It’s Fall at last (or at least it was…briefly). This year, the transitions from season to season have seemed ironically unnatural. During the peak of the autumn colors a kind friend invited me for a daytrip to the mountain country of Yamanashi prefecture.
The ride was beautiful, the air was crisp, and the cascading pools of Nishizawa Keikoku were spectacular. We hiked a three-hour circuit up and down the water line of Nishizawa in the Okuchichibu mountains. I was so awestruck by the scenery that I managed to fill an entire memory card before finishing the hike. I was shocked at the number of visitors along the trail, but considering the staggering beauty and the parking lot that makes the trailhead tour bus accessible, I guess what’s more surprising is that there weren’t even more.
People often ask me if I’ve ever experienced culture shock during my time in Japan. I always wind up mentioning mundane things like Katsu-katsu fever and not having soap in many station bathrooms. Probably something more unique and puzzling, though, are the mixed feelings that come with having to sometimes wait in line to advance along most of the trails I’ve hiked in Japan. It’s a double-edged sword, really. On the one hand, there’s something comforting about so many people enjoying the “natural world.” Not only are they reverent of the scenery, they’re extremely cautious to not leave any trash behind. In the US, litter is all too common.
Yes, there are crowds, but public land is for everyone to enjoy, after all. On the other hand, the trails through the natural world are often too developed to feel romantic. You can’t “go into nature” on paved paths clogged by throngs of people bedecked in the most fashionable hiking gear available (or at least I can’t). Where’s the sabi in my wabisabi? I’m reminded of Edward Abbey’s take on improving national parks, making them too accessible. Sure, leisurely strolls with friends are nice, but occasionally I just want to go somewhere nearly inaccessible, where progress is strenuous. There are times when I want to sweat and toil alone, finally where effort is rewarded with solitary vistas. There should be (there must be) places that are difficult to reach, with trails that are more than leisurely strolls.
Where’s this leading? Into a discussion about the evolution of Mt. Fuji symbology, of course.
What?
Yes, that’s next, but first some pictures...
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