The Ainu called it kamui
mintara: the “playground of the gods”. The Daisetsuzan
mountain range: a group of volcanoes, lava domes, plateaus and peaks
that soar from Hokkaido's central highlands like a bridge to the sky.
They are young, dating back only
about 30,000 years, but it is easy to see what the Ainu were getting
at. Far from the mortal realms below, freezing atop the clouds, these
mountains carry their own climates and rich ecologies far removed
from anything else in Japan; indeed, their conditions are said to
compare to northern Alaska.
To tread these realms, where the
only lords are the sun and the wind and all human authority must
prostrate itself before the supremacy of the earth, was the apex of
my voyage. And parts of them are surprisingly accessible: like the
1984-metre high Kurodake (“black peak”), a magnificent pointed
lava dome that towers over the Sounkyo gorge and hot springs. Click
the expander below the pictures to see more.
A ropeway (cable car) and
chairlift get you started, offering a gentle ride up to the 7th
station, about 1,500m above sea level. As you rise ever higher, you
get a clear first impression of what character of wilderness you
submit to enter the presence of.
By now there is a pervading
tranquility; all you hear are the gentle creaks of the chairs and the
whispers of the dense vegetation. This slope is a sheltered, hallowed
place, a cathedral of nature instilling hushed reverence and awe.
A rigorous hike over lush and
rocky terrain awaits, if you seek to climb the 500m remaining to
reach the peak. Over your shoulder you can already take in the
vastness of the surrounding mountains and valley, and watch them
recede ever further into the realms below.
These slopes are bursting with
life. Over 300 species of plants make their home here, many sporting
colourful or eccentric flowers. The insects, like most I found in
Hokkaido, all seemed cute and peaceful. Once more the swarms of red
and orange dragonflies follow your progress with innocent curiosity,
while little bees and colourful butterflies are hard at work from
flower to flower. Through much of the year there may be bears nearby,
requiring respect and caution, but none made themselves known on this
occasion, unfortunately. And then there are the fuzziest little
creatures.
These heights are home to a great
population of Ezo Asiatic Chipmunks, with their distinctive five
stripes and soft fluffy tails. If you are patient and respectful,
they won't mind your presence and will come out to say hello, letting
you get really close to watch them nosing around in the shrubbery and
munching.
Along with the pikas, of which I
only caught the back end of one as it scurried into the bushes, these
animals are popular and adorable. However they also have a serious
story to tell, one which attests most potently to Hokkaido's distinct
journey. For these are northern creatures, who crossed from the
chilly expanses of northern Asia on the land bridge during the glacial period. As sea levels rose and cut
Hokkaido off, rising temperatures led them to take refuge in the
higher, cooler mountain regions. Thus Hokkaido's highlands are the
only place you will find them in Japan: like a secluded and cute
fuzzy time capsule, still securing the island's heart to the core of
its ancient origins.
In due course you climb into view
of the maneki-iwa, or “beckoning rocks”. They tell you
that you've nearly reached the peak. From here the photos really do
not do it justice: make sure to click for the largest possible view.
And as the summit appears...
...a whole new world, entirely
unlike the one you've just ascended, unfurls before you. At once its
mighty winds come battering forth, to inspect your resolve before the
gateway to immortal realms.
It is as though the summit of
Kurodake stands at a wall between dimensions. The southwest slope,
downwind towards Daisetsuzan's interior, is utterly unlike the
thriving greens of the ascent. Here it is cold, dry, harsh, beneath
the never-ending sweep of the mountain winds: a landscape of hardy
shrubs, lingering patches of snow and lakes of ice, and further in,
the natural hot springs and sulphurous fumaroles towards the
Ohachidaira caldera.
Suddenly everything behind you
seems so far away, drawn to the reaches of space and time.
The only way now is forward. The
“playground of the gods” feel a lot more accessible when you
remember that the Ainu kamui don't hide their personhood and
fallibility (unlike certain other gods I could name!). So long as you
do your best as an ethical citizen of the planet, they probably have
no problem with you trekking about in their realm, and even if they
did, could be open to a reasoned debate about the right to roam and so forth.
A yamagoya (mountain hut)
provides a rest point further into this land. It is said that no
light from the ground can reach here at night, whereupon the universe
opens out before you in all its magnificence: so close you can touch
it, as though it is from here that an engineer of the cosmos is best
positioned to tinker with the stars. This is also a rest point for
those with the boldness (and time) to venture further, most popularly
beyond the caldera to Hokkaido's highest peak of Asahiyama. On this
occasion these adventures were sadly beyond my resources, but if ever
the remotest possibility presents itself, I shall return.
And perhaps the kamui
would approve that just sometimes, human creativity can pull off some
fascinating things. Yes, that's the flush in the second picture.
But this is only one snapshot of
Kurodake and the Daisetsuzan mountains; more to the point, one
cross-section in the seasonal cycle. For the seasons mean more in
Hokkaido than even in the rest of season-conscious Japan, and it is
said that every segment of the year on these mountains offers
radically different experiences. In the minus ten degrees of winter,
Kurodake becomes a wonderland of powder snow and a paradise for
snowshoe hikers and advanced skiers; while in spring the cherry
blossoms burst from the slopes, succeeded by the vibrant flowers of
early summer and the autumn oceans of golds and reds. To return once
is not enough: one must return a thousand times.
Greetings and salutations to
Sora-san (空さん),
glassmaker of Asahikawa and my mountain-hiking companion that day!
Together we walked upon the skies of the north, and found them
glorious.
Next, back to the surface in
Asahikawa for Japan's most popular zoo.
Previous posts in this series:
That's some pretty nice landscape!
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