A meizanologist's diary (140)

18 August: We’re all for intense intercultural encounters, but the line has to be drawn somewhere. 

Wholesome as it is, the hut’s breakfast comes without our habitual cup of coffee. So we vow to make good this caffeine deficit later in the morning, when we pass through Murodō, the hut complex underneath Hakusan’s triple summit.

Following a “cold start”, progress is inevitably slow. At 7 am or so, we set out across a prairie of sasa, its broad leaves shedding their burden of dew onto our clothes as we brush through. The Sensei has decided on the long way up to Hakusan’s main peak, via the Tembō (viewpoint) course.

It is a fresh, cool morning. A sign points us towards the “Arupus Observatory”, bringing to mind a large dome housing an outsize telescope. Sounds good. Might it even have a vending machine with canned coffee, I wonder…?

Such hopes are soon dashed. The “Observatory” turns out to be a small patch of level ground with a panorama table on a stone plinth – exactly the kind of furnishing that the Hyakumeizan author repeatedly excoriated. Although he might have moderated his stance in this case. For a truly magnificent panorama faces us, floating out there on a sea of silvery mist. And any visitor would want to know which mountain is which.

Our eyes track northwards over the island hulks of Ontake and Norikura, the former distinguishing itself by the twin jets of steam still rising from its southern ridgeline. Then over the Hodaka massif, the great cutout of the Dai-Kiretto, the pimple of Yari and the rugged piles of Tsurugi and Tateyama. Over there somewhere is a peak called Ōnanji, rhyming with the one we’re heading for on Hakusan…

Having already seen this vista several times, the Sensei has started on up the ridge before I can finish downloading the scene into my weatherbeaten Nikon. Ah yes, now it comes back to me. We were hurrying to reach Murodō before anybody slips into hypo-caffeinia…

The ridge takes us up onto a broad tableland, through which a stony path weaves between clumps of creeping pine. The scenery is about to become monotonous when the Sensei waves me over to a flat stone. The upper surface is crowded with motionless grasshoppers, who show no sign of concern that the heads of two humans are bent closely over them.

We wait a few minutes, but the entranced insects give no sign as to why they have convened here, well above two thousand metres – whether to meet, mate, greet or eat each other. We walk on having failed to solve another of this Meizan’s manifold mysteries…

Arriving at the hut complex of Murodō, we walk straight into the vestibule. Behind the counter is a sign telling us that today’s coffee is Nicaraguan. This looks promising. The attendant picks up an insulated pot and pours a life-restoring black stream into two paper cups, which we take to a table outside. Ah, the very aroma is invigorating. As for the taste, that would be balanced and smooth, with a mild, clean acidity, hinting at citrus or apple, with subtle undertones of vanilla or spice…

Already it’s clear that coffee reviews are best left to bloggers who actually know what they’re talking about. Suffice it say, that for a 500 yen a cup, the Murodō serves a brew that wouldn’t go down amiss in one of those high-collar Ginza or Umeda coffee establishments.

Thus fortified, we set out again and tackle the zig-zag path up to Hakusan’s okumiya (inner sanctuary) on the main summit of Gozenpō. 

Although the spot height of 2,702 metres remains officially unchanged, the summit seems to drift higher with each of our visits. Clouds have meanwhile rolled over the Northern Alps and a few outriders from the main pack are starting to waft our way.

As Gozenpō is lively with visitors, we carry on along the ridge, before descending towards Midori-ga-ike. 

The crater lake has kept its usual viridian hue, but the fierce summer heat has dried up most of the smaller ponds within the old craters. 

As we slip through the shadow of a giant block of congealed lava, the Sensei observes that its horizontal striations look just like the marks left by a glacier. Or were they etched into the lava when it was extruded from some long-buried vent…

We scramble up the southern ridge of Ōnanji, Hakusan’s northern peak, and find ourselves on another tableland. A sturdy stone revetment, complete with a doglegged approach path, almost smothers the summit shrine. Winter must be a blast up here. We carry on to a small refuge hut, and sit down to lunch in the shelter of a stone terrace. From our island in the sky, we can see all the way to the coast. This is unusual for a summer afternoon. Soon enough, a cloud comes in to take away the view.