Omine San (the Omine mountains range ) is the centre of the Shungendo mountain ascetic sect of buddhism and has been the training ground for them since around the 11th century. Having been hiking in the area once before I was already much in love with these mountains, but I knew there was a lot more to see including Sanjo-ga-take. The first train in the morning followed by an hour and a half bus ride took us (Peter and I) up some roads, more than unsuitable for our bus, through the mountains to the village of Dorogawa - the starting point for the shorter but more time-practical pilgrimage to Sanjo-ga-take. The real route which we'd looked into from Yoshino to Kumano on the Pacific coast would have taken us 10 days - time we didn't have.
In the village we met quite a few others about to make the trip up the mountain, some decked out in their Shugendo gear of white, including footwear resembling socks than shoes. The accessories include a dear skin to cover their nether regions, an assortment of anything that jangles with every movement and a small black hat shaped like the lid from a jam jar portioned on the forehead like any granddad would wear a hat made for the one year olds at his grandchild's first birthday party. The other essential is a horn made from a huge shell carried over the shoulder in a net. At the starting temple there were others also dressed in more conventional hiking wear burning incense and chanting.
With enough time to reach to top we took the path out of the village along the river to the "mountain entrance" and were met with smiles, grunts and occasional "hello" from the locals. Into the forest some way we crossed the river to see some caves in the cliff on the other side of the river. Another small bridge across and we were in the cave exploring deep inside the darkness following the arrows, round and through the holes in the rock into open spaces of darkness. Just up the river was a silver haired man's riverside shack with painted white primary school tables and chairs outside. He was busy moving some stones around preparing for the summer. Given that we were the only ones there I doubt even a quarter of the seats are ever filled. The rest of the time judging from the display outside his shack is spent sanding down and mounting interesting branches which were intended for displaying a photograph of your loved one - or in his case for display purposes the cut out pictures of the models in a woollen wear catalogue. Behind the shack was another cave entrance, this one much smaller but behind a gate and marked by a statue of buddha and a couple large bottle of sake as an offering. We paid 300 yen, were each given a torch and decided to enter not quite knowing what was inside.
On a warm day wearing shorts, as we approached the cave we met this gust of cold air which reminded me of the summer in Kyoto walking along the street going from 35 degrees and 100 percent humidity and open the door of any air conditioned sanctuary. The caves went deeper and deeper, at points we were on our knees crawling to find caverns, pools of water, small passages deeper than the torchlight could discover, the occasion statue surrounded by offerings of sake, fruit and incense too damp to burn. With the torches off, is was still so dark that eyes adjusted to the darkness to find.... ....only blackness. It wasn't long before we found the resonant frequency of each cave and were humming away producing some great sounds and echoes. I wonder now if they emerged from the cave and could be heard by the old man outside tending to his stones. Still deeper we went, damper and colder, the surface of the rocks smooth and dimpled like an oversized golf ball where drips were forming but never grew any further. One stone was marked as looking like a tortoise, but we couldn't quite vision it instead finding much greater resemblances in the sides and floor of the caves. We emerged a little higher up the cliff face into warmth and light. The contrast of the rush of hot air was surpassed by the contract from blackness to colour. We were inside for about half an hour and during that time in our absence it was as if someone had repainted the outside world richer, brighter and greener than before.
Peter told me about some monks in Tibet who spend three years, three months and three days deep in a cave alone in the darkness in meditation, their meals lowered to them. As the end of their darkness approaches a small hole is made and enlarged day by day to give the eyes a chance to readjust. On emerging they find a new appreciation of the outside world with heightened senses in the same way I suppose that the blind have a greater sense of touch and hearing.
Leaving the caves was a great way to emerge and an aid to appreciate what was to be three days when the senses would be treated to quite a showing. The old man offered us tea as we sat and talked for a while trying to grasp some of the history of the caves with our limited Japanese. Peter was doing much better with some grounding in the history, understanding of Japanese and my distraction towards a circling pair of butterflies.
Further along the river and a short way up the road we arrived at the car park and the start of the path up to Sanjo-ga-take. At the restaurant we met who I think was the owner who's first concern seemed to be if we'd ever been to Nepal or Tibet where he was six months earlier. From talking English he then started in some other language. Apparently through some technique of drawing upon sexual energy he discovered that he could speak sanscript. I don't quite remember all the details but the sounds of sanscript come from the sounds of the heart centre in the body. The battery of my camera dead I bough some disposable ones and left to start the climb. He went back inside and poured himself another beer.
Across a bridge, we passed by another temple, the garden dominated by the cherry blossom from one tree - on show a month later that I'd seen before. Next we came to the gate through which no women are permitted to pass nor have been through since the mountain became the centre for these men of the mountain. That there was going to be much activity on this day became evident as we stopped to allow a break in a TV interview of some women dressed in white outside the gate and below the sign forbidding women to enter. The first section of the climb is up through planted cedar forest and on this day was quite busy. On the way up the mountain we walked though huts selling the wares of the pilgrims, food and offering free tea. We stopped for lunch I think just before we left the planted forest and cooked up a fine pan of soba, the last of our convenience store onigiri (balls of rice) eaten.
On this part of the climb I remember not the mountain but the people that passed as we ate lunch, some dressed in the costume, some blowing away at their horns and one old bloke who was climbing to the accompaniment of his radio, enka (old vocal Japanese) emerging from his rucksack. All greeted us with the customary "ohmairi" meaning ................ well something you say when you pass people on this mountain. One young guy who spoke with a Californian accent in fluent English gave us a "how's it goin'." Some people we met again at various stages of the climb passing them while they rested or being passed. Further up the mountain in the natural forest we could now see the surrounding hills and hear from below and above the horns being blown. At one stop where a spring emerged from a statue we were treated to a four horn ensemble and we drunk what we were told was energy giving water.
At one hut nearer the summit we met two men, one who looked in his 60s but had the energy comparable to no age. He said he'd seen us on the train but had hiked the extra distance from Yoshino at great pace it seems, 20 kilometres further north. They were on their way to Kumano completing the full pilgrimage. At this hut, as everywhere, we got involved in some conversation and drunk the tea. On display here were plates each with three hard boiled eggs. Next to them sat the beer but I passed over knowing Peter would not have thanked me later as my body decided it had extracted all it desired and rejected the rest into our confined atmosphere of the tent.
The last station was like walking up through an old covered street in Kyoto. On either side going up the hill were open fronted shacks - why so many and doing what I don't really know but there were individuals in each one. Since getting into the natural forest the surroundings opened up and the pain of the climbing was gone. I had more than enough energy to climb anything. As I wrote that night;
"On the climb near the end, the pumping of the heart was a cause for pleasure rather than pain - once the barrier was broken the legs got stronger and the mind became so alive sending more and more blood not just to the legs but to me head - fuel for the imagination"
As we climbed the trees became thinner and the views more expansive. Mist was rising up from the valley below - not a blanket of mist but only in a few places was it shooting up at pace to join the clouds above. The occasional showers never became the thunder storms that had been forecast. The religious significance of the mountain was becoming more and more apparent as we approached to top. The statues, monuments and gravestones began to mark the path and one individual was ever present - that of Ennogyoja the founder of the sect of who Peter know something and we were to learn more about as our hike continued.
The mist rising from the forest below seemed to be cleansing the air and we could see with great clarity the mountains and even Osaka in the distance. Often from Ikoma mountain, right on the edge of Osaka, the smog is so thick I can't see the Kyobashi skyscrapers as clearly as I could on this day about 100 kilometres further south. The sun was above the blanket of clouds so with no glare, no shadows and yet no darkness it was as if I someone had just cleaned my glasses for the first time in 10 years and returned then to me to wear. This air was clean and abundant in oxygen and I was getting as much as possible in my lungs to fuel all of my body.
From here we encountered the first chained sections on the route and to let the arms do some of the work getting the body, and weight on my back, up towards the summit - the top was in range now and many things awaited us on our last stretch to the top. At one big rock a balcony has been built and despite their being a way round the rock there is a chain to take you up and over. We had to wait for the "mountain committee" to position a thick rope across the crevice in the rock where the chain hangs and the climb leads. What appeared to be a simple procedure was taking some time as each of up to seven or eight "advisors" offered their services to the one designate up the ladder. I couldn't help but think he would have got it sorted a lot quicker if he put out his cigarette freeing up either an extra hand or his mouth to tell his advisory committee to let him be. It was while waiting though that we met a policeman with some limited English who explained that tonight a large group of Shungendo pilgrims would be making the climb in the evening to arrive for a festival starting in the early hours of the morning. We decided to get up in the middle of the night and take a look.
We finally got the go ahead to make the climb up the rock and were the first of the year to pass under the rope - the significance of rope, I'm unaware. We left our rucksacks on the balcony and made what is, with the chains, an easy climb that took us up to a small place of worship with a statue of Ennnogyoja who had a fine view through that same clear light. He may from time to time catch a glimpse, out of the corner of his eye, of Osaka. What this man of the mountains would have thought of the modern city. From where I stood I can only think he would be glad that even the mountains look down upon the roofs of the towering skyscrapers and smog stained grey apartment blocks.
Back down a shorter chain and round the rock to rejoin our backpacks we also met a newspaper reporter asking our opinion of the absence of women on the mountain. Between us in scrappy Japanese and with the aid of a my pocket translator I hope we politicised an answer lying somewhere between protecting religious tradition and ceremony and defending the right of all people (including women) to enjoy this wonderful mountain. I'm yet to see if in the article we will be branded as chauvinists or obnoxious foreigners coming over here knowing better trying to cast away 800 years of the Japanese religious tradition. We also discovered why there were so many climbers, reporters and cameramen. That night was the opening of the mountain and the temple on Sanjyo-ga-take - an ancient ritual - involving quite a gathering and ceremony. We were now convinced that whatever the time, and despite being regularly informed about a looming storm, that we would be there.
More awaited us a little further up the hill. As we approached a small hut we heard from behind a lot of shouting. This is where the pilgrims are hung by their ankles over a precipice to look down below at hundreds of meters of shear cliff face and confess their sins. Today it was the turn of the same newspaper reporter to confess - and he'd been screaming for quite a while before being hoisted back up looking somewhat relieved. Peter, this his second visit to Sanjyo-ga-take advised that anyone can "enjoy" this experience so I went forward to take the rope round my shoulders, lie down and hang over the cliff. The priest shouts a few things in Japanese - to which I'd been told to reply "Hai... Hai... Hai" (Yes.... Yes.... Yes) as my ankles were shaken forcing me further out to examine the cliff face and the beauty of the forest below. I may have confessed to all manner of sins - the Japanese I couldn't understand - but it was well worth it for the thrill, the view and the relief. Despite knowing that I was not going to be dropped the head rush was strong and effective.
As we reached the summit the storm we'd been promised started the pick up and we walked up between a line of buildings housing the pilgrims - I think perhaps six or seven substantial bunk houses - they looked warm and comfortable, as the wind picked up, compared to the tent on my back. Outside, wearing their yukata (I can only best describe a yukata as a cross between a kimono and dressing gown) getting their picture taken were those who'd reserved their place of comfort in advance on this, the mountain's biggest night.
At the top we found the temple closed, but the route on towards the campsite we couldn't find. There was one man to ask but he was busy blowing into his horn and showed no sign of stopping. We went over to the temple residence to check with a priest who seemed not only especially concerned about the coming storm but also that we had enough water to get there - only 40 minutes away. Perhaps he knew something we didn't but as it turned out we didn't make it to the camp site that night.
Just about fifteen minutes down the path along a ridge the path opened up and it was there we found the two guys we'd met on the way and who'd walked the distance from Yoshino. They already had their tent up and whilst all around the wind was blowing strong and rain falling we'd found calm and shelter down the back of the ridge. We decided that this was a wise man and we decided to put up the tent and hold the tent down with stones. As we put up our tent and cooked dinner we could look up towards Sanjyo-ga-take through the rain. We could hear and see the rain above us as the rain and mist crept down the mountain side and over the ridge but we could hardly feel any breeze. After quite a fine curry from a bag, and rice - and not just because anything was going to taste quite special at this point with all senses heightened - we went to catch some sleep before the festival.
The rain did eventually make it round to our sanctuary and due to a badly designed tent, a little too small for two people to stretch out in, the rain also found its way in though the front to dampen our sleeping bags at the feet. I kept waking up to keep myself off the side of the tent and with an over active mind I wasn't to enthusiastic about sleeping. We got up at about one and tried to get on the waterproofs and torches to make our way up the hill for the opening of the temple. We got there in good time and stood under the awning to the front of the monks residence. There we met a guy from Nara, from what I could gather he was a guide at Todaiji Daibutsuden in Nara. He gave everyone a history of this day and that of Ennogyoja - referred to as "Superman" on many occasions, perhaps because of his legendary powers of levitation. We got a good history in near perfect English and the rest of the crowd huddled cold out of the rain then got a translation in Japanese.
Soon the lights started going on inside as everyone got up out of their futons and started clearing the floor. Then we were allowed to enter and the monks began preparing the room by moving all the screens creating a vast space out what was before three or four rooms. Unaware of what was going on we met our policeman friend from the rock climbing earlier that day. We were all spectators around the room and those on the raised tatami mat floor were the arriving representatives from each of the Shungendo branches around the country. They sat along the edge of the room behind their red paper lanterns and those across the room I could see were a variety of old men in fine health, some much taller than I'd yet seen of a similar again Japan. Quite a jovial bunch of men all in their formal robes playing away with their beads and joking with those I presume they'd not seen for a while. Behind a small screen in the centre of the room ornaments and ceremonial wares were being prepared. After about an hour standing in anticipation, with the shungendo present and seated and their lanterns lit, the screen was removed and the lights went off.
I realise that by now surrounding the room it was packed out but across the way with a prime view was the newspaper reporter, photographer and TVcameraman. Thinking that this was a religious moment I held back on taking photos but then there were a series of flashes going off and the TV lighting man went into action. Even some of the Shungendo priests removed cameras from out of their robes and started snapping away. There was one introductory speech followed by some praying by one of the resident monks in a very elaborate costume topped of with big red pom poms stuck down his back. For quite some time after the chanting started,though I couldn't understand or join in, some of it became familiar as the whole chant went full rotation at least four or five times. Another chant was signalled in by the bang of a tin gong and the lead from the priests.
Following the chanting there was a ceremony with the keys to the temple door. Each key sat on a small plinth and one of the shungendo was called to be presented with it. On returning to his place on the floor and in a series of 90 degree turns and pauses he would rotate the key full circle and pass it on to his neighbour. I think perhaps three or four keys were presented and passed around. Our policeman informed us that the shungendo representatives from each sect would make a three man horse with one more riding on top with the key to fight with other groups to open the door. More chanting and a closing speech read from an unravelled scroll, and the lights went up. Back out into the cold and rain we went and into the large courtyard area between the temple and the monks residence where the ceremony was held. I then realised that we'd been lucky to get in to the ceremony as there was a large crowd outside and perhaps two to three hundred people gathered mostly in the shelter under the front of the temple with no more space for Peter and myself.
The human horses arrived to the fanfare of the horns blowing and I was beginning to understand what it is men like to do without the presence of women. All the horns blowing away, a lot of shouting and men running around in circles chasing each other it was very much a return to childhood feeling when boys just like to run around chasing each other, making noise, shouting fighting over something that would mean that they were first. This is going back to a time before we start to refine their behaviour in the presence of females - before puberty when new stronger desire enters the fore frame of our minds. I think that given time the game of rugby would have developed on this very mountain had it not first been played on all male private school playing fields of England.
We tried to get in place for a good picture without being trampled upon by the rushing horses and followers. After a few circuits of the courtyard they made a charge for the temple door to see who could open it and be first in to a place that remains dark and empty for the winter. With the door open the crowd of spectators then made a charge for the door and we all gathered in the temple behind the wooden lattice which separates the "alter" and ceremonial area from the mass of people. As the priest lit the candles, prayed and prepared the temple there was a lot of chanting going on. Then, through a small gate in the wooden lattice up a few steps we were allowed to enter - but only a group of thirty or forty at a time.
Expecting that polite and refrained character of the Japanese combined with the religious significance of the night and surroundings, I thought this would be a gentlemanly affair. Instead the push towards this flimsy gate set my mind thinking about a time I tried to buy tickets for an Inter Milan football match when thousands of Italians surged towards the one or two open ticket booths outside the San Siro in Milan. Standing out somewhat as a foreigner and not knowing exactly what was going on I maintained some restraint but on about the fifth of sixth attempt the enter I got my foot up on the step and received a big push from behind forcing me through the gate. There were others, perhaps in their 70's practically hanging off the lattice who appeared to be enjoying the spectacle very much.
We passed the alter where most said a prayer or lit incense and went behind into the rear of the temple. In very dim light we saw a lot of "images of buddha" and other statues. Further on round the back there was statue of Ennogyoja and we kneeled down as a group while a priest gave some prayer. Round again to the front we waited a short time before ducking down through another door. In this small room in front of another statue of Ennogyoja we kneeled again and a priest led the same chant as in the initial ceremony. After, in the very dim room, he passed a candle over the statues face very briefly for us to see. Then we went down some steps and outside where a bonfire was lit and branches of green conifer were thrown. Around the fire the pilgrims were trying to get in the smoke and rub their body with it - for healing powers and on this cold night, warmth seeming to be important too. There is no smoke without fire and when the wind picked up, along with the smoke came the sparks as the fresh green branches burst into flame.
Now past 4.30 in the morning we went to get water from the monks residence and made our way down the mountain by torchlight and into the tent trying to take as little rain with us as possible. Our neighbours had packed up and were by now on their way again .....destination ..... probably far along the route to Kumano.
We slept well for a couple of hours and were woken by the sound of passing hikers "woo hooing" as if to tell us we'd better get up and get a move on. I'd come out of such a deep sleep it was difficult to establish if the night up top Sanjyo-ga-take was not just a wonderful dream.
The rain had stopped and we could cook up some oatmeal (Peter's instant Maple Syrup Wonder) and coffee in relative comfort outside our tent which seemed now to be a lot smaller than when I was using it as a one person tent. The extra rainwater packed away with the tent I didn't notice but was on the receiving end of my cursing ten hours later as I struggled up the ascent to Misen.
The Sunday was a great walk south which on the map appeared to be a stroll along a ridge with about four of five peaks. Hidden within the contours was a lot of hard work but we were rewarded with a wonderful day. A little further down Sanjyo-ga -take to "Ryugadake" where we'd planned our first night we filled up with water and met the family who'd joined us for a while during breakfast. Here there was a small hut for hikers, a temple and under a huge rock a statue. Also in this combe with a water supply, had been built many small plateaus had been built up by rocks but no longer held any crops or signs of what once was grown there. In their place and over the rocks a deep rich and soft moss has taken over which in the darkness shrouded by the trees, cloud and a thin mist let the mind run free on what was happening at this place centuries ago.
Along a little further we arrived at the women's gate forbidding entry to Sanjyo-ga-dake, also written in English. Here, preoccupied with the sign and the previous nights events we took a wrong turn. Quite happy now on the way down we came to the top of a cliff - as sheer and as high as the one I'd been dangled from the day before. It was this point here that made the wrong turn a bonus. When we arrived we looked down into cloud, into nothing but moisture rising up into our faces. Then it started to clear and the green appeared out of the grey little by little. The mist didn't fall but was instead funnelled up through the valley and out at the top of the ravine close to where we stood. Where we stood we could see the mist rising up as great pace to our right while to the left and down below the cliff a vast valley displayed itself to us in it's splendour of green with outcrops of rock and cliff faces where some trees had managed to grab hold of some soil and grow out and upwards.
That the view was temporary made it all the more precious because from then on the rain started and fell heavily upon us through the woods. On following the route it appeared to be going down too far and alongside a steam I couldn't see on the map. On further inspection of the map we were on out way down the mountain. It was this climb back up the cliff that hurt in the heavy rain - the loss of height for no gain was not welcome but spirits didn't fall so much. We returned to the women's gate over an hour since our last visit, to find the sign the Misen so clearly displayed. We didn't dwell on our way back there and we arrived to take a break and eat from our mix of nuts and raisins and continued eating till eating itself became tiring. On our way again we realised that lunch would be a late afternoon affair. In the rain, wearing a hood the restricted vision was frustrating and preventing me from enjoying my the woods around me. I decided just to put the hood down and just get wet which made things a lot easier.
The path was now a stream and the boots and socks were soon saturated. We made our way through some rich green woods, the path lined and crossed by fallen trees that have become home to thick soft moss and colourful fungi. Onwards over the top of "Shofukendake" we seemed to have reached the point where the dividing line between heavy downpour and light rain was drawn. "Shofukendake" is a wonderful place to be - a very rocky peak that requires a few chains up the rocks and a manmade walkway built into the cliff face - On offer is a great view of the area, south towards Misen, and north towards Sanjyo-ga-take and today's route up and over so many small and larger peaks.
Just a little further on at the top of "Daifukendake" we met three men in the rain trying to get a photo so we took one of the three together and got talking. Conversation on this section of the mountains begins with where you are going and where you've come from. The oldest, by a long way, of the three men didn't have a clue about either. He was just walking, and was just having a great time. I remember his smile so well - he still had most of his teeth, be they held together onto his gums by a mass of wire.
From here on the rain died down and we continued south up and down along the east side of the ridge. At least with a bit more brightness, we now had a good idea where we were going. This is one of the most heavily chained stretches from Sanjyo-ga-Take to Misen but the route took us into some great little enclaves beneath the cliffs and big rocks. The trees you pass on your way down just cling to the rock face, grow out about a foot and then go straight upwards. In one enclave, so green after the day's rain, there was one huge rock on which two majestic trees had settled. Both the trees roots were gripping round the outside of this rock like an eagles claw's round a trout. These were old trees which had also wound their roots round each others. When they die and fall they will do so together and in this place so damp and rich they will be buried together beside their rock in a thick growth of deep rich emerald moss.
In these dark places marked my statues under the overhanging rocks the shungendo must have worshipped and rested in centuries past. Here with the cloud above we rested and ate nuts - the light seemed to come from the thick green carpet below and not from the sky. I thought at so many of these places how it would be great to put up the tent an d stay there but we'd not even reached lunch yet and had a long way to go.
Another three peaks - we were making good pace making up for lost time but on the last peak we realised that we had gone off the path again. The path went up to the top but not over and down the other side. We had to back track and take a less worn path round the side past a spring, down some more ladders and then to lunch.
Last year I'd been to this mountain hut built of corrugated iron with three rooms, the largest with a fire in the middle and a raised platform for sleeping round three sides. This being golden week holiday time and mountain opening, the hut was manned, selling food and a place to sleep. When we approached we were met by three men wondering about in their slippers. We were invited in and given free coffee and started cooking up some lunch. Along with great coffee and biscuits one of the men, who owns the hut appeared with what appeared like a bottle of tea but in fact was a bottle filled with 'grouse.' Not having drunk grouse since I left Scotland I was happy to join him in a whisky while we were cooking up lunch. We were there talking for about an hour, but I didn't realise how drunk one of them was till we went outside for a photo and he fell over against the side of the hut before regaining his balance.
I felt stronger in the legs from lunch, and a little higher in spirits from the whisky, as we left for Misen. Whilst we were in the dark inside the hut the clouds had cleared and we emerged into sunshine. Before long we could see Misen in the distance and we realised as we turned to go west that we'd been going at great pace. The map said an hour and a half and we'd been racing through the woods for an hour in a trance like state as if inspired by the sun. This was quite a flat section and the ridge we walked was wide and the woods open. This section I'd walked before and I knew than another hour away before the ascent to Misen was a wonderful statue sitting peacefully under a huge rock. This section felt even faster as I skipped along the path, out of waterproofs and back in shorts, through the puddles, jumping over fallen trees as if I'd left my back pack behind. I sat with my back up against a tree eating nuts and looking at the statue and it's home at the foot of Misen. I was there a good ten minutes recovering before Peter arrived. I was still excited as if I'd finished a long run in record time and my head was buzzing, yet calm from the physical exertion followed but the peacefulness of my resting spot.
My legs didn't appreciate the strain as much as my head, I discovered as we set off up the steep ascent to the top of Misen. A steep section continues and the path hairpins its way up the steep mountain, a very short distance on the map took so long to climb. I was sitting down on a rock eating the Cadbury's Bournville Steve had sent from home when I heard Peter ahead announce his arrive at the top. The chocolate and the sound of the generator from the lodge at the top got me to the top but there was nothing much left in term of energy. The camping area was really full but we found a good spot near the lodge under a fir three. The sun went down just as we put the tent up and it suddenly got really cold. With the sweat from the climb and the cold wind I went from wearing shorts and a damp T-shirt to wearing everything I had. My boots soaked I put on a dry pair of socks and stepped into a couple plastic bags to keep them the way.
We had arranged the meet Ichimori San at Misen but he had called to say he wasn't going to meet us till the next day at the end of our hike. We cooked up dinner underneath the vent from the lodges kitchen for extra warmth and ate in the tent. Getting into my sleeping bag knowing I would be there for the night was so comforting that I was soon in a deep deep sleep.
Awakened by calls of BANZAI at four in the morning I was not impressed and from then on I woke occasionally as those around us packed up and left. We were last to arrive, last to put our tent up, last to eat, last to get to bed and consequently last to get up the next day, which seemed fair enough. Our start was further delayed in line waiting for the toilet. The line was not long, but I fear for the two people who never emerged from their cubicals for the entire fifteen minutes I waited. Perhaps they are still there? Just after eight we left in bright sunshine on our way a little higher to the highest point in the Kansai region, Hakken-zan. Both the climb and the summit offered contrasting experiences from my visit here last year. This wood is very open, sparse and fenced off to project rare plants from animals.
On the climb in thick mist last year, the ancient protected woods were mysterious, damp and very calm with the trees lying where they had fallen, buried in moss. All sound was muffled and softened by the moist air. My vision had been restricted so as my eyes were focused on the trees and rocks close to the path. This time in clear blue open skies I could see through the trees in all directions; back to where we'd come from, south to where we were headed and both east and west towards mountains obstructing the sea. The sounds were so sharp and clear and my ears tuned to the birds that I so rarely hear from my roadside apartment closer to the city. I'm glad to have enjoyed both occasions for different reasons.
The route south continued through some wonderful woods down onto a wide ridge which opened up like a meadow. A lot of big rocks and cliffs above, but beneath soft grass, scattered trees and bushes and the sound of two birds who followed us south for about two hours. We never saw them but heard their same conversation all the way. Here by mid morning we had caught up with a group of nine or ten students from Kyoto University. Although, supposedly Japan's elite, despite having studied English since age twelve and a couple of them studying English at University they had real problems coming up with anything in English. It was only through Japanese that we realised they were our four in the morning 'banzai' alarm call.
The next group further along were a great bunch of jokers who failed to convince us that they were Yakuza - members of the Japanese 'Mafia,' but earned themselves that nickname for when we met them many times later that day. We were making good ground now realising that we had to get down off the hill to meet Ichimori-San. This was quite easy walking along a wide ridge up, over or round a few smaller peaks. The sun was bright and a light breeze through the trees brought with it the smell of pines and grasses. The trees were scattered thin so we could often see well into the distance to where we were headed. Just as fascinating were our more immediate surroundings through the woods. We had quite a way to reach our first water point of the day and we were well in need.
We stopped here for lunch and cooked up a big pan of ramen - by far the worst culinary effort of the trip. We were joined by the group from Kyoto University. There was one girl in the group of about ten who never said a word to anyone. From where we ate lunch we could see ahead to Shaka-ga-dake. The ridge here heads of slightly to the south west and is quite impressive. To the north-west side fell away sharp cliffs or steep scree slopes and to the south-east..... ....I don't really know. The ridge formed a dividing line in the weather and from below to our left the cloud and mist rose, but only as far as our feet, whilst to our right there wasn't a cloud in the sky.
This ridge and the climb to the top of Shaka-ga-dake was the toughest section of our trip. The approach to the climb took us up and over a lot of big rocks with chains or round and down into gulleys. The ascent is really steep with a lot of chains and just raw determination to get to the top. The first glimpse of the summit is the raised staff of a 20 foot bronze statue of buddha and when he was fully within my vision I had reached to top to throw off my pack, hold my hands in the air, breath deep and stretch. The so called "yakuza" group were there to greet us with applause themselves just having reached to summit. This is not the highest peak in range but is the toughest and is also the one I enjoyed reaching the most.
From here on it was more or less down hill which posed some problems for us. Peter had no problem going up but a knee injury meant that downhill sections had to be done in reverse. The path was not so great descending and mainly of gravel or scree so the going was slow. Knowing that we were on our way down off these wonderful mountains, the time constraint with evening fast approaching and Peters pain made this section different. It was like leaving an old friend but not having the chance to say a proper farewell. On the other hard this was becoming more of an adventure and a different type of challenge.
On this particularly sacred part of the mountains we passed a lot of places we would have liked to spend much longer. Through the mist one of the "yakuza" pointed out a gate in the cliff face below Shaka-ga-dake where the Shungendo would climb out to and pass through as a challenge. We passed a very small temple by a camp site where we passed the students. It was here we could guess why the one female was there ..... .... she was busy cooking them all dinner.
The last section of the mountain down was listed as 2 hours on the map but was going to take a lot longer going backwards. The path heads through thick woodland traversing the mountainside. For a long time we crossed a series of small ravines which meant going doing a lot followed by a short sharp climb for very little loss in height. By this time, getting dark we were trying to get down soon. We were going down at a rate double the time on the map and our estimates got later and later. At one point I thought Peter was not going to be making it home alive. From behind me I heard a shout, breaking branches and several loud thuds tumbling down the mountain. It was long enough for me to start running options through my head but thankfully the shock had also silenced Peter and he gave another shout that he was OK. It was only part of the path and vegetation that had fallen leaving Peter standing. We stopped by two massive rocks tall and thin rising up through the trees, ate the last of our Calorie Mate, and began the final descent as darkness fell.
By the time we reached the river bed and the final few kilometres to home is was difficult to follow the path as it became the rocks in the dry river bed. We followed it down and very soon we were finding our way down by torchlight and the sound of the water. We kept on at a really slow pace until we found the path again the other side of the river. We crossed and joined it making good ground till we could see lights and the sound of Ichimori-san and his son shouting, having seen our lights. They'd been waiting at the lodge for at least three hours and the whole family emerged from his van in joy that we were safe. I was feeling quite relieved myself and incredibly grateful that they were there. No need to put the tent up again or cook as we sat on the tarmac carpark eating and trying to explain out tales in very tired Japanese.
Going home we stopped off for an onsen which was quite a special occasion. Having had my feet wrapped up in a supermarket carrier bag for 16 hours had cultured something special inside my muddy boots, I managed to separate the bags from my socks and boots and hobble into the onsen. I took quite a bit of cleaning before I could get in one of the baths, and even then in entering some kind of nirvana I had to contend with sun burn. From the comfort of the bath I wish that I could have been transported to the comfort of my bed without the interlude in a two hour traffic jam inside a long tunnel filled with exhaust fumes. From the ultimate freedoms I was forced into mans own constraint. The pain in the car helped relate it to a with the contrast of the mountains. I was returning to the world of man. The next day brought no pain from my body, but only my head from the poisoned exhaust and tobacco I was forced to consume in the tunnel. Outside is wonderful place, but Omine San is much greater than that.
As time for my departure approaches I try to return to some of the most special places in Japan and visit those places I have wanted to go but never quite made it. Omine San falls into the former category. With a free weekend, an early start on Saturday morning, a long bus ride and by ten in the morning I was strolling alone up a narrow road by a river across from which a quite village were burning things in their fields. For my farewell to Omine I decided to take the untravelled route from the east and work my way north to Yoshino. A old man passed me, whose only words I could comprehend, were Omine and kiotsuke-ne (take care). He either spoke is some kind of dialect or loosing his teeth had affected his speech.
An hour up the road up a winding hill I reached an even smaller village without any shops - just beautiful old houses with dry stone walls and hedges of tea alongside the one road which formed a circle. An elderly couple were out in their garden picking tea and I asked where the start of the hike was. The wife explained but the husband joined me as far as he knew to make sure I was on my way. He was born here and spend his whole life here yet he had only been up the mountain twice. He took me around a few footpaths out through the village and pointed to the path which was so unworn I would never have found it or even seen it. I led right up directly up hill though planted forest and it was hard to distinguish. Ahead I could see what at first I thought were emus with bouncing white tails. Reality returned and I realised that they were two deer bouncing their way up ahead of me. They went ahead stopped for a while looking back and as I got closer they bounced on further up as if guiding me up the path. By the time I was in sight of the ridge they had vanished as if only in my imagination.
Along the ridge the hiking was easier and the path clear but I only met two individuals and one group on their way down I emerged from the forest at this ridge in clear sunshine and could see the full spectacle of the jagged peaks rising up and away from me while down below in a sea of the light green I coould witness the birth of spring. With nobody else on the route on the route I came across all sorts of birds including a grouse dancing it's way through the forest and a woodpecker. I'd hear them before but this was the first time I had seen one banging away at a tree. All the little reptiles were out basking in the sun and when I approached I only knew of their presence by the sound of the leaves. A few I did see and others I had to stare into the leaves for a while to try and find the two eyes that would distinguish their still heads from the dead leaves.
It was bright and warm but with little rain over the past month the moss was not as rich or deep as last year and I although I could see into the distance and walk with dry feet the mist, damp cliffs, moisture and silence of last year were missing. As I approached the summit I could begin to hear the sounds of the horns and the bells and the chanting we heard again and again at the ceremony.
The temple looked different in the light of day, open and working, the lattice away from front and missing the crowd fighting their way in. In the light of day it seemed smaller yet wider. I could see into the depth and darkness Ennyogyoja, his head hidden behind a hanging curtains. As ever there were many people to talk with but I eased back into the open ground to feel the rain, smell the smoke and hear the excitement of the last year's ceremony.
The first of many farewells to come in Japan was this farewell to Omine-san and going back down the steps I had to keep looking back. The tears began to swell in my throat until I a turned away from the stone steps and entered a mountain lodge in search of water. They sat me down and offered me tea as I answered the usual questions as to my origin and destination. I returned their "omairis" talked and headed on towards Yoshino.
I did of course stop off to be hung over the cliff and while waiting my turn observing proceedings I got the questions translated. I would promise to love my parents, not to commit sins and to work hard. Soon a large group gathered and a couple young children were hung over the edge - without the safety rope - the things parents do to be told of their children's love. Soon a yamabushi was putting rope over my back as I was bustled forward. A couple young guys were there doing the business and they had me right over the cliff glad they didn't have to perform the ritual in English. Three questions gone and then a fourth one came about Kurisuto Kyo (Christianity.) Were they asking me to reject this faith or to affirm a belief in it - I still don't know but I just shouted yes, they dropped me further down my whole body now flat against the cliff looking down a hundred metres into the trees and rocks below. They asked me again - yes I replied and then fought my way back up the cliff.
The route down was busy but as soon as I turned off to Yoshino I met nobody. At another "woman's gate" I camped out, cooked and lit a fire. It was so fine to sit there and listen to the birds give their a last call before sleeping and I sat watching the fire dance and burn itself out into a circle of red glowing ashes - by that point the only light remaining. I was writing about the birds and their cycle with the sun and how they would awake me the next morning as I would resume the hike in tune with the birds.
I slept so well that I woke at two in the morning ready for the day but went back to sleep missing the morning call of the birds. My call was in fact a group of about a dozen men on their way down the mountain at 6 in the morning. I would only open my tent and greet them but they didn't seem to be in the mood for conversation. They chanted the familiar prayer and left. I was soon up and away down the hill and I met the same group an hour or so later. They asked me to join them on the way down and a I was lucky to be walking behind one guy who was so kind and interesting. We talked all the way down.
The group leader, this his 30th year on the hike, spoke English although he was fairly deaf and couldn't make any sense of what I said but he was fascinating to listen to. Soon word spread amongst the group as to all my details and I talked with them all on the way to Yoshino. One of the first places I ever went on Japan was Yoshino and having heard about the Shungendo pilgrimage I explored Yoshino and the start of the path almost 3 years ago. To return there from the mountain was to complete not a circle but more of an uncurling spring - realising how much more I knew and understood now that I did then.
They invited me to a temple for a ceremony where they burn the green branches and leaves of the conifer tree. We went into the temple where we were shown a room and served tea. After a while we were fetched to go into part of the temple. The priest sung our names and started the fire in front of the buddha. The fire rose up to a metal plate hanging from the roof and the smoke filled the room - the smoke that would bring health. I'd bought a copy of the pray from Sanjyogadake and tried to join in the ritual chanting as fast as my hiragana reading would take me. I could kind of follow the ceremony and understand some of the priest's address - he talked about the coming of the 21st century but also that this year is the 1300th anniversary of Ennyougyojya.
We then went for a bath and they treated me to lunch - a big lunch laid out on individual tables in a long tatami room overlooking the valley. The leader made a speech about the importance of making contact with people and ties in with how the priest talked about fate - it was fate that they met me and it was therefore important to extend that fate by my joining them for lunch. I had to make a speech and I told them about the birds going to sleep and how they were the birds who woke me and accompanied me back down the mountain. We had a great huge lunch and a load of beer everyone in great post mountain spirit. We then returned slowly though the village half drunk visiting the main temple where I could stare into the image of Ennyogyoujya. At Kashihara-jingumae most of the group stayed on the train to Osaka and three of us headed north saying my last farewell to one guy at Momoyama while I continued that little further north and home
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