Magic Hidden in Plain Sight: An Immersive Trek through the Japanese Alps
Hazel Gray
Monkeys. Everywhere. Their pink faces stare at us from voluminous velvety coats of greige and we are careful to not stare back. Out come the cameras to capture the scene—the amazing and yet somewhat surprising picture that greets us as we round the bend in the trail and reach our campsite. We have just finished backpacking a relatively flat trail along the Azusa river for five miles. It took us about three hours from start to finish, including several scenic stops along the way. The sun shines warm on our faces and the crisp air of the mountains floods our lungs with life, as a cool fountain sweetly spiced with aloes floods the mouth and replenishes the soul. As we scout the land before us for a suitable spot in which to pitch our tents, we hear the cheerful din of other campers mixed with the magnificent song of the surrounding forest. Though all these voices clamor one against another in an unintelligible hubbub, their unified message rings loud and clear: Welcome to Kamikouchi!
Inquisitive Monkeys, credit to Hazel Gray
Kamikouchi (pronounced COM-mee-CO-chee) is a national park nestled in the Southern Japanese Alps. It means “Highlands,” but it also translates to “the gods were here,” which I feel delivers a more complete sentiment of the place. Visitors feel detached from the world they know, feeling the magic of a place that is a blend of reality and ethereal beauty. As of yet undefiled by the intruding fingers of civilization, Kamikouchi strives to be a reminder of the natural world and its staggering power. It strives to preserve the raw beauty of God in its widest form, hidden in the barely perceptible appearances of the obvious, like the reflection of wind or the shadow of fire.
I am here with my family to witness this treasure, to escape from the monotony of daily routine and plunge into the depths of the unknown, untouched world teeming with life and shrouded in a veil of awe. Awe is an emotional response to the recognition of a power higher than us—both exceedingly pleasant and exceedingly unpleasant at the same time. When in a state of awe, I personally feel disconnected from my body and bodily functions. I lose my balance, vision, and hearing, the last of which is sometimes replaced with a silent ringing of musical whispers. Sometimes I feel nausea, sometimes chills, sometimes numbness and heaviness. Always, I lose the perception of time. It feels like I am in that state forever, yet it may only last a few seconds in reality.
Nature Scene by a Small Streamlet, credit to Hazel Gray
Awe is a very real, sincere, deep, powerful emotion that leaves an indelible mark on those who experience it. I think that its original purpose was to show us that everything in the universe, including time, is merely a flimsy veil—a mastermind creation in a much greater, transcendent picture. There is more to existence than just the tangible universe we experience with our senses. Awe gives us a glimpse of God. With the gift of the Holy Spirit which He so graciously bestowed on us, we can see His presence when we feel this awe. Kamikouchi as a national park is beautiful, but this materiality is only a soft curtain that conceals the true beauty of God as He displays Himself within every petal of the flower and every dewdrop clinging to the spiders’ silken nets. From the towering snow-capped cliffs protruding through the clouds to the lush vegetation on the underside of the stones beneath the river, the vehement magnificence of Kamikouchi and the nonpareil beauty it contains is deeper and more profound than it superficially appears. It carries a depth and power most people cannot comprehend, and you need to be lost among it in order to have even a fleeting glimpse of its ardent magic.
Mountain Landscape, credit to Hazel Gray
We take a short hike down to Taisho Pond upon arrival at the bus terminal, where we get a clear view of Mt. Yake (YA-kay), an active volcano that still smokes visibly. The scenery is beyond a child’s fantasy: clear blue water sparkling in its reflection of the sky, mighty trees in every direction wrestling for breathing space, lush foliage hanging from every corner and exploding from every cranny, countless species of fish dancing amongst each other in the lake, and even a few Japanese snow monkeys relaxing cautiously in the open spaces. In English, they are called “snow monkeys”. In Japanese, they are translated literally to “monkeys”. They are commonplace in rural Japan but Kamikouchi in particular is full of them! They love staring at visitors, but no matter how cute or elegant they look, you must not stare back. They will take it as a challenge to fight….You will lose.
Mt Yake Breaking Through the Azusa, credit to Hazel Gray
During the same hike, we come across a small, engraved plaque off the side of a subsidiary trail. Upon closer inspection, we find that it is a memorial to the British Reverend Walter Weston, an Anglican missionary to Japan in the 19th century and also the first Englishman to hike the Kamikouchi area. He was the person who officially dubbed the mountain range the “Japanese Alps.” He documented his travels and published them in Mountaineering and Exploration in the Japanese Alps in 1896. I make a mental note to read this work if I can get my hands on it, and as I turn to proceed towards the main trail, a familiar sight catches my eye. I look again: growing down at my feet is a plant that I have seen before in many of my favorite noodle dishes.
Rev. Walter Weston Memorial, credit to Hazel Gray
In numerous places throughout Japan, you can find some of the delicious greens that are served at most restaurants growing wild. We find many more of these wild greens during our visit including fuki (butterbur) and kogomi (ostrich fern). They remind us that the earth really is our sustenance. In the wild unowned land where these vegetables grow, it is not uncommon for people to harvest some for future use in their own meals. However, we preserve the national park and do not harvest the ones that grow here. We instead opt for our pre-packed lunch beside the river underneath the Kappa-bashi bridge (Mom’s yaki-imo—Japanese slow-roasted sweet potatoes—are sooo tasty!!) and begin the lovely trek up to our campsite: Tokusawa.
Flowers and Trees Reflected in Small Streamlet, credit to Hazel Gray
There are many gorgeous views along the trail to the Tokusawa campsite, my favorite of which is a large freshwater spring called “Furoike” (pronounced FOO-dough-EE-kay, translates to “Old Lake”). In the fall and winter, the spring is frozen solid, but now you can see the thousands of tiny bubbles gurgling up from the ground to the surface, each one transfiguring the crystal reflection of the trees above. Little did we know while there, but an hour before our passage by the spring, a Japanese black bear was sighted on the water’s edge. He may have still been there while we were, lurking in the peripheral woods.
Upon arrival at the Tokusawa campsite, we are surprised to see a whole host of Japanese snow monkeys living among the other campers. Flooded with excitement, we hastily make to capture these on camera, careful to avoid watching them closely for too long. The open plain before us is rather small, forming a cozy inlet perfect for a night of rest among the mountains. We select a suitable location in which to set up camp and begin the process of pitching our tents.
Allow me to elaborate on the specifics of Japanese camping culture: Campsites here in the US are typically private and spacious. When you pay for a campsite in Japan, however, you pay for a space just big enough for your tent, however large it is. An open space large enough to fit one or two US campsites can be overcrowded with nearly a hundred tents! Fortunately, the neighbors (though all strangers) are considerate and remain a respectful distance away from your area. There are no trash cans. Everything you pack with you, you are expected to bring home, including any garbage. In addition, open fires are prohibited, so we instead pack gas stoves as an alternative means of cooking and keeping warm. Pro tip: marshmallows roasted over these stoves are unevenly cooked and taste rather like gasoline, so I would not recommend trying this method unless you have done so before successfully.
Monkey in the Camp! Credit to Hazel Gray
After we finish making final adjustments to our tents and rain fly, we have time to hike around the Tokusawa area before dinner time. The Tokusawa campsite is one of the furthest official sites along the trail. Next to the campground is a lodge with a shop and restaurant, where you can buy the famous Tokusawa soft cream for 350 yen (about two dollars). It is delicious! and huge! The sweetness of the rich milky flavor lies luscious on my tongue, soothing my parched and searing throat. The air temperature had been bordering on too hot for most of the day, so the world-famous ice cream is doubly refreshing.
I say it had been almost too hot during the day, and during the day only, for it rapidly gets quite chilly when the sun drops behind the snow-capped mountains. We are thankful that we had packed our warm layers. Kamikouchi is exhilarating and gorgeous, but I could not have enjoyed it even half as much as I did if I had not been with my family. Real paradise is the unseen place of family experiences. Our amazing trips are memorable because we do them together. I even look back fondly on the not-so-fun places to which we have been because we were there suffering TOGETHER. My favorite account is during one of my childhood birthday trips when we went camping on Solomon’s Island in the US. It began to storm all the second day so we had to leave early, and someone thought it was a good idea to cook macaroni and cheese over the open fire. The fractional part that was not burnt after cooking tasted like char and smoke. I secretly hope that our dinner at Kamikouchi turns out better than the one at Solomon’s Island. It does…and it does not, as I will leave you to infer from reading the subsequent paragraph.
My brother somehow ends up destined to eat both of the legendarily spicy cup noodle bowls we packed. He does not know of the danger they carry but grows suspicious when the sauce packet turns the noodles a deep reddish-purple bordering on black, so under the guise of being generous, he offers the first bite to my dad. The latter, always happy to partake of edible gifts, crams his mouth with a generous helping of the heavily spiced noodles. Immediately, his eyes widen and fill with tears, his face flushed crimson, and he whoops passionately, slapping his leg in unpleasant surprise! Whoopee!! How SPICY!!! Meanwhile everyone in the vicinity is falling over laughing, including the dozens of other Japanese campers. We deem the dish inedible. Only after preparing the noodles from the second pack and mixing them into the first one to dilute the sauce can my brother manage to consume it. After venturing a bite of it myself, I make a pained face and resolve to remain content with my standard pack, perfectly happy to abstain from any more of that which would unfortunately cause me to lose all feeling in my tongue for the next few hours.
Surprise Cup Noodle Dinner, credit to Robert Gray
With the taste of extreme spice still tingling on our tongues, we rinse our dishes and brush our teeth in the portico by the lodge. Before we climb into our tents, we take a look at the stars. They peep out, one at a time, as the sun drifts deeper and deeper behind the belt of mountains, its rays reflecting off the clouds and mountains in a million directions, generating a sparkling spectrum of vivid colors the names of which I cannot know. In a span of five minutes, the night is illuminated only by a billion celestial pinpricks of starlight spattered across the inky blue sky. We immediately spot the Big Dipper, but it takes some time before we find the North Star and other familiar constellations, for the sheer number of stars that litter the sky overwhelm our vision and momentarily prevent us from knowing our bearings. The pictures are so detailed, cast in spellbinding wonder, that we are captivated by their presence. We helplessly stand in the cold, rooted to the spot, transfixed, enraptured, afraid, destined to gaze forever at the beautiful, terrible vortex shimmering elusively close above us. Awe comes again. How long do we stand thus entranced? Something shakes us awake, and we begin to shiver violently, suddenly aware of the biting winds. We scramble hastily into our tents, where it soon grows warm and cozy.
Have you ever listened to the song of silence? It’s enchanting. Unfortunately, if you are trying to do so now, you will most likely hear the clattering of dishes, the rumbling of the car engine, the tumbling of clothes in the dryer, or the boisterous laughing of your neighbors. But if you were to really get away to a quiet place and listen, you will hear absolutely nothing. You will not even hear the grass rustling or the tree branches swaying. The silence descends like a stifling blanket and you feel almost alone in the world. Almost, but not quite: for beyond the dense veil is a wonderful music, bursting with life and energy! When you learn to listen beyond the earthly sounds and hear the incomprehensible world, you feel truly enlightened. Then you find yourself completely disconnected from reality, in a different kind of awe. I was there.
Then beyond the music I hear unintelligible whispers, not as a disruption, but as a harmonious undertone: a critical factor. They form the backbone of the five-dimensional orchestra. I am lost, falling deeper and deeper. I cannot breathe, nor think. Everything clashes together and I see the beginning and end of time and space imploding in one instantaneous spark of being. Here was nothing. Here was everything. I finally break free from the chains of reality, running away through the narrow gate….
As I lie in my cozy sleeping bag that night, not twitching a muscle, I listen past my regular heartbeat and into the depths of creation itself. It lulls me to sleep.
We wake up with the sun in the morning and repack our backpacks after a quick breakfast. We are only staying the one night, and yet it feels like we have been here much longer. The monkeys are playing all around us, some getting quite close! It is incredible to be so immersed in the wild that the critters live among and around you. It’s not a zoo. It’s Kamikouchi.
All Neighbors in Close Quarters, credit to Hazel Gray
The sunrise reflecting off the Kurasawa mountain range is as stunning as the sunset of the previous night, though in a peculiarly different way. We take a few more pictures before donning our backpacks and starting back down the trail to the Kamikouchi bus terminal. Many other campers have already left, up before the sun and gone without a trace. Some go back the way we are going, but others continue along the trail and up toward the mountain peaks for a lengthy and intense hike. There are no robust campsites where they are going, but there are basic lodges where they will be able to rent a bunk for the night and have a hot dinner and breakfast. Maybe we will return and explore up there sometime soon.
By the time we return to the bus and load our bags and personages inside, we are utterly exhausted. We collapse into our seats, our limbs yielding helplessly to gravity. But fatigue to us is a sign of a successful adventure—a sign of victory. It is finished. My head is tilted up and averted, eyes shut in pure vulnerability and depletion. Even sitting down, I feel burdened with the weight of my own body. Everything aches. I am only aware of a strange mixture of numbness and sharp pain, mingled with aching and cramping muscles. Yet, the overwhelming surge of triumph explodes from my heart, coursing through my veins and delivering an invigorating relief to my wearied limbs. The greater the trial, the greater and more fulfilling the triumph experienced after it is endured. In everything we do, we are always triumphant in the end because we do it as a family. We experienced Kamikouchi together, and that is what really counts. Kamikouchi is a paradise for visitors to connect with nature, to connect with one another, and overall to connect with God. He is with us wherever we go, because He has sent His Holy Spirit to dwell in us and be our Comforter. He can be found wherever we look for Him, and He lives in the heart of my family. He is my paradise, wherever we are.
End of the Trail, credit to Robert Gray
Hazel Gray is a freshman majoring in Microbiology and Cell Science at the University of Florida. She has an unstoppable zeal for the Lord Jesus Christ and the spread of His gospel, and strives to integrate this in every facet of her life. She enjoys writing in all avenues—particularly poetry, slipstream fiction, and creative nonfiction. Check out her website at www.joyousyoungadults.org.