TOHOKU EMOTION

Tohoku region is far removed from the political and economic powers of Japan, so it has retained its remote identity until today. Says Finnish Wikipedia.

North-eastern land. Koillismaa.

I left Hanno with the plan to set up camp in the mountains outside Fukushima just around sunset, which was just after six.

I boarded two local trains of the Tokyo region to reach the Shinkansen from Omiya. I was in Fukushima before I had managed to take out my Sebald and find a socket for charging my phone and power bank.

The station at Fukushima is lifted on stilts above the town, with the high Azuma mountain range to the west of town, with the setting sun still illuminating the horizon. It's a distinct silhouette not least thanks to the volcano Azuma itself (or kofuji, 'Little Fuji' as they call it).

My connecting train to Toge was going to leave in half an hour, which was very convenient for commuters from Tokyo, but I wanted to eat something hot sitting down after many cold take-away bentos, so I googled the local specialities and found an izakaya restaurant near the station that served the local variant of gyoza, served as a crispy crepe.

I sat down in the Shinkansen waiting room for my next and final connection. It was getting cold outside. I started noticing the north in where i was heading. My train finally departed after 9pm.

I checked the temperatures in Yonezawa and Fukushima during the night. In Fukushima, on the plains, the temperature would go down to 8 °C which was the same as in Agano, in the quiet mountain valley near Hanno. In Yonezawa, across the mountains, it would drop already to 3 °C.

My guesses, without specific information for Toge station available, was that the night in Toge was going to be cold. Very cold. Toge is situated in a mountain pass and would probably still have snow on the north-facing slopes.

I made the math quickly, and got off two stations after Fukushima before the train started up the mountains. I would take the first train up in the morning.

Niwasaka is a quiet town. A student was being picked up by his sister from the station. I saw a riverbank on the map a short walk away and headed towards it to pitch my tent for the night. It was very windy and after a few turns my phone was my only light.

At the river I found a comfortable bank with a bit of wind-shield. The stars were out, and I had never yet seen the two top stars in the Ursa Major constellation aligned with the north star facing north as well. Now there were three stars facing north along the mountain range edge.

I have pitched the tent numerous times, and I know exactly in which order everything has to be done and where to place all the bags so that I can find them quickly the next morning. This time I had to pin the structure down before putting in the spokes, so that it wouldn't fly away. It was tremendously windy, so I had to use extra pins to tighten the canvas around the tent so that it's flapping wouldn't keep me up at night. I always use earplugs, although the river flow right next to the tent was a soothing background.

The wind quietened down as quickly as it had risen, and I fell asleep almost immediately.

I put my alarm for 6.30 to catch the first train to Toge. I bought a hot can of coffee from the vending machine near the station and made it in time for the first morning mountain crossing local train.

Toge station is covered with an extremely robust snow-cover made of corroborated steel and heavy steel baulks on the roof and buttressing the sides. I looked out and there it was: snow packed against the structure, but it was boding to be a warm and sunny day nonetheless. I was feeling a bit weak in the throat, due to having sat down in a drafty place for too long the day before, but otherwise looking forward to the hike.

It was just me and another man, eagerly taking photographs of the station building. A train-spotter perhaps, who got the thursday free.

The few hiking maps around the station and on the one street that the town of Toge comprised of were very cute and a bit run down. I guess you don't really need to update mountaineering maps too often.

I walked up the winding asphalt road, I knew this was going to be a paved road all the way to the Ubaya onsen, at the foot of the Azuma range on the northern side. I asked a local inn-keeper if they had hot tea, to which they crossed their hands and smiled.

I've seen these crossed fingers or hands many times on this trip. No matter how politely or deliberately the person explains the matter to me, all I see is the cross and I know immediately which way this discussion is going. I apologised and thanked, being the Finn I sometimes am, and continued up.

I took a few steps the wrong way and ended up on a few terraced cemeteries, but soon found my way. Another group of hikers were going to go up a peak nearby in spite of the snow. Their leader gestured swimming to explain how they were going to go about it. A small petrol tank truck passed me on its way up. Perhaps it wasn't a natural onsen after all.

I came in sight of the onsen two hours later, and saw that the tank truck was refuelling two diggers, a bulldozer and an intriguing tall, square and somehow locomotive-like engine. All cled in unmistakable yellow.

I watched as the diggers cleared the snow from the mountain side for the locomotive to pass through. As it dug into the snow with its red paddle-wheel type grinder, it pushed a clean, square-on-all-sides pathway for itself, with a continuous jet of snow rising 3 metres up and falling in a great parabola over the ledge and into the ravine.

When they took a short break for refuelling, I passed them and found that the 150m left to the onsen were still covered in 90cm of snow. The snow had been packed by the diggers, so it was easy to walk on.

Once I crossed the blue footbridge to the onsen, I saw a timberman showing me the crossed hands upon seeing me. Not a word and I understood. The open-air onsen is closed.

I had wanted to go on a longer hike, as it was only 11am. I found a set of stairs, compared it to one of the maps I had taken a picture of, and found my way zigzagging up the mountain slope behind the onsen valley. The smell of sweet sulphur from the hot spring filled the valley. I really enjoy that smell though many it find off-putting. It means I'm in a special place. It's definitely not something I smell every day.

I was near the top of the first hill, when everything was now snow-covered. On the way up most of the path had been cleared by the sun, and the few spots of snow could be easily walked on in the morning-freeze. They would get softer in the afternoon and perhaps more forgiving, I thought to myself.

I even saw a cute little black wild boar darting away from me. Agile creatures!

I had my bento-lunch on top and a 1pm Asahi zero dry, a third of which I poured as a token of respect to the mountains. That and I'm sick of the taste by now.

It was an incredibly clear and warm day inspite of the hard-frozen snow cover. The wind was bearable and I had a lot of layers with me and excellent shoes for this type of terrain. It was only 1pm. There would be sunlight until 18 and the trains to Fukushima run until 8pm. In short: if I wanted to go further, now was as good a chance as ever.

I saw that I could see to the other side, towards the main Azuma range from on top of a mountain 1,9km away (birds flight). I calculated that if I make it there in 1 hour, I would be in no hurry to come down.

It was noon, and I took a few tentative steps on the snow cover. It was the warmest part of  day, and the snow was still unyielding. Good. I could walk on it easier than in the rocky, forested and bushy terrain in the summer. My leg fell through once, after which I turned back, only to find myself still fixated on going ahead with ascending to the peak.

My leg fell through perhaps 2 or 3 times, and never more than 40 or 50cm. Otherwise the snow was excellent to walk on.

I made it to the top by just over 1pm, with incredible views in all directions. Kofuji was hidden behind Mt. Issaikyo, but there was another volcano visible in the far north. This stretch of volcanoes continues all the way up to Hokkaido and on to Kamchatka and through the Aleuts to Alaska and back down the Rockies and Andes. Feeling somehow connected.

I had two more bits of tempura and then I was down on my small bag of lemon fizzlers.

I made my way down based on pins I had placed on my google maps (thank you power bank!), but it was very good visibility anyway, so I was back down at the onsen in no time.

I encountered the x-man taking a break by the river and we got to chatting. They had lived there for 2 days fixing the woodwork in time for the season, scheduled to open on 28th April. I told him I had gone up and seen the mountain range behind, and then he made a heart with his fingers. Mt. Issaikyo. My mountain. He really loved being there.

I gave up on trying to bribe him with cigarettes to let me have a 5min dip in the beautiful-looking onsen just behind him.

As I passed the bulldozers, they had cleared the rest of the way up to the bridge. I showed them thumbs up and shouted gambate kudasai.

I picture the four drivers along with Mr. Issaikyo opening cans of Asahi in the onsen after what has been 2 days of woodwork for one and perhaps as many as 2 weeks for the others in reaching the end of the road.

I'm happy for it to be their priviledge to open the season with a dip after work.

I walked to the next onsen down the road. My towel still smells divinely of sweet sulphur.