line of lava at the side. I had refrained from getting cramponed up and steadily plodded and kicked steps in the snow. Unlike the last time we climbed Fuji I was finding it much easier and moved at a steady pace. Mal, meanwhile, was slowly dropping back. Not far past the eighth stage I veered off the trail line and traversed out between some large lava retainers covered in wire. The slope was steep and the snow hard and icy. All of a sudden I was in a position I didn't want to be in without my crampons on. Cursing myself for being so stupid I carefully climbed up to the wire bound lava rocks, kicked out a small ledge, took off my pack and clipped it into the wire, then quickly and carefully put my crampons on. In the mean time Mal had caught up with me and was keen to stop and camp for the night. Looking up I could see a hut so suggested we climb up to it and discuss stopping in more detail once there. I was hoping by then he would have settled back into a pace and would want to continue.<br /><br />Not so, at the hut he was quite adamant about halting. Surprisingly, he was really feeling it and wanted a good rest. Being a two man team I had no option but to stop. I was a little disappointed but Mal also reckoned we wouldn't get to the top before nightfall; it was already 4:30 and light was beginning to fade. There were a few huts around us, perched on the snowy slope. We hunted around for a flat sheltered spot to pitch the tent but could find nothing that satisfied both requirements. We chose a site on the flat snow covered roof of a hut, positioning the tent so that it would be as aerodynamic as possible. As we finished securing it another American, Rob, climbed up on to the roof. It was a nice surprise and I thought a bit of a coincidence that the only gaijin (probably) on the mountain were camping in the same spot. A few minutes later his partner, David, arrived and they set about making camp. They were both students who had travelled up from Kitakyushu with the same intention as us. Before settling into our tent I suggested to them we head for the top together the next morning. Before getting into the tent I made two small piles of snow in the tent entrance and took some photos. We really were in a very special place. Way down below there was a huge sea of cloud stretching off to the horizon. On top of the cloud was the ever lengthening shadow of the mountain. To our left and right, huge snow slopes with rocky ridges of dark lava swept away and down to the cloud. It was getting dark and the wind, coming from the west, was cold. So too were my feet.<br /><br />In the tent I took my boots off , quickly put on some fleece socks and wriggled into my sleeping bag. Amazingly my feet heated up instantly. We were both warm so got the stove going and melted some snow. Dinner was excellent, a fresh pasta pack of four cheese tortellini covered in a mushroom and lava cupa soup followed by a mars another cup of soup and a finger of fudge. After dinner we spent the next half hour melting more snow to refill our water bottles. It was then lights out with the intention of getting up to see in the new millennium.<br /><br />As the evening progressed the wind got stronger. To start with I wasn't too concerned as I still had strong memories of the tent bending and getting bashed about in the Wind Rivers during the summer. After about 10 o'clock it had got way too strong for my liking. I spent the next two hours feeling very scared and concerned. As midnight drew closer I thought of everyone down on the ground in Japan and the rest of the far east partying, drinking and having a whale of a time. I would have given anything to be off the mountain. We were at a height of around 3,400m and there was nothing as high as us to break the wind for thousands of miles. I could picture exactly where we were and felt very exposed and totally at the mercy of the wind. I knew that at that height the wind could do whatever it wanted and had thought of us literally getting blown away or the tent (not 4 season) getting shredded.<br /><br />Just after midnight I timidly wished Mal a happy New Year. We weren't in the mood for celebrating so the champagne remained inside my sleeping bag. I started to relax thinking that whatever was going to happen was going to happen and there was nothing I could do about it. After dozing for a couple of hours Mal shook me and said we'd lost our anchor on the front of the tent and if we didn't sort it we'd lose the rest of tent. Not the best start to the New Year. Luckily Mal had a spare bungy chord so we attached it to the tent and then to an ice axe that was poorly planted in the sugary snow. Leaning over the axe I started to push a large piece of lava against the axe when it popped out and up thumping me in the forehead (carry on camping!). It hurt but fortunately it missed my eyes and didn't cut me. Mal decided to get the other axe and hammer it in to the snow and refix everything. It was holding so we zipped the tent back up and tried to relax. My thoughts turned to what we'd do if we did lose the tent. The first option was to go into the other tent next to us or pick up the axes and hack our way into one of the heavily boarded up huts. For the rest of the night the moon shone brightly and I could see the shadow of our anchor axe holding firmly. The wind also started to slowly move round to the west again, fortunately that end of the tent was securely anchored into icy compact snow.<br /><br />At around 4:30 the other two were up and getting ready to go to the top. They came over to the front of our tent to tell us they were going to go for it. I said they were mad and that if the wind picked up again they really would be in a dangerous predicament. They went away and came back 15 mins later saying they would now descend. We wished them luck and off they went. I suggested to Mal that we too get up and get down as quickly as we could. He preferred to wait for daylight thinking there would be a lull with the wind around dawn. Feeling tired and groggy I didn't argue.<br /><br />At around 5:30 I asked Mal if he wanted to go up. The wind had dropped and we had heard a couple of people slowly trudge past the tent. Mal wasn't up for it, he'd been to the top three times before and wasn't quite as fired up as I was. Feeling lousy I got my boots on and unzipped the tent. The view was mind blowing. Light was slowly seeping over the horizon. There was a bright smiley moon, venus was shining brightly and many other stars were twinkling. The colour of the sky ranged from a rich dark blue to black. Down below the lights of Fujiyoshida and other small towns twinkled. I was really moved by it. I think it looked doubly impressive after the adrenaline filled night in the tent. I quickly got my crampons on and slowly plodded upwards. Up and below me I could see the odd head torch. The wind was not too bad and only occasionally would blow so hard that I had to stop and keep my balance.<br /><br />I realised that I was not going to make the top before sunrise so constantly looked over to my left for the first sign of the sun. The snow was hard and icy. I caught up with a bloke who was standing on his own waiting for the sun. I waited with him for a few minutes and watched it slowly creep into the new day. This was the second time I had watched the sun rise on Fuji and this time it did feel special. The first time was in the summer with all the hoards, and to me it was just like watching from an aircraft window. We took a few photos and then I continued on. The sun slowly started to light up the icy slopes casting a warming alpenglow across the crisp snow. More impressive, though, was the colour of the rock. It was a vibrant rusty red hue and mixed with the rich blueness of the dawn sky and the white snow made an unforgettable sight. I remembered the same scene from the last time we had climbed Fuji. All the colours were so rich and simple. I was incredibly happy with my position and knowing I was going to top out. The views now had made the night all the worthwhile.<br /><br />The route continued to zig zag slowly upwards. Way off to my right I watched a helicopter coming in. The passengers would have had an incredible view of the mountain. I think it landed on the top, flew around a few times and then flew away. Above me was one final steep snow slope separating me from the top. Looking down at the snow, small ice crystals and pieces of lava skipped across the icy surface in the fresh wind towards the ever brightening horizon. I slowly ascended the last section picking out my own route. It was the steepest section but didn't last too long. Two lions and a new gate marked the end of the trail and the crater rim.<br /><br />On top at last and mighty happy to be there. The last section had taken about an hour and a quarter and I had arrived on top just after seven. I wandered around the boarded up huts. There were a few tents pitched up against the walls and a few other folk outside. The scene was the opposite to the summer one when there are hundreds of people resting and walking around. I considered walking right around the top but quickly changed my mind. I got someone to take a couple of photos of me and then started my descent.<br /><br />I passed several people slowly plodding up including a Canadian bloke. I stopped and chatted with him. He was being guided but his guide was way off on front. His guide also had a key to a hut at the seventh stage and he had spent the night there with a group of others. I continued down. The views were still impressive. All of the much lower surrounding hills were covered in hazy mist, otherwise the visability was good and the sky cloudless.<br /><br />Back at the tent Mal was still resting. He got up quickly and with cold induced speed we packed up, stuffing the tent into my pack doing our best to make sure nothing got blown away. Dave and Rob had also done a swift job of packing and had left quite a few tent pegs lying around. We didn't bother with breakfast and started the never-ending descent. It was a relief to be plodding down. Back in the night I had visions of us having to crawl down. We moved slowly and stopped a few times to lose layers and crampons and drink our crunchy Fuji lava water. I was slow and Mal pushed on out in front. Once past the seventh stage we got back on the wide lava trail/road and then had to slowly plod back up to get to the fifth stage. The nearer to the end we got the more tourist day trippers we saw. We also got some strange looks being gaijin and fully kitted out.<br /><br />The weather was excellent. The sky was still cloudless and the whole of the mountain on display. Back at the car I quickly fished out my champers and swigged it down. I had a reason to celebrate. The climb was finally over and we were back down safe and sound. It had been a great start to the new millennium, with possibly a touch too much wind.<br /><br />Driving down and off the mountain in search of an onsen I vowed never to climb Fuji again or at least until my hundredth birthday. Two winter and one summer ascent has been more than enough. From now on all my admiration for Fuji will be done well away from it.Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Mount Fuji, Kitayama, Fujinomiya, Shizuoka 418-0112, Japan35.3606255 138.72736347.0503916638211521 103.5711134 63.670859336178843 173.8836134tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-83992588758523579941999-09-04T19:23:00.006-07:002022-08-28T19:28:43.142-07:00The Wind River Range, Wyoming, USA<p> <b><span style="color: #000099;"><span>TOYOHASHI ALPINE CLUB</span></span></b></p><b>THE WIND RIVERS</b><br /><b>August/September, 1999</b><br /><b>Wyoming, USA.</b><br /><b>Party: Iain Williams and Darren DeRidder</b><br /><b>Report by: Iain Williams</b><br /> <br /><br /> Following our pursuits in the Tetons and a few days playing at tourists in Yellowstone we made our plans for our trip in to the Winds. The plan was to go in for three days climbing in the Cirque of the Towers area taking in a route on Pingora, the East Ridge of Wolf's Head and one other climb.<br /><br /> The trip started with a slow leisurely breakfast in Jackson and a trip to the supermarket. The drive down to the Winds was interesting for me. As we left the Teton hills the countryside opened out into fairly flat farmland which looked a bit dusty and bleak. Our last stop was at a service station where we filled up our water bottles. The last part of the drive to the end of the road was on dirt roads and the navigation got a little more serious. Fortunately Darren was more switched on than myself otherwise we would have been driving around aimlessly for hours. There was also an air of apprehension in the car. The landscape was very bleak, almost desertlike and it seemed a bit weird that within a few hours we would be in an alpine environment. Eventually we came to the end of the road and the Big Sandy Opening car park. We threw all our gear out on to the ground and got packing once again. After our heavy packs in the Tetons we were keen to try and cut down on what we'd take in. Some climbing gear was sacrificed and more foolishly we only took in food for four days.<br /><br /> We finally hit the trail just after 4, way later than we'd expected. The guidebook said it was a five hour hike in to the Cirque, which meant if we were going to get there on the same day we'd have to motor. Just after setting off we stopped to chat with a bloke who was just coming off the trail after a week of wandering around. He was full of himself and had clearly had a super week. He was yet another person who had nothing but praise and admiration for the Winds. We continued along the flat trail close to the gently flowing river crossing long grassed meadows and hiking through pine woodland. It was very pleasant, occasionally we'd smell some kind of sweet pine, not sure what it's called but it was the sweetest natural smell I'd ever smelt. We kept a good pace and soon hit the grassland surrounding Big Sandy lake. It had taken us two hours to cover five miles. Again the scenery was quite stunning, the large calm blue lake, surrounded by pine forest with sweeping granite slopes in the background, all under a blue sky in the soft evening light. Taking it all in we decided to bin our original plan and camp by the lake for the night.<br /><br /> We chose a spot under the trees on some high ground just off the trail next to a stream. This was way more pleasant than our rocky campsite in Garnet canyon back in the Tetons. Once again I pitched the test while Darren filtered the water. We dined and got a good fire going before hanging the food away from the tent and out of reach of the tallest trampoline using bears in north America. The night passed with a bit of rain.<br />Next morning we had a slow and leisurely start. The plan was to hike the 3 or so miles into the Cirque, pitch the tent and climb the South buttress of Pingora. This next stage of the hike was way more taxing. We took it slowly as the path rose and fell. I was filled with a mix of excitement and apprehension at what lay ahead. Through breaks in the trees I eagerly looked for the peaks of the Cirque. The climbing in the valley we were in looked impressive enough without going any further. The guidebook told us there was a small path we could use that would avoid the worst part of the hike in, Jackass Pass. We managed to identify the so called climbers trail and followed it down the side of a small lake and then along the large boulders of another small lake. We hiked steeply up from the lake following a trail of cairns aiming for the gap between a huge boulder and the rockface. We passed through the gap and there in front of us was our first view of the Cirque.<br /><br />Straight ahead was the chunky column shaped Pingora and just to its left was Wolf's Head. It felt weird seeing them for real after spending so much time in London studying the guidebook. Again I was filled with a mixture of excitement and apprehension. Everything looked big and I felt small. The names of the surrounding peaks added to the sense of respect that I had for the place. Warbonnet, Warrior I and II, Lizard Head and Shark's Nose, all suitable names for the surrounding towers. Two years before in the Canadian Rockies I had been a little dismayed with the early climbers/pioneers naming of the peaks. Naming a mountain after a monarch or dignitary in my opinion is very dull and doesn't really do mountains justice. Not so, in the Cirque of the Towers.<br /><br />We plodded down into the cirque passing a couple of yellow tents, crossed a large stream and started heading up the next slope towards Pingora in search of a spot to pitch the tent. After spending a bit too much time hunting around, for which I take all blame, we found just about the most picturesque spot ever. We were in a meadow between the trail and a small babbling stream, and next to a large boulder. All around us was an amazing selection of wild flowers. We pitched the tent and sorted out the gear and got ourselves ready for an ascent of Pingora.<br /><br />Hiking up to the base of Pingora's rocky slopes I was more focused on the east ridge of Wolf's Head. That was the route that I was really psyched to do and had spent hours going over the guide book description back in London. At the base of Pingora we started scrambling up a rake heading up to the right. Darren was shooting up as if being pulled up by a magnet. It was fun scrambling up and I have to say in a few spots I felt rather exposed, well aware of the drop below. Once at the base of the route we looked up at what lay ahead and then across to the west for any signs of approaching storm clouds. As it was late afternoon we decided to leave the climbing for the next day. We left most of the gear in a sheltered spot between some rock and headed back down to check out the beginning of the Wolf's Head route and for a wander around a small tarn.<br /><br />Back at the tent we chilled out, enjoying our surroundings, Darren did a spot of bouldering on our large boulder, I preferred to sit on the top drinking tea saving my strength for the next few days. Next morning we had another leisurely start. The short hike up was easier this time with our light packs. Again, Darren was clearly under some kind of spell. I was feeling very apprehensive, I'd had some pretty whacky dreams in the night and didn't feel too relaxed.<br /><br />The scramble up was quickly polished off and before we knew it we were back at the gear. Some vermin had dined on my rock boots during the night but otherwise everything was unmunched. The first few pitches were easy steps which Darren quickly knocked off. At the beginning of the first real pitch I took the sharp end of the rope, traversed round to the right and then headed up a crack system. The rock was perfect, excellent purchase, nice gradient and tons of potential gear placements. It was a delight to climb. About 20m up I was running low on quickdraws and feeling on the tired side, presumably the altitude, so set up a hanging belay on some insitu slings. Darren quickly followed up and finished off the pitch onto a big ledge at the base of the K crack. Still feeling tired I offered the last pitch to Darren. The K crack looked very inviting but we stuck to our intended route and headed off to the left and up. Darren made short work of the last pitch. I followed, again thoroughly enjoying it and a little sorry that I'd handed D the lead as it was a very nice pitch. The last section on to the top was an easy scramble so we dumped the rope and gear and skidaddled up onto the top. The usual summit photo session followed and it was then time for a good look at Wolf's Head. From the top of Pingora the first section looked very narrow and exciting. The sky off to the left was getting duller and rain was looking imminent so we set off on the descent. As we abseiled back down we spotted a couple beginning the Wolf's Head route. We thought they were pretty mad considering it was mid afternoon and the sky wasn't looking particularly friendly. Once off the rock we ambled back down to the tent happy with our ascent even though it was rather short.<br /><br />As we were cooking up dinner the rain started to fall in big heavy drops. We moved everything into the tent and finished off cooking and dining under cover. Outside a full scale storm developed with rain bucketing down and crashing thunder with lightning. We both lay staring out the back of the tent across the flowers at the steep walls of Wolf's Head wondering how the couple we had seen were faring. The rain was cascading down the granite slopes and the thunder continued to crash and roll around the cirque. In a way it was quite exciting to witness. The light was also starting to fade. We were getting very worried about the couple plus another party of four who we knew were also doing the route. We considered going out on a search mission but didn't really think it would achieve much so decided to stay put until it was nearly dark. Eventually we saw the foursome head down the small trail, we flashed our headtorches at them and they quickly passed in search of shelter.<br /><br />20 mins or so later we were very relieved to see the couple come down and called them over to our tent. They were French Canadian and had got caught on the top. Their quickest way down was to abseil down the steep south face through cascades of run off water and rain, sacrificing gear in the process. Amazingly they got down safely. The girl didn't even have a waterproof jacket. They were very lucky. After telling us there was no one else up there they shot off and we zipped up the back of the tent to try and get some sleep. All our food was in the tent with us. We had visions of the storm disappearing, with the local bears coming out of their caves into the fresh cool night air and immediately honing in on the food odours coming from our tent.<br /><br />We didn't have a peaceful night. The storm continued. The tent had epileptic fits in the wind but held fast and watertight. The thunder kept on crashing and rolling. At times we heard the disturbing sound of major rockfall. Standing on top of Pingora I felt we had conquered one of the towers, now in the bottom of the cirque in our small tent in the storm I felt very small and insignificant again. We got some sleep and when we woke the next morning the rain had stopped. Outside the sky still looked hostile, and the clouds were racing across the sky. There was no way we would be going up onto Wolf's Head. We wondered what to do. We didn't really have enough food to wait for a day or two and dry weather. After breakfast I headed off to the party of four that we saw the previous evening. They had been soaked to the skin and all the gear was lying out around their tents drying. They were staying for the rest of the week and would wait out the bad weather. Back at our tent we eventually made up our minds to move out. We packed up with very heavy hearts. As we headed back up to the pass we met a guide and discussed the conditions with him. He reckoned it was the worst storm he'd experienced in the Winds and that our decision to go was the right one. This made us feel better but we were still disappointed.<br /><br />The hike out didn't have the same atmosphere that I'd experienced on the way in. I took it easy and was relieved when we finally dropped down to Big Sandy Lake. Darren had shot off in front. I took a breather before starting the last 5km back to the trailhead. As I got nearer the end I started to really tire. We had pushed it and when I finally got to the car I felt totally whacked and took a lot of satisfaction in dumping my pack. After a good drink we threw everything in the car and began the rough and rocky drive back to the tarmac road and on to Jackson and Dennys.<br /><br /><div>We spent more time deliberating on whether we had made the right decision. As it turned out the weather remained lousy for the rest of the week and we got nothing else done back in the Tetons either. The week and the trip ended back in Salt Lake City with a very enjoyable day's rock climbing in Little Cottonwood Canyon. Our few days in the Winds left a big impression on us and I'm sure that one day we'll be back to take care of a lot of unfinished business!<br /></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Bridger-Teton National Forest, Wyoming, USA43.9260159 -110.24265943.824989062510113 -110.3799881015625 44.027042737489893 -110.1053298984375tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-36855021276509855031998-07-12T20:48:00.012-07:002022-08-20T20:59:50.953-07:00Val David, Laurentians QC<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Climbing in Canada</h2><div><h1 style="text-align: left;">Val David, Laurentians, Quebec</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">11-12 July, 1998<br />Report by: Darren DeRidder<br />Party: Darren DeRidder, Kenji Suzuki, Martin Kessner</h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.bonjourquebec.com/en/listing/images/crop-1200x1200/f70165f5-4015-432e-8bb9-04c8a1b11f18/parc-regional-de-val-david-val-morin-secteur-dufresne-escalade.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="800" data-original-width="800" height="320" src="https://www.bonjourquebec.com/en/listing/images/crop-1200x1200/f70165f5-4015-432e-8bb9-04c8a1b11f18/parc-regional-de-val-david-val-morin-secteur-dufresne-escalade.jpg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div>At the beginning of this summer I made a wish list of stuff I wanted to do climbing-wise, and I'm happy to say that a considerable number of items on this list have now been ticked off, the latest being a visit to Val David. It's not quite the Tour de Classiques du Quebec I had originally put on my list but it's definitely a good weekend of climbing. To give it some geographical perspective, Val David is about an hour west of Montreal and two hours north-east of Ottawa. There are two or three mountains w here the climbing is done. None of them are very big, but they have some impressive cliffs, and a lot of routes, especially in the higher grades. I went with a guy from the Alpine Club of Canada named Kenji and a German exchange student named Martin.<br /><br />We drove out early on Saturday morning and went to the place where I had been about a year before, called Mont Cesaire. There are several cliffs and we went to Les Champs-Elysees. We had the place to ourselves in the morning but shared the cliff in the afternoon with two parties, one with a fellow who wore jogging shorts and black patent leather brogue dress shoes. To start out Kenji led a 5.5. crack which I had done last time I was there, and none of us had a problem with that. After that we top-roped a parallel route and I decided to lead it. It was a 5.6 hand crack with good pro. Next we decided to try Fritz Directe, a 5.8. Kenji decided to try the lead so he set off and I could tell by watching him that he was pushing it all the way. It looked really delicate and at one section he put in a couple pieces of pro and hung for a while, while contemplating the moves. Then he finished it without trouble. I think he was a bit frazzled after that lead. I seconded and at one spot I just about swung off as I tried to deal with the pro. I was thinking the lead would have been beyond me. At least it felt really exposed. After a lunch break we moved our rope over to do some top-roping on the left side of the cliff. Kenji and Martin top-roped Magnum, a 5.8+. I top -roped Le Trou, a 5.11a. With some grunting, cursing, and hanging on the rope I eventually made it to the top.<br /><br />By this time we were pretty hungry and tired so we went into town and drove around looking for a camping place. We had to drive to the next village to camp with about a hundred other tents all crammed onto a terraced hillside. You could have more privacy camping in your backyard, but some people actually do this for vacation. Anyways...<br /><br />We went to Mont King the next morning, getting a rather slow start. At the trailhead a fellow from the Federation Quebec des Montagnes Escelades or something like that, asked us if we were members. If you're not, you can't climb here. We said we were members of the Alpine Club of Canada, which is an affiliated group, so he let us in and we hiked in to Mont King. The section we eventually decided to go to was called the Ampitheatre, so we looked for that and eventually figured out where it was and where the topo lined up with the rocks. It looked like nobody had climbed in this particular section for quite a while, but we decided to go for a 5.7 offwidth crack called Absence which went halfway up the cliff, and then finish with a second pitch of whatever looked do-able. Kenji won the Jan-Ken-Pon (paper scissors rock) so he took the first lead. It was offwidth and unforgiving all the way. He tried to talk me into taking over the second half of his pitch, but I told him he had a ways to go yet. The upper half of his pitch continued up an off-width crack that was a real pig to get up. I think all of us resorted to some laybacking to get over the steepest part. Once all of us were at the top of the pitch, I had a look up. It was pretty much straight up over big blocky sections of rock. It looked like there were big holds and ledges all the way up, with good pro, so I took the rack and set off on lead. It was easy going, on a route called L'Unique Directe (5.5) with one or two mantle moves which required a little care. Being the second pitch, it was pretty exposed in places, but all the holds were positive. I ended up in a sort of cave just below the top and set up an anchor there.<br /><br />I belayed up Martin and Kenji followed. The height really impressed Martin, who had never done a multi-pitch climb before. He expressed this quite colourfully and I could tell as he climbed that he was getting worried when he started farting like a horse. We thought we had missed a quickdraw somewhere, so Kenji down-climbed a bit for a look, but didn't find anything. After walking down and descending a pretty long, steep fixed rope, we sorted our gear and found nothing missing. After lunch we were surprised that it was 4:00 p.m. already, and Kenji had to get back to Ottawa for a hot date, so we packed up and headed out. <br /><br /></div><div>Although we didn't get an awful lot of climbing in, which can be attributed to the fact that we were unfamiliar with the place, we did have a lot of fun. Kenji might have taken Martin and I for a couple of clowns with our joking and goofing around, but he was pretty happy with his leads. He said if he'd known what he was getting into he definitely wouldn't have done them. Good way to get the adrenaline going.<br /><br />There's just a couple of more weekends before heading over to Europe, so I'm hoping to get some good climbing in, locally in the Gatineaus or down in the Adirondacks.<br /></div></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Val-David, QC, Canada46.030640899999987 -74.206283717.720407063821142 -109.3625337 74.340874736178833 -39.0500337tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-14414066963177213541998-01-01T20:44:00.094-08:002022-08-20T07:10:41.805-07:00Nishi Hodaka (2908m), Kita Alps, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><div><h1 style="text-align: left;">Nishi Hodaka (2908m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">North (Kita) Alps, Japan<br />1st/ 2nd January, 1998<br />Report by Iain Williams<br />Party: Iain Williams, Malcolm Field</h3><p></p><p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: left;"><tbody><tr><td><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5cDsW-cuG2ZoSu4fi6LonAGnnwGRnFtRoAdsjvJXzv-Fpio72-QZsBu_TKsFZ5w7dnOBhz1xqL__cG7LBbcEeK34L4pUFUF9hTki2qy78xu--gBmo7M27VR1DbYb0LP3uNp9MFIrmwnLhUVBk3Pn7DzD_QhwgLpqW_86MhiCUfxKxtksirQkp_DmQEg/s1024/nishihotakadake_wikimedia_commons.jpeg" style="clear: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="Nishihotaka-dake" border="0" data-original-height="685" data-original-width="1024" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi5cDsW-cuG2ZoSu4fi6LonAGnnwGRnFtRoAdsjvJXzv-Fpio72-QZsBu_TKsFZ5w7dnOBhz1xqL__cG7LBbcEeK34L4pUFUF9hTki2qy78xu--gBmo7M27VR1DbYb0LP3uNp9MFIrmwnLhUVBk3Pn7DzD_QhwgLpqW_86MhiCUfxKxtksirQkp_DmQEg/w335-h224/nishihotakadake_wikimedia_commons.jpeg" title="Nishihotaka-dake" width="335" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo: wikimedia commons</td></tr></tbody></table></h1><div>The first mtn of 1998 and an unexpected one. After nearly two years I made it back to Japan through work and was lucky enough to be in Tokyo over the New Year period so had five days to make good use of. Naturally I teamed up with Mal and the Toyohashi Alpine Club was back in action for the first time since the summer. We spent the last day of 1997 skiing at Shiga Kogen and put aside the next two days for climbing. Mal's original suggestion was to do this mtn but I have to admit I wasn't too keen on the idea mainly because of the cable car involved. As time wasn't really on our side and I wanted to get as high as possible as fast as possible so Mal's idea quickly took concrete form.</div><div><br /><span style="background-color: white; text-align: left;">The first day started in Nagano city with a late start due to a few beers too many the night before. We had to get ourselves to the small village of Shin Hodaka by at least 3pm if all was to go to plan. Mal got us there in time. The drive was interesting. We took the Kamikochi road that I hadn't been on since my first outing with Brendan, Wayne and Cam way back in 1993 passing the small carpark where I had my first of many car park bivvies. At the Kamikochi tunnel turn off we went straight and soon entered a large new and brightly lit tunnel that took us right through the Hodaka massif, very different to the other local tunnels that the Korean slave labourers built in the war. As we drove into Shin Hodaka the snow was falling quite heavily and our destination, the car park, was not exactly jam packed with cars. We quickly got ourselves sorted and headed off to the cable car station, where we got whisked up to Nishi Hodaka Guchi passing over the steep ski ground below.</span></div><p><span style="background-color: white;">We were told back in Nagano that it would take us two hours to get from the top cable car station to the Nishi Hodaka hut where we would spend the night. We set off at around 3:30 so thought that we'd have to motor. We moved at a steady pace through the trees on a path where the snow was rapidly deepening. The gradient was very pleasant and only occasionally did it get steep. Despite all the snow and the odd gusts of wind I soon built up quite a sweat and had to stop to lose a layer. Continuing on we passed a few folk who had bigger packs than ourselves as well as some folk heading back down. After only 45 mins the hut appeared through the snow and mist. So much for the apparent 2hr hike in. The hut had a generous covering of snow and after a short search we found the entrance. Once inside we checked in, lost some layers and had a coffee.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">There isn't much to do in mtn huts so after twenty mins or so I suggested going back out into the snow and heading up the ridge towards the top. It was still snowing heavily as we set off again. Right outside the hut there were many people camping. We trudged past the tents and headed onto the ridge. We were now above the tree line and there was plenty of creeping pine under and over the snow. It was good fun scrambling up the wide and gentle ridge. As we got higher the wind got stronger and the light weaker so we stopped, took a few photos and then headed back down. It wasn't really a very sensible place to be but for me it was great after all my dull days in London.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">Back in the hut we got changed and waited for our 6:30 dinner seating. The hut was quite large and modern and in the lobby area there was a good selection of Japanese mtn books plus plenty of people milling around. I got chatting to one bloke from Osaka and ended up chatting to him for 20 mins or so, talking about mountains all in Japanese which was a bit of a strain. Mal meanwhile was back in our room relaxing and chatting with someone else. Dinner wasn't bad, lashings of rice and miso soup plus other savoury tidbits. I was impressed with the quality and all the different bits on my plate. To be honest though I didn't have a huge appetite which I put down to the altitude and the cable car ride. Over the meal we also got talking to two Japanese blokes, Takehara san and his mate whose name I can't remember. They were planning to go to the top as well and were quite entertaining. Takehara san made a point of advising us not to follow him as the winter before he had fallen 150m down Koma ga ta ke, unhurt. He was also confident that the next day's weather would be good. We weren't so sure. Outside, the wind was still blowing and the snow falling heavily. I had resigned myself that we'd have a crack and turn around as soon as common sense prevailed. I was very happy just to be back in a Japanese mtn hut in the North Alps. After the meal we headed in to the lobby area with everyone else and watched the weather forecast for the next day. It was a good forecast but I still wasn't convinced. After the forecast we sat in the dining area and talked some more with Takehara san and mate.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">Retiring to our room we realised how fortunate we were in that there were only two others sharing it with us. It was a good room with the whole floor covered in newish and clean futons and bedding (not quite Switzerland!). The windows were boarded up but the snow had found a way in behind the boards. The metal panes were covered with frozen condensation. It wasn't too warm. Once the light went out I lay there listening to the wind and a flapping board getting blown around outside. I was looking forward to the next day but also felt slightly altitudey, even though we weren't that high. I didn't sleep well but I did sleep better than Mal who spent most of the night on the point of retching. In the early hours of the morning one of the other blokes started snoring and from that point onwards sleep was impossible. I would occasionally tug his duvet, which would briefly disturb him but was careful not to overdo it as I'd done in the Glen Nevis hostel the previous summer. However, when he got up he stormed out the room sliding the door closed extra hard. I stayed under my duvet as long as possible listening to the hustle and bustle that was going on around the hut, trying to stay rested. Inside though my heart was racing with excitement over what the day would produce. Once up I made straight for the latrines. As much as I like Japanese mtn huts I'm afraid the toilets are the same as anywhere else. I took a deep breath, slid the door open and tried to slip my feet into some small green plastic sandals then got my business over as fast as possible before dashing back to the sliding door, sticking my head out and getting a lungfull of semi fresh air.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">Breakfast was the usual, rice, miso soup, egg, bit of fish and tea. I ate well, certainly better than I had done at the Kita Hodaka hut back in 1993. After breaky we got sorted and headed outside. It was still cloudy but it wasn't snowing and the wind had disappeared. We passed the campers and then moved steeply up onto the ridge. There was a lot of snow around but the path was well defined, one of the advantages of a 7:15 start. The route was initially very gentle and gave me the warm up I wanted. We soon stopped. Mal's crampons were doing their usual. On the go again the route got steeper and turned into a bit of a slog. The wind was also picking up a little and not far above us we got the odd break in the cloud. It wasn't long before we broke through the cloud and then it gradually disappeared altogether. Naturally the views of the Hodaka massif were spectacular. We plodded up and scrambled up onto the top of the first of a set of pinnacles. On top were several folk milling around.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">We didn't hang around and moved on with a descent down the other side of the pinnacle. We quickly realised that things were now getting a bit more serious and we were out of the hiking zone. This was more of a concern for Mal who didn't have an ice axe, just a polished wooden stick. We carefully proceeded up onto another smaller pinnacle. Descending this one got my adrenaline flowing but we got down safely. Moving on we started to ascend again. The terrain was a lot of fun, we scrambled across snow and rock both on top and to the side of the ridge. It never got scary, it just stayed fun. Up in front of us we could see a false summit. Towards the top we had a bit of a scramble and then topped out. Again there were a few folk resting including Takehara san and mate. We stopped to take some photos and have a drink. It was bitterly cold and it wasn't much fun taking my glove off to take photos. The views of Hodaka were super. The west side had sweeping snow faces with protruding rock that occasionally disappeared into wispy cloud. Further over to the east were the South Alps and protruding proudly behind them was Fuji. To the south was the snowy saddle of Norikura dake with Ontake poking its head up just behind. Across from them lay the Central Alps. It really was a treat and a half seeing all these mountains again and the views alone made me very happy.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">At this point Mal decided to call it quits which surprised me as the route to the top was clearly visible and didn't look particularly worrying. Takehara san and mate had also decided to turn round so Mal headed back with them while I pushed on. The route followed the ridge and finished with a short steep section which took me to the top. All along the way the wind was strong and cold. I did my best to hide my face behind my hood whilst plodding steadily along. Once on top I had the usual feeling of satisfaction and a slight one of relief. On the top were a couple of other parties taking photos and milling around. I took my shots and spent a few minutes taking in all the views again. It really wasn't the place to stop and savour a Mars and I quickly got going on the descent. Again no problems were encountered and I moved quickly along the ridge to the last pinnacle where I decided to take a break.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">There were still people clustered there and a few had tripod mounted cameras to capture all the views. I found myself a spot, sat down and opened my pack. I had a very cold maki sushi which I carefully prepared and then wolfed down with a few swigs of ice cold water. A hot coffee would have been ideal. I finished off with a very cold and hard Mars which I have to admit I didn't particularly enjoy. From my cold snowy and rocky seat I could stare down at Kamikochi and the road in. I clearly remembered walking up there very four and half years before and remarking to Brendan how the tops didn't look that high and were about three or four Ishimakis high. Sitting looking down I was right. I was however sitting about 400m below the Hodaka summit, which we couldn't see from the valley. I didn't hang about for long and was soon on the descent. I ran/walked down the flattish snowy ridge back towards the hut. The wind wasn't as strong anymore and the sun was shining brightly. Before I knew it I was back at the hut and the views of Fuji and the other ranges were hidden again. Through the trees we could still see Norikura though. The others had got back half an hour or so before me and were relaxing inside eating and drinking. I joined them and had a coffee. After our snack we headed outside for a few photos and a seat in the sun. The weather really was superb.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">We decided to hike together back down to the cable car station. The walk back down through the snowy fir trees was very picturesque. The path was a narrow channel through the snow. We passed the odd group who were heading up. Back at the cable car station we stopped to look back up at the mountain and take a few photos. It looked good and far bigger than it actually was. The wind was still blowing up there and was blowing wispy cloud off the ridge. It was nice and satisfying to look up with the knowledge that I'd been up there on the top a few hours before. It had been a very enjoyable climb and I said to myself that I must return and do some more winter climbing in Japan. It really is far superior to the summer, which isn't that bad either.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">The cable car quickly got us all the way back down. Takehara san and mate invited us to join them for a bathe in a public hot spring next to the river just down the road. We were more than keen and headed down there and had a good hour in the hot water chatting and larking around. It was an excellent open air onsen and free to boot. After our bath we said farewell and Mal and I headed back to Nagano.</span></p><p><span style="background-color: white;">Our two days were excellent and were the perfect start to 1998. I just hope that the next time I return to Japan, and I'm certain there will be a next time, I won't be on my own and I'll be able to climb with another TAC companion. Right now I'm toying with the idea of being on the top of Fuji to see in the new millenium.</span></p></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com08Q8V7JHH+JW36.2790845 137.629766536.272165262162787 137.62118343115233 36.28600373783722 137.63834956884764tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-64360111704938147141997-08-12T23:44:00.018-07:002022-08-20T07:09:46.951-07:00Mt. Athabasca (3491m), Jasper National Park, Canada<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in the Canadian Rockies</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Mt. Athabasca (3491m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Jasper National Park, Canada<br />August 1997<br />Report by Darren DeRidder<br />Party: Iain Williams and Darren DeRidder</h3>Mt. Athabasca is located next to the Columbia Icefields on the way to Jasper. Like most of the nearby peaks it is glaciated and has snow or ice cover year-round. Looking towards the Columbia Icefields from the new Icefields visitors center, Mt. Athabasca is the most prominent mountain on the left. A glacier forms on the face of this mountain and reaches down toward the Athabasca glacier, which is the one tourists walk around on and fall into crevasses. It is an impressive looking ice-bound peak.<br /><br />Iain and I drove off to the Columbia Icefields, stopping at points of interest along the way, including Castle Mountain, where we pulled off at the tourist spot to have a cafeteria-style lunch. It was crowded so we sat with some people who asked us if we were climbers and if we used "pokey things" on our feet. We also stopped at Mistaya Canyon where the scenery was really impressive, Sunwapta Pass where we took a little break and enjoyed the sweeping views back down the valley, and Peyto Lake, where we took a little hike to the viewpoint which was crowded with Asian tourists. We stopped at the little Lake below the Whyte Pyramid as well.<br /><br />At the Hilda Creek Hostel we signed up for the night, then drove the rest of the way up to the Icefields and had a look around at the new Icefields Center. Mt. Athabasca was right in front of us and looked really impressive. We had a good look at it and could even make out what we thought was a trail in the snow which marked our route. In the Icefields Center there was a Parks Information desk where we registered for the climb and got details of the conditions. It looked good. We weren't able to drive up to the climbers parking area halfway along the snow coach road so we went back to the hostel and moved our stuff onto bunks. After a while we went back up the road to the Icefields Center and waited until the last bus was gone. Then the gate was open and we drove up to the climbers parking lot at the base of the moraine of the glacier that comes off Athabasca. We hiked up a little ways, just enough to get the idea that there was a definite path up along the crest of the moraine. Returning to the car-park, we met a Japanese fellow who said he wanted to climb Mt. Andromeda. He said Athabasca was too easy. We asked him if he had any gear and he said no. He didn't have crampons, an ice axe, or even boots. So we told him not to climb. Too bad there are lots of other idiots just like this guy out there - the ones who get themselves killed every year when the set off on a lark to "climb a big mountain".<br /><br />The Hilda Creek Hostel is very rustic. Don't go there if you want the comforts of say, the Lake Louise facility. There are no showers, no flush toilets, no electric lights. Water is taken from the creek and should be boiled. The place was crowded too. We got as much sleep as we could and at 4:00 a.m. we were up and away. By the time we got to the climber's parking lot at the base of our climb, it was still dark, but there were some other cars and people getting ready. If you climb much you will know that in the predawn darkness of an alpine climb preparation, nobody is friendly. There is a sense of urgency and stress in the air. By the time it started to get light, we were off. We were higher up here, we were tired, and it was slow going all the way. The trail went up and up over the moraine and broke through a cliff by way of a short scree gully. From there it levelled out slightly and then dropped down a few meters to the base of the glacier. There was a snow-patch here and a couple of Japanese guys. They were going to try the North Ridge route. The previous day, they said, they had climbed the normal route, which we were trying. They must've liked the mountain or something.<br /><br />They set off and we went after them. The first part was a little tricky since the ice at the bottom of the tongue of the glacier was a bit steep. The crampons did the trick. Soon we were right on the snow-covered glacier and moving along fast. We caught up with the Japanese guys and then split from them as we followed tracks which angled up under the main face of the mountain. Above were seracs which we had to move past quickly. I was in front and set up a demanding pace. There were a few crevasses which we had to step across. We angled up to the left first, and then cut across the face to the right, moving under the seracs. Finally we emerged on the saddle beneath the summit ridge. The rocks on the ridge looked near, so we aimed for them and decided to have a break when we got there. But they were farther away than they looked and it took forever to get there at our slowing pace. When we finally did get to the rocks it was cold and blowing and we didn't feel much like stopping anyway. We put on our Goretex jackets and that was one time when they really were needed. It actually started to snow a little bit. We kept warm as we moved on up the rocks and snow-patches. Before long we were at the summit. The snow on the ridge was piled up high to the North of us. We took turns climbing up the mound of snow to the very top, keeping the rope on belay.<br /><br />On top of the mountain, we could see down into the deep hidden valley to the south. It was long and lined with steep mountain faces. All along the valley floor, an enormous river of ice was slowly creeping. I was very impressed to see such a perfect example of a glacier. I don't imagine many people get to see it, the Saskatchewan Glacier.<br /><br />After some summit photos and the obligatory Mars bar, we headed back down, and this time Iain set a demanding pace. As we got lower we started feeling more and more happy. It was a little warmer and the wind wasn't blowing and it was so much easier going down than it was going up. We took some fun pictures of leaping over a crevasse. As we neared the lower edge of the glacier there were more crevasses and we had to find our way carefully. The ice became steeper as we edged our way over to the moraine.<br /><br />As we crossed the steepest part, which was strewn with rock fragments fallen from the cliffs above, we heard a strange sound. It was faint at first, growing louder and louder, like a dull rushing scraping sound. My first thought was "Avalanche!" Peering up the glacier I couldn't see anything, and my next thought was that a big crevasse was about to open up. There was no apparent movement however and the sound kept getting louder and louder as if it was coming right towards us. Within a few seconds we saw a huge boulder, the size of an Austin Mini, come sliding over the edge of the glacier. It rocked and wobbled and sent splinters of ice spraying as it slid down the tongue of the glacier, as if in slow motion. As the ice curved away steeper and steeper, the huge rock gained momentum and swept past us only twenty meters away, continued to pick up speed and flew down the terminus of the glacier to explode on the rocks below with an enormous clap and a shower of shrapnel. I said to Iain, "Let's get out of here."<br /><br />The walk down the Moraine was very, very long. It was hard on the knees. Finally we got back to the car, feeling pretty worn out but proud of ourselves anyway.<br /><br />Checking the time, I was surprised to see it was only noon. We'd started at about 5:00 and made good time. I took off my gear slowly so that all the people passing in the bus could see me and point and say "Look at the mountain climber! Look, he's got... pokey things!"<br /><br />We drove back to Banff that afternoon and went to the Sulphur Mountain Hot Springs. Iain calculated that out of all the climbs we did, we had the highest elevation gain on this peak. The summit is at 3491 meters, and our starting elevation was more than 2000 meters below that.<br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">When to go:</h4>It's gonna be covered with snow and ice any time of the year. Pick a day when avalanche risks are low. The slope on the north face is prone to avalanche.<br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">What to take:</h4>On the north glacier route, parties rope up but there's no need to place protection. It is essentially glacier travel so members should be familiar with glacier travel and crevasse rescue techniques. Crampons and an axe are of course normal gear.<br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">Where to stay:</h4>If you really want to rough it, the Hilda Creek Hostel. There are campgrounds by the Icefields.<br />Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Mount Athabasca52.1806687 -117.19528252.096550097899623 -117.33261110156251 52.264787302100373 -117.05795289843751tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-89140384576277409671997-08-09T23:09:00.002-07:002022-08-20T07:09:21.150-07:00Mt. Victoria (3464m), Banff National Park, Canada<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in the Canadian Rockies</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Mt. Victoria (3464m), South Ridge</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Banff National Park, Canada<br />August 1997<br />Report by Darren DeRidder<br />Party: Iain Williams, Darren DeRidder, and Rob Marson</h3>After successful climbs on Mt. Temple and Mt. Edith, Iain and I considered our options. When we were planning our trip to the Rockies, Mt. Victoria had been one of our original objectives and so we settled on that. It meant we probably wouldn't get up Assiniboine, because that would require at least three days, and the mountain seemed to be out of condition - still.<br /><br />So we booked the Abbott Pass Hut. And we stayed at the Alpine Center/ Youth Hostel in Lake Louise, which is a fantastic facility. It is really really nice, and the cafeteria has awesome food and a good atmosphere too. We stayed there several times and met some interesting people.<br /><br />Anyway in the morning we drove out along highway 1A to the Lake O'Hara parking lot where we sorted our gear for the next couple days and walked up to catch the bus at 10:00. They don't let cars up the road to Lake O'Hara. You have to take a Parks Canada bus, because the area is "fragile". What that means is that it is absolutely incredibly beautiful. There is a lodge at the lake which costs hundreds of dollars to stay in, and there is a campground nearby, and an ACC hut, the Elizabeth Parker cabin, which is always full. One guy at the campground told us it would take us about three and a half hours to get up to Abbot Pass.<br />It was loose and slippery and pieces of rock occasionally fell off the towering walls on either side of us. We started out like true mountain men by going the wrong way around the lake. But there was a natural drinking fountain that had good water, so after a long drink we went back the other way around. The trail was perfect. It was very well maintained and on the steep parts, boulders had been arranged into steps and everything. At Lake Oesa, we could see Mt. Lefroy and Mt. Huber and part of the big scree slope we had to climb to get to the pass. We stopped to talk to a couple of climbers who were also on their way up, and the older one recommended that we try to do Lefroy that afternoon. We said we would consider it.<br /><br />After Lake Oesa, the trail wasn't so nice anymore. We followed the trail up to the left and over a couple of snow patches. The trail got worse and worse and pretty soon it was every man for himself just trying to pick the path of least resistance up a long loose scree slope. It was loose and slippery and pieces of rock occasionally fell off the towering walls on either side of us. After a while I could see the hut and pretty soon we were there. It had taken us three and a half hours just like the guy said.<div><br /></div><div>[Editors note 20/08/2022: sadly, in the summer of August 2022, the Abbot Pass Hut was dismantled and completely removed, owing to the instability of the slope on which it sat. Thawing permafrost had rendered the entire structure susceptible to collapse, and thus an icon of Canadian Rockies Mountaineering succumbed to the impact of global warming along with many of the glaciers, snowfields and climbs that were once considered 'trade routes'.]<br /><br />The Abbot Pass Hut is one of the best of the ACC huts in terms of its location and appearance. It was built in 1922 by Swiss guides working for the Canadian Pacific Railway out of stones from the Abbot Pass. It was modified recently to make more room on the main floor for cooking and dining. We met some interesting people there, too, including Doug and Sarah from Calgary. They had been up Lefroy and were planning on climbing Victoria the next day, like us. We were glad that other people would be climbing the mountain, too. Before long, the two climbers we had met at Lake Oesa appeared. They started sorting their gear and said that they would go up Victoria part way and see what they could see. One of them was named Randall. We didn't think anyone else would show up, because it was unlikely anyone would have taken the 6:00 bus in to Lake O'Hara and then started the hike up to the hut.<br />It started to get late, and then we remembered that we hadn't seen Randall and his climbing partner back yet. Iain tried calling for them but got no answer. Iain yelled so loud he sounded like a yodeller with laryngitis. It was getting dark and we called and called but didn't hear any reply. Finally I thought I heard something. Iain went back towards the cabin. I tried calling out again, heard a reply, and then saw two figures appear at the crest of the ridge. I shouted to see if they were OK. "Yep", came the answer. Fair enough. </div><div><br />We went to bed. Before long the climbers came in, but there were three. One had come up from Lake O'Hara after all. The new climber was Rob. In the morning , Iain and Rob and I were up getting ready. We started talking. Interestingly enough, Rob was from London England too. And lives, as it turned out, about two blocks away from Iain. Rob was planning on climbing Victoria too, but he didn't have a partner, so we asked him if he cared to join us. He was quite happy to, and we were glad to have him. Rob turned out to be a very experienced ice climber. His experience was helpful in getting us to the summit, without a doubt. Rob led casually up steep snow looking very secure, and Iain and I followed, somewhat hesitantly. We would probably have felt more comfortable on the rock next to the snow, but given the rotting condition of the limestone ridge, the danger of slipping was probably greater there.<br /><br />We departed from the hut at first light. I carried the rope over my shoulders, resting on the top of my pack. It was quite cool outside. Immediately behind the Abbot Pass hut, a rock headwall rises up towards the crest of the ridge of Mt. Victoria. This has to be climbed to the crest of the ridge. There are various ways to go, but careful route-finding will keep you on the best path. The rock is low-angled, and there are many ledges. However it is all very loose and covered with scree, so great care has to be taken to find the more solid rock. The climb is so popular that there was almost a trail leading up this first part. At one point we stopped to discuss the best way to move ahead. Here Iain dropped his sunglasses and they went almost right down to the Abbot Pass. We had climbed up only 150 meters or so, so he decided to go back and get them. It didn't take more than 20 minutes and he was back, minus the nose-piece. They would be alright for the climb, he said, so off we went again. Passing below two mushroom-shaped formations, we moved right to where the rock looked easier and the angle lower. In fact, the actual route goes up between these two mushrooms. We moved up easily over this rock and came to some snow.<br /><br />At this point we decided to rope up and also removed some sweaters and fleeces as we were getting warmed up. We were not yet on the crest of the ridge but Rob led up the snow and we followed, front-pointing near the top. At the top of the snow we scrambled over some rock to the crest of the ridge, which we then followed along. There were footsteps in the snow, a regular path. The crest of the ridge was snow covered and knife-edged. It dropped away steeply on both sides. On the right, we could see Lake Louise far below and seemingly far away. It looked so small! In front of the Lake we could see the Plain of Six Glaciers and the deep valley that ran up into "the Death Trap", which in turn led to Abbot Pass from the Lake Louise side. This route is not recommended these days. We heard a few avalanches echoing around in the big space between the cliffs, but didn't see them.</div><div><br />We were on the northeast face of the mountain on steep, rotten ice. Above was a vertical rock cliff and below was 2000 feet of space, dropping down to the Victoria glacier. </div><div><br /></div><div>Soon we came to "the Sickle", which is a deep depression in the ridge. The Sickle can be clearly seen from Lake Louise. The snow is still very "pointed" here, and the ridge very narrow. Iain went first down the steep snow to the lowest point on the sickle, about 25 meters away, while I belayed him with a standard boot-axe belay. Iain didn't like the looks of the belay. He carefully moved down the snow, facing in. At the bottom of the Sickle, he waited while I took off the belay and proceeded down. Rob belayed me from above this time. The snow was good. It was soft but not slushy or powdery. It was firm enough to hold the shaft of an ice axe.<br /><br />Reassured by Iain's descent, I started out. Plunging the shaft of my axe into the snow and using the footsteps made by Iain and the previous climbers, I moved down into the Sickle, facing outwards. Before I reached the low point, Rob had to begin his descent because of the limiting length of the rope between us. Care had to be taken at every step.<br /><br />Going up the other side was a little easier. Rob moved in front again and we continued over easy ground (snow) along the ridge. Soon we were confronted with a rock step. This feature can also be clearly seen from Lake Louise. The guide clearly stated to pass this on the right. The diagram as well indicated that the proper route bypassed this rock "fin" in its entirety on the right (northeast) side. We discussed this and then proceeded, even though it looked as if there was an easy way up through the rock onto the crest of the ridge. Trusting the guidebook we moved onwards and got into a very hairy situation. We were on the northeast face of the mountain on steep, rotten ice. Above was a vertical rock cliff and below was 2000 feet of space, dropping down to the Victoria glacier. Rob moved along passed a rock horn which he slung and then on across a steep ice field to the rock band, where he put in a piton.</div><div><br />Neither Iain nor I were liking this very much. I went to put my right foot down , and the snow came away. My foot skated out from under me. On my side, I began to slowly slide down. In my left had I had my ice axe, and I swung the pick into the frozen snow, gaining support and stopping myself. We clung to our stances trying not to move too much while Rob went on to see what the route was like. We were no longer sure we were in the right place, and were considering whether to go on or go back. Rob said it seemed that after about 20 or 30 meters we could regain the ridge. My foot skated out from under me. <br /><br />At this point Doug and Sarah appeared on the ridge behind us, just below the rock step. They stared at us and were very quiet. They didn't say anything, but Doug came along the ridge to the base of the rock step. Iain asked him where the route went, and Doug said "I think it goes up the ridge!" So we decided we had goofed up and we went back. It was a big relief. Standing in such an exposed place on front-points while Rob worked his way out front had shaken me. Iain had been at the rock belay, a more secure position. I didn't tell him until later that I was pretty much scared spitless.<br /><br />Doug and Sarah disappeared up the notch that led through the rock band and onto the crest of the ridge again. We worked our way back and then proceeded that way ourselves. From then on the going was easy. At times the route went between the rock on the left and the snow on the right, like a trench. We met Doug and Sarah, who had been to the summit and were on their way down. They passed us and Iain said to have some coffee on for when we got back.<br /><br />The last obstacle before the summit was a very knife-edged and narrow section of the ridge. The snow on the right was very very steep, and the snow on the left was almost vertical. The footsteps went right along the crest, like a balance beam. There was a groove just below the top where climbers had shuffled their feet across. Rob went over it first, moving his feet carefully along the lower groove, one hand on the top of the ridge, ice axe in the other hand, sticking the shaft into the steep snow on the other side of the ridge. He was bent right over the ridge. It looked really precarious. I went next and tried to do like Rob did, but found one foot on the very top and one foot down in the groove worked better. I tried plunging the shaft of my ice axe into the snow on the right side, but the snow was so soft, it offered no support. About in the middle I straddled the ridge. This didn't work at all and was a real pain in the arse. But the narrowest part was already done, so I managed to get up and step carefully across to where Rob was belaying me. Then we belayed Iain across. Iain didn't bother taking any chances and just straddled the ridge and scooted across like a cowboy riding a bucking bronco. And then in a few minutes we were on the summit. We took photos and ate Mars bars. Then we went down.<br /><br />Getting down was as much of a climb as going up was. We had to go back through the sickle and then down steep snowy sections to the rock. We belayed much of it. Once on the rock above the hut we had to be very careful since it was so loose. We took off the rope since it was only getting caught on the rocks between us and causing pieces to fall down on us. We slowly worked our way down, looking for the path. We got on the right path, which led between the mushroom formations we had passed below on our way up that morning. There were some parts that were quite steep and others that were covered in loose scree and so we had to be very careful not to lose our footing. We had taken off our crampons earlier so that helped. Rob was less happy on rock than on snow, especially this loose and rotting limestone. But we got down without any problem and then, about 11 hours after we had started, I was trotting up to the outhouse (the highest outhouse in Canada, and the one with the best view, guaranteed).<br /><br />In the hut, Sarah had prepared a bottle of orange juice for us, which was very refreshing. Well, that's it. We'd done it. I honestly didn't let my breath out all the way until we had set foot back inside the hut. (I didn't let my breath out all the way in the outhouse for other reasons). I was shaken from hanging around on the steep and icy face where we'd gone off route, but it was a great climb anyway.<br /><br />It was evening, and we canceled our plans to descend to Lake O'Hara and camp. We stayed instead in the hut again. Some more people had come; a couple from Vancouver and a couple from Germany. Only the couple from Germany planned to climb Victoria the next day. Rob was going to try Lefroy. Iain was considering going with him. I would lend him my stiffer boots. Doug and Sarah were going down. In the end Iain decided he'd go down too so the four of us went down in the morning to Lake O'Hara. As we left the hut Doug and I saw Rob making his way up Lefroy. The face looks so steep, but we could see that he was walking up, switchbacking left and right up the snow.<br /><br />Going down the scree slope was much easier than coming up. Doug was an expert at it, and practically leaped down it. Digging my heels in, I surfed the scree and came down shortly behind him. Sarah and Iain were right behind and we enjoyed the good trail, the sunshine, the spectacular views, and the sweet-smelling alpine air on the way back to Lake O'Hara. It had been a very rewarding and enjoyable climbing experience.<br /><br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">When to go:</h4>As with so many of the mountains, the first part of August is one of the most promising times to do this climb. Weather is generally settled and the routes are generally in good summer condition by this time, meaning less risk of avalanches. As usual, an alpine start (before dawn) is wise in order to insure return to the hut before nightfall. Some parties will take longer than the suggested 6 to 10 hours, depending on experience.<br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">What to take:</h4>This route is suited to alpine short-roping. Since there is hardly any solid rock, wending the rope between boulders and rocks as you climb is your best bet. In many places I simply wrapped the rope around a rock protrusion in leu of a belay. No pro should be necessary for this climb, provided you stay on course. Nevertheless, a couple of pins and maybe an ice screw are reassuring to have in case you get into a pickle. If you are staying at the hut, all you need to bring is your sleeping bag, food, and white gas for the cooking stoves. There are plenty of cooking utensils and comfy foam mattresses upstairs in the loft. There's a coal stove, and a big pot for snowmelt, the water source. Don't eat the yellow snow.<br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">Where to stay:</h4>It is possible to climb the route in a day from the campground at Lake O'Hara. Up and down it would be a very, very long day however. Most people stay at the Abbot Pass Hut overnight and climb Victoria the following morning, returning to Lake O'Hara. The hut is operated by the Alpine Club of Canada and may be used by members. Reservations are required. The ACC's main office is in Canmore.<br /></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Mount Victoria, Alberta T0L, Canada51.378333299999987 -116.303333329.121264558326637 -151.4595833 73.635402041673331 -81.14708330000002tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-8991085956275120981997-08-05T23:20:00.001-07:002022-08-20T07:08:20.738-07:00Mt. Edith (3554m), South Ridge, Banff National Park, Canada<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in the Canadian Rockies</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Mt. Edith (2554m) South Ridge</h1><div><h3 style="text-align: left;">August 1997<br />Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada<br />Report by Darren DeRidder<br />Party: Iain Williams, Darren DeRidder</h3>Mt. Edith is a peak near Banff with a number of routes on it, all of which are technical rock-climbing routes, except for the scrambling route up the west side, which serves as the descent route for all climbs. Located next to Mt. Cory near the Fireside picnic area at the junction of Highway 1 and Highway 1A, it is just south of Mt. Louis, another popular rock climbing peak with more difficult routes. On Edith, there is the South Ridge, which is a technically easy climb at 5.4, the scrambling route which doesn't require any technical climbing but is a bit exposed in a few places, and then a few routes that are just plain hard and involve about 300 meters of climbing at the 5.8 to 5.10b level. </div><div><br /></div><div>We decided to try the 5.4 route up the South ridge. It is a popular route but also rather difficult to find. Some people end up abandoning their attempt before they even start because they are unable to find the beginning of the route. The routes are described in Sean Dougherty's guidebook, Selected Alpine Climbs in the Canadian Rockies.<br /><br /></div><div>Before our climb, we registered with the warden's office in Banff just in case. Then we took off to Two Jack Lake campground near Lake Minnewanka. Instead of Two Jack campground they should have called the place Two-gazillion Mosquitoes campground. At our campsite the mossies were out in swarms. The smoky fire I kept fanning helped keep them away a little, but only as long as I was sitting directly in the smoke, and then I couldn't see or breath. Iain, who is from England where they don't have mosquitoes, thought he was going to be eaten alive. We liberally applied DEET insect repellent but they would bite through clothes. Iain got his new tent set up in a flash and after some soup and coffee and snacks (mixed with mosquitoes) we got in the tent and commenced a merciless search and destroy mission for any mosquito that had chanced to wander in before we got the bug-screen zipped up. It was quite exciting. </div><div><br />The next morning the mosquitoes were still out so we just got out of there as fast as we could and drove to Fireside picnic area which is just up Highway 1 toward Lake Louise. We got our gear sorted there and started out on the trail for Edith Pass at about, oh, 8:00 I guess.<br /><br />The mosquitoes weren't too bad as we marched through the cool forest, heading East towards the mouth of the valley that leads to Edith Pass. We passed the junction to Cory Pass, had a brief discussion about the approach, and then continued up towards Edith Pass. There was some uncertainty about the approach and where we were supposed to break off from the main trail. The book (Dougherty's "Selected Alpine Climbs") gave an approach for all routes on Edith, and there was some more detailed info on the approach to the south ridge route as well. A two-log bridge on the approach trail was mentioned. We came to the two-log bridge, just before Edith Pass, just like the book said. Feeling good to be on track, we carried on up for about 500 meters, measuring by counting steps. I counted out about 600 steps and we came to a trail breaking off to the left up an avalanche slope below the south ridge of Edith. So following that, we came to what we thought was the right spot. We just kept going up, and repeated efforts to figure out where we were by looking at the photograph in the book didn't help at all. There were tracks, so we followed those. And pretty soon we were getting up on the ridge, up a scree gully, and this sort of broke off to the left, like the book said. We saw a tree with a piece of red tape on it, and that was all we needed.<br /><br /></div><div>We roped up and I took the first pitch. Moving off from the tree with tape, I went up an initial steep bit protected with a nut and then up further over loose rock with no available protection to a wall with a horizontal crack into which a piton had been hammered. There was a sling through the piton, and I clipped this. I was a little vexed by the lack of pro, so I just made a belay at the piton, putting in a friend as well, and brought Iain up. He took the next lead. Initially, the ground to the right see med easier and he led off that way. Even though there was a small step above me, I looked up the "crest" of the ridge and seemed to see a line that would take us nicely up. I told Iain to bear left, but he was onto an obvious line of his own. When he brought me up I saw he had moved into a definite groove on the right-hand side of the ridge. <br /><br />The groove seemed to follow along just below the ridge crest up as far as we could see. Climbing up this involved scrambling over very bad rock, which broke off all over the place and didn't provide any protection at all. For several pitches we worked our way up this, swinging leads and setting up belays whenever we could get any decent pro in. For a couple of the pitches, we didn't get any pro in at all. And at least one of my belays was very dodgy. I believe it might have held if I had sort of... sat on it and prayed, or something. Anyway, the climbing wasn't very hard, and usually in the places that were steeper, there was a place to put some protection.<br /><br />At the belays, sitting on the rock and facing outward, looking back down the ridge, the views were just amazing. Iain came up over a bulge in the rock, and I sat there looking at him climbing - behind him was the strangest backdrop. Not sky, but ground. The ground was behind him. Or I should say below him. I was looking down passed him at treetops far far below. I realized that we were gaining a lot of vertical height.<br /><br />We had to be careful with all the loose rock about knocking loose bits down on each other at the belay, or on the rope between us. It was inevitable that some pieces should come down though, since the rock was loose in so many spots. As we neared the top of our "groove", the angle seemed to get steeper. The wall on our left, which separated our groove from the ridge crest, rose up higher. On our right the mountain dropped away in a very impressive vertical rock face. It seemed like we were nearing the top of our groove, and I was just hoping it would deposit us onto the top of the ridge. Iain had the pitch. He moved up over steeper, blocky rock and then was out of sight as he climbed to the left. The rope moved through my hands quickly and I knew he was onto easy ground. A second later Iain called down, "That's it. We're on the ridge."</div><div><br /></div><div>I scampered up the pitch and was on the ridge in a couple minutes too. We were standing on a flat part of the ridge, like a shoulder below the summit. It was maybe 50 meters long. We took off the rope and walked around. I looked over the end of the ridge. There was a gully filled with talus and dirt. It looked like people had in fact come up that way. I was wondering again if we had been on the right route. Whatever- we were on the ridge, and from here, we had only to follow the crest of the ridge to the summit. It was sunny and hot. We drank more water. We'd been sucking it back all along the groove. And the water was sloshing around in the bottom of our 1.5 litre bottles.<br /><br />I had a look up ahead. I wasn't impressed. It looked like we had a lot more climbing to do. I was concerned about how long we were taking. The rock had been loose and the pro had been poor. There was every reason to take it slowly and carefully. But I was concerned that finding the descent route might take some time as well and have us on the mountain for too long, without much water. Anyway, the summit was up ahead, and it looked pretty far away still. It looked like we had the more serious climbing still ahead of us. Between us and the summit, which was sticking up like a turret or something, the ridge rose up in a steep rock step, then levelled off a bit before a final steep part up to the summit itself.<br /><br />I let Iain do the honours of the first lead this time. He led off on steeper, but more solid rock. The next two pitches were the hardest of the climbing, but the rock was also quite a bit better. When Iain stopped and set up a belay, I climbed through, saying "Good lead!", and continued up through a chimney which provided the "crux" for me, if there was one. I imagine Iain's "crux" was the pitch he had just led. Technically, neither pitch was too hard (5.4), but it's the big height, the loose rock, the remoteness of the climb, and all those other factors that make it challenging, both mentally and physically. I came out to easier ground and set up a belay. We moved across the second flat part and found that the last rock step had a fairly easy scrambling route leading up through chimneys in the rock. I took the lead once again and moved out off the steep ground and across another flat part just below the summit. It wasn't necessary to place pro since we had now joined up with the scrambling route. The ridge fell away in a vertical rock face on the right, all the way to the valley floor and Edith Pass, and it fell away on the left in another vertical wall to the valley and Cory Pass. Just before the summit, on a flat area, the ridge became rather narrow, and I had to walk across some interesting rocks, which were rather like stepping stones, with cracks between them. The tops of these rocks were wide and flat however, so it was not difficult. Iain came up and went on past me a few meters more to the summit.<br /><br />We'd done it. And the last of the climbing, from the main shoulder to the summit, hadn't taken nearly as long as I thought it would, due to the fact that our route met up with the "scrambling" route at the second shoulder. It also just looked farther than it really was.<br /><br />We took summit photos and drank the last of our water. I committed the cardinal sin by spilling some. This was bad, because we still had to get down, and it was hot. There's no water to be found on this mountain. We performed the ritual of eating Mars Bars at the summit. Then we headed down.<br /><br />I was momentarily confused once we crossed back over the "stepping stones" but Iain pointed out the way over to the right, and we continued down, moving back down the ridge until we could move onto the scree ledges of the west face. There was a faint path and some cairns which marked the scrambling route up the mountain. Keeping our eyes peeled for cairns, we moved northward along the scree ledges of the west face until we found a cairn at the mouth of a chimney which went down behind a large block. We were looking for what the guidebook called a "hole in the ledge". A big chockstone was lodged between the block and the wall. The chimney went down behind that. It was a hole, or a tunnel, for sure. It was easy down-climbing and pretty soon we were on a huge scree slope, heading down. It would have been nice to drop right down to the valley floor because there was a snowmelt stream there. And we were really thirsty. But the trail led along the side Mount Edith, through a forest of pine that was as dry as tinder. We practically ran down the trail, but it just kept on going and going and didn't descend much at all. We weren't getting any lower, only more and more thirsty.<br /><br />We passed a couple of lost hikers and after what seemed like miles I came to the big descent which went down the front of the hill, switchbacking endlessly through the trees. Eventually I came to the grassy slopes that marked the junction of the trails to Cory Pass and Edith Pass. It was a long way down the grassy slopes. Finally I hit the long-anticipated flat trail back to the car park and walked as fast as I could back towards the car.<br /><br />Iain showed up and we drank lukewarm Cokes. We headed straight back to the drinking fountain at the park in Banff and did our best to consume the entire water supply. All in all, it was a good experience even with the loose rock and I enjoyed it a lot. We were both proud of having done it. But in the future, more solid rock would be really nice. The one consolation is that in the steeper sections the rock is generally more solid, and despite loose rock, the climbing on this route is not difficult.</div><div><h4 style="text-align: left;">When to go:</h4>This is not a high mountain by Rockies standards and should be free of snow most of the summer.<br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">What to take:</h4>Water. This mountain is dry as a bone. One rope, a rack of nuts and friends, and some slings is adequate. Don't count on getting too many good placements though! Also pack along a healthy respect for Rocky Mountain limestone.<br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">Where to stay:</h4>The YWCA in Banff always has room in the dorm rooms. There are men's and women's dorm rooms, good showers, a cafeteria, and a TV lounge. It's an inexpensive place to stay. There is also a nice Youth Hostel on Tunnel Mountain but it is almost always booked full, so reservations are required. A campground is nearby.<br /><h4 style="text-align: left;">Guidebook:</h4>Sean Dougherty's Selected Alpine Climbs in the Canadian Rockies<br /></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-8630994759342887281997-08-04T07:22:00.004-07:002022-08-20T07:07:47.280-07:00Mt. Temple (3543m) South-West Ridge, Canadian Rockies<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in the Canadian Rockies</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Mt. Temple (3543 m) South-West Ridge</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada<br />August 1997<br />Report by Darren DeRidder<br />Party: Iain Williams, Darren DeRidder</h3>Mt. Temple (3543 m) is located near Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies. From Lake Louise townsite, the mountain dominates the view to the south and is a very impressive looking mountain. It is perpetually snow covered and capped by a glacier which seems to hang precariously over the enormous north face. The north face itself is sheer and imposing, 2000 meter cliffs of rock and ice. Mt. Temple is referred to as the Eiger of the Canadian Rockies. It was first climbed in 1894 by Walter Wilcox and party.<br /><br />Despite the impenetrable appearance of the mountain from Lake Louise townsite, Mt. Temple is one of the most frequently climbed of the higher peaks due to a non-technical scrambling route on the south-west ridge. This route gives access to the summit of one of the most impressive mountains along the Bow Valley corridor with relative ease, and does not require technical climbing. Nevertheless there have been a number of accidents even on this route. Within two weeks of climbing Mt. Temple, I learned there had been a fatality as an experienced climber descended this ridge and fell from a snow gully which is perhaps the only challenging part of the route.<br /><br />Mt. Temple is nearer to Moraine Lake than Lake Louise and is listed in the "Valley of the Ten Peaks" section of Sean Dougherty's guide book, "Selected Alpine Climbs in the Canadian Rockies". This book was very useful for my climbing partner and I as it was our first real season in the Canadian Rockies. Many of the other climbers we met also carried this guide. The general consensus seemed to be that the climbs were sometimes harder than the guidebook leads you to believe. Our policy was to stay well within our limits, to the point of avoiding grades which back home on the local crag we would have easily scampered up. This is probably a good idea for anyone making an initial climbing trip to the Rockies. The conditions vary a lot, the rock can be quite a surprise to the uninitiated, and the height and remoteness of some of the routes makes them a lot more serious than the technical grading scale might indicate.<br /><br />After arriving from Calgary by car, Iain and I stayed one night in the Alpine Club of Canada's Canmore Clubhouse. This was the first week of August, generally a good time for summer mountaineering in the Rockies. We were to have two weeks of nearly perfect weather, and four successful climbs. On the evening we arrived, after leaving our gear at the Clubhouse, we drove to Moraine Lake for a quick look. This is truly one of the gems of the Canadian Rockies, and Iain, a native of the U.K., was very impressed.<br /><br />Having seen Moraine Lake many times before I knew what to expect but was nevertheless truly amazed at the incredible beauty of the place. In the parking area we met a fellow who had just done the normal route on Temple, and this was a factor in our deciding to climb Temple the next morning. The original objective had been Mt. Assiniboine, but due to unfavourable conditions which had turned back all previous attempts so far that year, we opted for an easy first climb.<br /><br />As one of the Park Rangers who we met on the way up said to us, the south west ridge is "A pretty un-scary way to climb a pretty scary mountain." And although the route is not technically difficult, it is steep and exposed enough in places to give inexperienced scramblers a fright. One poor fellow who we met on our way down and took back with us said, "I don't know what I was thinking this morning when I started off to climb this. I must have still been drunk."<br /><br />Access to the south west ridge route is via Moraine Lake. From the parking area, a trail winds around the side of the lake, past the boat house where tourists rent canoes, and on up towards Larch Valley. The trail was quite steep, but we were eager to climb so we pushed our pace and moved past a few groups of hikers. We didn't carry any technical climbing gear with us other than our ice axes, which we'd been told would be useful. With light packs we made pretty good time. As we followed the switchbacks up f rom Moraine Lake we caught glimpses of the amazing emerald-coloured water and the impressive snow-fringed peaks encompassing the lake. As we approached Larch Valley our pace slowed and we were breathing a little heavier. There are two small lakes in Larch Valley which are feed by the runoff from the snowfields on Mt. Temple and Pinnacle Mountain, another impressive peak on the other side of Larch Valley. At the end of the valley there is a low saddle between Temple and Pinnacle Mountain. This is Sentinel P ass. There's a well defined trail to the top of this pass. Many people make the top of the pass their final objective. The views over into the valley on the other side are really quite impressive.<br /><br />It was quite a slog up to the top of the pass but it didn't take too long. At the top of the pass we enjoyed the views, noting in particular the Grand Sentinel, a thin finger of rock which is perhaps 150 M high from base to top. On this needle of rock, there are several technical climbing routes. A couple we met on the path told us they were off to climb a new 5.10 sport route on the Grand Sentinel. Rather a long approach, but an unbeatable setting.<br /><br />From Sentinel Pass a faint trail leads up the scree slopes and up the south west ridge of Mt Temple. The route is mainly on scree, and passes through three cliff bands, so it is necessary to use your route-finding skills to some degree. If you keep your eyes open the way is not hard to follow and there are a few cairns in places along the way. The main difficulty comes from climbing on the loose scree, which often slides away under your feet and really hampers your upward progress.<br /><br />The first rock band involved a snow patch which extended up into a chimney through the cliffs above. The ice axes came in handy as we proceeded up into the notch on good snow. Right at the top, a stemming move on the rock got us up over the cliff band and back onto... scree! Although it's quite easy, a fall from this place would probably be fatal and in fact about a week after returning from this trip I received word that an experienced climber had taken a fatal fall at "an innocent looking snow gully" while descending Mt. Temple. Undoubtedly, this very spot! On our way down the mountain we were to have a bit of a scare here ourselves but I'll save that for the end.<br /><br />The next cliff band we had to traverse under to the right to an obvious groove, which was quite straightforward. There was a bit more easy scrambling over rock but for the most part it was just more scree, which got smaller and steeper as we got higher. Going up became very laborious. The slope was wide and the views amazing but all we could do was plod along with our heads down. It was real grunt work, slogging up this last long talus slope, and for every three steps we gained, we seemed to lose one slid ing backwards. We met a few people coming down, including a couple of Park Rangers who we chatted with about conditions on nearby peaks.<br /><br />Eventually we reached snow on the summit ridge, the angle lessened, and we moved along more easily up the last section to the summit itself. From the summit ridge the views were simply fantastic. The ridge was corniced and care has to be taken. Of course this means staying well clear of the fracture line of the cornices, which is often much further from the edge of the cornice than people realize. I've talked to several climbers and experienced myself looking down at the snow at my feet and seeing a hole which dropped straight through to the valley floor a thousand meters below. That gets the old digestive tract moving.<br /><br />The views more than made up for the long slog up the scree slope. Iain was up ahead and suddenly he started hollering at me about the view. So I went up and had a look over the ridge, which was now on our right. There was a huge cornice hanging over the edge further back down the ridge and under that we could see Moraine Lake and the Valley of the Ten Peaks. It was really awesome, especially with the emerald colour of the lake and the snowy peaks all around it. "Tell me this isn't a little piece of Heaven," I said to Iain. "I wouldn't argue with that," he said.<br /><br />Out came the cameras and then some food for a short lunch on a somewhat sheltered rocky slope just below the highest point. The summit itself was covered in deep snow. The wind was quite cool at this altitude although the weather was sunny and warm. We chatted with a couple from Calgary while having our lunch and left shortly after them, following the same way back.<br /><br />Going down the talus slopes was a lot easier than going up. It was quite fun to go scree-skiing down past the climbers who were toiling their way up with agonized looks on their faces. It was easier to pick out the easiest path down from when looking down the slope from above. There were several cairns which led us to an even easier route through the cliff bands than we had found on the way up. When we arrived at the snow gulley, we found the trail through the snow was well worn into the shape of a trough, so in fine mountaineering style, we slid down it on our bums, using our ice axes as brakes. At the bottom of the snow field we met a group of young scramblers, one of whom was the fellow we ended up taking back down with us. He was a bit nervous at the height, didn't want to go any higher, certainly didn't want to go up the snow gully, and asked if he could follow us down.<br /><br />From the snow field we took to the long open scree slope which led right down into Larch Valley itself rather than follow the ridge back to Sentinel Pass and then down into Larch Valley. We were below the cliff bands and although we had to take some care in the top sections of this big scree slope, the angle eased off as we got lower and pretty soon I was shuffling down through the scree, sort of scree-skiing.<br /><br />We were maybe halfway down from the snow field to Larch Valley when someone yelled "Rock!". Iain, who was below me, turned and stared past me, and I knew I better look out. Turning around I saw some small boulders coming down - they went on by without doing any damage - and then I saw what appeared to be a body tumbling from the snow gulley. It was rolling down the snow field out of control, and I could see arms swinging to the sides, as if trying to grab for something, anything, but unable to stop the rolling, tumbling fall. It disappeared for a moment behind the top of a cliff band, and then a backpack shot out into space over the edge of the cliff, free-fell down to the scree slope and continued tumbling down towards us. I thought at first the climber had been able to get his pack off and grab onto something, but then I heard some laughing from above and realized that the "body" had been the backpack. The "arms" were the padded waist belt, flailing out to the sides. Someone had foolishly tried to slide t heir backpack down the snow trough and it had gained momentum and carried on down the snowfield and over the cliffs.<br /><br />Although we were very relieved that no one had actually fallen, I had a few moments where my heart seemed to stop beating and I felt the kind of emotions you might feel in really witnessing a serious fall. It's a sort of helpless feeling, a tightness in the chest, and all you can think is, "Oh, %@#*!"<br /><br />A few pictures in Larch Valley and then a long hike back down to Moraine Lake and we were done. This is a very good climb, a fantastic mountain with incredible views. It's ideal for climbers who want a very easy day out or for scramblers or hikers who want something a bit more challenging than the usual hikes around Lake Louise and Banff. You should be prepared for the weather to come in and expect the temperatures at the top to be cool even if the weather in the Valley is hot. Like I said, and ice axe is v ery useful, and of course, very sturdy boots are mandatory. The climb took us just over four hours from Moraine Lake to the summit. Six hours is a more average time. It took about two and a half hours going down.<br /><br />There is a short description of this climb in Sean Dougherty's book "Selected Alpine Climbs in the Canadian Rockies" and there is another description in the book "Scrambles in the Canadian Rockies". The information provided is less detailed than I have presented here but there are many other great routes in both books. A map of the area might be of some use although the trails are well posted and you'd have to try pretty hard to get lost here.<div><br /><span><a name='more'></a></span><div><br /></div><div>When to go: The route should be most accessible during July and August. We climbed it at the beginning of August and conditions were excellent. To be safe, plan on six hours up and perhaps four down, although we made it in four hours up, two and a half down. Party size, physical conditioning, and route conditions will make a difference.<br /><br />What to take: Gaiters are handy due to the talus slopes and the short section of snow. An ice axe will be a great help in the snow patch below the first rock band. A rope isn't needed, and we didn't need crampons either. Although there is snow on the mountain and the odd trickle of water, you'll want to bring water along.<br /><br />Where to stay: The Alpine Centre, located near Lake Louise townsite, is a joint operation of the Alpine Club of Canada and Canadian Youth Hostelling. It is one of the best hostels anywhere. Membership in either the Alpine Club of Canada or Hostelling International is required. Accommodation is often booked up so reservations are advised. Don't count on staying there without one, but it is sometimes possible to get a bed after the check-in deadline, if folks with reservations haven't shown up. Downstairs is a laundry room and a sauna! There is an excellent restaurant, the Bill Peyto Cafe, inside the Alpine Centre. This is the place to hang out and get well fed. The facility is nice enough that it attracts even the tourist-variety, although you're bound to meet some of the more adventurous type as well. Evening slide shows and a small Alpine Club of Canada library in the Guides Room are a bonus.<br /></div></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Mount Temple, Alberta T0L, Canada51.3508333 -116.205833323.040599463821152 -151.3620833 79.661067136178843 -81.0495833tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-46028816983934184801997-08-01T07:28:00.004-07:002022-08-20T07:07:19.126-07:00Introduction: Canadian Rockies '97 Climbing Trip<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in the Canadian Rockies</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Introduction: Canadian Rockies 1997 Trip</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Banff National Park, Canada<br />First two weeks of August, 1997<br />Introduction by Darren DeRidder<br />Party: Iain Williams, Darren DeRidder, others.</h3><div>This section contains four climbing reports from our climbing trip to the Canadian Rockies in the summer of 1997.<br /><br />Iain and I met in Japan while rock climbing. There was a small group of foreigners and we called ourselves the Toyohashi Alpine Club (TAC). TAC was started by Iain, and his frequent climbing reports were the inspiration for many of my own reports and for this site. The chief activities of the TAC were trying to look cool while avoiding the lead, hot springs, and Denny's (yes, there are Denny's in Japan).<br /><br />Iain and I have since returned from Japan and now live in London England and Ottawa Canada respectively. Last spring out of the blue I got a call from Iain. He asked me what I was up to. "Not much", I said, "it's not as if there are any big adventures on the horizon."<br /><br />"Oh, there are, my boy, there are", was Iain's reply. Iain had hatched a couple of plans, one of which was to go back to Switzerland and finally knock off the Matterhorn, the other was to come to the Canadian Rockies (good idea!) to climb a few peaks. Plan B it was.<br /><br />We spent the first two weeks of August in the Rockies and had a fantastic time. We made four successful climbs, had excellent weather almost the entire time, and no accidents. We climbed Mt. Temple, Mt. Edith, Mt. Athabasca, and Mt. Victoria. Reports of all four climbs are here.<br /><br />I would like to say thank you to Iain, because he was very generous in sponsoring the largest portion of this expedition from his own finances, kindly taking my student lifestyle into consideration. It was great to climb together again, and I found Iain's enthusiasm and energy for climbing made him a nearly perfect partner.<br /><br />Enjoy the reports!<br /></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Lake Louise, AB, Canada51.4253705 -116.177255223.115136663821154 -151.3335052 79.735604336178852 -81.0210052tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-27981871683568415781996-10-05T03:23:00.006-07:002022-08-20T07:04:44.064-07:00Yari-ga-take (3180m), North Alps, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Yari-ga-take (3180m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">North Alps, Japan<br />October 1996<br />Report by Malcolm Field<br />Party: solo climb</h3>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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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).<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br />Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Mount Yari, Taira, Omachi, Nagano 398-0001, Japan36.3420332 137.64762138.0317993638211576 102.4913713 64.652267036178841 172.8038713tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-85565744783276630921996-09-26T22:05:00.001-07:002022-08-20T06:56:57.687-07:00Southern Appalachians, North Carolina, USA<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in the United States</h2><div>
<h1 style="text-align: left;">Southern Appalachians</h1></div><div><h3 style="text-align: left;">North Carolina, USA<br />
Tuesday 25th - Thursday 27th September, 1996<br />
Report by: Iain Williams</h3>
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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.<br />
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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).<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
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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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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.<br />
<br />
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).<br />
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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.<br />
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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.</div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-21588780052405182781996-04-15T03:08:00.001-07:002022-08-20T06:55:51.749-07:00Koma-ga-take (2956m), Central (Chuo) Alps, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><h1>Koma-ga-take (2956m)</h1><div><h3 style="text-align: left;">Central Alps, Japan<br />April 1996<br />Report by Darren DeRidder<br />Party: Malcolm Field and Darren DeRidder</h3>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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />So began our excursion to Koma-ga-take in the central Japan Alps.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Japan36.204824 138.25292432.902941678303478 133.85839275 39.506706321696527 142.64745525tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-14689628928366628931996-03-03T07:23:00.013-08:002022-08-20T03:28:20.115-07:00Dando-san (1152m), Aichi Prefecture, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Dando-san (1152m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Aichi prefecture, Japan<br />March 1996<br />Report by Darren DeRidder<br />Party: Solo climb</h3><div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://www.okuminavi.jp/_upfiles/spotinfo/zoom/72853ae4fc52192008922934c3dc5e27.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="427" data-original-width="640" height="214" src="https://www.okuminavi.jp/_upfiles/spotinfo/zoom/72853ae4fc52192008922934c3dc5e27.jpg" title="Image: okuminavi.jp" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div>[Note: Dando-san is now commonly known as Takanosu-yama]</div><div><br /></div>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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /><br />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.<br /></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com05F3V+2X Shitara, Aichi, Japan35.1525825 137.494926535.149073751025014 137.49063496557616 35.156091248974988 137.49921803442382tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-30970008278447837361995-07-09T18:03:00.006-07:002022-08-20T01:45:18.463-07:00Ena-san (2190m), Gifu prefecture, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><div><h1 style="text-align: left;">Ena-san (2190m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Gifu, Japan<br />10 July 1995<br />Report by Darren DeRidder<br />Party: solo climb</h3><div><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/4c/Enasan_from_north_2010-9-17.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="375" data-original-width="800" height="151" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/4c/Enasan_from_north_2010-9-17.JPG" title="Photo: Wikimedia Commons" width="320" /></a></div><br />Desperate men take desperate measures. Such was the motivation underlying my climb up Ena and back. Having met Mal and Iain the previous day at Nanzan and been totally humiliated by their stories of all their training for Switzerland and how fit they were, I felt like a lazy bum. I'd done nothing in the way of training other than to get a suntan while snorkelling and sailing around the tropics (gloat, gloat). Something had to be done. Reading through Iain's excellent write-ups of some of his recent mountaineering exploits, both solo and in the company of Mr. Field, I struck upon the (not very original) plan of climbing a mountain. Monday morning rolled around and I crawled out of bed and contemplated what to do with myself for the rest of the day. Ontake was too far. I pulled out some Avenues magazines and had a look through Richard Harris' articles. I recalled reading one on Ena-san and soon found it. Close to Nagoya, a two-thousander, it was just the thing. I looked at the time. 9:30. I would really have to get moving.<br /><br />I managed to leave at quarter past ten. By 11:40 I was on the Chuo expressway heading North by North-East towards Nakatsugawa. At quarter past eleven I had my first glimpse of the mountain, a huge hump-back looming in the distance, with the top wreathed in clouds and mist. I began to dread.<br /><br />Harris' article kindly gave instructions for reaching the trailhead. I drove on down 363 to a very small hamlet called Kawami. There was no sign, really, but a roadside advertisement conspicuously displayed the two kanji which make up the word, and the turn-off onto a small bridge which crosses the river here is very obvious. However, once across the bridge, the road immediately forks and I took the left lane, which rose steeply uphill and then turned into a gravel track. The article had said to drive twenty minutes on a road of deteriorating quality. This was definitely deteriorating. Huge weeds grew in the center of the track, whacking the bumper and swishing underneath the car. Big rocks bounced away under the tires. Then it dead ended. I should have assumed that when he said "deteriorating" he meant it in the British sense of the word, not the Canadian sense. Back at Kawakami, I surprised a group of oba-sans by asking them where the heck I was going and having found the error of my way, set it straight by taking the right hand fork after the bridge. The road was quite long and I was beginning to wonder, but mountaineering-looking signs re-established my confidence. A roadside spring enabled me to exchange my city water for fresh mountain water and I set off again with a canteen full. The road was odd. In some sections it was quite full of pot-holes or deeply grooved where water flowed along it, cutting into the surface. In other places, it was newly paved with smooth black-top. Finally I pulled into a wide parking area at 12:35. A large signboard on one side and a gated track beside which sits a little hut marked the area. I started right off, pausing near the start of the trail to stretch out my limbs. A smaller signboard indicated there were three and a half hours of climbing to be done. Counting on my long stride, I planned to take a few short breaks along the way and still make it to the top in three and a half hours, and get back down in two. I would have to push myself though. The track followed a stream up to a concrete dam, then crossed over above it on a wooden bridge and soon turned into a narrow trail. Why they build those dams, I don't know; they seem to serve no purpose.<br /><br />Since it was a fine day with the sun shining hot, I had taken off my shirt. I carried the bare essentials in my pack - rainjacket, nylon trousers, food, water and sundry items. I passed an old hut which is quite worn down but could provide adequate shelter from a storm. From here the path climbed up through some steep sections which had me sweating profusely. The intermittent flat stretches were such a relief. Harris wrote of this trail as being so lovely and enjoyable as to make the effort of ascending it negligible. B.S.<br /><br />After an hour on the trail I stopped beside a spring for a drink of cool water. It certainly was a fine day to be out and I sat in the sun with a faint cool breeze blowing across my shoulders. I could have thoroughly enjoyed this spot had not the thought of having to descend in the dark driven me to take to the trail again.<br /><br />I felt quite refreshed after my ten minute break and went strong until the trail steepened. Then all my days spent lazing on the beaches of St. John took their revenge. My legs were made of syrup. I stumbled along.<br /><br />As I came huffing up a steep slope and into a stand of evergreens, a fork in the trail allowed me an excuse to stop. As I pulled out the Harris article, which was useless at this juncture I found, two fellows came along the left fork. They said both ways were the same, so I went up the path they'd come down, and found it was just a short detour to a genuinely charming little brand spanking new hut. It was 2:05 and I went into the hut and wrote a few lines in the notebook there, also noting my membership in the Toyohashi Alpine Club (Nagoya Chapter).<br /><br />Leaving at a quarter past, I arrived within a minute at a pond with picnic tables! I enjoyed the scene for a few moments and then struck off again up the steep trail. The path dropped down a ways and then started climbing again with a vengeance. Suddenly I realized my meagre breakfast had long ago burned away and I needed to refuel. I could have kicked myself off the mountian for having passed up such a nice spot as the little pond for a lunch break, but told myself I would take advantage of the next inviting rest spot to come along. It was a long time in coming. Half an hour of mostly heart-pounding uphill slogging brought me to a shoulder ridge of bamboo grass over which I could see lower mountains all around. An exposed tree root turned into a lazy-boy chair in my hallucinatory state. My meagre boiled eggs and california oranges lunch tasted like steak and lobster. I glanced at my Tag Heuer chronometer. This was the first time I had worn it on a mountain. It was nearly three.<br /><br />After starting off along the trail again, I passed a fellow coming down who said it was about an hour to the top. Three others followed him. I felt I must now be quite alone on my push to the summit. Along the way, little signs perversely teased me with the distance to the summit hut. Four kilometers. Three kilometers later another sign read 2.5 kilometers. The distance I was covering wasn't worth the effort I was putting into it. As I climbed up, however, sections of the trail levelled out and were really pleasant to walk along. A carpet of decaying pine needles between dark, mossy boulders and gnarled tree roots along the path were bordered by the deepest shades of sun-dappled verdant green, reminding me of the coastal rainforests of the Cascades in Oregon. I arrived at the summit hut about forty minutes after leaving my lazy-boy tree root and had a look inside. It was quite spacious, with a large entry way containing a wood-burning stove. Inside, I ate another boiled egg and had a big swig of water which had started to taste like plastic. Were it not for the Harris article here, I would have cast around a bit, as the trail to the actual summit does a sharp jacknife and swings around the side before climbing up past a couple of shrines to the summit clearing. I perched myself on the pile of boulders here but couldn't see much at all except a huge bank of cumulus clouds. Thunder roared. Great, I thought. I wondered how in the world the people at Aisan get all their freshmen employees to make this slog up to the top of Mt. Ena as a rite of initiation.<br /><br />I didn't stick around long. As I walked off the summit, a lone fellow in full fly-fishing gear minus the waders plodded up. Next to him, I was naked. My spandex rock-climbing shorts I had scrunched into the smallest brief possible. I felt like he was looking at me the way I looked at that bozo who climbed Fuji in a suit and penny loafers in October when me and the other guys were decked out in head to toe gore-tex. Well, I hadn't been alone after all. At the hut, I went up the trail behind it to get a look at the view from that side. There was a shrine on the ridge a little ways along the path and I could see all around to the North, South and West. A huge storm was brewing. Thunder crashed in the distance. It seemed to be moving parallel to my intended line of travel, however.<br /><br />Having satisfied myself that I could take a bearing with my new compass, I made a concentrated effort to get down as fast as I could. I took in few details as I sped down the mountain. My initial smooth gait turned into a bone-rattling controlled fall. I realized that I had climbed up a very long way. Very long indeed. Good grief where is the car park?! I passed the old hut, and telling myself I was nearly to the end, poked around it. There was a stinky toilet in the back. Well, off to the car park. More incredulous feelings came over me as the short gravel track up to the dam stretched on and on. It seemed twice as long as it had on the ascent. Abruptly I saw the clearing and my little red car parked under the big sign. It was 6:15. I'd make it to the top at 3:55, beating my estimation by 15 minutes, having taken three hours and fifteen minutes to the top with a total of thirty minutes break time included, and after spending twenty minutes at or near the top, had returned as I planned in exactly two hours. My legs and knees were quite sore, but it felt very good to have done something to get myself in shape. Something which was worth mentioning to Mal and Iain, which is in fact the reason why I am typing up this self-congratulatory report.<br /><br />An old-timer camped beside his car struck up a conversation in English with me. He'd been to Canada and climbed Mount Athabasca, Mount Temple, and another (was it Robson?!). Stallion. He'd done Whitney in the States, too.<br /><br />I took route 19 back to save some coin, stopping at KFC, the only recognizable restaurant along the way. Back home, getting out of the car, my knee had seized up and I almost fell down with pain. Taking a few minutes to shake it out and get limbered up, I then hobbled off to the store to buy ice cream. It tasted rewarding.<br /><br />Darren DeRidder. 11 July, 1995 (Ena-san. 2190m. Climbed 10 July 1995)<br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Mount Ena, Nakatsugawa, Gifu 508-0001, Japan35.4432801 137.59702337.1330462638211571 102.44077329999999 63.753513936178848 172.7532733tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-68795926511365832051995-05-31T08:41:00.001-07:002022-08-20T03:26:41.592-07:00Ontake-san (3063m), Nagano prefecture, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Ontake-san (3063m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Gifu, Nagano prefecture, Japan.<br />Tuesday 1st June, 1995<br />Report by Iain Williams<br />Party: Iain Williams and Malcolm Field</h3><br /><div>Ontake, a mountain that I haven't complimented in the past. I have seen it many times from the air travelling to and from the UK. It sits by itself about 20km to the west of the Chuo Alps and is a large and partially blown apart volcano with several crater lakes located on the top. It also has the misfortune of veing a skiing destination in the winter so it has its fair share of chair lifts. As a result it has never been a mtn that I have been super keen to do. Its advantages are that its our nearest big mtn and its a 3000er so with June 1st being a company holiday for us we agreed to add it to our list of successful ascents.<br /><br />With it being so close we had time to do it in a day without having to bivy out the night before. My day started at 5am, as I got up to watch the BBC news and force down some breakfast. I then took the first train and headed off to Okazaki where I met Mal at 6:30. We then set off for Tajimi and on to the Chuo expressway for Nakatsugawa followed by the run up route 19. It was exactly the same drive as we did every time we went skiing at Kiso Koma, only this time we were doing it on a beautiful sunny morning instead of a cold winter's evening. We stopped to get some provisions once off the expressway and then enjoyed a very pleasant drive up the lush green valleys in the warm morning sunshine. Turning left off route 19 we drove onto the lower slopes of Ontake. On various bends in the road we were treated to fine views of the mtn. It looked quite impressive but had rather more snow on it than I'd been expecting. From our side there were two routes to choose from so I chose the slightly longer one. The last part of our drive in was blocked by a landslide on the road so we had to drive back down and take another road to our little car park. Having these hitches at the end of our drives seems to be becoming the norm. Eventually we reached our empty little car park.<br /><br />We quickly sorted our gear and headed off into the trees at 10:45. The path was like none I'd seen before. It was covered with pieces of wood. At first I quite enjoyed walking on it but as Mal said you couldn't settle into a pace on it. The route headed up through the pine trees passing a couple of huts that had little shrines. I was feeling good and was realy enjoying the peaceful surroundings. Much to my surprise our wood covered path then turned into a snow covered path. The further up we went the deeper the snow became, surprise, surprise. This concerned me a little as we weren't very high and I had given Mal my solemn word that he wouldn't need his crampons. My big concern was descending. I still have very clear memories of coming down Gozaisho in the snow without crampons or ice pick. Perfect give yourself a good injury territory. I kept my thoughts to myself and on we went. After about an hour and a half the trees thinned and changed to birch trees. The slope started to round off and we trudges up across the snow to a locked up and deserted hut. We now had a good view of the route up to the top. Lots of snow but also wide rocky sections. The rather fast moving white clouds at the top indicated that a good wind was blowing up there. We didn't stop at the hut, which had many statues, gravestones, and a shrine outside, and moved on traversing a not too steep snow fiels which brought us to another small shrine.<br /><br />Ontake has been a very holy mtn since ancient times. It is covered with gates and shrines. In the summer white robed monks ascend it on pilgrimages, hence the wood covered path. The shrine we now stood at was surrounded by many statues and memorial(?) stones. The statues were a little smaller than life size and some of them were made of dark stone and had gold dots painted on their eyes. Being someone who is easily spooked I didn't like the look of them. To be honest I never felt quite at home on the mtn. Something didn't feel right. I thought of Messner and his comment that he wouldn't do anything big if things weren't right like his pack smelling not normal. A comment I don't quite understand. We were also the only mortals on the mtn nd we didn't see anyone all day.<br /><br />At the shrine we took some photos of our splendid surroundings. To our north we could see Norikura dake, another 3000m volcano standing on its own. It's a mtn that I haven't given a lot of thought but it looked quite impressive. Behind it we could see the lower slopes of the North Alps, the upper slopes being in cloud. The best view though was right behind us. Ontake fell away into a large wide green treefilled valley. It was a huge beautiful view. The other side of the valley was the long dark wall of the Central Alps with thin lines of snow descending. One had to look carefully to see Koma ga take, the highest point at just under 3000m. As we climbed higher the South Alps showed more of themselves rising up behind the Central Alps. We could see Kita Dake and Nottori Dake on whose summit wehad stood exactly one year ago to the day. Unfortunately there was too much cloud in the distance and we were not afforded a view of the upper slopes of Fuji.<br /><br />After our short break we coninued our ascent up a sunken lava path in a field of creeping pine. I polar plodded up following Mal. I was feeling tired not, altitude tired, an allover lethargic feeling. Occassionally the path was filled with long snow patches. Once the creeping pine disappeared the rock changed from being dark ashey lava into a lighter more stoney rock. The worrying part now loomed ahead, the steep upper snow slopes. Mal was a little concerned and slowly attacked the steep slope in front of us. I was now feeling quite good and attacked it hard kicking in good steps and ascending like it was a long staircase. At the top was a rather precariously placed hut. Before not too long I was sitting beside it watching Mal come up and surveying the wonderful view. Mal soon topped out and expressed his concern about descending. My reply was 'no worries, the snow is soft.' From the hut we headed for the next hut which was very close. We scrambled across some deep snow and then got separated as we tried to find the route through the creeping pine, snow, rocks, rubbish, and some broken glass. Mal found the easiest way up to the left. I went to the right and ended up having to cross some very soft and deep snow around the back of the hut. Several times a leg would go through the surface and only stop sinking when I'd sunk up to my hip. I didn't enjoy it.<br /><br />The hut was just below a crater ridge path and as we climbed up the wind got much stronger. Mal stopped in a sheltered spot to put on some extra clothing. I moved on past the high lava bank and took the full brunt of the wind. To my right was a huge snow filled crater with a smaller one attached. There was also a small frozen crater lake. It was a very barren, cold, cloudy, snowy, wind swept landscape. After about 30m I stopped and headed back to Mal. Dressed in shorts and t-shirt with a fleece top the wind was cutting right through me. I put on my waterproof jacket and balaclava. I hadn't brought my gloves so I put my spare pare of white socks on my hands. My attire combined with Mal's olf pair of sunnglasses made me a top contestand for the Mountain Plonker of the Year award. Looking up we could see a hut on the highest point. I strongly hoped that the summit wasn't too far behind it. Getting up there was a real summit push. The wind was very strong and a lot of cloud kept obscuring the view. After crossing the snow around the hut with my bare hands they were very cold and the wind went straight through my socks and kept them that way. I also regretted not putting on my waterproof trousers. We slowly trudged up occassionally getting some shelter when the lava banked up on our left. We could also smell sulphur just like the ridge at Tateyama.<br /><br />At the hut we quickly looked rond and then headed for a large gate, walked under it and up a new set of steps up to the top. We walked very slowly up the steps lauging at our pathetic pace. The summit was not what I was expecting. It was flat with a small hut and a small shrine that was flanked by our welcome party of demon eyed statues. It wasn't the usual kind of summit that we've become accustommed to. The strong smell of sulphur was still there and also a loud roaring sound like that of water emerging under immense pressure.<br /><br />I headed for the sheltered side of the hut and sat down to enjoy and savour my well earnt Mars bar. Looking down I saw where the noise and the smell were coming from. There was a large fumarole shooting out steam and sulphurous vapors surrounded by three smaller smoking ones. I was impressed but the strong smell didn't compliment the somewhat cold piece of chocolate perfection that I was consuming. I quickly ate my lunch, salmon maki sushi and muesli bars. I was cold. We then took some more summit photos, including a few with one of our demon friends holding a Mars. It was then time to beat a hastey retreat down to the lower hut. Back at the hut I took off my socks so as to keep them dry.<br /><br />From the hut we picked a route waving our way through the rubbish and broken glass to the next hut. Not one of Japan's golden mtn spots! At the hut Mal very generously let me go first down our steep snow slope. As I'd expected descending was no problem as I dug my heels in deeply and moved down quickly. Mal followed a little more apprehensively. It was then back down the lava path to the large cluster of demons. 'Demon' has become a bit of an in word for us. Our drive to Daisen last year was done while Mal told me demon stories. I also called the fast driving truck that tailed and passed us on the way to Kita Dake 'the demon truck from hell,' a name that we often refer to. When we were skiing we called super fast skiers 'speed demons.' All the intense statues on Ontake made me think we should rename the mtn 'Demon Dake'.<br /><br />The descent from the next hut took us back into the trees onto the snow covered path. This was the part that worried me. Small streams sometimes flowed under the snow and now and again we'd put a leg through. It turned out to be not as perilous as I was expecting and I rather enjoyed it. It was very peaceful and much warmer than it had been on top. However descending doesn't take long before it starts becoming a drag. Eventually we left the snow path and were back on the wood. My memory told me we didn't ascend for too long on the wood and therefore we would soon be back at the car. I was wrong and we descended for a while before reaching the car. Seeing Mal's car after a climb is always a most welcome sight and this time was no exception. It was 4:15. I was nice and warm and a little fatigued. We had beaten the demons and another 3000er had been conquered and I felt satisfied.<br /><br />Again the drive back down to the expressway was very pleasant in the dying afternoon sunlight. I had a tough time staying awake though. Back in Toyota we did the usual and feasted at Denny's. For me it was then the slow train ride back home. I was tired but there was still a fair bit of adrenaline at work in me. Back home, after a shower I quickly fell asleep and had many fire dreams, whatever they mean.<br /><br />Ontake had provided us with a fine day even though I was a little underequipped. It was good preparation fr our summer activities in Switzerland. More must be done though. I'm not sure what the next ascent will be. Chances are it'll be a 1000m job on a hot and humid summer's day, not the best preparation for being at 4000m in Switzerland!</div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0VFV8+52 Gero, Gifu, Japan35.892944 137.465057435.865130565598811 137.43072512460938 35.920757434401189 137.49938967539063tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-80149973710624751201995-05-02T08:28:00.004-07:002022-08-20T03:24:03.476-07:00Tateyama (3015m), North Alps, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Tateyama (3015m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">The North Alps, Japan<br />Wednesday 3rd May, 1995<br />Report by Iain Williams<br />Party: Iain Williams, Malcolm Field</h3><div>My original intention for this Golden Week was to go rock climbing in Korea but due to the excessively high air fares and the limited amount of time I had the plan had to be ditched. Plan B was to do Tateyama in the North Alps, located between the Yari Hodaka ridge and the north coast town of Toyama. Somewhat similar to Daisen. Tateyama was once volcanic but now basically forms a ridge and a rather high one. It is also a major tourist spot in all seasons because of the superb scenery and the impressive transport link going up and through the ridge which consists of a mountain railway followed by a bus followed by another bus which goes through a tunnel through the ridge to the cable car station on the other side which goes down to a large dam which is crossed on foot and finally a bus which takes you down to a train station. A good trip but an expensive one. Our plan was simply to climb up to the highest point on the ridge.<br /><br />For me the trip started at 9:30 on Tuesday morning when I took the train up to Okazaki where I was supposed to meet Mal at 10. He was 30 mins late so we finally set off at 10:30. We went back up through Toyota and Tajimi heading for Route 41. The drive was to be very picturesque but also very long. Mal had booked us into the youth hostel in Tateyama village for the night and in order to get dinner we had to be there by 5pm, something which concerned Mal far more than me. We ploughed our way up the twisting route admiring the contrasting greens of the trees.<br /><br />Personally, I much prefer the trees at this time of year compared to the autumnal colours. The weather was not the best though and low cloud and drizzle didn't fill us with joy. Some of the cloud was caught in the trees and gave one the impression we were in a tropical rainforest. The road followed the river, which due to all the rain was flowing fast and wild. At points it had small dams which were covered in mist as did some of the calmer parts of the river. It was a rather pretty drive.<br /><br />After I don't know how long we stopped at a convenience store beside Gero, where I had once stayed with my Dad. We then continued on up to Takeyama. As the road climbed up, the trees lost their fresh young greens and went back to their drab winter colours and driving past the town we saw all the cherry blossoms which was nice as all of ours had long gone. Once past Takeyama we were entering new territory and the road continued to climb up. We went up over a pass and on the other side the river was now flowing in the opposite direction, not really that surprising but it seemed a little odd after we'd been staring at it for three hours going in the other direction. On the way down to Toyama we got to see some big snowy mtns which were probably ours and soon after we hit low cloud again and it started to rain and continued to for the rest of the day.<br /><br />As we neared Toyama the navigating got a little serious and we turned off to the right and headed back into the mtns. We drove up and past our destination and had to double back driving down a very misty road in the fading light. At about 5:40 we finally pulled into Tateyama village and soon found the youth hostel. It was a rather lifeless little place with a few small hotels, shops, train stn and the mountain railway station. Dinner was also rather lifeless, as I'd expected, and an hour or so after it we were in need of further nourishment. Before retiring to bed we finalised our plans for the following day and checked them with the people who worked in the hostel. It all seemed okay. That night we shared our room with an American lad (big) who was traveling around Japan. After we switched off the light I and I think Mal lay awake thinking about the next day while our American friend fell asleep immediately and started snoring, much to my annoyance. My last words to Mal that night were, `Old MacDonald had a farm...'<br /><br />The next morning Mal was up at 4 and staring out the window and informing me of all the people swarming around the mtn railway stn. I was still trying to rest. Our room had been very dusty and my chest had suffered. It felt very tight and I had quite a few squirts of ventolin that morning. I eventually got out of bed at about 5 and sorted my gear out and then went downstairs for our 5:30 breakfast, if that was the right word for it. As I forced my rice and fried egg down the oba san cook asked us if we'd bought our tickets for the railway. We gave her a strange look as we hadn't known we had to do this. When you bought your ticket you were given a departure time for the train. After seeing all the people outside it became very obvious that we weren't going to be on the first train at 6:10. I quickly finished my rice and then ran across the road to get our tickets, departure time: 7:20. We had an hour to kill so I went into the tv room and kept checking the weather forecast and watched a programme on learning Russian, just in case we met any lost hungry Russians on the mtn.<br /><br />The stn was full of all sorts of people, skiers, climbers, tourists and the cream of the Toyohashi Alpine Club. Our jam packed train took us up the steep escarpment to the bus station. Once off the train the view behind was good. We looked back down across the cloud filled valley. This was followed by a lengthy wait while tour groups seemed to have priority to get on the buses. Our blood pressures were rapidly rising. We'd had far better starts. Eventually we got on a bus, sitting at the front, and made ourselves comfortable for the 55 minute journey. The road climbed steeply up through the trees and then came out onto a huge rising snow covered plateau. We got quite good views of the surrounding mtns and were truly gobsmacked by the amount of snow. The further we went the deeper the snow got and eventually the road narrowed into a single lane and the snow on either side rose into 18m walls. It was incredible. Keeping the road open like that in winter could be no mean feat. Once through the snow tunnel we came to the hotel/bus station at the end of the road.<br /><br />Inside many people were milling around either getting ready to climb, ski or take another bus through the tunnel. We found a space and got our clothing sorted. I put on Darren's plastic boots and my fleece top and then headed upstairs and outside. On the snow again there were many people. We had good clear views all around us and our route didn't look too bad. We were standing in the bottom of a huge cirque much like a huge bowl of snow. Our altitude was a generous 2,400m so the climb wouldn't be too exhausting.<br /><br />Our route was basically in two halves. The first being a walk across the snow followed by a fairly steep ascent up to a hut (Ichi-no-koshi). We set off following a narrow track that slowly ascended. I hadn't bothered putting on my crampons and was dressed in fleece trousers, thermal top and TAC T-shirt. Although the sun wasn't out there was still a strong glare from the snow. I had forgotten my sunglasses but fortunately Mal had an old spare pair in his pack. Mal slowly crept away from me as we followed the line of climbers and skiers heading for the hut. The snow was a little soft so with every footstep my feet sank in and slipped back when I moved forward. At first it was a bit frustrating but I soon settled into a pace. The pace would then be disrupted when I caught up with groups. Everyone moved in single file and as we were on a slope moving past people required a lot of energy as it involved scrambling up and around. Many people were carrying skis or more amazingly skiing up the slope, which must have been very hard work. The last section got quite steep and I was enjoying my little workout and I soon reached the hut. Most of the skiers stopped here and skied back down. I was very impressed with them as going through all that effort just to ski was something I wouldn't be too keen to do. Mal was sitting on some rocks beside the hut taking his crampons off. As I was well warmed up I didn't want to stop so told him I would continue and see him further up.<br /><br />The hut sat in the middle of a col and the route up to our summit required a left turn and then a very steep ascent up a rocky bouldery path for about 300m to another hut. Soon after starting up the path the snow almost completely disappeared so I sat down and changed my boots. It was absolute luxury getting those boots off. Placky boots are so uncomfortable when it comes to walking. As I sat there Mal came up, took a photo and then headed on. I soon followed him with blood surging through my feet again. The ascent was hard work and towards the top it started becoming a bit of a Fuji deathmarch. Although I didn't feel the altitude I'm sure it must make things just that little bit harder up there. The next hut didn't take too long in coming and was located at the end of the ridge. On the top the wind was quite strong and cold but again there wasn't really any snow. I stopped and put on my black sweater and then quickly moved on. I soon came to a small shinto gate and passed under it and then climbed on up to a small summit with a little shrine on it. Mal was there waiting for me. We had reached the top of Oyama (3003m). We took a few photos and consulted the map. The real summit was about 15 mins to the north. We decided to leave the packs at Oyama and head off to the top with only a camera.<br /><br />We climbed down off our rocky pinnacle and started scrambling across the now windy ridge. It felt great to be up there back in the 3000m zone. I was super keen to get to the top now. We met a group of students heading in the opposite direction and asked them if we could get to the top. They said no problem so again we moved on. I didn't have my hat on and my head was feeling rather cold. We then met another small group and one of the blokes said I couldn't go on without an ice pick. My reply was that I would continue and if necessary would double back. He looked the alpine type and was very adamant about what he was saying so eventually we did an about turn and headed back to Oyama. Back there I put on a hat and my waterproof top, picked up my pick, ate a Mars and then waited very impatiently for Mal to finish his before going back again.<br /><br />The wind had now dropped a bit and we moved quickly. I was now super keen to get there. It was good fun scrambling across small pinnacles and patches of snow up there in the clouds. After about 15 mins I started to wonder where the top was. On seeing a high patch of ground I walked round the lower part and then headed back up and on to it. It was a large hump covered in snow. I scrambled up and across the snow. It was deep and soft and now and again a leg would sink in up o the hip, frustrating. On top were two other climbers. I asked them if this was the actual summit and they said yes. I called back to Mal and he followed me up. There was a rocky pinnacle with a small wooden board at the base saying 3015m. We sat on the pinnacle taking a few shots but I felt sure the snow was a little higher than the rock so we took some more snaps standing on the top of the snow. The snow was part of a cornice and about a couple of meters from the edge were cracks. Rather foolishly we stood at the edge to take the photos. It was then a quick scramble back down and another return to Oyama. As we walked back we moaned about the ice pick advice. We didn't need them and if anything they made the going more difficult as we climbed around the rocky pinnacles. This wasn't the first time I'd been given useless advice in Japan. I was hoping we'd meet the bloke at the bottom but we didn't.<br /><br />On the top of Oyama again we met a group of climbers who took their photos and then turned round and went back down as did nearly everyone. Why did they all go up there and then not bother going to the summit? We collected our gear and then headed back down past the hut and then down the steep slope to Ichi-no-koshi. We descended leisurely through the cloud chatting and enjoying our surroundings. The hut soon appeared and so did the cold wind. We stopped beside the hut and took some clothing off. It had now started to rain a little and the wind was blowing strong and cold across the col. The harsh weather was giving me a real adrenaline rush as we got changed. It's much easier to enjoy such conditions when you know safety isn't far away. I decided not to put the placky boots back on but armed myself with my ice pick. We then started our descent down the steep snow slope. A few skiers passed us and we watched them jealously.<br /><br />We half ran half walked down the slope. It was quite good fun bounding down but we were both a little tired so didn't attack it wholeheartedly. Once it got flat again it became a bit of a drag. The rain also started to fall properly and my fleece trousers were soon soaking wet. Just before we arrived back at the hotel complex we stopped so Mal could try and change his film. He couldn't so we quickly marched back into the warmth. It was just after 2pm when we got back. Often a quick stop inside we ventured back out to take some photos on the snowy plateau. We also tried to take some of the snow gorge road but this was difficult as we couldn't walk down it. Back in the building we had an ice cream, bought some post cards and then caught the bus out. On the bus my face felt a little sore. Once again it was sunburnt, although this time I was quite impressed as there hadn't been any sunshine. I'd learnt a little lesson.<br /><br />The trip back down to the hostel went very smoothly and we soon arrived back in the little lobby informing them that we would eat elsewhere that evening. After quickly changing we drove down the valley to the nearest restaurant, this wasn't Denny's territory so I ended up with curry, cheese on toast and strawberry ice cream. Not bad. On leaving we asked the extremely friendly and helpful waitress if there was an onsen nearby. There was and we soon found it. Relaxing in the steaming hot water was magic. It's something I'm going to miss when I leave Japan. It's the perfect way to round off a climb.<br /><br />Back at the hostel we drank Mal's bottle of Baileys as our room filled up with people. We had the window wide open, the dust hadn't gone. Mal warned me there would be trouble keeping the window open for the night. He was right but I told him I would fight our little war and win. We did but we didn't manage to keep it wide open. The others weren't happy, ha, ha.<br /><br />The next morning my chest was in bad shape again. As everyone rose early so did we and headed off to Toyama in search of a McDonald's breakfast. Toyoma looked like a nice little city but it couldn't provide us with a McD's breakfast or a Denny's. We ended up in a McD's anyway. We had a long breakfast of coffee and filet of fishes. We then drove down the coast through Kanazawa and Fukui to Tsuruga. The atlas said there were some beautiful beaches in the area around a small peninsula. There were and we had a very pleasant drive even though the sun wasn't shining. We also found a nuclear power station so popped into the information centre for a quick look. It was small and quite well hidden but the location was far too good for such a facility. After our uninformative stop we drove on to the end of the cape where we found some stunning granite cliffs. Hopefully in the not too distant future they will provide us with some excellent climbing. The whole area was super and I'm very keen to return. Back on the expressway it was about a 2hr drive down to Okazaki and Denny's. Another trip was over.<br /><br />Since I've been back I've seen several pictures of Tateyama's summit and none looked like ours. This has been annoying me a lot. There should have been a shrine on the summit. Mal's explanation is that it was under the snow. Very likely, however there is also a hut just past the summit. We didn't see that either but again that wasn't too surprising because of the cloud. My one piece of positive evidence was the board saying 3015m. Unfortunately it doesn't totally convince me. Despite this it was a good trip and a super area, well worth a visit any time of year. Next ascent: I'm not sure, it could be Ontake, a 3000er or a smaller 1000m solo job. I'm also quite keen to do Akaishi Dake in the South Alps as it was often visible from Toyosplash through the winter. Watch this space.<br /></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0HJG9+8G Tateyama, Toyama, Japan36.5758353 137.61886636.465592135707141 137.4815368984375 36.686078464292862 137.7561951015625tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-89120386893488432591994-11-23T04:43:00.010-08:002022-08-20T01:58:35.658-07:00Mt. Fuji (3776m), Shizuoka prefecture, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Mt. Fuji (3776m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Shizuoka Prefecture, Japan<br />23 November 1994<br />Report by Darren DeRidder<br />Party: Iain Williams, Malcolm Field, Darren DeRidder</h3><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1b/080103_hakkai_fuji.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="536" data-original-width="800" height="268" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/1/1b/080103_hakkai_fuji.jpg" title="Image: Wikimedia Commons" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div>No collection of reports about mountain climbing in Japan would be complete without one on the highest, most famous, most photographed, and most climbed mountain in the country, Mt. Fuji. Internationally recognized for its clean aesthetic form and unique beauty, Mt. Fuji is one of the most popular sights in Japan, and climbing Mt. Fuji has become almost a rite of initiation for foreigners there. Iain wrote a good report of this climb, but I have lost it, so here is mine instead.</div><br />There is a Japanese saying which goes, "A wise man climbs Mt. Fuji once. Only a fool climbs it twice." That makes sense, seeing as how Fuji, which at a distance appears almost heavenly, loses any trace of beauty once you set foot on its slopes. The graceful summit that floats above the valley mists and beckons hopeful climbers turns into something like the worlds largest ashtray once the hike begins. Long long lines of traffic wind up the twisting road to the 5th stage, the point approximately halfway up the mountain where the actual climbing begins. Buses spew out dense black clouds of diesel exhaust: the trees seem to be dying from it. Crowds mill about in the cramped souvenir and snack shop, yammering away about what kind of junk to buy and bring back to friends and co-workers, apparently oblivious to the fact that they are on Mt. Fuji and should be enjoying the views. Climbers in all sorts of outfits from white pilgrim garb to thousand-dollar GoreTex and everything in between form a literal queue up the dusty, monotonous path to the summit.<br /><br />Along the way, at the 5 remaining 'stages' along the route, there are huts. The price of a can of Coke climbs with the altitude. The summit of Mt. Fuji has a Coke machine too, and if you have $4.00 you can buy a can. There is also a pay phone, in case you want to call home. Almost everything that is enjoyable about mountain climbing has been removed from Mt. Fuji, so that under normal conditions, a climb of this mountain is an unholy miserable slog.<br /><br />That's why we climbed it in winter.<br /><br />Mt. Fuji is officially closed in winter. You're not supposed to climb it. There is an 'official' climbing season on Mt. Fuji, and after that, the huts along the route to the top shut down. Apparently this makes most people think that the course is unclimbable. What on earth would they do without the $4.00 can of Coke at the summit, or the phone? What if they needed to use the toilet?<br /><br />This was fine with us. The less people, the better. We didn't need Coke, couldn't afford to call home, and we were adept at backwoods toiletry. What we wanted was a winter climb on a big mountain with as few distractions as possible. Some people looked at us like we were crazy. Some of our Japanese climber friends nodded and told us we'd have no problem, but to beware of the winds.<br /><br />The wind was something I already knew about. A year earlier to the day, I had made a winter attempt on Mt. Fuji in the company of a relatively inexperienced Japanese climber named Kuno-san. He was a member of some alpine club or another, and the members of his club had sent him off with doleful remarks and warnings. He carried a little notepad in which he kept a careful commentary and recorded all our starting and stopping times. He looked like he thought he was taking his life in his hands and was getting ready to die.<br /><br />On top of that, people from his club had said to me, "You have to be careful, because you are responsible if anything goes wrong, it's all your fault." They then proceeded to tell me stories about all the climbers who had died on Mt. Fuji by trying to climb it in winter. This was put into perspective a bit by a climbing friend of mine who told me about his yearly trips to do telemark skiing on Mt. Fuji. "Last time I went all the way from the very top down to the 5th level," he said.<br /><br />Anyway, with my inexperienced Japanese friend in tow, I proceeded up to about the eighth stage were I sat down for a drink. Before leaving the 5th stage, which was still open for tourists, I had bought a can of hot coffee. This was mostly frozen by now but I shook it up and drank it anyway. We decided not to rope up for the last bit, even though it was a little steeper and the wind was really blowing.<br /><br />After the ninth stage we couldn't stand up anymore. The wind was just too strong. We had our crampons on and our ice axes, but we had to crouch down in the howling gale just to keep from getting blown off the mountain. The wind was blowing snow and ice and even little rocks through the air. We were covered head to toe, but it wasn't too much fun.<br /><br />We could have crawled to the top but we decided to go down. When the path switchbacked and turned into the wind I had loads of fun by getting a running start down the wide, steep trail, leaping into the wind, and literally gliding down on the force of the airstream like a ski jumper by leaning forward and making my body like an airfoil.<br /><br />So, the next year, I was back with Iain and Mal to climb Mt. Fuji. Finally. All the way to the top.<br /><br />We got to the 5th stage late at night, arriving from Nagoya in Mal's car. Iain and I had our sleeping bags and planned to kip out beside the car. Mal had his futon in the back seat and planned to sleep in the car. Smart man. Ian and I laid our sleeping bags out beside the car, making some comments about the beautiful starry night and hoping the weather would hold. It was cold. Within a few minutes we were both uncomfortable. We laid there silently counting off the hours. About 3 in the morning I heard Iain's quiet voice query, "Darren...?" So I said, "Yeah, what?"<br /><br />"Are you cold?" Iain asked. I was freezing my arse off. "No, I'm NICE and warm", I said, "What's the matter, can't you sleep?" "I'm busting for a leak, but I don't want to get out of my bag", said Iain. "Well", I said, "Why don't you pee in your sleeping bag?"<br /><br />Iain then jumped out of his sleeping bag in a flash and, looking like a cat on a hot tin roof (except it was cold instead of hot), pranced over to the edge of the parking lot in his stocking feet and underwear and wizzed in a snowbank. He was back in a flash and zipped up in his bag.<br /><br />"That was cold", he said.<br /><br />Neither one of us got any sleep and we were in a black mood when Mal got up at around 5 and started puttering around and putting on a brew. He had slept like a baby and was ready for coffee and a climb. I was ready to take over Mal's futon and forget about climbing. Eventually Iain and I got out of our bags and into our clothes. Moving around and drinking hot coffee got us warmer. There were some other people about but in the darkness it wasn't clear exactly what everyone was doing. By the time it got light we were off and climbing up to the sixth stage.<br /><br />Mal got a strong start and took off in front. Iain was doing alright, and I was fighting it every inch of the way. I have never, ever worked that hard on a mountain, even at higher altitudes. I carried a full 50m rope in my pack which didn't make things any easier. Iain kept yelling down at me to keep slogging along, and without that encouragement I would have sat down and turned into a popsicle.<br /><br />About the eighth stage again we knew what we were into. The weather was perfect. Behind us a big cloud bank was approaching and threatened to swallow us up, but for the time being it was holding off. The rest of the sky was clear and we could see the blue pacific and the coastal plain stretching out below us. As we got higher we could see parts of the South Alps. Best of all there was no wind.<br /><br />Deciding the rope was unnecessary we stored some gear in the entrance of the hut and carried on. Mal, once again in front, blazed his way up to the summit, and Iain followed. I was staggering and semi-delirious by the time I made it up to crater rim. It was still clear and for the first time I looked down into the crater of Mt. Fuji. There was still a bit to go up to the highest point on the rim, where a weather station is situated. The last dozen meters up this slope was slow torture. My body just didn't want to move, it was the weirdest thing. I saw Mal and Iain just up ahead and they said, "Come on, you're almost here." I put one foot in front of the other, and what seemed like several minutes later, they weren't any closer. It was like a dream where you run but don't go anywhere.<br /><br />At the top I looked North South East and West, took a photo, turned around and headed down without thinking much or doing anything in the way of celebrating. I didn't even eat a Mars bar. The temperature was -16C.<br /><br />The weather had held off but as we got lower on the slopes the big cloud bank which had steadily crept closer engulfed us and we descended through the last few stages in the freezing mist. When we arrived at the 5th stage there was the usual hodge-podge of tourists milling about the souvenir shop, and we got plenty of stares from curious onlookers as we appeared out of the cloud covered with snow and iced-up climbing gear.<br /><br />The next order of business was to find a Denny's. I vaguely recall we were able to find one but the service wasn't quite up to par with our regular Denny's in Toyota. Anyhow we got some food in our bellies and somehow managed to crawl back to work the next day with stories about climbing Fuji.<br /><br />It was a climb that, for better or worse, had to be done. Would I do it again? As the saying goes, only a fool climbs it twice...<br />Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Mount Fuji, Kitayama, Fujinomiya, Shizuoka 418-0112, Japan35.3606255 138.72736347.0503916638211521 103.5711134 63.670859336178843 173.8836134tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-19316082405037320811994-01-15T09:13:00.003-08:002022-08-20T01:57:25.842-07:00Yatsugatake (2899m), Nagano/Yamanashi prefecture, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><div><h1 style="text-align: left;">Yatsugatake (2899m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Nagano/Yamanashi prefecture, Japan<br />Winter 1994<br />Report by Darren DeRidder<br />Party: Darren DeRidder and three others</h3><div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: left;"><a href="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/56/Mount_Yatsu.JPG/2560px-Mount_Yatsu.JPG" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="600" data-original-width="800" height="234" src="https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/thumb/5/56/Mount_Yatsu.JPG/2560px-Mount_Yatsu.JPG" width="312" /></a></div><br /><div>In the winter of 1994, I set off with three strangers for the snow-bound peaks of Yatsugatake. To climb Aka-dake in winter was a real mountaineering objective, and I wanted experience on real alpine routes. My Japanese climbing partner, Kitoh-san, had worked it out for me to get a ride with an acquaintance of his, and so long as I was self-sufficient and not too much trouble I could tag along for the climb. </div><div>These three guys were old friends. Climbing Aka-dake together was a bonding event for them, and I was very much the outsider. I couldn't speak the language very well, I had no idea who these guys were, and I was about 20 years younger then they were. They made a few awkward attempts at talking to me, but as we trundled down the highway under the glow of the magnesium lights, they fell to conversing amongst themselves and ignored me. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was just a bit too cool to drift off to sleep, so I stayed awake as our driver navigated the dark mountain roads and pressed on into the night.
At last we came to a place where we couldn't drive any further. The snow was deep, and more than once I thought we might have gotten stuck, but eventually we made it to a widening in the road and a gated track where we parked. I shivered in the black cold and nervously tried to get ready quickly, putting on all my layers of warm clothes and gore-tex, mits, hat, boots, gators... and making sure I'd put everything in my pack and secured it well. </div><div><br /></div><div>We didn't hang around. The three guys set off almost immediately along the snow-choked trail. The driver, who was Kitoh-san's friend, was kind enough to explain to me that we had some walking to do before we camped. I said I understood and followed.
After several kilometres of difficult walking, we arrived at the base of Yatsu-ga-take in the dead of night. A sliver of moon had thankfully appeared and shed just enough light on the snowy terrace to show a few other tents nestled into the deep powder. A muffled silence hung over everything. I followed suit and stamped out a level platform for my tent, then set it up as quickly as possible, trying to keep moving for warmth. </div><div><br /></div><div>A few minutes later I was inside, with my headlamp hanging from the ridgepole, casting a dim circle of light over my stove and aluminum pot. I tried to bring the icy water to a boil. For dinner, I'd brought instant noodles, the best no-nonsense quick-fix meal a bachelor with no cooking talent could think of. I finally did get a boiling hot pot of ramen, but the inside of my tent was getting a bit clammy. I leaned forward to zip open the fly and as I did so, I upset the pot and stove. I'm lucky I didn't set my whole tent on fire, but I made a mess in the tent, soaked my wool socks and scalded my feet. After cleaning things up, what remained of my ramen was cold. I choked it down with a gulp of icy water and a granola bar. There were two little holes in the floor of my tent where the hot burner of the stove had made contact.
There was nothing to do but try to sleep, so I crawled into my sleeping bag. </div><div><br /></div><div>It was very cold. We were camping out in the middle of a deep freeze. I could hear my three companions in their big dome-tent a few yards away from me. I could hear them talking through the walls of my tent... the thin nylon walls that were not keeping out any of the bitter cold. From their conversation I could tell what they were having for supper. They passed around beers. They had rice cakes. They had thin-sliced bbq beef. They had potatoes. After a while they opened a bottle of sake. There were three of them in that tent having a great time, and I lay there in the dark listening to the feast going on, getting colder and colder. </div><div><br /></div><div>I woke up suddenly and realized I was really cold. Things in the next tent over were quiet now. My sleeping bag just was not warming up, and in spite of two layers of fleece, heavy socks, and a hat, my -12C sack was not adequate for the plummeting temperature. I started to work out contingencies. First, I would plan on staying awake and doing half-sit-ups and massaging my feet to stay warm. If that failed I might be able to get some warmth by lighting my stove... if I could avoid asphyxiating myself. If things got truly out of control I would have to plow over to the other tent and disrupt the blissful slumber of my boozy pals and tell them I was about to die so please move over and let me get in. None of these scenarios was very comforting. I was shivering, and really seriously wondering if the situation was about to become an emergency.
A soft thump sounded outside my tent door. "Darren! Are you awake?"
"Y-y-ess-s-s-s", I said.
"Are you cold?"
"It's *&^% cold", I said.
"Do you have any heat packs?"
I replied that I did. In Japan, in the winter, every corner store has boxes and boxes full of these little hand-warmers; paper-like envelopes with a sandy mixture that, when shaken up, gives off warmth for nearly an hour. It doesn't really get that cold in most of Japan, but everybody goes around with their pockets full of these heat packs in winter in Japan.
"Put one down the back of your pants!" said the voice. "Put one under your hat, and put one in your socks."
"Okay", I said, "Thanks, I'll do it." There was another soft thump, and a slow z-z-z-zip as the guy got back in his tent. </div><div><br /></div><div>In my sad condition, freezing and alone in my tiny tent with a belly full of cold ramen, I had started to take a pretty dim view of the three Japanese. I was pretty sure if they got up in the morning and found that I had turned into a big round-eyed popsicle they would just carry on right up the mountain and back down to their SUV without ever a second thought. I quietly cursed them as I shook up the only three heat-packs I had and shoved one under my hat, one in my left sock, and one between my frozen butt-cheeks.
Amazingly, within about 5 minutes I was as snug and toasty warm as you can imagine. My body responded to the encouragement of a little outside help and began to kick off some serious heat of its own. My sleeping bag finally warmed up and with a soft envelope of relative heat surrounding me, I drifted off to sleep like a baby. I slept deeply, in complete comfort, until the early morning light seeped through the ochre walls of my Moss tent and the sound of climbing gear getting sorted jolted me into action. </div><div><br /></div><div>For breakfast, I didn't have a lot, just a couple of oranges. Overnight, they had frozen as hard and solid as little golf balls. The neck of my water bottle was clogged with ice, too, and I had to pick at it with my ice axe to get a few frigid sips. Not wanting to fall behind, I wolfed down my last granola bar and dug through my pack for my crampons, harness, and helmet. This is what I had come to Yatsugatake for. Packs hoisted, ice axes in hand, we looked up at Aka-dake and started to climb.</div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><span><a name='more'></a></span><div><br /></div><div>Addendum (August 13, 2022)</div><div><br /></div><div>Many years later now, I think its worth mentioning that I didn't write up the details of the climb and the descent because both were pretty uneventful in comparison to the winter camping ordeal. Thank goodness the Japanese climber was kind enough to come over and check on the foreigner with some tips for using pocket-warmers... which probably kept me alive or at least avoided a desperately cold, uncomfortable and sleepless night.</div><div><br /></div><div>What I remember of the climb itself is that it was essentially non-technical. Crampons and ice-axes were needed to climb up a broad but low-angled snow covered ridge to the right (facing the mountain) of the camping area. We traversed the ridge easily, with only one small section were a steep drop into the valley below was visible, but objective hazards were low. I recall seeing parties on the route that were roped, and thinking how over-equipped and unnecessary it all was. Now that I'm (a lot) older, I can see the rationale; for some of these folks, the preparation, equipment, and practicing alpine techniques were all part of the fun. A lot of older folks in Japan like to get out into the mountains, and having a guide rope probably gave them some peace of mind and a bit of extra security even if it was probably unnecessary. I suppose one reason you see a lot of older climbers in Japan might be due to the fact that it's really difficult for the average salaryman to take time off to do things like mountain climbing.</div><div><br /></div><div>We had good weather on the day of the climb, but unfortunately, although I enjoyed the views from the summit of Yatsugatake, I didn't have the peak-spotting talent of my friends Iain and Mal to be able to identify what I was looking at (something I've resolved to get better at). Mainly I was just glad to have made it through the night and relieved that the climb itself wasn't too challenging, since I hadn't really known what to expect when I teamed up with the three Japanese climbers.</div><div><br /></div><div>The descent back down to the camp, packing up, hiking out, and driving back to Nagoya was all very straightforward and done in good weather. The snow was deep and soft on the way out, and there was a quiet hush all around, but with subtle reminders -- like a singing bird, or a persimmon tree -- that the deep freeze of the night before was somewhat of an anomaly, and even in the coldest part of winter, spring wasn't really that far away.</div><div><br /></div><div>I ended up going back to Yatsugatake with Iain on what was, I think, our last climb together before he departed to go back to London in 1996. On that trip, we drove up, slept in the car in the car-park, climbed Yatsugatake and came back the following day. The snow was deep, but the weather was good, and the most dangerous part of the trip was driving back down from the car park, where we hit a patch of black ice on the (otherwise clear) road coming down from the car park, and did a full 360-degree spin in the middle of the road before coming to a stop pointing perfectly back on our original course. If memory servers, the was a taxi at the bottom of the hill, waiting for us to come down the narrow road before heading up, and I'm sure the driver was just as surprised as we were!</div><div><br /></div></div></div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0Yatsugatake Mountains, Tatsuzawa, Fujimi, Suwa District, Nagano 399-0212, Japan35.970833 138.377.6605991638211535 103.21375 64.281066836178837 173.52625tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-65184863497679572461993-10-18T22:30:00.008-07:002022-08-20T01:56:06.260-07:00Kita-dake (3192m), Minami Alps, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;"> Kita-dake (3192m)</h1><h3 style="text-align: left;">Minami Alps, Japan<br />Report by Darren DeRidder<br />October, 1993 </h3><div>The wind was cold. It blew up from behind me, from down in the gully below, and curled up around inside my collar. Even with my fleece and gore-tex on, it was cold climbing in the shadow of the ridge. The chunk-chunk sound of my footsteps broke the silence as I slowly and laboriously raised one cramponed boot after the other and kicked into the ice and frozen snow. My mountaineering ax scratched against the stones as I poked it down into the snow, and the forged steel adze and pick felt like a block of ice in my wool-gloved hand. "Don't stop!", I told myself, "Just keep going, even if it's slow." So I kept on, one foot in front of the other, barely moving forward it seemed.<br />
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A person came down from above, moving quickly over the snow and ice. Probably one of the staff of the mountain hut over the ridge. I was surprised to see another person here. This gully was more direct than the trail which cut across the base of the buttress, but it was also too late in the season to be free of ice, hence the crampons and ice pick. I'd been walking alone like this for the last couple of hours. "Well, at least I must be going in the right direction," I thought. <br />
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The plan was to get up this gully and onto the ridge, then skirt the summit block of Kita-dake and head for the hut on the opposite shoulder of the mountain, then climb up and over the top in the morning. This had been suggested to me by a couple I met beside the stream down lower, where I stopped for a rest. I agreed; the route up the gully was quicker and it was the one I had originally planned on using, but to try for the summit yet today and then make it down to the hut on the eastern side would be cutting it too close. I had left work the night before, outfitted in my climbing gear, carrying my backpack, with my bemused coworkers looking on. I left my shirt and tie and shoes in a bundle in the staff room. There was something else I had left in there...my food. I had only a couple of Calorie-Mate bars along. I thought maybe I could get some food at the hut. <br />
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Slow and steady plodding got me on top of the ridge. I looked down the other side of the mountain for the first time, and saw the hills and valleys stretching out below. The wind was picking up and some clouds moving in. I wanted to get to the hut as soon as possible. My watch wasn't working; it was too cold and the batteries wouldn't function. I didn't know how much time I had left. <br />
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Once on the ridge I lost all sense of orientation and became completely lost. This was complicated by the fact that there were only two ways to go: up or down (just kidding!). Actually, a signboard in Japanese was the source of my confusion. I shouldn't have attempted to read it and just gone by my map. In the end, I pulled out the map and in an instant saw the situation exactly. All I needed to do was orient the map properly, with the gully behind me, and the summit on the right, and I could tell that I needed to continue on towards the summit before veering off to the left for the shoulder hut. As I walked along, skirting the summit block, the wind rose in its intensity until even balancing was tricky. I was also feeling very tired. About that time a fellow came walking past me at a very brisk pace, and I exchanged a few words with him. He worked at the hut and was on his way there. He recommended the lower of two possible trails since the one that ran along the true crest of the ridge was more exposed to the wind. I followed his advice and took the lower trail. Even so, the wind was very strong, and very cold. <br />
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Ahead I could see the hut. Finally I made it. The large wooden sliding doors were all shut, and there was no-one around outside. I heaved the door open and stepped into the "boot room". There was another door into the lobby of the hut, which was heated with a kerosene stove. After being in several mountain huts, I've come to enjoy the smell and the warmth of those kerosene stoves, and the atmosphere inside the huts, when they aren't overcrowded. It definitely wasn't overcrowded at this time of year. It was late October and this was the last weekend the hut would be open. Not that it mattered...I was staying in my tent. Actually, if I'd been a week later, I wouldn't have been robbed $8 for the tent site! I thought about finding a reasonably level spot elsewhere to camp, but with the fierce wind, the spot I chose, just below rise and surrounded by low pine scrub, provided much needed shelter. Still, setting up the tent was a struggle as the wind whipped the fabric back and forth in my hands. <br />
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At the front desk in the hut, I asked about getting some food. The fellow pointed out some instant noodles at the souvenir counter. They were also expensive. $6 for a cup of instant noodles. Well, I was cold and hungry. I forked over my yen, and got handed the dry bowl of instant noodles. No, there wasn't any hot water for them. I would have to make that myself. ..."Oh, you don't have a stove? Well, O.K., just this once... we'll give you some hot water. No, you can't eat your noodles inside, you have to go outside..." <br />
<br />
Unimpressed, I went back out into the boot room and put on my ski jacket under my GoreTex. The noodles were good. Best I've tasted. I'd made it to the hut much earlier than I thought. My clock still wasn't working, but the only thing to do was to secure the fly on my tent, lash things down to some rocks, and get in my sleeping bag. It was going to be cold. I was tired and sleep came quickly. Through the night, the wind battered my tent and I woke in alarm several times as it shook in the freezing gusts. Each time, I went back to sleep, assured that my tent was still on solid, level ground. <br />
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I awoke to faint morning light coming through the walls of my tent. Ice crystals that had formed inside my tent from condensation drifted down onto my face and dusted my sleeping bag. I heard some noise outside. People were getting an early start. I dove out for a look at what the morning looked like. Poking my head outside, I was greeting with a stunning sight. Mount Fuji, previously hidden by cloud, was now clearly visible, and loomed large on the horizon, rising out of a sea a mist and cloud, the sky behind was ablaze with the glow of a sunrise about to happen. I grabbed my camera, but it was frozen. I tried warming the battery in my armpit, but the sun had already risen above the horizon by the time I got it going. <br />
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After packing up in a hurry, I moved along towards the summit. Again there was a cold wind although it wasn't as fierce as the previous afternoon. Ahead of me a man in a yellow jacket was making his way along the ridge towards the summit. I tried to keep up with his pace, but with all my camping gear in my pack I had a hard time. In a few places the trail was exposed and offered some interesting situations, but as with nearly all Japanese Alps, these tricky spots had been festooned with cables and chains for hanging on to, making it completely simple to pass. <br />
<br />
I moved slowly up the summit block and then all at once I found myself walking out onto the small flat area at the top. There were several people here enjoying the fruits of their labours, namely taking in the views. The fellow in the yellow coat happened to be a photographer and he was kind enough to take my photo at the summit beside the jumbled collection of signposts marking the summit. <br />
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I descended the opposite ridge on the east side. There was quite a bit more snow here and once again I put on crampons for part of the way down to the second hut. At the hut there was a large balcony overlooking the valley and the snow gulley I had climbed up the day before. Taking water from a large ice-topped barrel of rain-water beside the hut, I leaned against the railing and enjoyed the scenery while I having a drink. What I really wanted was some food, but it would be only a few more hours down to the trailhead. <br />
<br />
At the hut I struck up a conversation with a friendly Japanese fellow who happened to be an ice climber. We decided to go down together and talked along the way. He offered me some granola bars and when he found out I didn't have any food, he gave me a couple more. This particular trail was very rugged and very steep. Parts of it were washed out, and there was a lot of scrambling over fallen trees and roots. I couldn't imagine trying to come up this way and was very glad for having chosen the snow gulley for my ascent. <br />
<br />
Before long we were back at Hirogawara waiting for the bus. Private cars are not allowed this far. From there it was back to the train station in Kofu, where I had slept in a heated cubicle on the train platform with a couple old Japanese men two night before, waiting for 6:00am train after having taken the overnighter from Nagoya. Being the second highest mountain in Japan, Kita-dake was a good climb to have done, I thought.</div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com0M6GQ+37 Minami-Alps, Yamanashi, Japan35.6751474 138.238220235.619356571763376 138.16955564921875 35.730938228236624 138.30688475078125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-547917296807889321.post-7783234566275687151993-07-10T22:59:00.003-07:002022-08-20T01:54:58.187-07:00Hotaka-dake (3095m), Kita Alps, Japan<h2 style="text-align: left;">Toyohashi Alpine Club<br />Mountaineering in Japan</h2><h1 style="text-align: left;">Mt Hodaka (3095m)</h1><div><h3 style="text-align: left;">The North (Kita) Alps, Japan<br />
Report by Darren DeRidder<br />July 1993</h3>
<div style="text-align: right;"><div style="text-align: left;">
<br />
</div></div><a href="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/65/224997023_5167e83912.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="http://farm1.static.flickr.com/65/224997023_5167e83912.jpg" width="150" /></a>My first experience in the mountains of Japan was in the North (or "Kita") Alps, on Mount Hotaka. It is several years ago now that I first went to Kamikochi and wandered up into the valleys, into alpine cirques and across the airy ridges. But I still remember quite clearly what an impression it made on me, and I think it's fair to say that the experience had a real impact on the future course of my outdoor life. Since that time I have been to many places around the world for the love of being high up in the mountains, but the Japan Alps were where I really started getting serious about climbing big mountains, starting with Mount Hotaka.<br />
<br />
I had been quite active in rock climbing in Japan for several months and that is primarily the reason why I became interested in the Japan Alps. My friend told me that they were very beautiful and that many people visited the Japan Alps to go hiking and climbing during the summer. Speaking to some of my Japanese climbing partners about the alps, I was told that they were in fact very beautiful and that a trip to the alps would be well worth-while. Whether or not I could actually do any rock-climbing there was unclear, but simply to hike in the mountains was a very attractive prospect. And, I was told, it was definitely possible to climb right to the very top of some significant summits as trails had been prepared all along the way.<br />
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Normally I would be the type of person to shun the use of trails when climbing to the summit of a mountain, especially a trail that had fixed chains and ladders on the difficult sections. It seems to me to be a violation of the natural state of such a place. It also encourages people who lack the right skills and experience to go into potentially dangerous mountain terrain. The number of accidents that occur in the Japan Alps during high season is alarming. <br />
<br />
In any case, the plans were laid, the reservations made at the mountain huts. I bought maps and charted a course which allowed us an extra day just in case we were held up for some reason. And at the start of Golden Week holidays, we got on an overnight bus and rode up to Kamikochi. Didn't sleep much on the bus, the seats being small and the road being roundabout. Almost everyone on the bus appeared to be going hiking. Backpacks were crammed in the carriage underneath and in the overhead bins. Everyone was wearing outdoor clothing: knickers, wool socks, caps, leather boots, and so on. People seemed to be a little excited or tense, like this was the start of a big adventure. We rolled into Kamikochi early in the morning, unloaded our things, and stood there wondering where we were and what there was to do.<br />
<br />
Kamikochi is probably the main mountaineering base in Japan. It is a very commercialized, tourist-oriented little town with hostels, gift shops, and a big bus terminal. The Azusa river flows right past the town and a scenic footbridge crosses the river. The trail up the Azusa valley and the higher peaks follows alongside the river upstream. Early in the morning, nothing much was happening. The shops were closed and it was quite cool outside. We used the restrooms, filled up our canteens with water from a fountain, then shouldered our backpacks and walked along the trail. We would be staying at a minshuku (Japanese guesthouse) a few kilometers past Kamikochi on the first day.<br />
<br />
Day one was thus spent walking to the minshuku, checking in, and then doing some easy hiking on the mostly level trails back towards Kamikochi, stopping at Taisho-Ike and other viewpoints along the way. Taisho Ike is a pond which was formed recently when a small man-made dam was placed across the riverbed. Dead trees which were flooded by the rising waters stick up out of the shallow pond. In the early morning mist this is a mysterious looking place. The Japanese see this as a very romantic place. Personally, what I saw looked like a man-made pond with a bunch of dead trees sticking up out of it, but the pictures I've seen of Taisho Ike in early morning mist are indeed lovely.<br />
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It was on the way back to the Minshuku that my friend asked me about my walking style. "Do you put your heel down first or your toe down first?" she asked. Apparently she had been hiking all day by putting her toe down first. When she switched to putting her heel down first it made a great difference. Apparently many Japanese women actually walk this way. It might be because they are used to wearing high heels or because Japanese people have worn "geta" (wooden shoes) for centuries. With our walking technique sorted out we continued back to the Minshuki, going pretty slowly. I started wondering wether we would actually see the top of Mt. Hotaka.<br />
<br />
The second day was spent going up from the Azusa valley into Karasawa, a cwm on the South-East side of the Hotaka massif. It is more than halfway between Kamikochi and the summit in both elevation and distance, and is quite a hike. At Karasawa there is a large camping area and two huts which accomodate hikers from Spring thru Autumn. At times the trail was rather muddy and narrow, and we found ourselves stuck behing long queues of slow-moving hikers. If nothing else, they helped us not to push our pace too quickly. My friend suddenly decided, however, that further progress was impossible until a full lunch had been served. My lunch plan of granola bars, dried fruit and gorp didn't cut it, apparently, so we ground to a halt and an argument ensued. Fortunately, a kindly "Ojisan" (older man) came walking by and struck up a conversation. The granola bars probably kicked in at that point and my friend was able to be coaxed into accompanying the older gentleman along the last few kilometers of steeply climbing trail. I had no experience with people suffering from low blood sugar and couldn't really understand the reason for the delay. Nearing Karasawa the path steepened and became a chore to ascend. I took both packs and went ahead to the hut to check in. We had made it in reasonable time and enjoyed the rest of the evening quite a lot, having a nice meal at the hut and visiting with other friendly hikers from all over, including one fellow from Alaska with a huge pair of boots and a collection of hiking yarns to match.<br />
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The campsite at Karasawa was amazing. Being Golden Week, there were an incredible number of people out for hiking in the North Alps. Karasawa and the summit of Hotaka must certainly be one of the most popular mountain areas in Japan. There were hundreds of tents pitched on the rocky ground, all different colors. The whole valley was very colorful because of all the tents. Higher up there is a permanent snow-field and some people were actually skiing down or hiking across it.<br />
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The hut was even more of a shock. We were shown into a room and assigned a spot to sleep on the floor. Futons had been laid out, but there must have been three or four people crammed into the space of a single tatami mat. All you could do was to lay sideways, squished between two other people. It was really impossible to sleep.<br />
<br />
The next day it was raining. Most of the people left to go back down. Few people came up from below because of the weather. The hut emptied out. Because I had planned an extra day, we decided to pass the day in the hut and take our chances the following day in climbing Mt. Hotaka. It was quite nice to sit in the hut and chat with the few other hikers who remained. Several of them had a lot of experience and interesting stories to relate. We went outside to hike up the trail a short ways and get some fresh air when the rain stopped for a short time. Again we had a good dinner in the hut and because there were far fewer guests in the hut that night, we had a small side room which we shared with only a couple other hikers, and we were able to sleep well.<br />
<br />
I awoke early in the morning, just before dawn, as is usual in the mountains. Faint light was creeping in, and in the quite hut I could hear the masses of air circulating in the valley outside, somewhat like the sound a seashell makes when you hold it to your ear. Soon the lights went on and everyone got up for breakfast. Although there was mist rising up into the cwm and visibility was poor, we decided to climb up, together with the kindly "ojisan" we had met before. Allowing him to set the pace, I found, was a very effective way of keeping the friend from complaining about the hike. As a trio we made our way up the switchbacking trail to the summit ridge, following a line of other hikers. Near the summit block a steep section was besieged with fixed iron ladders and chains. A fellow with straw sandals and a big straw hat, who must have been pretending to be a Yamabushi (mountain monk), swarmed past us as we climbed the ladder, creating a bit of a fright and causing me to curse the general assembly of hikers for their generally insensitive behaviour.<br />
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All along the way the path had been strewn with garbage left by hikers. A lot of the older Japanese women on the trail would move very slowly and talk very loudly. The crowds and the noise ruined the serenity of such a beautiful place, unfortunately. In general I wasn't too impressed by the majority of hikers on the trail, although the ones who were friendly enough to speak to me were quite well mannered and seemed to care about keeping the environment free of trash. I decided that on the descent I would pick up litter along the way and collect it in a plastic bag.<br />
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Just after the steep section with the ladders, we arrived at the summit. It was a great feeling to be standing at over 3000 metres on top of one of Japan's highest mountains. As we climbed the weather had improved dramatically so that on the summit we were surrounded by impressive views all around under a clear, deep blue sky. At the summit we asked someone to take a picture of the three of us standing by the summit cairn and holding the signboard which says Oku-Hotaka-Dake and the elevation of the peak.<br />
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The mountain is called Hotaka or Hodaka, depending on the context, and this particular peak, the highest point of the Hotaka massif, is called Oku-Hotaka-Dake, meaning "Far Hotaka Peak" I think. There are other peaks along the ridge bearing the name "Hotaka" or "Hodaka" as well. The next point of interest along our route was "Mai-Hotaka-Dake" or "Front Hotaka Peak". Somewhat lower in elevation, it is situated to the south of it's higher neighbor. The trail from this point forward was mostly downhill, so the going was easier. There were only a few sections where the trail crossed steep rocky slopes, and these were passed by careful down-climbing or with the help of fixed chains to use as handholds.<br />
<br />
Although the trial itself did not pass over the summit of Mai-Hotaka-Dake, it was not a long way to the summit and so laying our packs down, the Ojisan and I sprinted up to the summit just for the fun of it. The climbing was a bit more technical and crossed some rather steep rock, at which point I was glad to have some rock climbing experience. Although it was never difficult, it could have been a little frightening in one or two spots for an inexperienced scrambler. The detour didn't take long at all and we were rewarded with good views, warm sunshine and a good summit photo at the top.<br />
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Back on the trail again we proceeded at our own paces to Dakesawa, where there is another hut. It was quiet and not too crowded, as it seemed many people were descending all the way to Kamikochi. We had hiked enough for one day however and retired into the hut to enjoy a good meal. It had begun to rain lightly so we were also glad for the shelter, even though it was rather cool inside. Very few Japanese buildings have central heating, and a damp chill is an ever present feature of most houses throughout the cooler months. The building was an interesting structure with many traditional Japanese features, and I would have been quite interested in poking around in all the rooms and corners, but I stayed in the main areas so as not to disturb people.<br />
<br />
The following day we returned to Kamikochi. There were very few other people on the trail, and since our Ojisan friend had continued on to Kamikochi the previous night, we hiked as a two-some back down the path towards our original starting point. The trail down from Dakesawa was steep and less used that the trail to Karasawa, but it was not hard to follow. We arrived back at the minshuku near Kamikochi by late afternoon and thoroughly enjoyed a nice hot bath and a good dinner before a good nights rest in our own bunk beds. The following morning we walked the short distance back to Kamikochi along the wide flat trail and met our bus back to Nagoya.<br />
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For the most part, the trip had been quite enjoyable and successful. I was intrigued by the North Alps and the many different peaks I had glimpsed. Having been there once I was now determined to return and climb Yari-ga-take, a peak at the far end of the Yari-Hotaka massif which is the third highest mountain in Japan and which is known for its pyramid-shaped summit block. It is sometime referred to as the "Matterhorn of Japan" because of the pyramid-shaped summit block, but in fact the steep summit block is quite small in comparison to the rest of the mountain, which is mostly a long hike up a steep valley to the crest of a ridge. I did indeed return to Kamikochi soon afterwards, but that is another story.<br />
<br />
Since climbing Hotaka I have climbed many of the other high mountains of the North, Central, and South ranges of the Japan Alps. Yet for quite some time, Mount Hodaka in the North Alps remained the standard to which I compared the other mountain adventures I have undertaken there. It was certainly one of the most beautiful settings that I had the privelege to visit in Japan.<br />
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(photo by <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/dwe/">dwe</a>)</div>Darrenhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/00230771763285373052noreply@blogger.com17JQX+P6 Matsumoto, Nagano, Japan36.289255 137.648048436.275418741495 137.63088226230468 36.303091258504992 137.66521453769531