With no water.
And it's a couple kilometers from a steaming volcano.
Right. So, I think I'll go into the self-help racket because I've found out the secret to achievement. First, set out to do nothing. Well, almost nothing--at most make it something mundane, like taking a bath. Then go to do said thing and get sidetracked by something entirely different that is shiny (and thus pretty). By the time you emerge from your stupor interesting things are bound to have happened.
That's a very general description of how my day went, allow me to hash it out more. I was restless and bored at 1PM this windy Saturday, my breakfast of eggs and sausage doing little to nothing to inspire me. I would normally default to a bike ride somewhere were it not for a new bike being in the mail (yes, I ordered it, but she won't arrive for at least a month) and pedals on order for the ol' Trek. Why do those things preclude me riding? I don't know really, except that the thought of new, better toys casts a pall on the older ones. It's a horrible game of perception and life in our modern ago, I know, still I feel helpless to escape. Anyways, a bike ride was right out so I decided to buy some sakura mochi from a friend's manju store and head up to the Handa Kogen--my great "damn, I'm bored" fall-back and home of the best onsens 'round these parts.
Oh, and I took my last Shanghai cigar along too. That figures prominently into this as you'll see. So I'm driving up route 40 in Kokonoe thinking I'll stop at the hot dog man for a bite, sit on his deck watching the bridge while smoking a cigar and munching Japanese sweets, then head to Kizuna for a dip. I came dressed for the occasion too, what with the aforementioned easy-to-kick-off sandals, jeans and ratty shirt covered by one of my comedic Japanese track suit jackets. Not hiking gear for sure.
Wind-swept tall grass and a perfect vista of the Handa Kogen, this spot was an ideal place to enjoy my cigar and sweets. Nah.
Well, hot dog man was closed (Still?! Winter's past man--open up!) so I decided to head up to the town directly under the Kuju Range, a little hot springs cluster called Chojabaru. I didn't get a good vibe from the place. Virtually every onsen is either A) part of a planned retreat community for out-of-town big wigs or B) attached to a gaudy, if not well-concealed, hotel. I needed an EPIC spot to enjoy my final cigar, damn it! I find a little trailhead parking lot just up the road and think I'll just sit on the hood and watch the view while partaking, but some scraggly trees block a clear view. Fine, I'll walk over here a bit to the trail and maybe find a better spot. No, more trees and now high bushes in the way too. I'll have to climb a bit for better results. The trail isn't much of a trail, more like the wakes of mudslides that wiped out the brush. Black mud. Like walking on midnight.
Mt. Mimata, fifth highest peak in Kyushu.
The "trail" turned into a cracking concrete road (how did they get a mixing truck up here to lay this?) and it was there that I finally found a magnificent vista...only to be sidetracked by a sign. "Danger!" read the sign, "the volcanic gases you will encounter after 300 meters may be harmful to your health. Take caution. Signed, the Western Oita Forestry Service." Do you seriously put up a sign like that and expect people to stay out? Oh fuck that, I'm going! And so it was that around the corner I was staring at a mountain--and entire mountain--with water and sulfur vapors oozing out its every crevice. Cool. I walked on.
Mt. Iwo is a steaming, scorched, lifeless mound of rock. Damn is it cool to stand next to.
The problem with judging things at a distance is scale, obviously. Something, anything, is needed for reference whether it be a man, tree, car, building...anything! The area around Mt. Iwo, that smoking peak I just mentioned, is 98% devoid of life. It's like walking on fucking Mars or something except every now and then you'll notice a tiny weed scrabbling for life in the gravel to remind you where you're at. Well, the "trail" (again, the path around here is tenuous) to the pass didn't look too far so why not. Here the path is only a series of painted rocks and one must jump from stone to stone to advance. Stepping off the volcanically deposited stones means your foot sinks deeply into ash and/or mud. Where is all this water coming from? It's a good 18 Celsius outside and the entire mountain seems to be, well, sweating. The sweat of the Earth, born in its dark bowels. That's pretty metal, man.
Part of my treat, courtesy of the Iwashita family of Tsukawaki (my 'hood in Kusu). Yes, you eat the leaf too!
By this point I'm not really tired, not energetic, not sweating, not aching, just shambling on and up. I pass some alpine hiker types kitted out fully in ridiculous amounts of gear. I wonder what they must have made of me with my sandals and messenger bag. On and up, on and up. And then, unceremoniously, I arrive at the top, 1,678 meters (5,505 feet). It's like a hurricane up there and I have to lean into the gale to stop from toppling over. I find a nook and crouch in to light up the cigar and crack open the sakura mochi. It hits me this is a just about the strangest shit to be putting in my body after what I just did--a cigar I bought off a street woman in Shanghai for a couple bucks and pink Japanese confections wrapped in a leaf. Actually, maybe I'm just bringing my quirky SF eclecticism to bear on Japan, in which case I'm being a pretty good cultural ambassador. Yeah, I like the sound of that.
--Matt
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