Japan is a beautiful and rugged country. The people of this country work hard every day to make sure the wild places stay relatively untouched so everyone has a sanctuary, a retreat. A typical family lives in a small home in a densely packed town or city and stays there throughout the week. But when the otosan finally gets home from work everyone packs up the clown car and heads for the woods.
I mention this only because it's hard for an American to relate to how wild the wild places are in Japan, unless you come from the Northwest.
The focal point of this story requires that we understand each other on how Japan puts the wild in wilderness.
On we go.
The northern part of Japan where I lived is called the Aomori prefecture and is home to some of the most epic pieces of wild country I've had the pleasure to witness. Mountain ranges that jut and point heavenward and circle around each other like a pack of wolves circle prey. The mountains wound around and just as you were beginning to think they were infinite they crumpled in to the sea. Finding direction in the twists and folds was almost impossible without a compass, and thankful my truck came with one built in. My friends and I had no desire to find our way through the mountains. We just went there and drove until we hit the water. As I write this I find it necessary to add a caveat: wandering was off limits in the winter months. You had to drive specifically to a destination with plenty of gear and preparation as would befit entering high elevations covered in deep snow.
Now with all of that spoken for allow me to tell you about a very special part of the Aomori prefecture; Mt. Hakkoda. In the warm months this small group of peaks was just about as sweet and welcoming as your Grandma. Large open fields surrounded by 40 foot pines and beech trees. Winding roads that skirt edges of snow-melt filled lakes. Meandering streams that seemingly trace veins down the mountain side. Flora and fauna of almost unimaginable variety and scale. In the winter, however, Hakkoda becomes an alien planet. Trees, pastures, roads, creatures of the wood, all disappear under deep packs of snow.
Snow falls so often and so hard around Mt. Hakkoda that all but the main route go unplowed. After reading this tale I encourage you to look up pictures of this mountain. You might even see a photo that has circulated around the web for years. The picture shows several buses and cars driving through a skinny canyon made by snow packed so high that it towers even over the double-decker buses.
One of the major attractions of Mt. Hakkoda is the snowboarding and skiing available on this extremely deep powder. My friends and I always made at least three trips a season to this winter monstrosity. The drive was hell but the rewards were great. Once you finally made it up the mountain through the artificial passes and paid the exorbitant fee to ride the gondola up to the mountain top the world was your oyster. One could try any trick or jump they wanted without nary a broken limb. Once I chickened out of a huge drop and tried to stop myself at a cliff edge only to have my snowboard catch the snow and drop me over the cliff. I plummeted over 15 feet and belly flopped into powder. Thankfully I just punched through nature's pillow and had to unbuckle my snowboard and slowly dig my way out, unharmed. Deep, deep powder. Whole trees disappeared in the stuff. Sometimes only their tops broke through like strange marshmallows about four feet high.
Regretfully, all of this snow didn't fall like a Christmas dream. Nature didn't lazily pile up the white stuff while humanity rejoiced in recreation. No, Mother Nature fucking raged on this mountain range. When you got off the gondola at the top the windows were white-grey and braced where no sun could enter. When you walked up the two flights of stairs and stood in front of the double doors leading out to the top of the mountain it was done so with dread. When those doors opened there was nothing but white roaring. You could see maybe two or three feet in front of you. Snow didn't fall, it crashed against everything at incredible speeds horizontally. The goal of the experience was to survive the exposed top of Hakkoda and make it down to the lower altitudes where the trees were slowly reappearing from underneath the heavy blanket. Once you made it in to the trees you could even remove your goggles and breath easy.
Me and the gang had ventured all over the marked trails of Hakkoda for three years. It wasn't until one fateful stretch of days that everything changed. The weather broke over the mountain range on Thursday and even though it was still chilly the sun shone clear across the mountains. Down in the valley me and the crew waited patiently for the week to end so we could take advantage of something we hadn't seen in those three years, the mountain top. Friday was practically hell at work. I couldn't stop thinking about getting off the gondola and not fearing for my life. Roaming all over the mountain and ignoring the stupid orange poles we used to navigate the trails and make it down the mountain alive.
When Saturday finally came the seven of us piled in to three cars with our half ton of snowboard gear and practically raced to the mountain. When we arrived our hearts sank. There were cars for miles. Everyone and their sister was on the mountain taking advantage. We parked on the road a 1/4 mile away and hiked in. Getting to the lodge with the gondola was another disappointment. The line was coming out the door!
Disneyland on ice.
Crap.
We got our punch cards and stood in line for the unbearably slow rise and fall of the gondola. Each group packed like sardines in to the cold carriage bound upwards. When we finally got on board the feeling was electric. I couldn't even speak the whole ride. For the first time on the mountain I could see out the frozen windows at the landscape passing a hundred feet below. When we arrived at the top it was everything I had in me not to run passed everyone to get outside. I did push though.
When we walked out those double doors it wasn't in to hell freezing over. It was into Earth's majesty. The whole mountaintop was exposed. Frozen forests painted in white and pale blue rolled down miles of slope. The bay of Aomori and the city itself glistened in the distance.
The sun blazed and reflected on the snow like a perennial beach. For god's sake families were picnicking on the top in shirts and pants. They weren't even skiing!
We played like little boys.
Hours and hours of jumping and tricks. Trail blazing.
Laughing and filled with wonder.
I hadn't felt so blessed and alive as I did in those fleeting moments on the rooftop of Japan.
As the day wore on, our energy wore out, and the punch cards were almost expired. I looked straight down the mountain at a forest route that was totally new to me. Deep forest. Lots of turns and jumps. Silence and shushing.
I asked the gang to go down with me but no one was game. They were going to take the snow packed trails and do tricks.
I wanted raw. I wanted something I might not get again. See this mountain in a way I never could before. Share in the divine and virgin in both of us. I sought communion with this mountain that had given me so much.
So I dropped down the steep slope and in a moment was in to the trees. I use the word "trees" sparingly as even though they were in fact trees they looked more like Styrofoam beasts. Candle making gone wrong. Puffy in places, arching in others, broken white mannequin arms dipped in marshmallow and microwaved.
It was wonderful. Every arch I traced in the snow led me down another slope. Each backward lean cut my board in to frosting and deeper in to the forest.
I started following the indention of a creek in the snow. I could hear rocks rumbling as I passed over them. The creek was leading me towards a frozen waterfall. I began to crouch down as I neared it as I wanted an excellent ending to my newly blazed trail. I was going to jump off the waterfall and pull a tweak into a beef curtains.
It was such a long drop that I did it with time to spare. Pow! A crater in to the snow. I sat back and gleamed.
What a ride!
I unbuckled from the board and packed my way out of the hole. And stood up near the frozen waterfall I had just jumped off of. Surveying my surroundings I realized I had one hell of a hike ahead of me. I was at the bottom of an almost complete bowl. Deep powder would require that each step be a complete energy sapping exercise. I smiled wearily. No biggie. The trade off still had me in favor. With my board off and several deep breaths taken I scanned the bowl again and stopped almost directly across from me on the other side of the bowl. In the trees was someone moving up to the ridge that I was planning to head to which would lead back to one of the trails. I was thankful that I didn't have to walk through this white quicksand. I could use that guy's trail. I was a little worn out and not paying attention to the details of what I was seeing, thinking, or doing. I was ready to get on back to the lodge and head home. I picked up my board and took a step towards the other person across the bowl from me when I realized it wasn't a person at all. It was a brown bear!
My heart started hitting against my chest like it was trying to break free before I was mauled to death. My eyes focused in on the creature as it stood up and sniffed the air. I was far enough away that it wasn't going to charge me but still close enough to make out the details of it's hair, eyes, and nose. I dropped back down to all fours and took a few steps up the slope. My brain was busy having an argument on what the nature shows had said about bear attacks: do you play dead or appear large and scary?
Both hemispheres voted for dead and I gently fell back against the frozen waterfall and watched the bear intently. It took, what seemed like forever, to make it's way up the slope and over the ridge. I continued to hide against the frozen mud, rock, and ice of the waterfall until nothing else could be detected of the bear.
Slowly I stood up and began to calculate my plan. I was intending on heading for the ridge that would bring me back to the trail the quickest but with the bear up there it was a no go. I was going to follow the frozen creek around the bend away from the bear and further in to the bowl. Hopefully there would be an exit that way.
I took a few steps in the snow/quicksand and already felt tired. Sinking all the way to my groin with each step I knew it was going to be a long trip. I hadn't gone far when I heard some noise behind me. I instantly thought that some other snowboarders had followed my trail, which is very common. I began to lean back and peer over the waterfall and yell out "Don't come down here, there is a bear!" in Japanese when I realized it was the bear heading back down towards me on the trail I had made. I tried to take leaps in an attempt to escape but that got me nowhere fast. I realized that I would have to put my snowboard back on and try to traverse across the bowl.
Sometimes when you aren't going fast enough on a snowboard you can either crouch down and use your hands like flippers to keep the momentum or even have just one foot in the binding and kick the ground like a skateboard. I was going to use the skateboard method. That alone wasn't enough as the deep powder didn't allow me to make any real friction so I started grabbing at branches and pulling myself along too.
My heart was beating so loud that I could barely think.
I began to weep as I imagined what was going to happen when the bear caught up to me. Should I take off the board and try to use it as a blunt weapon? Should I try to use the metal edge like a sword and chop at him? Should I just let it catch me and eat me quickly so the terror wouldn't be so long?
On and on I pulled and kicked my way down the bowl. The bear wasn't making any gains on me but I could still see it through the trees. The deep powder was slowing us both down.
I think I pissed myself.
Starting to lose control over my body and mind.
By the time I came to where the creek met up with an open flowing river I was spent and wasted. A mess of fear and resignation.
Several large rocks had kept their snow crowns and with water splashing up against the sides had formed ice spires. I looked at the water and my heart sunk like a drowning boy breaking through the ice on the neighborhood lake. I couldn't get out in that. It was moving to fast and hypothermia would hit me in a minute.
I looked again at the rocks and their snow caps. That was it! I would crawl out on to the rocks and the bear couldn't get me. So I unbuckled my snowboard and laid it against the first rock like an amateur bridge and crawl/lept up to the first rock.
Peering down from my spot at the bear slowly making it's way towards me I realized that this wasn't going to be far enough. The next rock crown as about dead middle of the river and just out of reach. I made another bridge with my snowboard and shimmied across very delicately. My board groaned under my weight and I trembled precariously as I crossed. After sitting safely on the middle rock I thought it would be enough for me to wait out the arrival of the bear and eventually make my escape. But with the bear still ambling towards me and no idea where I was on the mountain the fear that it would wait longer than I could stand began pounding in to my brain. What if it waited through the night. When I was blind to it's movements? What if I feel asleep and rolled off this perch?
I couldn't wait!
The other side of the river was just about four feet away but it was vertical to me. I had about two and a half feet up to go if I could somehow make it over to the short cliff. I decided to use my snowboard like a pickaxe and fall over to the cliff. I stood up and held my snowboard above my head as I began the Nestea plunge of doom towards the muddy cliff. When I was close enough I used every ounce of energy to bury the metal edge of my snowboard in to the semi-melted mud wall and it worked. As I leaned 60 degrees onto my board and my toes began to lose traction on the rock ice cap I committed to the pull-up. Elbows on the board and feet kicking and scratching against the rocks and mud until I grabbed frozen grass on the top. Pulling myself up I stood above the river looking back down in to the bowl I felt reborn. The bear seemed a million miles away. I almost didn't care about my board still buried in the muddy cliff but I laid down on my belly and pulled it out.
The sun shined bright. The trees seemed almost alive and ready for Spring. I ran through the snowy meadow until I came to a trail. I stepped back on to my board and rode the rest of the way down the mountain and ended up rather far from the main lodge. But I was back on the road.
On the road. Civilization. Safe.
When I finally got to the lodge the line for the gondola wasn't as long but it was still packed.
I walked around the line and straight to the ticket window. I was reborn. Alive!
I leaned down to the opening were the little Japanese lady was exchanging money for punch cards and said in Japanese "There is a big bear on the mountain. You need to send some people up there. I got away but there is still a big scary bear on the mountain."
The woman looked at me like I was bleeding from the nose and dressed like Michael Jackson.
I repeated myself.
Three times. With no recognition of what I was saying.
As I was about to start yelling the facts to the woman behind the window a Japanese man standing in line to get on the gondola and go up the mountain said to me, in English, "Did you see a bear?"
I was so excited, and replied that yes, I had indeed seen and was molested by a bear.
He bowed is head slightly and said, "Well, you just said you saw a big scary spider."
I was furious. An atomic bomb laying motherfucker.
Why would a 6'3 guy like me be afraid of a big scary spider? It didn't matter, lives were at stake.
I told him to explain to the people in charge that there was a brown bear on the mountain and someone needed to get up there and shot the damn thing before a mauling took place. The gentleman took control of the situation and explained everything on my behalf. I walked away towards the second lodge to buy a beer and wait for my friends. When they arrived I tried to tell my tale but was met with doubt and laughter. I told them that if they wanted to ride with me the boat was leaving now.
I walked to my truck.
Drove home and never went back to Mt. Hakkoda.
Kumo means spider.
Kuma means bear.
One vowel separates a man from being in danger from a man being a giant pussy.
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