Walking Amid Michelin Green Guide Star-Winning Beauty

I recently had the privilege of climbing Mount Haguro in northeastern Japan. The forest walk has been given 3 stars by the Michelin Green Guide, and it did not disappoint. Please allow me to share my journey with you.

Background

Mount Haguro is one of three sacred mountains known as the Dewa Sanzan, 出羽三山, meaning the three mountains of Dewa — the old name for Yamagata and Akita Prefectures. Climbing these mountains has been considered a pilgrimage of spiritual rebirth for centuries.

Each mountain in the Dewa Sanzan represents an aspect of cosmic time that pilgrims face. Mount Gassan is where we ask forgiveness for past wrongs and encounter our ancestors. Mount Haguro is where we overcome the troubles of the present world. And Mount Yudono is where we confront our future selves.

A little history

In the 6th century, Prince Hachiko, the son of the 32nd emperor of Japan, left the capital in Nara. His father, Emperor Sushin, had been assassinated, and his cousin, the influential and powerful Shotoku Taishi, advised him that discretion was the better part of valor. Hachiko accepted this advice and, difficult though it must have been, quietly left the capital.

Legend tells us that Hachiko then traveled the country, healing those wherever he went by magically absorbing their sufferings. The more hardships he took upon himself, the more disfigured he became. Yet Prince Hachiko, without concern for his earthly appearance, kept on.

Eventually, he was led to Mount Haguro by a three-legged crow. 

In a quintessential mix of Buddhism and Shinto, Prince Hachiko set up a monastery to practice Buddhism and to worship the Shinto kami of the three mountains. There he remained, teaching and healing, until his death in 641.

From the time Buddhism reached Japan in the 6th century, there was a peaceful syncretism of Buddhism with Shinto. Buddhist gods were considered manifestations of Shinto kami, and many temples and shrines shared the same grounds — some buildings even served as both Buddhist temples and Shinto shrines.

In 1868, as a means of weakening the wealth and power of Buddhist sects and to bring greater respect to the authority of the newly installed Emperor Meiji, himself a Shinto god, the government ordered the division of Buddhism and Shintoism. Temples, statues, bells, and sutras were destroyed in a frenzy of attack by Shinto nationalists. Many Buddhist priests were forced to leave the priesthood; others chose to become Shinto priests.

From that time, Buddhist images were removed from Mount Haguro. 

Climbing Mount Haguro

After consulting bus and train schedules, I took an 8:22 train from Niigata City and reached the charming city of Tsuruoka, in Yamagata Prefecture, in plenty of time to catch the 10:41 bus. The next bus was 90 minutes later, so careful planning was essential.

I had a pleasant ride past beautiful countryside with the awesome snow-covered Mount Chokai to the north providing the backdrop. After about 40 minutes, the bus drove through an enormous torii gate, along a narrow road fronting Shukubo shrine lodgings, and arrived at the foot of Mount Haguro.

My lodging for the night was easy to find.

I rang the bell at the shrine where I was going to stay and dropped off my bag. The innkeeper, the Shinto priest’s wife, visibly relaxed when she realized that the foreigner staying with her that night could speak Japanese. I thanked her for keeping my suitcase, bid her goodbye, and headed to the hiking trail.

It was 11:30 and the weather was glorious.

I bowed and passed under the torii gate, symbolizing my entry into the sacred realm of Mount Haguro, a Shinto kami. Then I approached the next gate.

The vermillion Zuishinmon Gate was previously guarded by two Buddhist Nio warriors and had been called the Niomon Gate. These statues were moved to safety and hidden during the anti-Buddhist frenzy. Today, they can be viewed at the Shozen-in Temple, a 15-minute walk from their former home. 

This gate marks the beginning of the 2,446 stone steps that lead to the summit.

In 1648, the 50th chief priest of the Dewa Sanzan, Tenyu Betto, laid the thousands of stones that lead from the vermillion gate to the mountaintop Sanjin Gosaiden shrine. It took him 13 years. Along the way, he carved 33 different Buddhist symbols into the stones. If you can find them all, it is said your prayers will assuredly be answered.

I think I found a few.

The path first leads downhill to a group of simple wooden shrines.

Then it takes us across the red, arched Shinkyo Bridge that had marked the border across which no women could pass until the 19th-century changes. To the right is the 400-year-old, man-made Suga-no-Taki waterfall, also credited to Tenyu Betto.

Soon, I meet the 1,000-year-old cedar tree affectionately called Jiji-sugi, or “Grandfather Cedar.” This majestic tree stands near the 600-year-old Go-jū-no-toh, or Five-Story Pagoda. This amazing work of architecture was originally built by none other than Taira no Masakado in the 930s. You may remember Masakado as one of Japan’s Three Most Infamous Vengeful Ghosts. 

The Go-jū-no-toh was built without using any nails. It features a large earthquake-resistant pendulum in the center which allows the building to gently and loosely sway like a snake during tremors. Its design has inspired modern techniques for constructing earthquake-proof buildings and towers, such as the 634 meter Tokyo Sky Tree. 

The current pagoda dates from 1372 when it was rebuilt by Daihoji Masauji, the chief priest of Mount Haguro. It is all that remains of a temple complex that surrounded it until the 1870s when the buildings were destroyed. Fortunately for us, the Go-jū-no-toh was rechristened as a Shinto shrine before then.

As Yamagata is deep in Japan’s snow country, each winter workers climb up inside the pagoda to sweep off the snow that accumulates on the roofs. 

After taking time to admire these awe-inspiring sights, I head up the long staircase sided by hundreds of 400-year-old cryptomeria cedar trees.

Walking through this beautiful forest, filled with the fragrance of cedar trees and joyous birdsong, I cannot think of a nicer way to spend a day.

I pass many small wooden shrines, then come upon unusual trees wrapped in a shimenawa rope, signifying that they are sacred. 

Originally two trees, through the years they reached out to each other and are now collectively known as Meoto-sugi, “The Couple Tree.” A wooden sign nearby tells us that those who hug this tree will be blessed with children.

There are three slopes along this path, each marked by a stone monument, and I have reached the third. 

I pass a shrine dedicated to the kami, Haniya-Hime no Mikoto, who was created from the feces of the creator goddess, Izanami-no-Mikoto. (I’m not making this up.) Those looking for the divine blessing of lasting relationships come here to pray.

Soon, I reach the top of the mountain, welcomed by another torii gate.

Exploring the mountaintop

I’ve climbed the 2,445 stone steps that lead from the Zuishinmon Gate to the 414 meter-high summit of Mount Haguro. I bow and enter the grounds where all three deities of the Dewa Sanzan are enshrined.

The first thing that catches my eye is a magnificent wooden shrine, a marvel of craftsmanship. It is the Itsukushima Shrine dedicated to the three deities of Munakata (in Fukuoka), and was once shared with Benzaiten, their Buddhist equivalent. These deities are incarnations of the god of water and all that flows, and they are crucial to this island nation as providers of the bounties from the sea. 

Among myriad intricate carvings are two dragons, one adorning each front pillar. Unlike the Western concept of dragons, these are helpful and wingless creatures. One is climbing up the pillar, symbolizing our struggles to attain Buddhahood through the continuous cycle of birth, death, and rebirth.

The other dragon descends, signifying its intention to come to earth and help aid the salvation of all living things.

No one knows when this building was constructed.

I pass the shrine to Prince Hachiko, then go up a few steps to pay my respects at the Sanjin-Gosaiden Shrine. This striking cedar structure was built in 1818, and it has an impressive 2.1 meter thick thatched roof, the thickest in Japan.

The gods of each of the Dewa Sanzan — Mount Haguro, Mount Gassan, and Mount Yudono — are enshrined within. This is the only mountaintop accessible all year round, so pilgrims can pay homage to all three deities here.

In front of the shrine is a pond called Kagami-ike, Mirror Pond. Although it beautifully reflects the shrine, this is not the source of its name.

In the early 20th century, the pond was drained. Over 600 ornate, bronze mirrors were recovered from its muddy bottom. Worshippers are thought to have used the mirrors as vehicles for their prayers and tossed them into the pond. Today, those mirrors have traveled as far as the British Museum and the Smithsonian Institute. Nearly 200 are on display in the nearby Dewa Sanzan Historical Museum, which, unfortunately, was closed when I visited.

Beside the pond is an ancient bell. As Shinto shrines do not usually have bells, this one is clearly a remnant of the days when Buddhism flourished in Dewa Sanzan.

The bronze bell weighs 10 tons, the 3rd largest in Japan. It was donated by the regent Hojo Tokimune as thanks for prayers offered for victory during the Mongol invasions of 1274 and 1281.

The thatched roof belfry was built in 1617, replacing the former structure that was destroyed during a typhoon.

This bell is rung only once a year, on December 31. Imagine the reverberations that echo across the mountains.

Among the other shrines on the mountaintop is Tōshō Shrine, dedicated to the deified first shogun of the Edo era, Tokugawa Ieyasu.

Another is the Reisaiden, a shrine built to house ancestral spirits. There is a spectacular painting of a dragon on the ceiling of its entranceway and a collection of Buddhist sculptural masterpieces in the building beside it. No photography is allowed.

Beside Reisaiden is a small cemetery with some unusual clothed gravestones.

Along the east side of the mountaintop, sits a row of small shrines. One of these stood out because of its collection of footwear. It is the Kensumimi Shrine, dedicated to Kamo-Taketsu-Numi no Mikoto, who, according to legend, is the kami who was incarnated as the three-legged crow.

People visit the shrine and offer footwear imbued with prayers for safe travels and healing and strength for their legs.

The climb down

After paying my respects at the modest imperial grave of Prince Hachiko, I head back to the torii gate to begin my descent.

Along the way is a sign tempting me to explore the Minami-Dani, which means southern valley. Despite the “Watch out for Bears” sign, I brave the unused trail. About 500 meters into the woods I come to a clearing that once held a temple where the great poet, Matsuo Basho, stayed while on his famous “Narrow Road to the Deep North” poetic journey in the 17th century.

There was not much left of the pond or the gazebo, but the walk is beautiful.

Back on the main path, I come across construction at a tea house. I peek into the grounds before one of the workers kindly tells me he would “appreciate me not entering.” I see enough to know that the rebuilt tea house will afford a fantastic view of the vast Shonai plains below.

Shukubo shrine stay

The innkeeper greets me at the door of the shrine lodging and shows me to my room. It is a huge 12 mat room, twice the size of a typical single room.

“Wow, this room is huge!” This is an unexpected surprise.

“You’re a foreigner, so I thought you would like a big room.”

I do!

She takes me down the hall to show me the shared bath and toilets, then back to show me the small room where my meals would be served. We agree on a 6:00 dinner, and she leaves me to wash up and relax.

Innkeepers in Japan prefer to serve dinner early, as the meals are rather elaborate, and they appreciate having plenty of time to clean up before they go to bed.

I bathe, put on the yukata robe the innkeeper provided, and before I know it, dinner is served.

It’s a feast of wild mountain vegetables and various types of tofu, including a house specialty, sesame tofu. This type of cuisine was developed in the Kamakura era by Zen monks and is called shojin-ryori.

Although Dewa Sanzan became Shinto in 1869, shojin-ryori continued to be served and adapted. Enjoying shojin-ryori is an important part of any visit to the Dewa Sanzan.

After a peaceful sleep in that quiet room between comfortable and warm futons, I wake up refreshed.

I again visit the Jiji-sugi “Grandfather Cedar” and the Go-jū-no-toh. I see many people cleaning, and learn that the mountain is cleaned one day each year.

I visit the two shrines between my inn and the Zuishinmon Gate. One is called the Tenchikon Shrine. This iteration was built in 1779 and is decorated with remarkable carvings.

The other shrine is dedicated to “The Tofu Jizō.”

With a name like that, it had to have an interesting backstory.

Before the late 19th century, this Jizō statue held pride of place on temple grounds, bringing prosperity to the worshippers on Mount Haguro and protecting pilgrims.

Sadly, when its temple compound was destroyed, this Jizō statue was cast into a ravine and forgotten.

Many years later, a mason was searching the forest for stone. He came upon the Jizō and mistook it for mere smooth stone. It seemed to him a perfect find to fashion into a stone used in making tofu. It was his lucky day — or so he thought.

The moment he struck the stone, he fell over unconscious. For three days and three nights he lay in a stupor, his mind filled with dreams.

In his dreams, Jizō appeared to him and warned him to repent of his disrespect.

When he awoke, repent, he did!

He moved the Jizō to its current position near the Zuishinmon Gate, built a shrine for him, and gave him the name “Tofu Jizō.” Today, people visit this Jizō to pray for long life, safe childbirth, and for help in raising children.

I go next door to the inn and partake of a wonderful shojin-ryori breakfast. I notice one of the dishes is a triangular chimaki, a type of rice dumpling wrapped and cooked in bamboo leaves and topped with soybean powder. It is a popular dish served on Children’s Day and one of my favorites.

After this delicious meal, I bid farewell to the kind innkeeper.

My time at Mount Haguro is up. I catch the 9:18 bus to Tsuruoka Town, satisfied after a perfect stay and looking forward to new adventures.

Mount Haguro embodies many of the reasons I write about rural Japan. Though off the beaten path, it truly is a treasure trove of culture and beauty for those who take the time to visit.

For what it’s like to stay at a Buddhist Temple, please see my article, “Shukubō — Tranquil Temple Stay in Japan.”

The post Mount Haguro—Experiencing its Rustic Magnificence first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

From Aomori to Kagoshima, here are some of my favorites

Someone recently asked me if I have seen a waterfall. Oh, I have seen waterfalls. I hunt for them like elusive treasures. I scramble over disused and overgrown trails to find them. I venture to say, I collect them.

Here in Japan, waterfalls are so magnificent that some are considered Shinto kami, or deities. Like the country’s tallest, with a drop of 133 meters and one of Japan’s Three Great Waterfalls, the glorious Nachi Falls in Wakayama.

But one needn’t go far to find waterfalls in this country.

In my home prefecture of Kagoshima, there are hundreds. Among them is the hidden Nagano Falls, where water cascades and twists between moss-covered craggy rocks into an open cave.

It is not easy to find. One must follow the few inconspicuous, small Japanese signs that point the way along narrow country roads, passing by age-old farms, rice fields, and vegetable gardens. Then down an even narrower road to a path that leads to the 13-meter-tall Nagano Falls.

Surely, the allure of waterfalls is universal. Being in their presence has an almost enchanting effect — their beauty lifts heavy hearts, the thunder of falling water fills our ears, and our eyes are captivated by the dance of water on stone. The air carries a refreshing coolness. The moss covering the stones is soft and delicate.

Waterfall hunting

A couple of years ago, my quest for waterfalls led me to Aomori Prefecture, in the far north of the island of Honshu. I had read that Oirase Gorge was waterfall heaven.

My journey to get there took a full day.

From my home in southern Kyushu, I flew to Tokyo, then took the Shinkansen bullet train to Hachinohe, a city on the northeastern coast of Honshu. There, I rented a car to drive 90 minutes for the last leg of my journey to Lake Towada.

The Oirase Gorge traces the course of the Oirase River as it winds its way northward from Lake Towada through a forest of trees and a near-endless variety of moss.

Photos cannot do justice to the glory that is Oirase Gorge. I spent several hours leisurely hiking along the trail, immersed in the splendor of its countless falls and cascades.

After two nights at Lake Towada, I drove back to Hachinohe, returned the car, and again took the Shinkansen. This time, south to Sendai in Miyagi Prefecture. After a good night’s sleep, I boarded a local train to Yamadera in Yamagata Prefecture.

On the way, I noticed a station with the intriguing name, Omoshiroyama Kōgen, “Amusing Mountain Highlands.” As the train whisked past the station, I caught a glimpse of a placard with a map of a hiking trail on the platform.

A new place to explore!

After climbing the 1,015 steps to the top of Yamadera and back down, I had plenty of daylight left to explore the “Amusing Mountain.”

I was glad I did. Walking along the aptly named Kōyō River, I felt I had entered another world. (Kōyō is the Japanese word that describes the changing colors of leaves in autumn.)

The first waterfall I came across took me down a narrow path, over an old, wooden bridge that had seen better days, and across patches of mud and uneven stones. But it was worth it.

Called Arare Falls, meaning “Hail Falls,” this hidden gem is a modest 10 meters tall.

I backtracked, crossed over the railroad tracks, and found the path down to the Kōyō River.

I couldn’t believe my good fortune! I had wandered into paradise. The gorge was a symphony of nature’s best — the colorful trees, the crystal-clear stream, the waterfalls, both small and grand, and even the path itself with its charming bridges — I was in awe.

Enveloped by the crisp autumn air, surrounded by the amazing colors of the leaves, and serenaded by the burbling of flowing water, I once more found myself lost in the wonders of nature.

Then my breath caught when I turned the corner and gazed upon this beauty.

Kinuito Falls, “Silk Thread Falls,” gracefully spreads like threads as it descends 22 meters along a stone face. On that serendipitous day in Omoshiroyama, it was merely one of the many wonders I had the privilege to view.

Another outstanding hike occurred a few years back when I took advantage of the Japanese government’s domestic travel subsidies during the pandemic.

Nikkō, Tochigi Prefecture

Located around two hours by train north of Tokyo, Nikkō is a quaint city where the first shogun of the Edo Era (1603–1867) is deified at the Toshogu Shrine. When I traveled to Nikkō to visit that magnificent masterpiece of a Shinto Shrine, I could not resist taking a bus to the east to hike in the beautiful Senjogahara Highlands to find more waterfalls.

And find them, I did. Tochigi is home to another one of Japan’s 3 Great Waterfalls, Kegon Falls, with an impressive drop of 97 meters.

An easy hike along the shore of Lake Chuzenji, then along the Yu River to the north, lies Ryuzu Falls, “Dragon Head Falls.” It cascades in a graceful dance, crisscrossing 210 meters down to its rocky pool below.

Niagaras of the East

On the southern island of Kyushu, we have not one, but two imposing waterfalls that have claimed the title of “The Niagara of the East.”

In northwest Kagoshima Prefecture, stands the 210 meter wide, 12 meter tall, Sogi Falls:

In Oita, Harajiri Falls spans a width of 120 meters and stands 20 meters tall:

Please let me know in the comments which one of these glorious falls you think is most deserving of the title of “Niagara of the East.”

My favorite

This exploration of waterfalls wouldn’t be complete without mentioning my favorite, although deciding on just one has been difficult.

To see the hidden falls I’ve chosen, you first need to ferry from Kagoshima City over to the peninsula on the Pacific coast side of Kagoshima, called Osumi. From there, drive down nearly to the end, the southernmost point of Japan’s main islands, Cape Sata.

About 30 minutes before reaching Cape Sata, turn left and follow narrow winding roads for about 20 minutes. After parking, you then hike 1.2 kilometers through a forest along a stream of crystal-clear, aquamarine water.

Rounding the last turn, you will behold this marvelous sight. My photo does not come near to capturing its wonder.

Ogawa Falls tumbles down a 46-meter drop and seeps through the jagged 60-meter wide cliff face forming a pool of extraordinarily colored water.

As this journey through Japan’s waterfalls comes to a close, my wish is that you, too, will have the opportunity to explore some of the fabulous falls and diverse natural treasures that this beautiful country holds.

The post Waterfalls in Japan—A Selection of its Most Magnificent first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

It started with a generous gesture from a rival warlord

The Salt Road is an ancient trade route that has been all but forgotten, yet it winds its way through some of the most stunning scenery in Japan.

The Salt Road

For centuries, obtaining salt in the landlocked domain of Shinshu, present-day Nagano Prefecture, was a challenging task. Porters would undertake a perilous journey along a rough trail, braving steep slopes to transport salt and other goods from the Sea of Japan. This trail came to be known as The Salt Road. 

Its origin can be traced back to the Warring States Period of the 15th and 16th centuries. Takeda Shingen, a powerful warlord ruling over the Matsumoto area, faced a salt shortage when his access to salt from the Pacific coast was cut off by enemies in the south.

In a surprising act of nobility, Takeda’s arch-enemy, Uesugi Kenshin, offered to provide salt to him from his domain along the Sea of Japan, stating that battles should be fought with weapons, not through denying necessities, like salt, to the common people. Despite their lifelong rivalry, Uesugi wrote to Takeda, “A salt embargo is cowardly and unjust. I will fight you with bows and arrows, not with rice and salt. I beg you to henceforth obtain salt from my land…”

This act gave rise to the Japanese expression,  敵に塩を送る, Teki ni shio wo okuru, “sending salt to one’s enemy,” a metaphor for not taking ignoble advantage of an enemy’s weakness. From that point on, salt was regularly shipped from the coastal city of Itoigawa to Matsumoto along the 120 km long Salt Road.

Unlike the five main highways managed by the Tokugawa shoguns during the Edo Period (1603-1867), the Salt Road saw no glamorous daimyos’ processions and held no lavish inns. Though humble, it served as a lifeline for the mountainous landlocked provinces, characterized by steep and treacherous terrain, with modest post towns compared to those of the Nakasendo and Tokaido.

The porters, too, differed from their Five Highways counterparts. Called bokka, literally “walking loads,” they were often farmers and their wives. They traveled in groups of ten or more, sometimes accompanied by beasts of burden, primarily oxen and horses. Horses were well-suited for the flat sections of the road, but oxen proved their worth by their ability to navigate the treacherous mountain paths with sure-footed precision.

The bokka’s loads were heavy — one bale of salt alone weighed 47 kilos. These they carried on wooden framed packs, secured to their backs by braided-straw shoulder straps. On their return, the bokka bore hemp, tobacco, soybeans, medicine, cotton, and other goods, which they traded along the way or brought back to the port of Itoigawa to be sent on the Kitamae-bune trading ships to the Seto Inland Sea.

The journey along the Salt Road typically spanned six days. However, in cases where expedited shipping was necessary, such as transporting a load of salted and fresh fish, a porter could depart from Itoigawa at 4:00 pm and run through the night. Along the way, the porter would pass the cargo to relays, and although the distance was great, the goods could arrive in Matsumoto by the following morning.

Despite the challenging nature of the winding route through Japan’s precipitous Northern Alps, the Salt Road remained heavily traveled during and beyond the Edo Period. Trade along the trail peaked in the late 1600s, with pack animals and bokka porters continuously transporting goods along the long and hazardous path throughout the year. Winter posed the greatest challenge, as the mountain passes would often be buried under up to 5 meters of snow, making it impassable for oxen and horses. During these deep winter months, all goods had to be transported on the backs of the bokka, who crossed frozen streams and scrambled up steep ascents in their bamboo snowshoes.

Guardian Deities

To safeguard the bokka and their animals, numerous Shinto shrines and protective deities were placed along the road. The path is still adorned with comforting statues of Kannon, the Buddhist bodhisattva of mercy. In the most dangerous sections, one can find statues of Bato Kannon, the “Horse Head Goddess of Mercy,” placed to protect pack horses.

Dosojin guardians, small carved stones shaped like couples or sometimes represented merely by a rough stela, can frequently be seen in the more isolated parts of the highway and near mountain passes.

Jizo statues, often wearing red caps and bibs, also grace the highway. This compassionate bodhisattva attained enlightenment but deferred Buddhahood to watch over travelers and children. They are also found in villages where they look after the spirits of deceased children.

Other statues and markers along the trail serve as poignant reminders of those who perished during the journey, succumbing to exposure, exhaustion, or accidents. They stand as a silent testament to the hazards of the trek.

As railway construction flourished and the national highway opened during the Meiji period (1868-1912), the Salt Road fell into disuse. Nevertheless, walking along this lesser-known trail evokes a sense of the people, cattle, and horses that traversed it in centuries past. The road takes us through forgotten hamlets, majestic beech forests, and along clear mountain streams and ponds. The only sounds are birdsong and the rustling of leaves, the atmosphere imbued with the essence of bygone times.

If you would like to hike along the Salt Road and learn more about it, Walk Japan offers guided tours for small groups.

The post The Salt Road—Nearly Forgotten Trade Route Between Itoigawa and Matsumoto first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Walking “The Great Waterfall Road” and exploring Tsutayacho Forest in Aomori, Japan

Hidden away in southern Aomori Prefecture is the wonderful Oirase Gorge. I had wanted to visit since I read about it years ago, and I finally got my chance last fall. 

The gorge is famed for its many waterfalls, which I love, so I was looking forward to this trip. It far exceeded my expectations. The natural beauty was breathtaking.

Koyo, colored autumn leaves, canopied the clear, clean cascades of the Oirase River. The smell of the earth, the trees, the moss, and the sound of birdsong and rushing water enveloped me. It was the ultimate in forest bathing.

Walking in Oirase Gorge

As I was staying by Lake Towada, I drove about 10 minutes from my inn in Yasumiya, on the lake’s south shore, to Nenokuchi on the eastern side, where the Oirase river begins. The parking lots were empty just after 7:00 AM on a Monday in late October. 

It was cold and a little rainy, but that didn’t dampen my spirits.

I snapped a photo of Lake Towada in its autumn glory, and then made my way to the start of the Oirase Gorge trail.

The trail is 14 kilometers long, following the Oirase River to the Towada Bridge in Yakeyama. Visitors are encouraged to stick to the trail to protect the natural environment. I was glad people had done that, as the more than 200 different varieties of moss covering rocks and trees gave a fairytale feel to the forest.

I had read that the most spectacular waterfalls were to be found within the first nine kilometers, so hiking those nine was my plan. Although there is a narrow road that also follows the gorge up the river, thankfully, it was mostly out of sight and there were few cars.

Soon, I met a photographer who had parked his tiny truck by the road and set up his equipment to capture a rushing cascade backed by glorious fall colors.

I joined him to bask in the beauty. 

As I continued along the path, some movement across the stream caught my eye. I stopped to watch an adorable little bird hop along the side of the river, then dive, swim underwater, and pop back up onto a rock. I had never seen such a bird before. I later found out that it was a Brown Dipper, called in Japanese kawagarasu, “river crow.” I feel lucky to have seen it.

After walking for a couple of hours and enjoying the stream, the forest, and the many cascades and falls along the way, I arrived at Kumoi Falls, 雲井滝, “well of clouds.” This waterfall got its name from the spray that splashes up like clouds as it falls and bends along its 20-meter drop.

As you can see by the photos, not only moss, but many varieties of ferns flourish on the forest floor. 

Before long, the river grew loud and violent as it tumbled and crashed around the Kujyūku-Shima, 九十九島, 99 Islands. So powerful is this section of the river that it was named after Ashura, 阿修羅, a fierce guardian Buddhist deity — the Ahsura Rapids.

There were waterfalls large and small along the way. I particularly liked a delicate stream that fell in several tiers, called Chisuji Falls, 千筋の滝. Several people were taking photos of it, standing in the lightly falling rain.

After a full morning of exploring, I reached my destination of Makodoiwa Rock, beside which is a bus stop. Having checked the schedule ahead of time, I knew when to catch the very few buses that plied that route. 

I was soon back at Lake Towada after an unforgettable walk along the Bakufu-Kaido, 瀑布街道, “The Great Waterfall Road.”

The next stop was Tsutayacho no Mori, Tsutayacho Forest, a 30-minute drive to the north.

Tsutayacho Forest

Visiting the Tsutanuma Pond area was not part of my original plan, but when I saw it on the map, I wanted to check it out. I am so glad I did.

The area is a peaceful haven of trees and foliage reflected in still, clear ponds. A 2.6 km hiking trail leads from the parking lot around six small marshy ponds, the largest of which is Tsutanuma with a 1 km circumference.

I walked alone through the quiet forest, only the sounds of birdsong and the rustling of leaves to keep me company. Occasionally, a cute little bird would pop out of the underbrush onto the path ahead. 

After about 20 minutes, I came upon the peaceful Suganuma Pond. I took a moment to sit in a small covered rest area to soak in the solitude.

I followed the path uphill and, after another 20 minutes, reached Naganuma Pond. I felt like I had stepped into a postcard, so picturesque was the setting. 

Naganuma means “long pond or marsh.” The shallow pond changes its shape depending on the amount of rainfall. It was relatively small when I visited, but no less for beauty.

As I saw in the Oirase Gorge, the Tsutayacho forest floor was covered with moss and ferns, along with sasa bamboo and other grasses. The cool, crisp autumn air was filled with smell of the fresh earth, the fragrance of the trees, and the gentle sound of the wind in the leaves.

Yet another 20 minutes of leisurely walking and I went around a bend to behold Kagaminuma, Mirror Pond. So named because its clear water reflects the beautiful beech trees and foliage that surround it.

Then it was a downhill walk to Tsutanuma pond where I met other people who had skipped the longer walk, only wanting to visit this largest pond. 

The trail took me past a shrine, an onsen (hot springs) hotel, and back to my car. 

I settled in for the 90-minute drive to Hachinohe City. There, I would visit the beginning of the Michinoku Trail before catching the bullet train to Hiraizumi, the former fabulously wealthy capital of northern Japan, now a UNESCO World Heritage Site.

The post Oirase Gorge — Wonderland of Waterfalls and Otherworldly Beauty first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.

Off the beaten path in Japan

Pre-pandemic, when Japan’s borders were open to tourists, I had the pleasure of taking groups of adventurous foreigners along some of the ancient roads of Japan. 

A favorite was the Nakasendo Way, one of five main roads used during the Edo era (1603–1868) for daimyos to travel from their domains to and from the capital, Edo (Tokyo). 

The Tokaido, known today as a shinkansen route, and the Nakasendo were the two highways that linked the capital of Edo to the imperial city of Kyoto. Like all of the five main roads, they started at the Nihonbashi Bridge in Tokyo. 

The Tokaido went along the coast, crossing wide rivers, before meeting up with the Nakasendo for the final stretch to the Sanjo Bridge in Kyoto.

The Nakasendo Way, 中山道, “the way through the mountains,” took a 500 km route through the heart of Japan. It was not only used by daimyos, merchants, and pilgrims, but princesses who were to be married to shoguns.

The most famous of these was the 16-year-old Princess Kazunomiya, who was compelled to leave her fiancé in Kyoto and marry the 14th shogun, Tokugawa Iemochi, in 1862. 

The princess’s entourage consisted of 10,000 people who had been sent from Edo to escort her, plus uncounted porters and servants with baggage and animals. The royal procession took three days to pass any one point along the road. It must have been a sight to see!

Remarkably, Princess Kazu and the young shogun had a happy, though brief, life together. Iemochi, who suffered from ill health, died when he was 20, after only four years of marriage. Kazunomiya then became a Buddhist nun and went on to quietly influence events leading to the Meiji Restoration.

But I digress.

History of the Nakasendo Way

Although much of the Nakasendo Way dates from the 7th century, it rose to importance some 1,000 years later during the Edo Era. 

To keep a close eye on the daimyos, and keep their wealth in check by imposing extra expenses upon them, the Tokugawa shoguns required each lord to maintain a second estate in Edo where his wife and children would live. Lords were to alternate spending one year in Edo and one year in their domain.

Daimyo processions were a common sight along the five roads, and a chance for the lords to demonstrate their prestige. They were fantastic parades with banners held high, porters carrying boxes, pack animals, and decorated palanquins.

To expedite travel, the Tokugawa shoguns made sure the five roads were well maintained. There were distance markers, tea houses, statues of deities for the protection of travelers and their animals, and importantly, post towns. These towns, separated by an easy day’s walk, provided travelers with lodging, meals, straw sandals, horses, and porters.

“Barrier stations” along the road were staffed by intimidating samurai officials who searched travelers to ensure that no noblewomen were traveling away from Edo in disguise and that no weapons passed through. If women were caught leaving the capital, the shogun would assume that her husband was sending her away before attempting a rebellion.

Today, much of the Nakasendo is laid over with highways, but there are still beautiful and walkable sections, most notably “The Kiso Road.”

The Kiso Road

The Kiso Road is the portion of the Nakasendo roughly halfway between Tokyo and Kyoto. It generally follows the Kiso River as it winds between the steep mountains of southwestern Nagano Prefecture.

90% of the Kiso Valley is covered in forest. The area is well-known for its magnificent Hinoki cypress trees. So valuable is the aromatic, water and insect-resistant wood of these Hinoki trees that cutting one down during the Edo Era was punished by death. The peasantry knew all too well the slogan:

枝一本、腕一つ

木一本、首一つ

Cut a branch, lose an arm.

Cut a tree, lose a head.

The forests are still protected, but, thankfully, today’s laws are less draconian.

Walking the Kiso Road

Heading towards Tokyo, the Kiso Road begins in front of the rustic Shinchaya inn, outside of the post town of Magome, in Gifu Prefecture. A stone marker in front of the inn is engraved with the words, 是より北 木曽路, “North from here is the Kiso Road.”

Walking along the Kiso Road, we pass by old farmhouses, rice fields, forests, and gardens. The only sounds are the cheerful chatter of birds, the creaking of bamboo against bamboo, and the rustling of the leaves overhead.

Our journey takes us through many post towns. Allow me to introduce you to a few.

Magome

Our path from Shinchaya soon climbs a steep hill and we enter Magome, a carefully preserved post town nestled on a slope overlooking a vast panorama of mountain peaks. Its friendly shopkeepers sell traditional snacks, locally made products, and souvenirs.

From there, the trail takes us through forests and over the 801-meter Magome Pass, where we enter Nagano Prefecture. 

Our descent brings us by two waterfalls, Odake and Medake, the Male and Female waterfalls, under which the legendary ronin swordsman, Miyamoto Musashi, cooled his ardor for his love and rededicated himself solely to the way of the sword. 

Tsumago

The next post town is Tsumago. This is one of many towns that was bypassed by highways and train lines and subsequently fell into poverty in the mid-20th century.

Luckily, in 1968, the residents realized that they possessed a treasure. They agreed to renovate buildings using only traditional materials. They removed electric wires and vending machines from the streets. The community leaders agreed that none of the buildings in the town would be “sold, rented out, or destroyed.”

Thanks to the efforts of those residents, in 1971, Tsumago was the first town in the country to be recognized as an “Important Preservation District for Historic Buildings.” Today, there are 126 such districts throughout Japan.

Each evening along our journey is spent at a traditional inn. We arrive in time to bathe and dress in yukata robes before enjoying a feast of local vegetables, fish, meat, tofu, and sake.

Nagiso

From Tsumago, our route continues to take us through peaceful countryside, terraced rice fields, and forests. We get our first sight of the crystal clear waters of the Kiso River as we approach the town of Nagiso.

We stop by a wooden suspension bridge, originally built in 1912 by the wealthy businessman, Fukuzawa Momosuke. He was the first to bring hydroelectric power to the region, harnessing the swift waters of the Kiso River. Some of the original power plants he built remain.

Our days continue to take us over undulating hills and through forests, visiting more pleasant post towns and relaxing inns. Our muscles haven’t felt sore at all, perhaps due to the rejuvenating waters of our pre-dinner baths and the long, comfortable nights of sleep between soft futons.

Narai 

We pass through the post town of Yabuhara, once renowned for its wooden handicrafts. There are still a couple of old shops left selling handmade combs and other treasures from bygone days. 

From there, we hike up through beautiful forests till we reach a small shrine and large Torii gate which give the pass its name, Torii Pass. For travelers coming from Edo, this was their first view of the sacred Mount Ontake, which we can just make out in the distance. 

We head down to the post town of Narai, famous for its fresh spring water, where we enjoy a lunch of soba noodles, the local specialty. 

Our journey ends there, although we are still 10 km from the stone that marks the northern end of the Kiso Road. Soon after Narai, the old Nakasendo Way becomes Highway 19.

It is time for us to change out of our hiking boots and head to Tokyo before making our way home. 

I hope that each one of you will have the opportunity to walk the ancient roads of rural Japan someday. It is a different world, and one well worth savoring.

The post Nakasendo Way — Hiking the Ancient “Road Through The Mountains” first appeared on More Than Tokyo and is written by Diane Tincher.