A meizanologist’s diary (79)

3 November: since we have no time for jetlag, the Sensei prescribes all-day exposure to the autumn sunlight. We take the air on Toritate-yama (1,308 metres), a local hill in the Hokuriku region that we snowshoed up last January. Stumbling after the Sensei up the stony path, I am not tempted to stop for the views – in winter, the snowdrifts raise you above the woodland’s understorey, while now we’re walking through a tunnel of greenery.

Finding an unoccupied rock at the summit, we each down one of the Sensei’s industrial-strength onigiri. Hakusan looms in the distance, snowless and barren. In years gone by, the mountain would by now be robed in white from head to foot. 

Or are we being too impatient? This is what the Hyakumeizan author says about the matter:

As the name promises, it is a white mountain for fully half the year. Pure white in winter, the mountain’s mantle of snow grows ever more dappled as spring wears on, with most of the lingering patches gone by mid-June. In late autumn, the mountain is touched by white again. The first dusting of snow just streaks the summit region. Then it spreads so that, by mid-December, that flawless mantle of pure white is back until the following spring ….

After lunch, we pass through a clearing that, in due season, hosts a crowd of skunk cabbages (mizu-bashō). Then we head down a deeply incised gully: “We always avoid this slope when yama-skiing; it’s a nest of avalanches,” the Sensei says, and I reflect that, while casual visitors see the mountain in just one dimension – such as today’s sunny Sunday hike – local mountaineers have playing in their heads a complete gallery of seasons, weather conditions and hazard alerts.

Just after we pass a handsome waterfall, the Sensei says “Kyaah!” Hastening to investigate – surely it’s not a snake this late in the year? – I find that the path ahead is swarming with white centipedes. These may or may not be “kisha-yasude”. 

If so, their populations are said to explode every eight years or so - once in such profusion that they disrupted local train services - which may also explain why the critters do not regale us with their presence every autumn. So, local or not, we haven’t yet seen everything this mountain can show us….