Appointment with #32

My work in the Japan Alps has been on hold since May of 2010, when I left Kamikochi and the Hotakas, and for the time being this hiatus will have to continue. As I mentioned recently, this absence from the Alps has had me eying the local mountains, visible from my area in Saitama. I have positively identified 13 Hyakumeizan with a portion of a distant 14th in view during exceptionally clear weather. One of the mountains is Nikko Shiranesan – 2,578 metres. I first really became acquainted with it in February when I went to consider climbing Nantaisan, near Nikko. I did not climb any mountains at that time; however, I became rather interested in Nikko Shiranesan.

After learning the names of several more mountains visible from around Konosu City, I initially marked Hotakayama for my May long-weekend climb. But with all the rain that fell I came to feel that a mountain completely unknown to me could be trouble if routes had been damaged by the excessive weather. So, instead I looked once again to Nikko Shiranesan for my May hike and 32nd Hyakumeizan. I reckoned that if climbing conditions were poor here, I could still shoot around the local lakes (artificial), visit Senjogahara again, or climb Nantaisan, which never looked that imposing.

Nantaisan from Senjogahara

I left a little before 3 A.M. and drove to Takasaki, then turned of at Numata. The sky began to take on that clear jewel-like blue colour already at 3:45. By the time I was driving route 120 past Fukiware-no-Taki it was early morning. But I didn’t see much of the sun. Here on the north side of Akagiyama it was steadily getting cloudy as I drove through the peaceful mountain setting. I saw the turn-off for Hotakayama and Oze but I continued on.

As the road ascended, the beautiful fresh verdure of spring gave way to bare, brown trees and patches of snow visible beneath the fallen autumn leaves. Rain began to drop on my windshield. Was it going to rain on the one day that was supposed to be sunny? Perhaps I should have headed west instead of east.

At last at the parking lot near Kannuma Campground, I backed in between two station wagons. It was 6:45 and raining quite steadily, though not exactly pouring. Beside me, a man stirred in his vehicle, came out dressed in snowboarding clothes, and made his final preparations to head up the trail with a snowboard on his back. Other people were also in full mountain rain gear. I only had my reliable Millet jacket with me; no rain pants. I was really sleepy after having had only three hours sleep again and I dozed in the car until 7:30. The rain wasn’t letting up.

Early spring at Senjogahara

Plan B: Drive round to Senjogahara and see what’s happening over below Nantaisan. There it was cloudy and above the clouds were in swift motion. Nantaisan’s summit was mostly clear but no doubt very windy. I decided to take just my new DSLR and leave the rest of the gear in the car (tripod, filters, 6×7 camera…). This was going to be a pleasure walk only.

Birches at Senjogahara

Senjogahara was pretty bare in early spring but still photogenic. Various kinds of trees often arrested my attention and were preserved in pixels. Having left the tripod meant I was shooting with a large aperture and often resting the camera against a tree to shoot but I was enjoying myself. Soon, the sun began making its way through the clouds and before I was halfway through the course, it was genuinely sunny. What was I doing here when I had a mountain to climb?

Back to the parking lot, I set off to climb Nikko Shiranesan. I had an interest in this mountain because the map showed two ponds below the mound of the summit. There was still snow on the path in most places at first, and then when the path began climbing I was following footprints in the snow all the way. Mostly the going was fairly easy. There were moments of soft snow where I post-holed. I had brought only my small spring crampons in case I needed them. At times I wondered if my new and still unused Grivel crampons wouldn’t have been more appropriate but I managed without much difficulty. The route on my map said it would take two and a half hours but after an hour and 45 minutes I reached one of the ponds. The mountain summit was very close; I could see someone walking on the top. It wouldn’t be long now. I took 20 minutes or so to shoot the open water rippling in the wind over the snow cover that was clearing away at one end of the pond. Then I took on the final steep climb up through more snow to the rocky summit. Three hours after having left the car I was on the summit. The weather was gorgeous – the wind not too cold, the sun warm.

Looking back toward the Kanto Plains from the summit of Shiranesan

Now was my chance to take a good look around and try to identify as many Hyakumeizan as I could. Hiuchigatake and Shibutsusan were clearly visible, and I also located Sukaisan and Hotakayama, as well as the obvious Akagiyama and the closest Meizan, Nantaisan. But there were many more mountains to be seen and checking the map later I figured that I probably also had a view to Aizukomagatake and Hiragatake. I should have been able to see Tanigawadake but the haze was too strong. I wasn’t able to see anything of the Kanto Plains either because of the haze but I became positive that Shibutsusan is not visible from the Kanto area.

After an hour at the summit, I enjoyed the walk back down, careful to avoid rushing on the steep slopes and accidentally post-holing and possibly breaking a leg. Though there were many cars in the parking lot below, I had actually seen only one person near the summit and a few people on their way down when I was coming up. Getting in trouble up here was potentially very bad.

The mountaintop as viewed from the small pond

The light was getting pretty and I couldn’t help stopping at the pond and setting up the 6×7 for some “serious” photography, though actually I was to find a few of my best shots came from my stroll about Senjogahara.

I made it safely back to the car only six hours after leaving it. Given the time I spent on the summit and shooting by the pond I think I had made excellent time on the trail. From there on it was time to head home. There were some tempting stops along the way, especially when the full moon rose. But thick traffic below was going to hold me up and in the end I was very tired from the road by the time I made it home after 9:30 P.M.

Since climbing Nikko Shiranesan, there hasn’t been a day when we had a clear view of it, so I can’t even point the mountain out to my wife and say, “That one was my 32^nd Hyakymeizan.”

A New Camera – part two

Again, why the Sony? Minolta was always known as the camera manufacturer for serious amateurs. I could never afford the professional Nikons and Canons. I was never in a position to be that kind of professional. Nevertheless, my Minolta photographs were getting published. Many years ago, renowned Canadian photographer, Sherman Hines gave a presentation at Whistler, British Columbia. He showed a collection of slides which impressed his audience. Then he told them that all the photographs had been captured with a compact camera. The magic was not entirely in the camera but in the photographer’s ability to shoot and his/her understanding of the camera. If you know how to use your camera, know what it can do for you and what it can’t, you will be able to produce great images. With the 350’s 14.2 megapix I knew the file size was large enough. The reviews gave a lot of praise to this camera, and my experience with a good compact digital camera had already taught me a lot about histograms and white balance. I figured that if I was later going to be in a position where I could afford something much higher up the line then it wouldn’t be much of a waste to spend the 22,980 yen now, a small price to pay (in comparison) for acquiring DSLR freedom for the time being. The one nagging fact that remained was that I was buying a camera that was already four years old. My camera was obsolete before I ever held it. And yet is it really? If I can produce publishable images with it, then I see no problem.

So, where does this leave my film camera collection? The Maxxum 7000 has been in retirement for 11 years now. The 807 is 12 years old and still working. The medium format cameras have given me a bit of grief from time to time (same exposure as with the 35mm but the 120 slide is darker – shutter speeds need adjustment; maximum depth-of-field employed but the middle is out of focus – film not sitting flat over the plate). These two I have often considered selling, but what I really want is the Pentax 645 NII – a film camera! The 4×5 is still the beast producing either stunning works or failed images with the focus not quite right (an image from Oku Nikko that I had great hopes for sending to Yama-to-Keikoku for the 2013 calendar submission call has turned out to have focusing issues).

In a way, it would be easy to leave this gang on the shelf for now and just concentrate on getting good digital captures. As I stuffed my remaining film stock – 35mm, 120 format, 4×5 sheet film – into the freezer to protect it from the rising temperatures of April, I thought that it might be better if I still tried to use it during the next two or three outings. But knowing me, I might very well just expose it without proper care just to get it out of the way and spend more time working the DSLR. That wouldn’t be right. As a serious photographer I should consider any film exposure in a professional manner, with the idea that each exposure might just be worthy of a magazine, book, or calendar page. Just as the 4×5 has joined the 35mm on outings and received due care and attention, so should any of these cameras when they join the DSLR. Or it’s also possible that I might concentrate on the film cameras and neglect the digital camera. It’s up to me to be sure that I use my equipment to its best potential no matter how frequently or infrequently I intend to use it.

One idea is to take a film camera along on any outings and use the digital one for exploring subjects and compositions and once a really pleasing one has been found, bring out the film camera to capture it too. I have done this with my compact digital camera on a couple of occasions where I found inspiration to shoot with film while seeing what was possible with the compact camera. Another thing I have already been doing is taking the camera with me to work and shooting when I have time. Wednesdays are best because I have a 3-hour break during which time I make the 50-minute walk from a kindergarten through a rural area to my main school. I could always have brought my 35mm film camera for shooting; however, since I almost always shoot Velvia 50 that would mean bringing the tripod and adding bulk to my load to carry around for the day. One big advantage to using the DSLR is that I can make hand-held exposures more easily since I not only have the image stabilizer built in but I can also adjust the ISO at any time to 200 or 400 and still get very good results. That means on a bright day I can easily pass my walk back by leisurely shooting macro shots of roadside and field-side nature. There is also a marshy area along the way with turtles, frogs and waterfowl. I may still yet be able to produce material for my stock agency.

Now I am looking forward to my first hike with this camera. You can bet the film cameras – at least one if not two – will be part of the fun. But I want to try using the Sony alpha 350 on a tripod and with filters, just like my film cameras.

A New Camera – part one

The other Monday (April 16th) I bought a new camera. Like a couple of other cameras on my shelf, this was actually a used camera but in very good condition. It is new to me and with its purchase I can already see my way of thinking about photographing changing.

The timing was on par with two previous purchases. In June of 1987, I bought my first SLR – a Minolta Maxxum 7000. Thirteen years later, in April of 2000, I bought my first SLR upgrade – a Minolta alpha 807si. And now in spring again 12 years later, a Sony alpha 350 DSLR. My camera purchases over the years have also included a used Pentax 6×7 (back in 1993) and a used Bronica 645 (2003). The great treasure of them all is likely my Tachihara 4×5 field camera – a wonderfully terrible thing to use in the field and producing more failures (usually due to focusing) than any other camera I have ever used. Yet when a 4×5 transparency is successfully exposed and technically accurate, it looks truly supreme. There have also been two compact digital cameras in the lot since 2007 and of course, phone cameras as well.

Using the 16x9 setting

Why the Sony 350? The answer is in two simple reasons. First, as all my 35mm equipment is Minolta it made sense to by the Sony. Though Sony bought Minolta, the old Minolta AF lenses can still be used with new Sony cameras. Even my 50mm 1.7 auto-focus lens from 1987 works with this camera. Second, the price was right. A few weeks back, I spied it in a photo shop I occasionally visit for just 22,980 yen. I didn’t have the money yet but soon after I heard that a photograph of mine was to appear on the cover of a FujiFilm World, and the money paid to me would cover the cost of the camera and the media card. After reading some reviews about the camera, I knew is was the best I could do to get my own foot into the DSLR lifestyle door.

Exploring local parks and testing

Why a DSLR? More likely is the question, “Why did I wait so long?” Well, years back I was watching digital SLRs improve yearly and hearing stories of friends and professionals who were constantly upgrading cameras, computers and software. I didn’t want to be caught in what I considered to be a pointless race to stay ahead of obsolescence. I was getting the same quality images from my aging film cameras because even as the cameras aged the film quality remained high. I also found that at exhibitions I could quickly spot the digitally captured images because the colours just didn’t look as real as the prints from film and in the worst cases I could spot the coloured pixels. When digital cameras finally reached the level where in my mind they were equal to if not better than 35mm film (in some ways anyhow), I was no longer in a financial position to procure one. And still the notion that any camera purchased would be rendered obsolete within a couple of years stayed my interest. I could still shoot excellent publishable results with my film cameras with nothing more than the cost of the film and developing. With my photography time diminishing as my family required more and more of me, film costs were far lower per annum than what a new DSLR and its accoutrements would cost. Lastly, how could I justify spending a month’s salary on myself when I have two small children to think about?

Excellent subject for testing white balance settings and filters

It was perhaps two years ago when I first really felt that I might be ready to change my thinking. Squeezing out a bit of time for a day hike was possible but even a modest use of film added to the cost. With a DSLR, I surmised that I could shoot more, experiment more, and be certain of bringing back usable images. Though I had over 20 years of experience shooting film, there was always a margin of error, and experimentation would inevitably produce wasted film, even if the desired result was achieved along the way. Since I couldn’t really devote a serious space of time – say two or three days – to hiking, climbing and photographing, I would perhaps be better off changing my approach to nature and landscape photography to something lighter, less serious, and more fun. Just go back to shooting for the pleasure of it all without the pressure of having to produce excellent work to impress editors. I came up with a plan to just visit local natural areas in parks and near the river and shoot one roll of film each month. That would keep me in practice without costing much at all and still I would be producing fresh material.

Then last summer I gave a friend a lesson in how to use her new DSLR and I found I really enjoyed the feel of it. I checked out what was in stores from the top-of-the-line Canon 5D series to the next level down and the level after that. I inquired with my stock agency in Tokyo: what was essential in digital photography as far as stock was concerned? The answer was simple: file size. Most clients required images that could be reproduced in a magazine, book or calendar at A4 size, and some clients required images for large format wall calendars. It seemed that getting 18 megapixels was overkill and that 12 to 14 megapixels was sufficient.

Continued tomorrow

How Many Mountains?

At the start of July, 1999 I came to Japan for the third time and this time was not for a visit but with the intention to stay at least six months, hopefully longer if the lifestyle and culture agreed with me. Thanks to a woman I had met in Vancouver, I was able to secure a room for rent in Okegawa, Saitama and within the same week I got a job at an English school in Kumagaya, a few stops along the Takasaki Line from my station.

After a week or two of commuting by train and staring out the window at the small cities and suburbs interspersed with remnant rural scenes, I one day noticed that there were mountains to the west. Until that day the haze had remained too thick to see that far, but indeed there was a range of mountains out there. Once at work, I wasted no time in examining the map of Saitama that hung on the wall in the office. I had noticed the mountains on the map before but had not realized just how close they might be. Thus I became acquainted with the proximity of the Chichibu Mountains to Okegawa and Kumagaya.

Perhaps I had mentioned this to my landlord’s wife, because I recall her telling me that Mount Fuji was visible from Okegawa. I went to the rooftop parking of a nearby 3-story department store but saw only the blue skyline of the Chichibu Mountains. Then one clear October day I remember standing in that parking lot and to my great surprise I clearly saw the white tent shape of Fujisan. Though much farther away that the local mountains, Fujisan demanded attention, seemingly to dominate that distant corner of the sky. In August of ’97, during my first visit to Japan, my girlfriend had taken me to Hakone where we had hoped to see Fujisan from Lake Ashi. But the thick haze had dashed our hopes. Now I was getting my first view of the famous mountain, albeit from 100 kilometres away!

Over the next few years, I slowly became familiar with many of the famous mountains in Japan, some of them near, some far away. I began climbing some of those peaks and learned to recognize many more. When I found out about the Hyakumeizan – that special list of 100 mountains in Japan – I was pleased to discover that I had already climbed 13 of them. Then I returned to Canada for 15 months and did some traveling and hiking abroad before returning to Japan. I stayed the first two years in a part of Saitama City before buying a house in Konosu, between my former haunts of Kumagaya and Okegawa. Now with a car for transportation and a family to drive around, I began to notice just how many mountains were visible from this part of the Kanto Plains, and gradually over the last year or so I have started to identify the Hyakumeizan that are visible from here. A couple of nights ago, I spread out on the floor a map of Japan’s mountains, included in Gakujin magazine’s January 2011 issue and I checked which mountains I should be able to see from here. Starting from the east and moving counter-clockwise to the west, here are the mountains I can or should be able to see from around Konosu.

Tsukubasan　筑波山 – The lowest of the Hyakumeizan, Tsukubasan is a small mountain island in the eastern part of the Kanto Plains. Connected to no chain or range, Tsukuba is easy to identify because it stands as an isolated mountain to the east of here. According to my map, Nasudake should have no obstructing mountains high enough between Konosu and Nasu, but I have not yet had the chance to compare a clear view of the mountains out that with the map. From a rooftop parkade or bridge it is possible to make out some distant mountains out that way, but as yet I don’t know what I am looking at.

Nantaisan and Shiranesan 男体山と日光白根山　– I have known about Nantaisan for many years. Its distinctive volcanic cone rises high over the surrounding mountains and in winter and spring it sports vertical stripes of snow down its flanks. Nikko Shiranesan only just became familiar to me during my visit to Nikko last month but since then I have been able to easily pick out the white snow-covered and treeless cone of that volcano. The to right of Nantaisan is the Nihyakumeizan, Nyohosan.

Sukaisan and Hotakayama 皇海山と武尊山– Next, according to the map and what I can find on Google Earth, I should be able to see clearly Sukaisan and quite possibly, in the far distance beyond many smaller mountains, I can see on a clear day Hotakayama. The other day, I looked carefully at the peaks to the left of Shiranesan and indeed there were two high mountains – Kesamaruyama standing in front of Sukaisan. Hotakayama should also be one of the mountains I can see out that way, just to the right of Akagiyama, and last weekend I was indeed able to see a higher peak with snow out that way. Far beyond that lies Shibutsusan, however, unless someone or a photograph could actually point that one out to me I can not confirm being able to actually see Shibutsusan. From around Konosu, if it is visible at all, it is likely that it would appear only as a distant blue hump among other blue humps.

Akagiyama 赤木山　– With out a doubt, the next visible mountain is Akagiyama. Though not the nearest mountain to me, it appears as the largest. From my house I can reach the crater lake of Onuma within two and a half hours. I was first introduced to this mountain in December of 1999 and in September, 2007 my wife and I climbed it together. Farther to the left is another Nihyakumeizan, Harunasan. Both mountains are ancient volcanoes with multiple summits and lakes.

Tanigawadake 谷川岳　– Perhaps it was last winter (2010/11) that I was surprised one day to see a chain of white mountains far off in the distance behind Harunasan and extending in behind Akagiyama. The only high range I could think of out that way was the Tanigawa Range that borders Gunma and Niigata Prefectures. So, the other weekend, when the range was visible again, I checked with map on my phone and discovered that Tanigawadake was the higher, more rugged looking peak just off the left shoulder of Akagiyama. In fact, I felt I could almost make out the cliffs at Ichinosawa.

Asamayama 浅間山　– The most exciting of the nearby mountains for me is the active volcano, Asamayama. In September of 2004, the volcano coughed and a couple of mornings later I found a thin layer of grey ash on my bicycle seat. Sometimes, even when the view to other mountains is relatively clear, Asamayama is hidden in haze. But it is visible throughout much of the autumn and winter season as a distinctive high cone, often with a small plume of smoke issuing from its crater. Because of its recent and frequent activity, the slopes have no forest cover and thus it sports a stark white cloak in winter, another factor that makes it stand out from the other mountains whose trees hide the snow cover. Just below Asama and to the left of the mountain is the rotten-stump skyline of Myogisan – another ancient volcano and Nihyakumeizan. To the right of Asama and far in the distance lies Kusatsu Shiranesan, however, even though it lies in a direct line from Konosu without any higher peaks in front, since beginning this mountain identity quest in earnest I have not been able to confirm if it is visible from Konosu or if the hulking form of Asama doesn’t block the view.

Tateshinayama? 蓼科山　– One day last year I looked over to Ryogamisan on a clear January day and thought I could see some white peaks in the distance, behind the mountain. Were they mountains or just clouds? Because haze frequently obscures views beyond the nearest mountains, it was quite some time before I had a chance to see those mysterious white “peaks” again. I kept it in mind to check the map and last week, after spotting them again, I decided to check and found that in that direction, just to the right of Ryogamisan, I might be able to see the north end of Yatsugatake, including Tateshinayama. I had believed these mountains were just too far away to see but the map confirms that there are no higher mountains between Tateshinayama and Ryogamisan. If I can indeed see a range of white mountains in winter they should be Tateshinayama and its neighbours.

Ryogamisan, Kobushigatake, Kumotoriyama 両神山(look at the photos here to see Yatsugatake beyond Ryogamisan)、甲武信ヶ岳と雲取山– Ryogamisan is one of the most easily identifiable mountains around Konosu and the one with the most distinctive shape. For many years I have looked at its serrated incisor-like shape, biting into the sky. I long since thought about climbing it and in September of 2010 I finally did. I returned again in May of 2011 because I enjoyed the short but steep climb so much and the scenery was beautiful on the way up. Kobushigatake and Kumotoriyama I knew should be visible from Konosu because from the upper deck at Kita Konosu Station I have a great view of the Okutama Chichibu Mountains and some peaks in the background are definitely higher than other closer ones. Checking with my phone map the other morning I found Kobushigatake but couldn’t confirm which was Kumotoriyama exactly before my train arrived.

Daibosatsurei 大菩薩嶺 – Left of the higher Okutama Chichibu Mountains are a few more peaks in front of Fujisan. I never paid them much attention until I discovered (just last night) that another Hyakumeizan, Daibosatsurei, raises its summit there. For now I can’t be sure exactly which peak it is, but there are no higher mountains between Konosu and Daibosatsurei, so I think I can count it on my list of visible Hyakumeizan.

Fujisan 富士山　– Easily identified when visible, Fujisan this morning was a gorgeous white swam wing that looked positively huge in spite of the 100 kilometre distance.

Tanzawasan 丹沢山　– From the roof of the five-story building in Saitama City where my work place used to be located, I could see a crest of mountains just to the left of Fujisan. Were these the mountains of Hakone? Or were they the Tansawa Mountains? Last week I checked the map and learned that they were the Tansawa Mountains. From a bridge in Konosu, I looked over towards Fujisan and to the left of it I spotted the same crest of mountains. Which summit is exactly Tanzawasan I am not sure but I would guess the highest one is.

So, from around Konosu and Gyoda Cities in Saitama, it is possible to see:
Tsukubasan
Nantaisan
Nikko Shiranesan
Sukaisan
Hotakayama
Akagiyama
Tanigawadake
Asamayama
Tateshinayama
Ryogamisan
Kobushigatake
Kumotoriyama
Daibosatsurei
Fujisan
Tanzawasan

And it may be possible to see:
Nasudake
Shibutsusan (very slight possibility)
Kusatsu Shiranesan

I will be looking at the mountains carefully when the sky is clear, though spring haze will begin making them harder to see. And someday I hope to add my own photos and re-post this in parts with maps and satellite images. That would be cool.

The Climber Within

When I was 12 years old, I went to a week-long summer camp event – five days and one weekend overnight. On the first day I caught sight of a beautiful blonde girl about my age or a year older. Throughout the week, any chance I got I tried to get near her to interact with her. On the last day she sat in front of me on the bus and I managed to spark up an animated conversation with her. Her stop was one stop before mine and mine was the last stop. As we neared her stop I tried to sum up the courage to ask for her phone number. But I did not. And she disembarked and summarily went out of my life.

Twenty-nine years later I doubt that getting her phone number would have made any big difference in my life now. But from that experience I learned (in retrospect years later) that when the time is now you have to act. Otherwise you watch the pretty blonde walk away and out of your life.

Grass and shadows at Yunoko

February 11, 2012. My 41st birthday. My wife has begrudgingly agreed to let me out of the house, even though I say that if it were not a national holiday I would be at work until late anyway. There’s no climbing mountains or photographing landscapes when out with the family, only shooting pictures of the kids. Last year I went out only twice and this year I’d like visit the mountains at least three times. My wife complains that I am free while she is stuck minding the children. But I don’t feel free knowing there is great pressure for me to make the most out of this single day. The question that has nagged me since I realized I would get a three-day weekend was whether this should be a photography outing with the possibility of a climb or a climbing outing with some photography. Last year’s trips to Tateshinayama and Ryogamisan produced few usable images because I was on the move most of the time. My submissions to Yama-to-Keikoku calendars have produced no published winners in the last three years and I have run out of “fresh” material to submit. And I gave my stock agency all my work from 2008 to 2011 that they had not yet received. In short, I have next to nothing in fresh material, and a hike to the summit means making fewer photographs, therefore, I should choose the spend time photographing over climbing in order to have photographs to submit. That’s the logic, anyway.

My target terrain is the area known as Oku Nikko. Beyond Chuzenjiko (Lake Chuzenji) and between the mountains of Nantaisan and Nikko Shiranesan lies the wetland of Senjogahara and the steaming hot spring-fed lake of Yunoko. This was where I have decided to spend my day, keeping the possibility of climbing Nantaisan seriously up front. I left home at 3:30 and arrived at Senjogahara well before sunrise. The weather report said temperatures would be between -9 and -5 degrees in Nikko, but I am quite a bit above the city, at over 1,300 metres. The air is pretty chill and even with a few layers of clothing on and a woollen hat covered by a hood I feel the cold. I set up my 4×5 camera on the viewing deck and use a bench as a Stairmaster to keep myself warm inside while waiting for sunrise. When the light does appear, it is to either side of my composition. It seems the sun is rising behind Nantaisan which looms behind me. I manage a few shots in 35mm and one composition in 4×5 before packing it in. Now what? Climb Nantaisan or head over to Yunoko?

Winter beauty at Yunoko

It is not yet 8 A.M. and so I drive to Yunoko. In the background, a white mountaintop draws my attention. I feel the compulsion to get up there! Imagine the photographs to be captured with snowbound trees in the foreground and the rockier parts of the mountain coated in thick white. I approach the ski run with snowshoes in hand. Is there a way to go up the mountain from the ski run? A sign says that there is, but I imagine the slow climb in the snow and the time it will take and figure that I would be better off trying to shoot more photographs. Instead I decide to walk around Yunoko and shoot the sunlight in the steam coming off the lake. But the route around the lake is closed due to heavy snow.

I return to Senjogahara and seek out a good viewpoint of the mountains east and southeast. The snowshoes come on and I follow a cross country trail to a promising spot where I then leave the trail and began pushing deep holes into the soft snow.

Senjogahara with the trunk of Nantaisan on the right

I struggle with the scenery. It is beautiful but not coming together for me in the viewfinder. It’s hard work getting the right composition in 4×5. I tramp about in the snow, scouting for a better foreground, at last returning to the trail. Somewhere there is a great scene here but I can’t find it. By now it is nearing noon. I had said that if I were to attempt Nantaisan I would start at 10:00 o’clock at the latest. It is already too late and I am still not feeling that I have found that special place where I can easily lose myself and emerge with a heap of satisfactorily exposed film. At last I stomp down a depression in the snow just of the trail and shoot Nantaisan as seen from between two white birch trees.

Wind blowing through trees at Yunoko

Not sure what they were doing but they were carrying what looked like oxygen tanks and making holes in the ice

From Lake Chuzenji, Nantaisan looks like a neat conical heap of a mountain. It doesn’t look very high because the lake is at about half the elevation of the mountain. Simply, the mountain fails to inspire me to climb it. However, from this other view at Senjogahara, I can see how the volcanic crater had burst apart with a stream of lava on one side. From this view the mountain looks exciting. I am starting to feel a strong urge to get up on Nantaisan; the long arm of one side of the broken crater looks totally accessible. By now I have also learned to distinguish which peak is the summit of Oku Shiranesan. This mountain too, of which I knew nothing prior to coming, is looking very attractive in its mantle of white. But a winter mountain is not something one climbs as a quick jaunt up and down. It’s a project that takes hours. It takes three times longer to climb a route in winter than it does in summer. That much I know is sensible calculating. I am not going to get up very far on Shiranesan, and Nantaisan was said to be a short but gruelling climb. I have to remind myself that this is a photography outing by my own choosing and that climbing will have to wait for another day.

Ice at Ryuzu Falls

I go to visit Ryuzu Falls and shoot ice formations on the rocks. It is engaging photography and I experiment with multiple exposures while turning the focusing ring. Sunlight glittering off the ice formations becomes constellations of light in my viewfinder. But it is while running up the steps to the next terrace of the falls that it occurs to me that I am getting exercise for the first time today. As my heart pumps I feel the joy of physical exercise. I don’t like exercising for the purpose of exercising but getting a workout while climbing is a pleasure. Again I look back to Nantaisan.

Ice at Chuzenjiko

The last hour of my visit is spent around Lake Chuzenji just driving and exploring and looking back at the mountains. The wind here is viciously Hibernian. Water from the lake is freezing on the dock pilings. I look at the two mountains and consider how it would be to climb one on one day and the other the next day over a weekend. If I were a single man without a family I could come back the next week or later in the month. But these two mountains will have to wait longer for me.

Shiranesan from Chuzenjiko

Once down from the spaghetti noodle road of Irohazaka, I catch glimpses of Nantaisan in my mirror. Whenever I completed a hike in the past, I would always look back at the mountain whose summit I had just visited as much as possible while walking or driving away. But there is no sense of accomplishment when I looked at Nantaisan. I had not been to the summit and I was unable to content myself by thinking that I had chosen to make this a photo outing. I wonder what views I might have captured from the summit of Nantai. This was more than just photography. I needed to feel I had at least attempted to climb a mountain. But why was that so important? Twenty years ago it was all about getting the photographs. In the last few years, however, it has become more about reaching the top. The mountain is a challenge to climb. It does not care one way or another about who climbs it. But for someone like me, a mountain – a least one of these minor league proportions – offers me a chance to challenge myself, to climb over my own internal mountains. To reach the summit means that I have beaten any voices inside me that whined about physical strain, exerted muscles, a heavy pack, or cold wind. Life is not a beach. It is a mountain. And every time I reach a summit I feel satisfaction with myself. “I did it again!”

But I didn’t do it this time and more than ever I feel I have to get back to Nantaisan and Shiranesan. And so it has me thinking – though I have always maintained that I don’t need to climb all 100 Hyakumeizan, there’s nothing wrong with trying to climb more. Climbing them gives me an opportunity to visit mountains outside of the Alps upon which I focused nearly all my photographic efforts in the last few years. I have climbed 31 of the 100 by now. Could I reach 50 by the age of 50? That would mean 2 or 3 mountains a year over the next 9 years. Totally possible. I could make a list and begin planning. I could still expect to get lots of photographs. Hmm… The big question is what would the wife think? And is it fair for me to think of solely my own personal ambitions while she stays home minding the often difficult-to-handle children? At least with photography I can say I am working. But then again, the money earned from photography has until now gone towards paying for photography. Could I possibly get some good stories to write about as a climber? I sure think so.

It seems that somehow over the recent years, I have grown beyond just hiking and photographing. Now I really need to get up mountains. I can’t look at an attractive mountain without thinking how I would get to the summit. Somehow a climber has grown within. I don’t need to play in the big leagues. Even the little league summits can help me enjoy life more.

Nantaisan from Chuzenjiko

Salesman

I like it when I feel like I am busy with photography related work. It doesn’t happen often but on occasion I’ll have a few things going on around the same time. Take last week for example. I received payment for my published photos in Yama-to-Keikoku’s Mountaineers Data Book and my photographs and book on the Japan Alps were returned; I completed a submission about an acquaintance’s English garden and sent the photographs and story off by courier to a gardening magazine that has previously published my work; I sold two of my books, This Little Corner; I received the next selection request for photographs to be hung in a doctor’s clinic (we change the photographs every two months); and I could look forward to beginning my next big project: the translation of profiles of foreign mountaineers climbing in Japan. In addition, I have to prepare my gear for an outing on the 11th to Nikko’s Nantaisan. Yes, it’s good to feel like a lot is going on.

Whenever I submit materials on spec to a magazine, I feel like a salesman going door to door, peddling the wares he represents. I am not actually a good salesperson. My father was a very successful insurance salesman and my sister is making great money selling business software. But I prefer to make photographs and write articles and send them off to magazines, hoping that an editor will like what I have produced and agree to publish it.

So, how is it that I feel like a salesman? Because sometimes I have to go “door to door” in order to find the right customer. No, I don’t literally visit publishers and magazines, but I do send stuff out and more often than not it gets returned to me, unaccepted for publishing. I don’t, however, let that kill my idea. I’ll modify the text a little and write a new cover letter and send the package off to another prospective magazine. And sometimes it is my second try where I get lucky and find a paying customer.

I once sent a portfolio of images and a story about the Japan Alps off to Photo Life in Canada. When they returned the submission I turned around and sent it to Outdoor Photography in the U.K. The story and five photographs appeared in the January 2006 issue. When Asahi Kamera in Japan said my New Zealand landscapes were too orthodox, I sent them off to Nihon Kamera and got eight pages in their February 2010 issue. Photo Life also returned my article entitled, “Confessions of a Mountain Photographer,” (what is it with those guys rejecting me?) but it found a home in the pages of Nature Photographer in the U.S.

Sometimes I have a good feeling about who will accept what. It largely comes from a bit of market research, where I check out a few issues before submitting or planning a submission. Currently, I am hoping and praying that Nihon Kamera will want to use my story on the sedimentary rock empire of the western U.S. (Utah and Nevada photographs specifically). I called them two weeks ago and they asked if I could wait a little while longer for a reply.

But other times, there is only great disappointment. The impregnable editorial office of Photo Life rejected a third submission of mine about cultural differences in photographic approaches of landscapes. I had high hopes because their magazine specifically advertised on the cover that they published stories related to the culture of photography. I thought my idea was taking theirs very directly. Perhaps they just didn’t like the photographs.

I initially contacted Outdoor Photography in Canada with a couple of ideas in 2008. The editor was keen on my ideas and I submitted a couple more. There was talk about a profile piece on me, which later evolved into a possible ex-pat piece by late 2009. But by the end of 2011 the direction shifted more to returning my slides, something that has yet to happen though. Outdoor Photography U.K. received a tailored piece (UK specific) about photographing rocks – a kind of geology as art piece – from me but it got lost, as did another rock art piece I sent to a magazine in Tokyo. Asahi Kamera rejected my second submission to them, so now I am planning a third one that will hopefully be a little more attention-grabbing. And while Gakujin has warmly received both of my submissions to them, the end result was that my initial submission was returned unpublished but two very different pieces got printed instead.

So, one never truly knows what is going to make an editor take notice and plan to save some pages for your work. I do my best to look through magazines before submitting to them but it’s an uncertain world. Sometimes you have to follow closely along with what gets published; other times you have to think outside the box to call attention to yourself. The only thing I can keep doing as a salesman is to keep searching for publications where I think my work has a chance of being chosen. And when one door closes I have to go knocking on the next one that seems most likely to open.

Salesman where you gonna go to sell all of your goods today
Yup, salesman, gonna walk along the street, see friends along the way
Hey, salesman, with your wooden cart that you push along while you walk
Hey, salesman with your secret goods that you push while you talk
You always wear a smile,
Even though you’ve gotta walk a hundred ten miles
Short life span – but the whole thing’s grand
Salesman…

Salesman – The Monkees

Boulders

Twenty thousand years ago, the place where I grew up was covered in a thick sheet of ice. The massive cloak that covered almost the entire surface area that is now Canada gouged and scoured the granodiorite mountains of the Coast Range Batholith and carried chunks of rock over what is now the Fraser Valley. When the ice melted and retreated, these rocks – ranging in size from small stones to boulders as big as living room furniture – were deposited wherever they fell from the icy clutches. The largest of these is the famous white rock of White Rock Beach. The boulder is three metres high or so and perhaps four metres in girth. Originally a natural granite white with flecks of black feldspar, the rock was spray painted with graffiti in the fifties and subsequently painted white, and since then a battle between the vandals and the white washers has continued long enough that the once glorious and awesome testament to the ice age has now received so many coats of paint that its roughness has become smooth and it is nearly impossible to climb.

I grew up on an acre of land that was home to a few comfortably sizable boulders. Most memorable for me was a decent sized rock that sat off to one side of the garden that followed the edge of our land. Big enough to seat two children, my friend and I thought we had seen a snake slither under it and we proud serpent hunters found that by rocking this great stone we could get it to move in its bed. The stone at last rolled over the lip of its shallow nest and began rolling down slope with little me standing right in front. Somehow I ended up bouncing on top of the rock rather than flattened under it. After a metre’s tumble, it struck a log that my father had placed at the border of garden and lawn and I was thrown onto the grass. I recall being quick to get to my feet and look back at my aggressor, ready to fly from the path of danger, and then seeing that the rolling stone had been stilled, the end of the log now five centimetres lower than its adjoining neighbour’s.

The boulders were also in the woodlots where we played and surely we stood on top of them and called out, “I’m the king of the castle and you’re the dirty rascal.” In later years I recall setting up and empty wine bottle on one boulder and stood by with my camera waiting for the moment of shattering as a friend hurled stones at the glass.

The boulders were so common that many yards on our street had in their lawns an island of garden space surrounding a boulder and that any land that was dug up for development produced many large rocks and a couple of boulders as well. It never occurred to me that there was anything else other than woodlots and yards with giant granite eggs until I learned about my area’s ice age history. Even then, the boulders only became more special.

Fast forward to the Christmas/New Year’s holidays of 2011-12 and find me back at home, three years after my last visit when there was an unusual heaping of snow. With two small children, my plans did not go far beyond meeting up with friends and enjoying time with my parents and sister. But a couple of mornings had me up and out, enjoying a walk around the neighbourhood. And as I came to an undeveloped lot I found nestled in the forlorn blades of grass, browned bracken and defiant blackberry bushes two large boulders – one of granodiorite and the other of a rock I couldn’t identify but guessed was likely the basement rock that existed prior to the igneous intrusion that produced what we now see as the North Shore Mountains.

In the three years that I was away I had developed a renewed love for the landscapes of my homeland and I wrote an essay about alpine glaciers for the Society for Scientific Photography in Japan and produced my book of southwestern British Columbia, This Little Corner. I was ever so glad to see the alder trees and western yellow cedar from the taxi window as we drove from the airport through a misty drizzle past the bleak and dark-looking landscape. I was inspired to shoot scenes in a local park and around that undeveloped lot with my iPhone. And the occasional views of the mountains when the rain abated showed clearly where enormous tongues of ice had licked away U-shaped valleys in between the mountains. It was good to be home, but more than all that, those two boulders said something to me. As I walked through a wooded park with a pond and spied a few more boulders it struck me more than ever before how special it was to be living where the ice age had left clear footprints behind. Somehow those huge rocks, which likely made little impression on all other passers-by, told me I was back home in the landscape where I had been raised. In Japan where I now live, boulders of metamorphic rock with beautiful convoluted striations are extracted with great expense from the ravines in the mountains and good money is paid to have them adorn gardens. Agricultural land in the flood plains produces no ice age remnants, and the only glacial erratics to be found in Japan are high in the Japanese Alps. It is a hollow and sad feeling to realize that I really am so far from home.

Perhaps there are many reasons behind this revelation. I always defended my desire to stay in Japan because there were always, “things I had yet to do.” But with two small children there is little time and less money to do those things. Perhaps it was the illusionary sense of freedom that comes with being on holiday but somehow I felt that being back home again wouldn’t be such a bad thing and that if there were only a gainful employment opportunity for me I would seriously consider returning. My friend showed me photos of his hikes in the local mountains and I felt them to be more accessible than ever before. Could I go back? Realistically, it will not happen. Too much is already in motion that is carrying me towards a different future.

But there was something that those boulders were saying to me. I cannot forget the boulders…

Not a boulder photograph but shot in the undeveloped lot near the two boulders mentioned in the text. iPhone 4s and edited in Dynamic Light and ProHDR

Also in the same lot and made with my iPhone 4s and edited in Dynamic Light and ProHDR.