Though the river looks calm here, rougher parts were strong enough to flip canoes upside down and soak us several times. Taking a camera would have been the end of it. Canoeing was a great fun and fun is good, but sorry no photos to show about it.
The afternoon came with an unexpected invitation. A party from the barbecue cottage near our tent signaled us to join in for a dinner. A man who introduced himself as Shiba had brought an appealing range of local delicacy to the table, and they were about to start the barbecue. He had first planned to share the provisions with his Japanese friends. But as he had turned over few cans of malt juice his social restrictions had dissolved. So there we were sitting around a glowing fireplace with the local villager Shiba and a family of four from Kyoto. Supper included salted sweetfish, eel dipped in a thick black soy-based sauce, sweet water crabs, and a bunch of region’s summer harvest.
As much as it was possible to understand from his accent, he was a boss in a construction company, and had only recently recovered from a heart attack. He’s offering was simply a courtesy and so was the breakfast next morning that he offered to prepare though we’d done nothing to deserve it. That and several other incidents support my image that the unconditional politeness of Japanese is even more overwhelming at the countryside.
Leaving Shimanto River behind, and following the guides that Shiba had narrated, we headed towards Mt. Ishizuchi, the highest mountain in Western Japan. By a height of 1,982 meters it’s barely a midget on international comparison. Nevertheless some peculiar features make it well worth climbing.
As we got deeper inland and away from the civilization, settlements gave away to thick, green forests. Some houses stood sparsely next to the windy mountain road. At first look they seemed normal, but a creepy feeling crawled in when we passed them slowly. They were abandoned long ago and left in a run-down condition: weed overgrew from the garden like a travesty of a tidy Japanese garden. Whole plots were gradually being covered with wild forest. Dismayingly many of the wooden shacks were accompanied by a family grave, still new enough to have a shiny granite surface. Rural depopulation, one of Japan’s glooming problems overhung concretely in that area.
The campsite was located past the spooky parts still long way in to the dark shadows of the forest. As if the atmosphere wasn’t spine-chilling enough it started to rain and heavy rainclouds descended into the valley we were driving in.
Upon arrival we didn't meet a single soul - probably a result of the unpromising weather and the fact that it was a working day, or because the area swarmed with horrendous creatures who capture occasional travellers for their hellish feasts. Well that's quite unlikely...
- Gaa! What's that gray, hairy creature running over there behind the trees?!
- What? Where? Ah, that. It's just a harmless macaca fuscata.
- Macaca... what??
- Macaca fuscata, is the Latin name for Japanese monkeys.
- Oh, I see.
It still rained when Yumiko and I drove the tent poles down and put up the tent. Unable to do much we resolved on staying in the tent and just wait for the rain to stop. It rained persistently, so that waiting changed into waiting for the night to come. Night came and rain continued. Some heavy water drops were rattling onto the tent's rain cover, and eventually small dribbles leaked in. Blop... blop... drip...
We'd already buried the idea of climbing; on heavy rain it would be too dangerous and visibility too bad. But to our surprise, the morning took a better direction; our pillows were soaked but the weather seemed to clear up. So we decided to make a rise, despite the possibility of slippery rocks and occasional showers.
Quite surprisingly one can find a Shrine from the peak adjacent to Mt. Ishizuchi. Building materials and part of the daily supplies are brought up by a helicopter. Apart from praying from a place to pray for good weather, which we engaged for, the complex offers hot meals and beds for overnight climbers.
Wondering how they get to work every morning, I exchanged a few words with one of the three staff members. He explained that he goes down once in three or four days. "Now I've worked here for two years. And if my counting is correct I've climbed this mountain about 250 times," he modestly concluded. Remember this man if you think commuting to your work is inconvenient.
Later the weather turned fantastic, clouds scattered and then vanished totally. Hah, we conquered that wicked land mass!
Completing this meant that we had a long drive up to Nagoya. And before actually reaching Nagoya for our flight, we still stopped at several points, ate the famous udon of Tokushima, and also met with bunch of friends. But on the whole this was it and now we are in Finland. How lovely.
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