Musashi:
the old province that encompassed the lands around what is now Tokyo.
Though abolished in 1868 with the introduction of the prefecture
system, the name was retained in many of its old districts, whether
for memory, or prestige, or differentiation. To this day, consider
all those train stations which bear Musashi in their names.
Oku-Musashi,
or “Inner Musashi”, now refers to the mountains of western
Saitama, the prefecture bordering Tokyo to the north, whose wilds
represented the inner reaches of the old Musashi province. These
peaks are relatively low, typically around 1000m or so, and stretch
across the west flank of Hannō
city as they rise, further west, into the great mountainscapes of
Chichibu (contiguous with Oku-Tama to the south, some
of whose mountains also
feature in this blog).
This was
my first hike in Saitama, and as with Oku-Tama and Tanzawa, these
mountains have their own distinct character. Another level closer to
Japan's central highlands, there is a certain Alpine something about
Oku-Musashi. My route began at Shōmaru
station on the Seibu-Chichibu Line – about an hour and a half from
Ikebukuro station in Tokyo – and ascended to the summit of
Izugatake (伊豆が岳),
the high point of the walk at 851m. From there a long ridge with many
sharp peaks trails south then east to Ne-no-Gongen temple (子の権現),
then descends, gradually, back into the valley past the mines of
Agano, finishing at Agano station. Though 851m might not sound like
much, in a February of brutal snowstorms it was in fact quite
satisfactory.
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| Quite satisfactory. |
The
result was an eight-hour slog through snow that reached a metre deep
in places, up and down sinew-shredding gradients fit for a lunatic,
along a course more properly popular for its thousands of colourful
flowers and rich greenery at saner times of the year. As such I will
not be presenting it here with the usual
detailed instructions, for the magnitude of the snow meant I had next
to no contact with the actual earth of the path at any point on the
route, so I cannot purport to advise on it. If your idea of a hike is
some pleasant exercise through bright and leafy nature, you might
want to give Izugatake a miss until summer. However, if it is in fact
a full-scale body-breaking, soul-wringing catharsis you actually
want, or if you are struggling with emotional poisons only the
cleansing force of the primal earth can purge, then by all means head
for Izugatake right now, for you will find nothing better than these
mighty snows to plough the toxins from your psyche.
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| “Beware of forest fires.” |
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| Ne-no-Gongen temple. |
If you attempt it, give yourself at least eight hours of daylight,
bring plenty of food and water, and go with maximum respect for the
challenge before you. Good shoes that can survive being under snow
all day (i.e. underwater) are essential; crampons are strongly
recommended. Izugatake is popular enough that you will run into other
people – likely elderly Japanese super-hikers – on the mountain
itself, but most of the ridge sees little traffic in these
conditions, and there are no services until near the end.
The route is long and often steep – imagine the North
Takao Ridge with fewer but higher peaks – but the biggest drain
on your energy will be the snow itself. Expect most of your footsteps
to immediately sink until your other foot is level with your thigh.
Expect also to fall forwards a lot when this happens; the deep, soft
snow makes this safe, but you still have to put the calories into
pushing yourself up again, and after dozens of times they start to
add up. Definitely not a place or season to faff around, then, but if
you know it is what you need, then you will come out a better person
than you went in.
