Hike to Karasawa

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Karasawa Cirque

August 9, 2022
North Alps, Japan
Party: Darren DeRidder, Iain Williams
Report by: Darren DeRidder

Karasawa Cirque looking towards Kita-hotaka-dake

"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!"

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 (thirty 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.

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.

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.

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.  

But en-route to Hirayu-onsen

Kamikochi bus terminal

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.

Notice board in the Kamikochi Visitors Center

Gearing up in Kamikochi

The Kamikochi trail-head

Myojin peak en-route from Kamikochi

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. 

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.

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.

Junction to Tokugo-toge Pass

Signs warning of land-slides on the Tokugo-toge trail

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. 

Easy trail to along the Azusa river

Tokusawa hut

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.

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.

Crossing to find the Panorama Route (closed)

Monkeys on the trail

Yokoo-sanso

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.

Mountain walls en-route to Karasawa

Last bridge before the final push

Last bridge before the final push

Steep trail up to Karasawa

The "S Gully"

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.

Karasawa Hyutte

Iain arriving at Karasawa Hyutte

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.

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.

Dinner at the Hyutte

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.

The Hotaka ridge seen from Karasawa Hyutte

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.

Sleeping quarters in Karasawa Hytte

Sleeping quarters in Karasawa Hyutte

Boot room at Karasawa Hyutte

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.

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. 

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Near Kappabashi bridge in Kamikochi

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.

Midi - Plan Traverse

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Europe

Midi - Plan Traverse (3673m) 

Chamonix, France
19th August, 2000
Party: Iain Williams, Adrian Engelbrecht , Jack Brindle
Report by Iain Williams

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

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. 

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. 

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. 

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.

Nishi Hodaka (2908m), Kita Alps, Japan

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Nishi Hodaka (2908m)

North (Kita) Alps, Japan
1st/ 2nd January, 1998
Report by Iain Williams
Party: Iain Williams, Malcolm Field

Photo: wikimedia commons

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

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

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Yari-ga-take (3180m)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Toyohashi Alpine Club
Mountaineering in Japan

Koma-ga-take (2956m)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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