For any local meizanologist, the destination has to be Monju, a mountain that musters just one metre for each day of the year. But height isn’t everything. “It rises as if floating in the surrounding plains, possessing a presence that exceeds its elevation,” says YamaKei, a bit hopefully. And not only was it opened in the first year of Yōrō (717) by the mountain mystic Taichō – who made the first recorded ascent of Hakusan in the same year – but, some twelve centuries later, the Hyakumeizan author and his friends inscribed their names on the summit shrine. So this is a miniature Meizan with three summits and a good backstory to boot.
It's still raining when we park the car. The Sensei lights out at a blistering pace – presumably to get out from under the dripping cryptomerias – and we take a variation route across Monju’s north flank. By the time we emerge beside a pavilion dedicated to the Kannon (this is a very ecumenical mountain, you see), the drizzle has turned to wet snow that limns every branch and bough.
Traditionally, a priest attends the summit shrine today, handing out “eto” – miniature votive animals – on a ‘first come, first served’ basis. As he has usually run out by the time we get there, we avoid importuning him to prevent embarrassment.
But, no matter, on the way down, we drop in at a viewpoint just as the sun starts to peek between the clouds. And a stray ray of light picks out a lifelike “eto” that somebody has scooped out of the snow and left recumbent on a picnic table. So our new year starts with a horse after all.
