The story of Tatsu, and how she led the way by climbing Mt Fuji in October 1832. First article in a three-part series about women in Japanese mountaineering history.
By the late 1960s, the writer Fukada Kyūya was enjoying a certain fame. His book on the one hundred famous mountains of Japan was selling well and he’d become a guru to aspirant Himalayan climbers. One day, a slightly built but fit-looking young alpinist came round to the modest house in Setagaya. She wanted advice on possible goals for an all-women’s expedition to Nepal. “Hmm,” mused the Hyakumeizan author as he pored over maps and photos with his guest, “Are there any mountains that women can climb by themselves?”
In Japan’s feudal period (which lasted until 1868), there were few high mountains that women could climb. By custom and law, women were barred from Mt Fuji and other sacred summits. But not everybody agreed with nyonin kinsei, as these restrictions were known. One dissident was a 25-year old woman called Tatsu.
October 20, 1832: high on Mt Fuji, Tatsu and her companions wondered what to do next. To prove that women too are worthy of climbing Mt Fuji, they'd set out from the village of Fuji-Yoshida on the previous day. They’d chosen to climb dangerously late in the season to avoid meeting other climbers; the last thing they needed was to be denounced to the feudal authorities. But now there was a more immediate threat: a foot of new snow covered the slope and it would get deeper with every upward step they took.
A dilemma confronted the party’s leader, an elderly man named Sanshi. It was he who had invited Tatsu, a maid in a Tokugawa mansion, to climb the mountain. He believed that her success should please the gods, but the snow seemed to belie that optimism. Even in high summer, pilgrims froze to death up here. To continue would be to invite disaster, clad as they were only in thin cotton robes and quilted jackets. They would have to turn back, he decided.
It was at this moment that Tatsu spoke up: “I want to reach the summit even if I have to give up my life the moment I get there,” she said, “And if I can return home after reaching the summit, I will tell women everywhere. I want to encourage them to climb the mountain.”
There was something in her eyes and tone that convinced the seven men. And so they turned their faces towards the mountain again, digging their staves into the snow, ploughing their way through waist-high drifts, stumbling as their straw sandals slipped on icy boulders. At least they weren’t going to meet many other pilgrims. As they climbed the last hundred feet, the slope was already deep in the mountain’s freezing blue shadow. When they summited, the sun was hovering low on the horizon.
Despite the lateness of the season and the hour, Tatsu survived to tell her tale and the feudal authorities chose to overlook her infraction. Villagers at the mountain’s foot took a dimmer view: when beset by natural disasters over the next few years, they blamed Tatsu.
Yet, to climb the mountain at all, Tatsu must have had the support and complicity of quite a few people – in particular, the porters, hut-owners, and the “oshi” of Fuji-Yoshida, who managed the Sengen shrine, provided the pilgrims with lodging, conducted purification rituals for them, helped them in various ways to climb the mountain safely, and collected offerings and fees. As Miyazaki Fumiko points out in her paper on female pilgrims on Mt Fuji (see references), several factors helped this female pioneer on her way.
The first was pressure from women themselves. All through the nineteenth century, women quietly tested the boundaries set for them. By the start of the century, it was generally accepted that they could climb to the Third Station at 1,750 metres. Later, the limit was pushed upwards a few hundred metres, to the nyonin raigōba, or women’s worshipping site. And, as early as 1800, some women found a way, unofficially, to the Fifth Station at 2,300 metres.
Secondly, there was faith. Tatsu belonged to a sect known as Fujikō (and later as Fujidō) that centred on the worship of the volcano’s deity. The sect’s head, Otani Sanshi (1765–1841), invited Tatsu to climb Fuji because he believed that women should be treated as equals. “It is wrong to prohibit women from climbing the mountain,” he wrote. “Japan is a country where women deserve respect even if the situation may be different in China and India … The world exists thanks to women.”
Money too helped to undermine the status quo. The “oshi” of Fuji-Yoshida feared that their business might slip away to more convenient climbing centres such as Omiya or Subashiri. If women were allowed to climb the mountain, they reasoned, Yoshida would gain attractiveness and win extra revenues. In 1800, they wanted to allow women to climb as far as the Fourth Stage at 2,150 metres, but the superstitious villagers forced them to drop their plan.
In 1860, the Fuji-Yoshida “oshi” at last got their way. Citing the authority of an old document that they had conveniently mislaid, they successfully petitioned the feudal authorities that women be allowed to climb Fuji for the duration of this special “kōshin” year. Then they posted advertising flyers up and down the highways. When summer came, it was as if a dam had broken: thousands of women took advantage of the chance to climb Fuji. Villages on the other climbing routes also relaxed their stance on nyonin kinsei.
By late September 1860, women accounted for almost half the number of pilgrims in the Fujidō’s climbing parties. A Fujidō leader wrote a poem to describe the scene: “The women, young and old alike, climbed the mountain at a smart pace. Holding the banners in their hands, they climbed up to the seventh and the eighth stages in higher spirits than the men. No woman seemed to be sick [despite the height]. What a great progress! Men followed the lead of the women, softly singing lullabies and religious songs in an atmosphere of harmony.”
Supposedly, the usual restrictions were re-applied after the jubilee year. But it was getting hard to take them seriously. They were ignored both by Mrs Parkes, the wife of Britain’s minister plenipotentiary to Japan, who accompanied her husband to the summit of Fuji in 1867 – and by the feudal authorities who permitted the climb. Then came the regime change of the Meiji Restoration. In 1872, the new government abolished nyonin kinsei altogether.
Attitudes took longer to change. In August 1906, Ohdaira Akira, a member of the newly formed Japan Alpine Club, was staying in the overcrowded Murodo Hut on Hakusan, one of the three most revered sacred summits of Japan, when a girl of 17 or 18 arrived in the company of her father. As wind and rain buffeted the hut, ungracious words were heard from a corner: “This is the punishment you get for allowing a woman to climb a mountain.” And so the resentful murmurs ran round the room. The incident was reported by Ohdaira in an early edition of Sangaku, the Alpine Club’s journal.
Yet attitudes were changing, as Sangaku itself showed: women contributed articles on mountain subjects even to its first year's volume. And the patriarchal Meiji period had only a few years left to run. In the next Emperor’s reign, women would start to leave their bootprints much more clearly on the history of Japanese mountaineering. Tatsu would have felt at home in the new age.
Next post: Women and mountaineering in the Taisho era
Much of the information about Tatsu in this article – and details about the all-important background to her climb – come from Miyazaki Fumiko’s excellent paper on Female Pilgrims and Mt. Fuji: Changing Perspectives on the Exclusion of Women, published in Monumenta Nipponica, Volume 60, Number 3, Autumn 2005, pp 339–391.
Some of the circumstantial detail is drawn from this blog, while the anecdote about Fukada Kyūya meeting the lady alpinists was related in an article on Everest climbers, Everest Shomei Futatsu, by Fujishima Koji in the Asahi Shinbun, November 15, 2005 edition.
Ohdaira Akira’s experience in the Hakusan Murodo hut is described in the relevant chapter (“女性のパイオニアたち”) of the YamaKei Illustrated History of Japanese Mountaineering. (目で見る日本登山史、 山と溪谷社) The black-and-white images also come from this book. They show (top) pilgrims on Fuji in traditional dress during the Taisho period, (b) a group on Fuji (c) a cartoon satirising women climbers on Fuji.
Grumpy old men! They must be turning in their graves at the booming Yama-ska (mountain-skirts) fashion.
I hope you might shed light on whether discrimination is still enforced on Oomine and any other peaks.
Hanameizan: many thanks for reading. The grumpy old men of the Murodo were certainly spinning in their graves by the Taisho period - which we'll deal with in the next instalment.
As for Ohmine, dunno. Perhaps some other visitor to this blog can enlighten us?
This is from Wikipedia:
富士山 - ただし江戸時代後期より解禁。
立山 - ただし1872年（明治5年）より解禁。
白山 - 上に同じ。
比叡山 - 上に同じ。
御嶽山 - ただし1877年（明治10年）頃より解禁。
高野山 - ただし1904年（明治37年）より解禁。
石鎚山（愛媛県） - 現在はお山開きの7月1日のみ女人禁制。
大峰山山上ヶ岳（奈良県） - 山体全域が対象で、登山道には大きな看板が立つ。反対運動あり。
後山（道仙寺奥の院）（岡山県） - 後山中腹にある母御堂から奥の院に至る行者道が女人禁制とされている。登山道は別にあり、後山への登山は女性でも問題ない。
Ohmine is still rejecting women at Sanjyo-ga-take. There seems to be some record of a woman climbing it in 1929. In 2005, three women dared to climb it, only to receive a lot of criticisms from temples, local people and mass media.
(H)anonymous: many thanks for so swiftly answering Hanameizan's question about Ohmine. As for this blogger, we are literally and metaphorically not going to go there....
Thank you, too, anonymous. I had assumed that the ban on women on Oomine was not still being enforced in the 21st(!) century and that no one would care. Staggering.
I suspect with Hana being a female, I have sinned deeply. Good job it was raining with no one around.
The ban on women is only for the temple area around Sanjo-ga-take and not for the official high point of Hakkyo-ga-take. If you only went to the high point then you didn't 'break' any gender rules!
Perhaps I'll try blaming my wife the next time we get stranded with inclement weather. Hmmm.
I heard that the powers that be on Mt. Ishizuchi (Shikoku-ken) still forbid women from climbing on July 1, the summer season's opening day.
Looks like Tastu still has work to do.
Thanks for the informative and inspiring story.
Thanks very much for stopping by my blog and your comment. Glad to hear that you found the piece stimulating.
Please do feel free to pop in again, although I tend to write at the moment about every month, as I am not able to get out. I hope the quality, though, makes up for the lack of frequency!
As for your blog, it's great to discover a bit more of the world of Japanese mountaineering. It has been rather mystical to me, as Alpine and Himalayan climbing can be a little Euro-centric.
Thanks for the link to my blog too - glad to have made an impression!
I've got you on Google Reader now, so look forward to future installments.
Wes: look forward to the next Tozan Tales instalment.
Sean: thanks for the Ishizuchi update, although perhaps (as future postings will show) Tatsu's successors are too busy climbing to get steamed up about a nyonin kinsei here or there....
When Men & Mountains meet: look forward to your next observations on mountaineering philosophy. Yes, I am being entertained (and instructed too)....
I finally came back to reading the conclusion to this piece. Previously I got as far as Tatsu making it to the summit of Fuji. I'll say it again, this blog is an incredible source for information in English about the culture and history of mountaineering in Japan. It would make for an excellent book but the problem is that you'd eventually have to do a volume 2 and probably a volume 3 as well.
I just took a moment to read through the comments as well and I was surprised to see that some restrictions on women climbers still exist. In an age where we are bashing Muslin fundamentalists for their discrimination against women and when Japan is supposed to be leading the way in modern Asian societies we can still find religious superstition holding on as strongly as this. With all the women I have met in the mountains here, including a growing number of solo hikers, I would not have thought such outdated thinking still persisted.
Thanks for reading, Peter - well, the subject of the posting was the story of Tatsu rather than the matter of nyonin kinsei. As for the few survivals of restrictions on women climbing mountains in Japan, I wonder if the situation isn't comparable with (eg) the vigorous debate over the ordination of women priests in the Church of England a few years back. There was quite a lot of hootin' and hollerin' - and, in the end, a number of the faithful left the CofE and moved over to the Church of Rome. All one can say is that embedded attitudes and beliefs take a while to change....
As for Tatsu, I personally find her rather refreshing. I wish we knew more about her. What happened to her after the Fuji climb? Can anybody out there tell us?
The ban on women at Ohmine is really no different from the men's-only nature of the Freemasons, etc. Nevertheless this was an inspiring post.
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