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.”

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.

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

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.

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

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

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.

Published work

December 15^th saw the January issue of “Yama-to-Keikoku,” a Japanese mountaineering magazine, hit the newsstands. Inside was their annual “Mountaineer’s Data Book,” a compendium of information about mountaineering shops, lodges and huts and so on. At the front of the book are six pages featuring four of my photographs of the Japan Alps. It was by their request that my photos appeared, so this was a grand thing for me.

Also this year, the September issue of “Gakujin,” another mountaineering magazine, featured my story of the March 11 earthquake and why I remained in Japan after the nuclear disaster in Fukushima. Several photographs from my book “The Japan Alps” were printed, as well as three photographs of me.

No other works were published this year. My stock agency didn’t get any of my stuff published and I did not renew my Field Contributor subscription with “Nature Photographer,” so for the first time in six years I didn’t have anything published there either. “Outdoor Photography Canada,” who has expressed interest in my work and ideas on and off have still no concrete plans for me and it seems that after three years some of my stuff might be returned at last in the New Year. Any other submissions were also returned this year or have not generated any immediate response.

Mountains climbed

Prior to becoming a mountaineer it was not unusual for me to go on only three or four hikes in a year but still keep active photographing. This year must be my poorest year ever with respect to hiking and outdoor photography. I climbed Ryogamisan in May for the second time simply because I enjoyed the short climb and there were some good places to shoot folded chert by a stream. And I did the Tateshinayama / Futago Ike loop in October, which was also mostly about the exercise and enjoying the outdoors. The only other photography I did this year was at a student’s mother’s garden. I plan to submit the photos to a gardening magazine in January.

One thing I found was that shooting rarely distances me from my equipment and know-how. I felt I didn’t use my cameras as skilfully and professionally this year and the resulting images were mostly uninspired and even technically faulty. Were it not for the successful images I shot in the States in October of 2010 and many of the good garden photos I got this spring I would feel that I was losing my touch. I still kept busy shooting with my iPhone camera and playing with photo editing applications, but that’s another story.

Things lost and given up

As I mentioned, I did not renew my membership and subscription with ‘Nature Photographer.” Likewise, I didn’t renew my membership with the All Japan Alpine Photography Association or the Society for Scientific Photography. As a result, I gave up all possibility of being published either for pay (in Nature Photographer) or for prestige in the members’ magazines of the two photography associations.

There were also the stories of photographs being lost. Two submissions to a magazine in Tokyo both never arrived according to the editor and Outdoor Photography U.K. admitted that my submission of 2010 had been received but had then vanished without a trace. And Outdoor Japan stopped responding to my emails possibly because I continued to ask about the return of my photographs from 2009.

Book published

One of the exciting accomplishments of this year was the completion of my second major book project with blurb.com – my book of photographs from Southwestern British Columbia, “This Little Corner”. When I return home to Canada for the holidays, a good number of old friends will visit and purchase a copy. In addition, I plan to send a copy to the Vancouver Sun or Province newspaper for review. Here’s hoping that the book stirs up some attention.

Outlook for 2012

January will be busy as I try to translate interviews with foreigners in Japan who love climbing Japanese mountains. I pitched the idea to the editor of “Yama-to-Keikoku” and he expressed interest. I also have the garden photos to prepare. Then I have ideas for short articles in English and Japanese that I want to submit once I find a suitable publication for those ideas. And I still have some submission ideas that have been kicking around for a couple of years now that I would like to address.

I hope to start up with Nature Photographer and at least one photo association in Japan again, and I’d really like to start a plan where I go out even to some local park to shoot at least one roll a month so I can keep up my stock out put. I also have discovered that not shooting nearly desiccates my idea pool for articles. It would also be nice to climb at least three mountains.

With four blogs going and so little time, I really hope to set a schedule that allows me to get at least one post up for each one every month. Particularly my Mountains of Canada blog is being neglected.

The office is something else that needs serious attention. Over the last three years I have struggled to keep it organized and neat but it always quickly falls into shambles. There are so many slides that need to be returned to their boxes and folders and so many papers that need filing or tossing. What I need is a whole day to tidy up and a few days to sort out the slides. But I don’t expect to have that kind of time soon and I dislike to tackle a major project in a piecemeal fashion.

Finally, I have plans for another blurb book, this time geology as art and I have a great title and a handsome collection of photographs selected. Here’s hoping I have the money for the scans and to publish the book.

There’s so much more to say and think about, but it’s time to leave blogging alone for this year.

On many warm spring and summer days during my late teens, I sat outside on a lawn chair with a book of British Columbian or Canadian landscape photographs opened on my lap, my eyes taking their time to savour the natural beauty presented on each page. In the early mornings when I rode about the neighbourhood delivering newspapers, I made plans to visit various places in southern British Columbia and hoped to someday soon see a book come together of my photographs. The title would be This Little Corner.

As my photography skills grew and my subjects turned from the planned landscape views and geological wonders towards nature scenes and intimate landscapes, the idea for my first book changed into a book of nature photographs along the lines of Eliot Porter’s In Wildness is the Preservation of the World. Time went on and I had many ideas, but in the end I left Canada without any book being published.

Some 23 years after the book’s conception, I decided to revive the idea as I sat down in the autumn of 2010 and went over a list of ideas for my next photo book with blurb.com. There were many ideas: New Zealand’s South Island, mountains of the world, geologic art, the Canadian Prairies, autumn in the Canadian Maritimes, travel photographs from 12 countries… the list went on. Though any of those ideas would have been a pleasure to bring into reality, at the time I was becoming homesick for the mountains and nature of British Columbia and I decided that my next book would be my first book idea ever.

Scanning Nightmares

A rough selection of photographs was made and then they were organized into a rudimentary theme which in turn dictated how the photographs would be grouped and which ones would be culled or replaced. At last I brought the winners to the store for scanning. I requested the same Kodak scanning process as I had for the Japan Alps photographs. Two weeks later, I viewed the scans on my computer and was disturbed to find many foregrounds or backgrounds out of focus. Though many photographs were from my first years of photographing with slide film, I knew those images should not have been out of focus. I had been a stickler for employing hyper focal distance and even gave a brief lecture once at my local camera club about it. But when the vertical slides showed the same out of focus areas but this time across the foreground and background (i.e. along the side of the slide and not the bottom or top) it became apparent that the trouble was with the scanning and not my photography.

I brought the slides back and had them rescanned at no charge but once again most images were not sharp throughout. I also noticed that the colours of some images had changed, some for better others for worse. After a third try there were still so many images that were unusable that I gave up and put the project on hold. I later tried another camera store outfit’s service which did not scan at as high a resolution but the resulting scans came out sharp. Was this going to be good enough?

The Test Copy

The next big project was creating the map of Southwestern BC by tracing a printout of a map and then drawing in my own details – mountains, cities, etc. I scanned it at work and spent some time colouring it in on my computer. With the map ready and the text having been prepared in the early stages of the project, I was finally ready to upload the book and order a test copy.

I was both pleasantly surprised and dissatisfied with the result. The cover photo and text were not centred and in fact the cover image bleed around the edge to the inside cover. This was not how I had designed it. Also the dust jacket was not cut straight and fit poorly on the cover. But this I could chalk up as a single mistake because I had printed over 15 copies of the Japan Alps and had no such problems.

Inside the book, the Kodak scans came out either acceptably or with glaringly obvious focusing issues. The other scans, however, were surprisingly sharp and with good colour. In fact, they came out sharper than most of the images in the Japan Alps book. I decided that it would be best to check all the photographs and any that was of dubious or disastrous reproduction quality would get rescanned. I also scrutinized the text for spelling, vocabulary, grammar and punctuation errors. I found a couple of dozen small errors and fixed them up. The new scans replaced the failed images and once again the book was ready for uploading.

Now I am waiting to receive the fruits of all my labour and after a year the book project is finally completed.

This book is a collection of images I made from 1989 to 1999 and in 2005 in Southwestern British Columbia, Canada. The book is divided into five chapters: Journey, Valley, Shore, Mountain, and Beyond. Journey is mostly text documenting my journey from that first roll of slide film to leaving for Japan in 1999. Valley features photographs captured in and around the Fraser Valley, mostly nature and intimate landscapes. Shore is a smaller collection of sea shore scenes. Mountain is mountain landscapes and mountain nature captured in the local North Shore Mountains as well as in many of the big provincial parks in the area, particularly Garibaldi Provincial Park. Beyond takes a peek at some of the landscapes east of the Southwestern BC border, places where semi-arid environments create desert-like landscapes and a trip across the Coast Mountains leads to the rain shadow. The book is 120 pages and available in hard cover or soft cover and with standard paper or the higher quality lustre paper at blurb.com.

So, it is really difficult for me to ask my wife if she minds me taking a Sunday for a tramp in the mountains.

I have good reasons for going. Any outing is work-related. Photographing Japanese mountain and nature may eventually help to bring a little extra cash home, though so far it all goes to pay off the previous outings and photo-related expenses. I might capture something that could end up in a calendar or magazine through my stock agency. I might have something to submit to Yama-to-Keikoku’s calendars that could possibly be selected (though nothing of mine has been selected in the last three years). And this time there was a chance that NHK Niigata might have been there. Alas, as I expected, NHK were out of the picture, so to speak. Two weeks ago, the guy who contacted me originally sent me a message saying that his superiors felt they had sufficient footage from the local mountains of Niigata and didn’t need to shoot a foreigner photographing the leaves in Nagano. However, I had no intention of letting go of such a connection and I thought that even if the TV folks were not going to be there, I should still go and send a few digital snaps to my contact, just to keep the flame of interest alive. He is after all, a fellow mountaineer and “camera man”.

A working father’s schedule:

19:40 – Finish work, check weather and maps, and head home

21:20 – Arrive home. Take son to the shower, wash together. Look after daughter while wife bathes, then bring daughter to wife for bath. Brush son’s teeth and own; receive daughter from bath; dry her and begin dressing her until wife comes to take over.

23:00 – Family goes to bed. Daughter is wide awake. Son has nose issues and requests tissues which he then refuses to use.

00:00 – Everyone goes to sleep.

01:40 – Wake up and put bags in car. Drive in rain to Tateshina, Nagano with Judas Priest on the CD player. (Needed something loud and familiar to keep me awake and knowing the lyrics since elementary school means I can sing along, though singing along to Judas Priest is not easy. Good thing I drive alone!)

06:00 – Arrive at parking lot (rain has stopped). Sleep in car for 40 minutes. Eat breakfast.

07:10 – Begin hike.

It’s cloudy and a fog covers everything. It’s windy and the trees are sometimes shaken roughly and showers of raindrop collections fall on the muddy trail that is a chain of puddles more than a hiking trail. But it’s not raining and I am in a silent forest inhaling the fresh cool and damp air. It’s almost like home (west coast British Columbia). The trees are sporting yellows and orangey browns but the colours are lacking vibrancy. Still, it’s the most beautiful setting I have been in since May – the only other time this year I dared insist on going out on my own for a day. The trail takes an upward turn and large lava rocks – mostly worn smooth but also scratched by hiking stalks – mix with roots to provide steps up the mountainside. I am climbing Tateshinayama, a Hyakumeizan and my 31^st. Not that I am counting. Well, I am counting but only just to keep track. Today’s outing includes a Hyakumeizan but only as part of a circuit that will take me through forests, along crystal clear streams, and to some small lakes (large ponds) that have formed in the congested throats of long ago silenced volcanic craters. The main purpose is to shoot autumn scenery. And get some fresh air and exercise!

There are five other people on the trail and I pass them shortly after beginning the ascension part of the route. I am not racing up by any means and my pace seems plodding and sluggish. But at my pace I am comfortable and don’t require any rest except to take off my jacket as I am now sweating inside and more wet than I would be without it. The cloud cover persists until around 9:00 when a patch of blue opens for a minute or so. I am putting all my trust in the weather report hat called for rain until morning and clear skies later in the day. So far it looks like the forecast will come true.

At last the trees give way to a jumble of volcanic boulders and the summit is very near. At around ten o’clock I stand near the summit marker – 2,530 metres in elevation – with a blasting wind that attempts to knock me over and clouds furiously washing over the summit. Visibility is down to less than 50 metres and I can just barely see a raised rim of rock curving off to the right and a lower flat area, which suggest that this is indeed a crater summit of a volcano. A view opens up briefly to the northwest and I catch a glimpse of the valley below near Shirakaba Lake. More clearings come with increasing frequency. I walk along the crater rim to a concrete cylinder standing upright with a circular metal plaque identifying the mountains visible from the summit. The clouds part and I recognize a distant spire of rock as Yarigatake. The clouds are coming from the northwest but views below and to the southeast and east are nearly constant now. I can see Asamayama and Myogisan easily and soon Ryogamisan becomes distinct as well. Particularly interesting is to note that the base of Asamayama, where Karuizawa in located, is nearly as high in elevation as Myogisan. Basically, Myogi sits near the end of a volcanic plateau though independent of it. The plateau swoops down, drops, and Myogi rises up like a rotten stump. Then beyond, the cliffs drop hundreds of metres down and the slope of the ancient volcano of Myogi slides down to the even lower valley of the Toné River below. What one can perceive from the top of a mountain!

The wind remains cold but the summit is nearly clear by the time I head down the other side around 11:00. Not far below is a hut which is near a mountain road and many people are coming up in the warmth of the sun and quiet of the leeward side of the wind. Two families have small children with them wearing only sweatshirts. I warn them of the strong cold wind at the summit. Past the lodge I make my way through more forest and along the soggy trail. I begin descending but more than I think I should. Did I miss a turnoff? I am heading north. If I am where I think I am I should be heading east. I check the guidebook just as two people come climbing up. I ask where I am and they point out my location. Oh, foolish me. I somehow thought I had passed one hut too many. I am on the right track.

What a surprise to see the next hut right beside a road with a full parking lot and a tour bus! I could have driven up here! But that wouldn’t have been as rewarding. It’s 12:40. From here I figure I should reach the Twin Ponds (Futago Ike) by 1:30.

Looking at Tateshinayama from Futagoyama

I do the easy climb up Futagoyama and then descend into a larch forest. Orange needles fall gently like golden slivers of snow until a gust blows a wild swirl of needles through the air and lodges one in my mouth. And then through the trees I see the shimmer of sunlight on water. At last I reach the two small lakes (or big ponds). The water is beautifully clear though the shore is choked with larch needles and mountain ash leaves where the wind has blown them. It’s two o’clock when I sit down for lunch and then begin hastily trying to find compositions for my 4×5. Without looking at my watch I know instinctively when it’s time to pack up in a hurry. At three o’clock I have to hit the trail again. I have two hours before sunset and the route back promises to be as long according to the book. But I know I will want to stop for photos again.

I leave the open air of the lakes for a thick green mossy forest, then come to another small lake – Turtle Shell Pond. From here I climb up and then descend through more larch trees while having a view of Tateshinayama filling the valley ahead of me. Down in the valley the trail is seriously flooded. I have to walk with my legs apart in order to step on the dry ground below the bamboo grass. In some places, the larch needles make a flat mat, completely smooth, alerting me to a hidden puddle. A couple of times I splash in the water but my boots keep out most of the water. Leaving open valley and meadows for forest again the trail becomes dry. A stream that is so clear it looks like thick glass pools below mossy boulders and roots. Through the trees the light is becoming golden. The return hike goes smoothly and at one point I catch a glimpse of the higher peaks of Yatsugatake in the evening light. I also see a fox languidly stepping over boulders by the stream in a ravine below the trail.

It is just five o’clock when I reach the road and start the short walk back up to where I parked. At a pullout I enjoy a twilight view of the peaks of Yatsugatake, the Minami Alps, and the Chuo Alps. It has been sometime since I last set my eyes on those lofty peaks.

10:00 – Arrive at summit of Tateshinayama.

11:00 – Begin trek down the east side of the mountain.

13:40 – Reach Futago Ike and do some snapping with the digital and reconnoitering. Eat lunch and do some “serious” shooting.

15:00 – Begin heading back to car.

17:00 – Reach the road. And walk back to car. Change pants and footwear. Eat last of food.

18:00 – Start engine and begin drive back.

21:30 – Arrive back home in Saitama

22:00 – Take son to shower, wash together. Look after daughter while wife bathes, then bring daughter to wife for bath. Brush son’s teeth and own; receive daughter from bath; dry her and begin dressing her until wife comes out to take over.

23:00 – Family goes to bed.