The limits of mountaineering

Translation: the Kurobe pioneer Kanmuri Matsujirō says farewell to the great river gorge as age creeps up on him.

This is just my own experience, but even in my fifties, if I worked at it, I could still manage some fairly rough terrain.

But once I reached sixty, my physical strength started to fade quite a bit. I believe that around sixty-five is the limit for mountain climbing. Even after that, I could still climb mountains if they had well-maintained trails and mountain huts. However, rock climbing and pushing through river gorges became extremely difficult.

No matter how strong my body was, my footwork deteriorated. And as my joints lost their resilience, there was nothing I could do about it.

When I tackled snow-covered Kai-Komagatake in December in my fifties, I could get up it easily enough. However, when I climbed the same mountain in November at the age of sixty-five, I found myself exhausted. And it took an absurdly long time.

So mountains that I used to climb effortlessly are now quite strenuous. Climbing is one thing, but coming down is worse. When I was younger, I was good at descents, and I could confidently rush down steep slopes, but now at seventy-seven, I have to watch my every step. Because of this, everything takes five or six times longer, and it's also more dangerous than when I was younger.

Exploring Tsurugi-sawa in 1926.
Photo by Kanmuri Matsujiro.

When I look up at Washiba-dake from Takaba-Norikoshi, the beauty of that single, straight line soaring heavenwards captivates me, and I used to climb it with elan. I tried that again recently, but realised I had to climb slowly. As for descending, it simply wouldn’t work for me any more. What used to take 30 minutes to descend now needed two or three hours before I could finally reach the pass.

I used to be good at running down the scree slopes of Mount Fuji via the Gotemba and Subashiri routes, but I don't think I could do that today. I feel in my bones that you can't fight age no matter what you do.

The same goes for my pack. When I was younger, even I could carry seven or eight kan (approximately 30 kg) on my back. I used to carry about twelve kan (approximately 45 kg) in a large bag to the train station at my destination. I would divvy up the tent, ropes, food, and other items with my companions and go into the mountains carrying about five kan (approximately 18.75 kg) on my back. This was when I was in my twenties and thirties.

In my forties, it wasn't so bad, but by my fifties, I could carry only up to three kan (approximately 11.25 kg), and I tried not to carry anything more than that. In one's youth, carrying heavy loads doesn't seem to trouble the body much, but by the time one reaches forty or fifty, one must take great care not to strain yourself.

I believe the reason why mountain climbers don't live as long as the average person does is because the strain they put on their bodies takes its toll in old age.

The great guides Kamijo Kamonji (1847–1917) and Saeki Heizō (1878–1943) died in their sixties. As for Uji Chōjirō (1872–1945), he lived to be seventy-one, but even that doesn't seem particularly long to me. Of the people from Oyama Village who went into the mountains with me, only one is over seventy.

In short, anyone who climbs mountains needs to carefully consider the question of what they carry; otherwise, instead of strengthening their body and living a long life in the mountains, they might actually end up dying prematurely.

I went back to the Kurobe this July. While appreciating the scenery, I also viewed the construction of the hydroelectric power plant. Even then, to navigate the difficult sections, I had to look to the youth who was with me for help.

Even so, I enjoyed the trip. No matter how arduous it was, I revelled in the natural surroundings of the Kurobe, and the way in which its beautiful scenery drew me in.

I was lucky enough to explore the Kurobe at just the right moment. This time, I felt as if I had gone there to say goodbye. This is probably my last farewell to the Kurobe as it used to be.

I don't think it will be possible to enter Kurobe from Keyakidaira to Shimonoroka, the Lower Corridor, for a while. Since the Kurobe Route was built, the path to Shimonoroka hasn't been maintained, and so the boardwalks have collapsed and the suspension bridges are broken. The power company plans to renovate this path into a semi-tunnel type, but I think this will probably take about three years.

Meanwhile, the dam will be completed, and it will be possible to get through to the shore of the dammed lake by bus. When that happens, I would like pay it another visit. The completion date is set for June of Shōwa 38 (1963), so I will be about eighty-two years old by then.

References

Kanmuri Matsujirō, “The limits of mountaineering” (Tozan no genkai) in Tani (Gorge), Chūko Bunko, 1979.

More about the pioneering work of Kanmuri Matsujirō in An audience with the Tsurugi Ōtaki.