The power of water

Translation: the Kurobe pioneer Kanmuri Matsujirō wonders at the gorge's river-sculpted landscapes.

Whenever I walk through a gorge, I am struck by the extraordinary power of water. Looking up at the towering walls of a canyon, and seeing how its muscular ridges stand out, I marvel at the lineaments of nature’s sculpture and wonder how water, flowing in its courses from the very top of these high peaks, could ever have carved through the unyielding rock in this way.

Landscape in the Kurobe Gorge.
Photo by Kanmuri Matsujiro. 

Yielding as it is, water may seem tentative at first, as it flows cautiously around each small and scattered pebble; yet, as it gains momentum—rushing, surging, and seeping—it gathers a force that can heave aside massive boulders. Ultimately, it acts like some colossal axe of the heavens, hewing its way through solid rock and carving out deep, dramatic gorges.

For those of us who plumb these declivities, the experience is unique: we walk as if through a vast natural gallery, admiring the masterpieces of some transcendental artist who spends millennia meticulously sculpting these landforms. 

This pleasure far surpasses that of a connoisseur lost in admiration while caressing the surface or contemplating the colours of a fine celadon vase or some antique raku-ware bowl; the scale here is grander, the setting more expansive, and the result infinitely more magnificent and awe-inspiring. Indeed, few memories leave as profound an impression as those formed while exploring a truly spectacular mountain gorge.

And thus, when I see such splendid landscapes encroached upon or chipped away by human agency, I feel a sorrow far deeper than if I saw some master craftsman’s rare and exquisite handiwork thoughtlessly smashed to pieces.

A gorge carved into solid, hard rock is the finest setting for water as a sculptor. And, in my view, the Kurobe Gorge stands as an example of its finest work.

Cliffs in the Upper Corridor.
Photo by Kanmuri Matsujiro. 

From the end of Meiji through the Taishō and Shōwa periods, long before any trails had been established, I spent my time exploring this gorge, following the river’s course and delighting in the breathtaking scenery along the way. At times, I found myself trapped in rapids, or almost swept away; at other times, I clung to a rope while scaling sheer cliffs while seeking a ledge to spend the night, or I even had to pass the night atop a massive boulder washed around by the raging torrent.

"Takamaki": traversing above the river.
Photo by Kanmuri Matsujiro. 

Using ladders, makeshift bridges, traverses, and narrow gantries along the cliffs, I and my companions of a like mind made our slow and steady way forwards, though never allowing ourselves to be the slaves of any rigid timetable. We followed the main current of the Kurobe River all the way up to his source, exploring the major tributaries and plumbing their hidden depths.

What struck me most during our forays through this gorge was the magnificence of its cliffs, as well as the dignity of its primeval forests, still untouched by human encroachment. And then there were the Kurobe’s currents, washing the skirts of these cliffs and forests, sometimes moving with quiet grace, at other times plunging along in a mad untrammelled rush.

Flowing over their granite bed, the Kurobe’s waters gleam with a pellucid ultramarine that matches that of the sky above. I had never before encountered a valley so brilliant, bold, and exhilarating; it took our breath away.

As I walked through the gorge’s corridors, I was fascinated by their forms and the loom of the ramparts above. It is a grandiose sight to behold how the high mountain walls plunge down from the Tateyama side towards the Ushiro-Tateyama side; and where these cliffs meet the river, we meet with a range of natural wonders.

Tributaries, for example, often enter the main current as a hanging valley, so that their waters cascade down like sheets of water. That is, in a gorge whose sides soar up like the walls of a corridor, erosion works less on the tributaries, so that their waters almost always tumble into the main river as waterfalls. Over the course of centuries, as these waterfalls gradually eat their way backwards, they carve out vast cavernous basins where they descend. Within these gorges, one finds beautiful plunge pools, cauldron-like basins where the water, driven by the force of the waterfalls, churns and foams as if on the boil. Especially striking are the places where streams such as Gaki-dani, Tsurugi-zawa, Umegoya-zawa (at Jujikyō), and Shin-koshi-zawa cascade into the main river.

Arriving at a campsite in the gorge.
Photo by Kanmuri Matsujiro. 

As one makes one’s way along the river, looking up at the canyon walls on either side, the diverse shapes, colours, and rock jointing never fail to pique one’s curiosity. There are sheer slab-like walls rising five hundred metres, while in places like Hakuryu-kei, rugged shoulder-like rock formations jut out over deep, tranquil pools. The cliffs that bound the Great Waterfall of Tsurugi are perhaps the most spectacular sight in the entire Kurobe region. Further towards the Upper Corridor (Kami no Rōka), one encounters massive, block-like rock formations resembling giant whetstones that protrude into the raging torrent.

In some spots, the rock formations that emerge from the deep pools have surfaces patterned like suits of armor—the effect, perhaps, of molten mineral-rich rocks having cooled rapidly.

The cliff descending from the 2,400-metre summit of Kurobe-Bessan towards the Lower Corridor (Shimo no Rōka) spans roughly a thousand metres. It consists of a continuous series of diamond-shaped (rhomboid) rock faces, stacked one above another at an angle of about 65 degrees from the valley floor—a truly magnificent spectacle.

Through the aeons, the river’s action has meticulously carved away the tips of the ridges that descend from the mountains toward the valley, leaving these ridge-ends exposed as diamond-shaped rock faces. While these walls might appear rectangular when viewed from the valley floor, a higher vantage point reveals them to be strikingly diamond-shaped formations. These outcrops line both sides of the Kurobe Gorge, where bell-shaped crags are piled one atop the other to form a continuous gorge that extends for fully sixty kilometres upstream from the lower reaches.

It is fair to say that, for the most part, it was the erosive power of water that shaped these features.

Far away

Far away!

Whether in the realm of human life

or in the world of nature

I feel it to my core

this spirit that pursues the infinite.

Water threading its way through the same crags,

a current curving always along the same path

always in the same form

as I watch it

I find myself somehow

drawn into thoughts of eternity.

It is a strange thing:

the water that never returns to the same place,

the rocks that shift their shape, however slightly

and even I, who gaze upon them

am no longer the same person I was a moment ago.

The ceaseless workings of nature

strike my heart with awe.

A vision of the far-off

a spiral, an infinite gyre

and I, too, am in motion

as a single point along its orbit.

And so too, I grow old.

"Is this how those who depart must go?"

Oh, you, who are so far away—

Oh, eternal Nature—

Is it the mountains’ enduring power that draws me to them

or is it their infinite beauty?

References

Kanmuri Matsujirō, “The power of water” (Mizu no Chikara) in Tani (Gorge), Chūko Bunko, 1979.

Images are details from photos presented in Valleys and Peaks: Kanmuri Matsujiro and Hokari Misuo, catalogue of an exhibition held at Tokyo Metropolitan Museum of Photography, March-May 2014.