The Ishizuchi Morning - Part 2

 Read Part 1 here.

The sun blew up the sky while a Buddhist priest gave a morning service to a small group of worshipers. They chanted some Japanese that was intelligible to me and did some rituals that I couldn't possibly understand. Then when they finished the balding priest took out his cellphone and took pictures of the sunrise. Maybe it was just a camera but I want to believe he had a cellphone. It's hard for anyone to escape the conveniences of our modern age. Maybe that is why we drag our bodies up mountain sides in the hope we lose that connection, if only for a moment.





If you are feeling intrepid you can walk out on the Tengudake. In fact if you want to visit the highest point in western Japan you need to make it out to that precipice in order to make the claim.





Over the past few years I've developed an even stronger love for the fall.





I'm captivated. The Japanese fall is especially beautiful because of the colors at play. I will miss it dearly. Next year I might be around long enough to see it once more but I'm not sure. I might not be able to stay long enough. I guess that is why it's important to take these opportunities while I still can.





I went out on Tengudake to find some more views of the beautiful colors. My friend came out halfway but the drop off and steep rocks kept her back. That's okay. I never will push my friends to do anything they feel uncomfortable with. I know my limits and stick to them.





I crested the top where some sort of monument stands and proceeded toward the next point on the ridge. The wall here is filled with specks of color and bushes. There is a long section of rock that looks like entirely out of place. I thought it was some metal water shoot that had been unfortunately placed on the mountain side. But upon closer inspection it was just weathered rock.





Mt. Misen sticks up into the sky with its little shrine. The lowlands of Ehime can be seen off in the distance. The Inland Sea also appeared on that morning because it was so clear. It's wonderful to see the land, sea, and sky in whole package.





I took in all the views. I was the only one out there. The photographers back near the temple were probably grinding their teeth because I was in their shots. I quickly scampered back over the ridge to meet back up with my friend. It was about time to leave the peak and make our way back home. I greatly looked forward to the views of the mountain and surrounding areas going down.





As I sit here writing on this lovely Sunday morning I can only think how many people are making their way to the peak. The experience changes greatly with more people up there. It starts to feel like a giant tourist attraction rather than a pristine mountain. It already feels that way though because of the inn and temple at the top. It has lost some of the natural feel and it won't ever get it back. Japan has a weird view of nature. I'm not sure if they really revere it as much as it seems. As long as you have built a viewing platform to access the nature it remains okay or something along those lines. I don't think there is any way to justify it. People want easy access to beautiful places with the easiest possible means. Part of me feels that this mentality is so wrong. But what can be done?





Almost 2 hours later and Kamegamori came back into view on the way back down. Two years ago I was out on that peak watching the sunrise all by myself. It was nice to have a friend with me at the top of Ishizuchi however. Christopher McCandless said, "Happiness is only shared." He realized that one can only spend so much time alone before they yearn to share with others. I find that balance to be true in my life. 





There were buses of high school girls pulling up to the parking lot as we were leaving. They weren't very happy to be there. But it wasn't by their demeanor we could tell. They adamantly stated they didn't want to climb the mountain. They probably could have sat at the restaurant on their cellphones texting all day. They probably could have used their cellphones as mirrors to fix their hair and make up. They probably couldn't have cared less about being there. People sometimes poke fun at me about my passion for nature. They can't understand any of this. They think they know living. They think they know I'm the crazy one for loving nature and maybe even feel sorry for me.

It is I who feel sorry for them.

The Ishizuchi Morning - Part 1

It's 9:50 PM Thursday night and the worst of my problems is the mold on my winter coat. It was too heavy anyway. I ended up leaving it at home. My trusty lama jacket would do just fine. Ten minutes later, a heavy backpack and my friend ringing the door bell forced me to make final decisions. Even with a heavy load I have to keep reminding myself it's practice for my inevitable pilgrimage. But with that being months away and my lack of consistent physical exercise it might just be how I make myself feel better.

The skies were clear and the wind was calm. The night couldn't have been much better. I hoped I wouldn't be confronted with fog and clouds by the time I reached the mountains. I should have known better. At the pass the wall of fog came blowing at us head on. The car lights punched the gut of the fog but it did little. Maybe the forecast had been totally wrong. I could only hope some more. Several other cars were parked near the trail head and those individuals probably had the same idea as mine. Ascend through the dark morning and reap the reward waiting at the horizon. The moon was bleeding through the thick fog and a bit dismayed I settled into the back of the car to doze while my friend somehow found comfort in the passenger seat.



It's 2:00 AM and the fog is still rolling by. I didn't want to leave the car. I wanted to keep sleeping. It would have been so easy to give up. The clouds didn't abate last time so what would be the point I thought. My friend said, "Let's go." There was no more discussion. Onto the faintly illuminated trail we went. The flashlights bounced off the dew soaked plants. The wind kept finding us as we crisscrossed back and forth along the ridge. I went from a fleece to short sleeves and then back again. I relived the 3 other times I had been on the trail. I couldn't believe it was a 4th. I had promised myself to never hike the trail again. It wasn't even peak for the fall color yet. Perhaps my motives are misplaced though. There is something special about every aspect. The mushy steps along the wet trail. The wind biting at my ears and arms. The heart pounding in my head. The damp smells and fresh air. What more is there than that moment?



It's 4:30 AM and the final leg of the trail lies in front of us. The steep finale of the trail. By then the heavens had cleared and my heart began to feel more excited but not from exertion. I didn't even feel fatigued like other times I had gone to the top. The air of that night made me feel different. When we arrived at the top I was greeted by like minded companions hanging out for the morning sun rise. I don't judge them. We are all the same. It was peaceful. Nobody was speaking. The only sounds were the wind blowing against the ridge and the faint mumbling of sutras at the mountain top temple. That man continued on for an hour unabated. Maybe it was just Kobodaishi who never really passed but remains.



They say you shouldn't eat meat before climbing the mountain. Bad luck will come to those who haven't purified themselves. I didn't succumb to such a fate. It might be wise, though, to take fair warning. Who knows when a lurking tengu might appear and decide he is through being kind.



I sat on some rocks looking at the wild sprawl of Shikoku. The rocky mountains stretch across the entire island. In prior visits the clouds and haze prevented me from seeing the ocean to the south. In the glow of the morning sun the Pacific eyed us back. This is where the sun ends and begins.



And Ishizuchi was waiting. Waiting like it has been for hundreds of years and more...

Tea and Tosa Cows

I had grand visions of capturing the local tea fields in all their splendor. The skies were clear. The sun was intense. The workers were supposed to be out trimming and cleaning up plants. I think the only thing I really got out of it was all the sweat dripping on my camera. But the best thing was that I took one of those big round bamboo hats farmers wear in the field. On a bright sunny day that is a savior for reviewing pictures on the camera. I'll have to wear it more often but I sure feel silly.



I like the aesthetic of tea fields. The round contours and sloping shapes are peaceful to look at.



There are countless homes around these hills. Many are falling into disrepair. Others are hanging on. Some of the people might win the battle against the houses. I wanted to touch the tiller. I wanted to take it. But what good is that to me? I always wanted one.



I want to hop on one of these tea carts and ride up the hills. They are everywhere and taunt me all the time. It's never going to happen though. I can't say I hate being taunted by them however. I realized I was tired of walking so I decided to head up the mountain road to check if my cow friends were hanging out. In the spring I discovered a mountain top grazing area. It's interesting because of how it's laid out. Little roads running between fence areas with trees and tiny hills. I like it up there.



That is the northern view. Can't you see why I like it? Of course. I was blessed with seeing flat grazing areas my entire life. Seeing a pasture up this high fills me with some sense of wonder. If only I could find a legitimate field or meadow for playing in.



And not very far back a tiny road runs toward the cow pastures. On the first drive by I didn't notice any cows. But on the way back my friends were chopping grass like champs. How perfect.



These cows are peaceful and kind. If you enter the pen they will get scared though. They don't take to strangers very well. Last time the farmer let me into the pen after he fed them pounds of tomatoes. It was fun watching them. But they were a little afraid to get near me. It might have been because of the calves.



Take it easy bud. Take it easy.

Color of Fall - Rice

Every week I watch the rice fields carefully. I enjoy the planting, the growing, and the harvesting. My favorite time is the harvesting. The plants have turned splendid yellows while mingling with the remaining greens.



It makes the days feel all the warmer. While the temperatures haven't cooled enough to turn the leaves, the rice does it first. It's a good reminder of the coming months. But we shouldn't begin to think of winter just yet.



The stalks have drooped and the wind has furrowed lines.



It's hard work. Long ago the base of life. They keep growing it, year after year.



While I'm privy to watch the farmers fighting the yellow tide. I'm not sure its my right.

Shall Fall Visit Us Soon

So restless. I have to do something. Into the car. I hit the end of a road. Here we walk. I sweat. I smell the warm bark. I hit the ridge.



I push a bit farther and the forest rumbles. The branches start cracking. My body freezes up. A wild pig is dashing away. Is my stick in hand any good? My blood felt great. Nothing but endless green hills. The miniscule hamlets here and there.



I wondered why that area looked strange passing by the first time. There was an old tree.



I've got a bad habit of finding shrines. Maybe they find me.



Why did the air smell of thick laundry soap?




Shrines are peaceful and full of nothing. The last reminders and safe havens for nature in a land of concrete.




The sun graced my skin and kissed my lips. Who would have thought? The rice also made me blind.