Heck, everyone knows what the Hyakumeizan are – the Japanese mountains spotlighted in a book published by a struggling ex-novelist in 1964. It’s a rare spirit, though, who can explain what compels thousands of otherwise rational folk to climb all one hundred summits at such a vast expense in time, money and boot-leather.
Ah, life in Osaka, for half a decade I’d dabbled in its delights, content to drift rudderless on a sea of all-you-can-drink booze, every so often running aground on islands of illicit pleasure, where I would allow myself to remain, happily marooned, until I felt the tentacles of commitment begin to wrap themselves around my ankles….
Until, that is, he did commit himself. Flicking through a little-thumbed Lonely Planet guide, he happened across the Hyakumeizan and felt their call. Making a start in 2007, he took time off work with the aim of climbing the full set by Christmas. That didn’t quite work out, but he still managed to complete his century over the following two years, tracking his progress in a series of blog posts – which are worth revisiting for their excellent photography.
In turn, the blog posts paved the way for a book, published this year as Tozan: A Japanese Mountain Odyssey. For those who have read the blog, the book is much more than the sum of the posts. By adding a sense of perspective to the whole campaign, not to mention a lot of detail, it makes one of the most eloquent cases for Hyakumeizan hunting that I’ve so far read.
Your reviewer first heard about this project from Willie himself, over lunch in Osaka. The book would be self-published, he said, so that he could say things the way he wanted to say them, without being censored by editors, publishers or monitors of the politically correct. And, by ****, he has made good on his promise.
It's a mercy indeed that Willie didn’t submit his manuscript to any gentlefolk publishers – you could imagine them fainting dead away after hitting just the first few expletives. But, here’s the thing: if they were to read their way onwards, these gentry would find themselves reaching for their smelling salts less and less often. And, as we shall see, there might be a good reason for that.
Though not even the genteelest of publishers could object to Willie’s nature writing, a vital attribute for any book that aims to distinguish one mountain from another. Here he is marching across the Oze marshes towards Hiuchi-ga-take:
But it’s as a raconteur that Willie really hits the ball out of the park. Take the episode in what purports to be the Kobushi-ga-dake chapter, where he describes himself sneaking into the woman’s section of a pharmacy in a bid to buy nylon stockings. It’s all the fault of an ex-US Army colleague who advised as follows:
Fukada Kyūya, the original Hyakumeizan author, famously described mountains as people. But where Willie excels is describing people as people. And it is these pen portraits of hut wardens, taxi drivers and fellow hikers that give life to vignettes such as the one above. Suffice it to say that this reviewer hasn’t LOLed as much since reading Will Ferguson’s Hokkaido Highway Blues.
As David Lowe notes in his excellent review over on Ridgeline Images, Tozan is a long book – it handsomely outhefts Hokkaido Highway Blues. It is also just as well produced; self-publishing no longer means shonky. On the contrary: as a physical book, Tozan is more elegantly presented than the products of many so-called publishing houses. What kept me turning over the 500-plus pages, though, was a sense of development. There is more here than just a series of amusing anecdotes.
Willie starts on his Hyakumeizan campaign as a self-confessed mountain neophyte. This opens the door to a picaresque catalogue of foul-ups and faulty planning. But by his 47th summit – fittingly, this is Mt Fuji – he’s starting to get the hang of things. He can still miss the right trail but, whereas “A couple of weeks earlier, I would have howled to the heavens in fury … I’d harnessed an inner calm which allowed me to maintain some semblance of even temperament.”
This is just as well, since Willie embraces a rigorous climbing ethic. He steels himself to reach the true highest points on mountains such as Rishiri-dake, Daisen and Asama, all of which involve a degree of personal risk. On Hodaka, he and his companion save the life of a lost hiker by sharing their tent with him. By mountain 57, which happens to be Myōkō-san, he’s starting to ask himself “Who will I be when I walk out of the mountains?”
So what does he learn during his Hyakumeizan campaign? Camping below Mountain 100, Ōdaigahara, Willie answers the question like this:
Not only that but he gets his life sorted too. Starting out as a fancy-free bachelor, he ends the book with a wife, a kid and Lego spilt all across the rug in front of the sofa. Now can the One Hundred Mountains really do all that for a man? Readers, you will have to pick up the book and decide for yourselves.
And then, be warned, you may be inspired to lace up your boots and follow in Willie’s footprints through the mountains. As he says, “The first steps are the hardest, and things won’t necessarily go to plan, but it’s no good rotting in a nursing home forgotten by your kids with nothing but job performance reviews to reminisce over, is it?”
Mate, you couldn’t put the case for the Hyakumeizan fairer than that.
References
William Banff, Tozan: A Japanese Mountain Odyssey – Willie Walks, Bozu Books, 2024.
Will Ferguson, Hokkaido Highway Blues: Hitchhiking Japan, Canongate Books Ltd, 2000.
Until, that is, he did commit himself. Flicking through a little-thumbed Lonely Planet guide, he happened across the Hyakumeizan and felt their call. Making a start in 2007, he took time off work with the aim of climbing the full set by Christmas. That didn’t quite work out, but he still managed to complete his century over the following two years, tracking his progress in a series of blog posts – which are worth revisiting for their excellent photography.
In turn, the blog posts paved the way for a book, published this year as Tozan: A Japanese Mountain Odyssey. For those who have read the blog, the book is much more than the sum of the posts. By adding a sense of perspective to the whole campaign, not to mention a lot of detail, it makes one of the most eloquent cases for Hyakumeizan hunting that I’ve so far read.
Your reviewer first heard about this project from Willie himself, over lunch in Osaka. The book would be self-published, he said, so that he could say things the way he wanted to say them, without being censored by editors, publishers or monitors of the politically correct. And, by ****, he has made good on his promise.
It's a mercy indeed that Willie didn’t submit his manuscript to any gentlefolk publishers – you could imagine them fainting dead away after hitting just the first few expletives. But, here’s the thing: if they were to read their way onwards, these gentry would find themselves reaching for their smelling salts less and less often. And, as we shall see, there might be a good reason for that.
Though not even the genteelest of publishers could object to Willie’s nature writing, a vital attribute for any book that aims to distinguish one mountain from another. Here he is marching across the Oze marshes towards Hiuchi-ga-take:
Up before the crowds, I strode the boardwalks into a golden sunlit mist, crossing paths with a mere handful of lone hikers and photographers on my way north. Dewdrop-laden spiderwebs shone like diamond necklaces in the long marshland grasses that masked the slow northward creep of the waters beneath. In places where the water deepened, the grasses would part to reveal blue, waterlily-dotted pools …
But it’s as a raconteur that Willie really hits the ball out of the park. Take the episode in what purports to be the Kobushi-ga-dake chapter, where he describes himself sneaking into the woman’s section of a pharmacy in a bid to buy nylon stockings. It’s all the fault of an ex-US Army colleague who advised as follows:
“Yeah man.” He sucked the life out of a can of black coffee. “My old sergeant swore by ‘em. Nylons are the best way to stop blisters caused by new boots. ‘Wear ‘em under your socks. They reduce friction,’ he said. ‘But if I catch any of you m***********s puttin’ on lipstick, there’ll be hell to pay!’”
Fukada Kyūya, the original Hyakumeizan author, famously described mountains as people. But where Willie excels is describing people as people. And it is these pen portraits of hut wardens, taxi drivers and fellow hikers that give life to vignettes such as the one above. Suffice it to say that this reviewer hasn’t LOLed as much since reading Will Ferguson’s Hokkaido Highway Blues.
As David Lowe notes in his excellent review over on Ridgeline Images, Tozan is a long book – it handsomely outhefts Hokkaido Highway Blues. It is also just as well produced; self-publishing no longer means shonky. On the contrary: as a physical book, Tozan is more elegantly presented than the products of many so-called publishing houses. What kept me turning over the 500-plus pages, though, was a sense of development. There is more here than just a series of amusing anecdotes.
Willie starts on his Hyakumeizan campaign as a self-confessed mountain neophyte. This opens the door to a picaresque catalogue of foul-ups and faulty planning. But by his 47th summit – fittingly, this is Mt Fuji – he’s starting to get the hang of things. He can still miss the right trail but, whereas “A couple of weeks earlier, I would have howled to the heavens in fury … I’d harnessed an inner calm which allowed me to maintain some semblance of even temperament.”
This is just as well, since Willie embraces a rigorous climbing ethic. He steels himself to reach the true highest points on mountains such as Rishiri-dake, Daisen and Asama, all of which involve a degree of personal risk. On Hodaka, he and his companion save the life of a lost hiker by sharing their tent with him. By mountain 57, which happens to be Myōkō-san, he’s starting to ask himself “Who will I be when I walk out of the mountains?”
So what does he learn during his Hyakumeizan campaign? Camping below Mountain 100, Ōdaigahara, Willie answers the question like this:
I’d set out with no preconceptions of finding myself or any of that belly button-baring nonsense. But I had learned lessons – it was impossible not to. My Japanese had improved – a bit, I suppose. I’d visited some spectacular places. I feared the outdoors less yet respected it more. I’d learned to listen to my gut. I could push myself when previously I may not have, but hold off when something unfathomable didn’t feel right …
Not only that but he gets his life sorted too. Starting out as a fancy-free bachelor, he ends the book with a wife, a kid and Lego spilt all across the rug in front of the sofa. Now can the One Hundred Mountains really do all that for a man? Readers, you will have to pick up the book and decide for yourselves.
And then, be warned, you may be inspired to lace up your boots and follow in Willie’s footprints through the mountains. As he says, “The first steps are the hardest, and things won’t necessarily go to plan, but it’s no good rotting in a nursing home forgotten by your kids with nothing but job performance reviews to reminisce over, is it?”
Mate, you couldn’t put the case for the Hyakumeizan fairer than that.
References
William Banff, Tozan: A Japanese Mountain Odyssey – Willie Walks, Bozu Books, 2024.
Will Ferguson, Hokkaido Highway Blues: Hitchhiking Japan, Canongate Books Ltd, 2000.
3 comments:
Terrific review, PH, and it seems we share the same sentiments. It has to be said, Tozan is one of the best non-fiction books featuring expats in Japan that I’ve read. As enjoyable and witty as Hokkaido Highway Blues is, I still reckon Tozan beats it to the punch when it comes to descriptions of the environments he encounters and capturing the finer points of human nature.
David, thanks for reading - indeed, it was a bit of a struggle to write this piece, as your own review had already covered the ground so handsomely. When it comes to comparing Tozan with Hokkaido Highway Blues, I hope other readers will agree with me that we'd like to see more travel writing from both authors!
I look forward to reading a copy (sadly only available on Amazon.co.jp). I enjoy Willie's blog. The Aussies are definitely the masters of colourful similes and metaphors.
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