Can you tell I was always late for the school bus?
To start the Southern Alps Traverse nobo, you need to catch a bus from Shizuoka to the Shirakabaso hot springs. There’s one bus connection a day, and I’ve missed it.
Or actually, I was lazy. After arriving from Narita airport at 9 pm the night before, I still had to resupply, ship off my suitcase, wash my hair, and just didn’t feel like rushing this trip.
Get the bus, but rush or dillydally and hitchhike? There’s only one answer.
Sneaking on my thru hike
After a local bus, a road walk, and hitchhiking, it was almost 5 pm when I finally passed the gate to the biosphere reserve. The golden light of sunset has already shifted into shades of grey (pun?). A few construction workers were finishing up their day, and I tried to weasel past unnoticed. It was a little late to head into the mountains, and I knew I’d be night hiking. Nothing I personally worry about, but usually other people do.
“Sumimasen”, I hear behind me, and the realisation hits me instantly: my plan didn’t work.
A short man jogs up the gravel road.
“Konichiwa”, I greet him with a wide, confident smile. I’m not doing anything wrong, not to my knowledge.
He is short but trim, early 40s if I had to guess. He asks me in Japanese if I speak Japanese, which I don’t, but that’s one of the few Japanese sentences I understand.
“Sumimasen”, I am sorry.
He asks which mountain I’m heading to.
I show him the closest and first peak of the route on my map: Mount Chausu. I didn’t mention the Southern Alps Traverse.
The man nods and then makes a sleeping gesture with his hands.
“Camp”, I say and point to a different point on the map, where a small wooden shelter is supposed to be (I have no idea whether it’s open, but I got my trusty tarp.)
Search and Rescue
By now, two younger men are coming down the road to join him. Although they don’t seem to speak much English either.
They point at my backpack.
“Sleeping bag, tent, stove, head torch”, I try my best to explain my gear using hand gestures and briefly consider pulling it all out to show them.
“3 hours”, he explains, pointing at my map, 3 hours to reach the shelter.
“Daijoubu”, no problem, I respond, still smiling. The three men look at me in amusement.
“Mountain search and rescue”, he points at his chest.
“Sugoi ”, I smile wider. Now I understand why he’s here, questioning me.
Feral and reckless
“Drive here?”, he pretends to grip a steering wheel.
“Hitchhike”, I say, holding out my thumb. The man groans playfully. At this point, it must have dawned on him that I was feral and reckless.
A glance at my phone reveals that I have enough service for Google Translate.
“I understand your concern. I am very experienced in hiking and will be careful. I am open to other camp spots”, he reads the translation, nods, and looks at me. Examining. Reading. I smile, relaxed and confident. I don’t have any concerns about night hiking by myself. By heading into the mountains, I leave everything scary behind. There’s danger, there always is, but I don’t fear that.
Patiently, I wait for his decision. I can tell by the look on his face that he’s torn. Of course, it would be great to get a head start tonight, but I’m not gonna push my agenda. Whatever he says, I will respect. And I could tell he was just worried, not trying to execute his authority.
But there was something else in his face, besides his genuine concern for my safety: he mirrored my smile. And the two younger men on his left and right equally didn’t seem angry or upset. There was a hint of curiosity in their eyes. And that was my chance.
Good luck or be safe or both?
And after a few more seconds of hesitation, he releases me with a “Daijoubu”, his hands folding into prayer and a head nod, the men next to him do the same, they say something in Japanese, which ever means good luck or be safe. And I thank them, bow and turn back to my thru hike.
Shortly after, I cross the Hatanagi suspension bridge, and as soon as the path weaves into the woods, I understand his concern. The trail is steep and narrow, partially washed out. Ropes and chains provide some support, but it’s definitely not easy during daylight and even less in the dark.
Affiliate Disclosure
This website contains affiliate links, which means The Trek may receive a percentage of any product or service you purchase using the links in the articles or advertisements. The buyer pays the same price as they would otherwise, and your purchase helps to support The Trek’s ongoing goal to serve you quality backpacking advice and information. Thanks for your support!
To learn more, please visit the About This Site page.