Raging River of Fear!

Oh, okay! Pardon me for being slightly hyperbolic. The title of this post was inspired by an old song by Captain Beyond. Nevertheless, a raging river it was.

I’m talking about Arakawa River (kawa actually means river so there’s not much point in stating the term “river” twice but it does sound better than “Ara River”).

After Typhoon Hagibis, or #19 as it was simply known in Japan, rivers across the country were swollen to the max and some burst their embankments or stormed out of their beds to wreck muddy, silty, soggy, soaking havoc on towns and rural villages. A friend of mine in Kawagoe, Saitama – one of the disaster zones – saw the water reach his parking space in front of his house before the rain most fortunately stopped and the waters receded. People on lower land across the street had indoor pools of brown water.

My neighborhood in Kumagaya City was not adversely affected. Water drained away properly and the tall trees by the shrine near my house remained upright with all major limbs intact. The following morning, the wind continued to blow but the sky was clear and fresh. I drove out to Aketo in the neighboring city of Fukaya, to a place where I have sometimes photographed Arakawa from a shelf of hard clay that spreads out along the river shore. Above this is a concrete slope with a walking path at the top and a concrete path lined with a railing following the river just a few meters above the waters’ surface.

The scene was vastly altered by the typhoon. Instead of the calm waters of the river gliding by, I saw a torrent of wild chocolate milk water throwing fits of foaming rage. The concrete path was under water in places and the railing was damaged in several places by trees and large branches that the river had cast violently into the railing. The river was bank to bank and swiftly thundering down its course. Sticks, branches, and lots of plastic refuse was piling up a few meters higher up the slope from the river, telling me that earlier the river had been up higher than where I was standing. All in all, an impressive sight that had me clicking away with my camera.

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Colours of the White Mountain

Me at Aburaike

Me photographing at Aburaike on Hakusan Photo by Tomohito Anrui

It’s already August and a month has passed since I was away visiting Hakusan for the NHK World program, Journeys In Japan. With the program due for broadcasting on NHK World on the 13th of this month and on NHK BS1 on the 14th, I have been eager to get at least one blog post up about the trip. But July is a busy month for me and so it’s only now I can finally set fingertips to keyboard keys.

Hakusan is one of Japan’s three sacred mountains, including Mt. Fuji and Tateyama, and was enshrined in the year 717. Prior to that, the mountain figured prominently in the local Shinto lore as it still does today. The Shirayama Hime Shrine was established before Buddhism was ever introduced to the Japanese islands. As both Shintoism and Buddhism revere the mountain in their own ways, there was a lot of interesting information about the human history and the folklore of the mountain. But while my visit to Shirayama Hime Shrine was mostly about the beliefs surrounding the mountain, the caretaker at the Rinsai Temple had a lot to say about the history as we looked upon a detailed mandala of the mountain and its pilgrimage routes. Once more the story of the Meiji government’s claim that since the emperor was a descendant of gods Japan had no need for Buddhism came up. Last year I had heard about how hundreds of Buddha statues on Mt. Fuji had been decapitated while the main pilgrimage route had been virtually erased. At Hakusan a similar tale was told of desecrated statues and the erasure of the principal pilgrimage route. The old caretaker did not speak favourably of the Meiji government who also brought Japan to war with other countries. He threw in a remark about how the modern government is linked to previous governments through succession.

Some of the folklore of Hakusan was easier to appreciate. One tale told of a man who went before the large crater pond of Midorigaike in the volcanic crater-pockmarked region of the mountain’s summit and a dragon emerged from the pond. I wondered if the “dragon” had not been a steam vortex formed from rising heat from the naturally heated crater. Dust devils and fire tornadoes form from rapidly rising heat and so a “steam devil” might have been the dragon, not so far off the mark I think considering that in Japanese a tornado is called tatsumaki – dragon twist.

Another fable told of a man who went to Midorigaike and under the heat of the sun, he placed his hands in the water to cool them. When he withdrew them, he felt the sun burning his hands more and they had turned red. He placed them in the water again and felt soothed. But after withdrawing them once more, his skin was red and burning. He proceeded to put his entire arms into the water and eventually his legs and body. Each time he removed the submerged body part, he felt his skin was burning in the sun. At last he went completely into the water and soon died. The explanation is that the crater pond was either still scalding hot or the water was acidic.

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Midorigaike: source of fables

Hakusan is a volcano that erupted atop layers of ancient sediments. The area of Ishikawa and Fukui Prefectures is made up of sedimentary deposits from rivers draining off the Asian continent back in the Middle Jurassic period to the Cretaceous. A species of raptor discovered in Fukui has been called the Fukui raptor. Other fossilized bones, plants, and shells can be found in the area, and my guide even pointed out a dinosaur footprint in a rock. The lower sedimentary deposits are all mudstones, sandstones, and conglomerate rocks which contain orthoquartzite stones originally from the Asian continent. But as one climbs higher, volcanic rocks replace the Mesozoic sedimentary rocks.

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Orthoquartzite stones from the Asian Continent inside conglomerate rock

Hakusan is home to over two hundred species of plants, and about 18 of them have the appellation “hakusan” appended to them. This is not exactly because a Hakusan black lily is so distinctly different from other black lilies in the mountains but more so because Hakusan had established climbing routes by the time botanical research became a thing in Japan, and so many first recorded plants were from Hakusan. Of particular interest this time was the black lily – kuroyuri – known as a chocolate lily in the Pacific Northwest. My guide explained that at the high elevation of 2,400 metres there were fewer bees and butterflies to visit the flowers and help distribute pollen. So, the lily evolved a putrid fragrance in order to attract flies. Indeed, I had a whiff and yes, it did smell “like dirty pets” as I think I said on camera.

Our visit to Hakusan coincided with a spell of nasty rain weather crossing Honshu, but we were fortunate to have heavy rain only one night and then some moderate rain one afternoon. Following a stunning sunset, the next morning we were treated to a massively stunning night sky with the Milky Way arching overhead at 3 am. Then we were at the summit for a sublime sunrise. Our stroll past the ponds was rather hurried, but since we wrapped up shooting for the program by noon, I joined my guide and our two porters on a trek up to another of the three peaks at the summit and then we returned to one pond I had wanted to photograph more.

One other point of interest was a visit to Shiramine Town. The town was originally established as a suitable place for a base on the route to Hakusan but later became a silk town. Running a silk town was the perfect endeavor for Shiramine since its location is a narrow gap in the mountains; there’s little room for growing food. Mulberry bushes, whose leaves feed the silkworms, can grow on the mountainsides easily enough. The towns houses were built close together and each home produced silk. Silk was easy to transport out of the mountains because it was light and could easily be folded and carried. Furthermore, silk’s high value meant that silk producers could pay off their annual taxes with a smaller amount of product. That left them with more product to sell.

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Real sandstone is an indication that the structure was built before the advent of concrete

For me, this trip encompassed geology, history, religious folklore, natural history in the way of flowers and small creatures, and photography. Once again, it was a deeply rewarding trip. The program, I have been told, has turned out very well.

Too see more photos, please visit my Flickr page.

Take Your Seat – Landscape Photos with an Invitation

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A very special photo exhibition is taking place at the Canadian Embassy in Tokyo. It’s an exhibition of landscapes and scenic views captured in Japan and Canada by Canadian photographers, Randy VanDerStarren and his son Spencer. But there is a twist to this series.

In each photo, there appears a white director’s chair with red fabric. Now upon first glance, you might think, “So why the chair? Most of these photos are stand-alone, beautiful landscapes. The chair’s presence only distracts the eye. In the case where the chair does fit in, it looks more like a travel advertisement.”

Well, the fact that it’s a director’s chair has meaning. Until two years ago, Randy was a company man in a financial group and giving presentations on retirement planning (if I recall the story correctly). Having studied film, Randy realized that his life had come so far from where he had hoped to be. So he took a chance and took direction of his life.

For the last two years, he and his son, Spencer have travelled across Canada (all 13 provinces and territories in 24 days!), and also travelled in Japan, Thailand, Turkey, Hong Kong, the U.S., and a few other countries. They are scheduled to revisit Turkey soon, and all this time, that director’s chair has gone with them.

The interesting thing is that the simple concept of “take charge of your life” represented by that chair has intrigued the hearts of many. They have a book due out on Indigo this summer, and Turkey is expecting to release a book of their soon-to-be-captured images also this summer. Their Tokyo exhibition, originally scheduled to end in April, has been extended to July because an important embassy official decided that the exhibition would be perfect for visiting dignitaries at an upcoming summit. They currently have an exhibition on in Toronto and will also host one in Hong Kong.

As anniversaries of countries relationships with Canada come up, more nations are taking interest in the director’s chair project, which, incidentally is entitled “Take Your Seat”, inviting us all to sit in the director’s chair of our own lives.

Though the exhibition was not yet ready to be opened to the public, I was most fortunate to be invited for a tour of the photos by Spencer, and we talked for a fair bit before I was then introduced to Randy. As I noted, the chair begins to take on more meaning as you look at the potential symbolism. Take for example the cows in Saskatchewan staring at the chair. They stand together in a heard, each aware of the chair’s existence yet none of them bold enough to step forward from the heard.

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I’m very thrilled for this fortuitous opportunity to meet the VanDerStarren’s and receive an in-depth view into their exhibition!

Follow the project on Instagram at takeyourseat or visit the project online at takeyourseatonline.com.

Wow! What a fascinating mountain!

I climbed Mt. Fuji once, way back in the summer of 2000. Back then, I’m sure I took interest in the volcanic rocks all around, but my memory of that hike is filled with two other outstanding impressions: my bout with altitude sickness and the amount of rubbish I found along the route up.

Word is that the rubbish problem is being better taken care of, though as I was told on my summer trek up the mountain for Journeys In Japan, the problem continues as more foreigners come to climb the mountain and people from certain parts of the world have less garbage disposal etiquette than others. Altitude sickness can be avoided by climbing the mountain more prudently—taking one’s time and stopping for the night on the way up in order to acclimatize. This time, that was not a problem. Rather than starting from the 5th Station at 2,400 metres and then hustling to the summit, we started from sea level and took our time with a one night layover due to bad weather at the 6th Station.

Ever since my first experience on Mt. Fuji, I always maintained that it was not such a beautiful mountain to climb but was rather a mountain to be appreciated while climbing other mountains. What a thrill to stand at 3,015 metres on the summit of Tateyama, on the opposite side of Honshu overlooking the Sea of Japan, and gaze across the ranges of the Japan Alps to the familiar stratovolcano rising above the Pacific!

But this time I held an entirely different opinion: Mt. Fuji was incredibly fascinating!

Moss Forest Path

We passed through mossy forests where jumbles of jagged volcanic rock were covered in thick, spongy moss that made the rocks look like a sea of green clouds. We stopped at a lava cave where monks from bygone days stayed for days or weeks as part of their asceticism. The real joy for me came as we rose above the tree line and so many varieties of volcanic rocks were practically all there was to see, save for a few hardy species of scrubby plants that held on to existence most of the way up the mountain.

Fujisan Lava Detail

During our one day layover, clouds and rain kept us hanging about the Shin Hoei Sanso. But when the rain abated for a spell, I was out examining the local rocks and spent a pleasant time finding subjects that, in lieu of being able to take home, I arranged and photographed.

The rest of the climb to the summit was only made difficult by the lack of time I had to photograph. While hiking through the Hoei Crater (the large cater on the southeast side of Mt. Fuji), I was directed to keep walking past the large volcanic boulders that appeared out of the fog. When the clouds parted to reveal the upper reaches of the crater, I had to face the camera and say a few words, only to turn and see an alien landscape of red slopes with exposed dykes of grey rock that looked like ancient walls from some long gone civilization.

Thankfully, at the summit I had about an hour and a half at the end of the day to scuttle about the crater rim and find interesting subjects. This was perhaps the highlight of the trip for me. At one spot, numerous boulders of rock looked as though they had been squeezed through a tube or flung like batter. Then there was the crater itself with so many colours! From my experience at the summit, I gained a whole new love and respect for Mt. Fuji.

The colours in the sky prior to the sunrise the next morning were incredible and the light in the clouds cast a glow on the rocks of the crater and rim. But I was on camera during this time and so I could not take time to photograph for myself. I knew that though. I had to accept it. Perhaps I can go back again someday.

From the very summit we had views across the three ranges of the Japan Alps (how nice it was to lay eyes on those old familiar peaks that I haven’t seen for eight years!), Yatsugatake, and the Kai Okutama Chichibu Mountains. It sure was crowded though with visitors standing in line for over twenty minutes just to grab a photo at the summit marker.

For now, let me tell you that if you have any interest or fascination with rocks, Mt. Fuji is an incredible mountain to climb!

Fuji Rim Lava Collection The Foot and the Falcon

Fujisan Crater 12

The Murayama Route Kaisan Ceremony

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August 21st is broadcast day

Emi and I stood just behind a row of men and one woman with her head shaved. They were completely clad in ceremonial wear. Before them was a rectangular pit lined with neatly-set volcanic rocks, essentially forming a high-backed pool with a low front. Four narrow pipes jutted out from the wall at the back and water was pouring from them, gradually filling the bottom of the pool. People were gathering behind us and the junior high students had separated with the girls standing beyond the pool and the boys nowhere to be seen. To the right side and also around the back stood many people, some wielding cameras. Our two cameramen were out in the crowd, and another local news team was there as well.

A few junior high boys came wearing ceremonial garb. The women with the shaved head fussed over one boy’s linen clothes. By her comments, I guessed she was his grandmother. Large conch shells were held up for some practice blowing. Two people got the two notes right but one man struggled like a novice on the recorder. The notes sounded more like an ill bovine ululation.

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At last the ceremony commenced. Young men in loin clothes stepped into the pool and each under the water issuing from the pipes. Chanting and the rattling of beads began while the men under the water moved their arms into different poses not entirely unlike the ranger poses seen in action dramas for young boys. After the adult men stepped aside, junior high boys in loin clothes took turns stepping into the pool and standing under the water in prayer poses.

Once the cold water ablution part of the ceremony had ended, we tried to get a brief interview with the boys. They were typically sparse in their responses.

“How was the mizugori (cold water ablutions)?”
“Cold!”
“Did you feel something spiritual?”
“I felt it!” (one boy)
“How many of you have climbed Mt. Fuji?”
(A show of hands)
“How do you feel about Mt. Fuji becoming recognized as a World Cultural Heritage Site?”
“It’s good!”

We interviewed two girls afterwards and their answers were expressed with great thought. The problem was that they spoke so softly that the sound recorder, Mr. Koyama, said that we probably couldn’t use their part because they were so hard to hear. The interviews continued with a couple of old men, only one of whom had anything to say and then again not in much detail. Finally, we got some decent responses from two middle-aged woman. One question I asked was if they felt it was better that Mt. Fuji became accepted as a World Cultural Site as opposed to the original hope for it to be recognized as a World Natural Site. They said they thought so but would have preferred it to have become both. Our director later asked me not to mention Fuji’s failure at becoming a UNESCO World Natural Heritage Site because the application had been made a few times and each time it was rejected on account of the rubbish (as well as other points) and so it was a shameful and disappointing thing for the local people.

The ceremony continued after a short break with a crowd gathered around the trail head of the Murayama Route where it left the paved roads leading to the shrine and began meandering through the forest as a proper mountain path. A rope with white ceremonial paper flags was tied across the path. Someone drew a katana and demonstratively sliced the rope through the middle. An entourage of people followed the head of the shrine up the path. Shortly after, they returned via another path that came down between the main building and another smaller structure.

In attendance were two Miss Fujisans of Heisei 29 (last year) and the ambassador of the British Embassy in Shizuoka. I later heard that he was a “safe” guest as the British had in fact been the first foreigners to climb Mt. Fuji and they had done so via the Murayama Route. Inviting more prominent guests, such as the governor of Shizuoka, would attract the ire of rival shrines who were also claiming to be the head shrine of the oldest pilgrimage route.

After some chanting had been done before each of the shrine’s structures, the crowd moved to a cubic heap of fir tree branches. The ceremony reached its final stage here with more words spoken before the green boughs. Then a man came forth with a quiver of arrows and a bow. He first faced East and spoke some words before letting an arrow fly into the trees. He repeated the actions to the South, West, and North. When the arrows fell out of the trees, the junior high students rushed into the brush to retrieve it. Apparently it was good luck to retrieve an arrow.

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At last, fire was set to the fir branches and soon a dense smoke was billowing out to the north and east, forcing people to move aside. The Miss Fujisans, the British Ambassador, and a few other distinguished guests took turns standing before the smoking heap, bowed, and placed wooden prayer sticks on the fir branches.

The ceremony was over. People slowly shuffled about, some going to get cold drinks as it was really hot under the sun. Others made their way to the shade and some back to their cars. The entire event was not over yet though. More was planned for the evening, including choosing the new Miss Fujisans for this year. But our time here was up and from the next day our journey would take us up the Murayama Route.

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Sengen Shrine is surrounded by enormous cryptomeria trees and features one, standout, ancient ginkgo tree. There’s a main structure which, I heard, is usually closed and only open for special occasions. There are a couple of other structures, as well as trails leading off up the mountain slope. I was interested in seeing the interior of the main building because I heard there was a four-hundred-year-old mandala inside that served as a map of the route up Mt. Fuji. As fortune would have it, because today was the ceremony of the opening of the pilgrimage route for this year, the main shrine building was open, and we were permitted to go inside.

Sengen Shrine

The mandala hung on the wall on the left side at the back. There was a small altar in the middle at the back and behind it was a room with several artifacts displayed. On the right was an illustration of silhouettes of each of the items displayed behind the glass and an explanation in Japanese about them. These, I learned, were all things that previously had been set upon Mt. Fuji, mostly statues of Buddha—some beheaded—and some other statues of stone or wood. All these items had been carried back down off the mountain and were kept inside the shrine.

 

Upon close inspection, the mandala turned out to be a copy of an original, which made sense as a painting created in the late 16th/early 17th century is nothing to sneeze at. It was still interesting to study. The work was very detailed and depicted life below the mountain and the route all the way to the summit. There were pilgrims heading up to the peak or staying in rock shelters; men doing mizugori and people at shrines and accommodations along the way; and a river with people crossing. Emi and I were talking about it and we asked a man some questions. He called over another gentleman who explained in much detail about the mandala. I’m afraid my Japanese is not good enough to comprehend everything when talking about history and Buddhism.

Another similar illustration hung on the wall inside the front door but there were some differences. Emi noticed how one shrine below and to the west of Sengen Shrine looked much larger in this second mandala. She asked a man in official robes (he turned out too be the head of the shrine) if this other shrine was the head shrine since it was larger. He very sternly replied that Sengen Shrine was the head shrine and there were no mistakes to be made about that.

After we exited the structure, I asked Emi to verify what I thought I had understood. She confirmed that he indeed had stated that Sengen Shrine was the head shrine of the pilgrimage route and on this side of Mt. Fuji. She told me that some other shrines around the mountain also claimed head status or that their route was the oldest pilgrimage route. I recalled that the director had said in an email to all of us that we had to be careful about what we said about the Murayama Route and anything connected to the history and religious background of the area. We couldn’t declare things like, “This is the oldest…” or “This was the very first…”. Superlatives and exactitude were out. If rivals heard such things, there would be claims against NHK.

On the altar in the shrine I had seen an illustration of two men arm-wrestling with the English caption, “Do not gloat; Do not pout”. I asked Emi if she had seen it and what it said in Japanese. She confirmed that the Japanese had expressed the same idea: do not feel pride and do not be a sore loser. I said that it was ironic because it seemed that the people here who were claiming that their shrine was the head and their trail was the oldest route were doing so in pride and did not look kindly upon any notions that they were incorrect. The folly of pride indeed!

The beheaded Buddha statues were a curiosity to me. Why would anyone vandalize statues of the Buddha in a country that practices Buddhism? It was explained to me that during the Sino-Japanese war, Buddhism was considered the religion of the enemy and so the statues were beheaded. I later found several more examples at the summit of the mountain. Of course, once the war was over, Buddhism was acceptable once more.

What bizarre thinking! Buddhism, which came too Japan around 1,500 years ago and became in intrinsic part of Japanese beliefs and culture, was suddenly reviled out of the convenience of war, and then welcomed once more. Not that much earlier in Japanese history, Christianity had been regarded as a foreign enemy and crosses were stamped upon and Christians killed. But in the early years of the Meiji Period, Japan was allies with the West, so Christianity was then alright. I told Emi that this reminded me of George Orwell’s 1984 where there were three supernations and two were always allies fighting against the third. But near the end of the book, the “allies” abruptly become the enemy and the previous enemy now the ally. Real life is stranger than fiction.

A third case of puzzling human thinking was explained to us, but because of my ill confidence in my Japanese comprehension ability, I can’t be certain if I understood everything perfectly. The objects on display at the back of the shrine could be accessed by simply opening two sliding wood-framed doors fitted with windows. Of course we didn’t try to open those doors, but I later heard that they were alarmed because a theft had occurred in the past. The thieves were Koreans who had stolen the artifacts under the pretense that since Buddhism had come to Japan through the Korean peninsula, these items were in rightfully the heritage and property of Korea. This seemed completely ludicrous to me as everyone knows that Buddhism began in India and had come to the Far East through China. Korea was a convenient route to reach Japan.

So the story was that Koreans stole the artifacts and brought them back to Korea where the thieves were then tried in a Korean court and found not guilty because the court sided with them, agreeing that these items were indeed a part of Korean heritage. It sounds so utterly ridiculous that I really have to question whether or not I misunderstood some of what was said or if it was a story concocted to vilify Koreans (as that kind of thing does happen in Japan). Nevertheless, the doors were alarmed and the shrine usually closed to the public.

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Within a short time, people began gathering at the shrine, and a busload of junior high school students arrived. The ceremony to open the pilgrimage route for the year was about to begin.

The Pilgrimage Begins!

I climbed Mt. Fuji once. It was way back in the summer of 2000. My girlfriend (now my wife) and I took the bus up from the Yamanashi side up to the Fifth Station and followed the Yoshida Route to the summit. We left around ten in the morning with clouds around us and took the switchback path to the summit. I recall it taking longer than I had planned and trying to run up the path in spots. But I became quickly short of breath. At the summit, we stopped to eat, but my stomach felt queasy. A headache developed and without going to the true summit, we went back down, passing the final stations in the waning twilight as a bobbing line of zig-zagging lights swam up against us through the gloaming. I never felt that I had truly made the climb to the summit of Fujisan and vowed to one day return and do it properly.

Konnichiwa! I greeted my guide, Emi Kamimura, at the seashore in Tagonoura. She turned from the sea, smiled and greeted me back. We introduced ourselves and shook hands.

The seaside seems like an odd place to meet one’s guide. Why not at the train station or somewhere a little easier to narrow down to a point? But this was the script for the program and the seashore was where we were to meet because it was here that our journey would begin.

It was not my first time to meet Emi. She had been a porter on my trip to the Kita Alps two years ago. She is really easy to talk to and a very cool woman if you like tough yamagirls with a warm, friendly atmosphere. She was not the only one from that trek who was along this time. Mr. Otani was lead camera this trip and had been the sound and mic man last time. Mr. Komatsu, a porter for us on this Mt. Fuji trek had been our porter in the Alps too. He also worked as a guide but not for us this time. And our driver, Mr. Fujiwara, from two years ago was at the wheel again. Since the last time, I had learned that he runs a business called Awesome Barbecue, and they do “glamping” (glamorous camping), outdoor weddings, outdoor events that may include barbecues, and even commercials. They are on Facebook, Instagram, and YouTube. New to me were the other camera operator, Mr. Nii, who had lived in Canada before and was really a cool guy to talk to, and Mr. Koyama who handled sound recording this time. He was modest and a little quiet but still of warm and friendly disposition. Along with the director, we were seven to head up the mountain, though we’d be joined by a Mr. Nakayama later on.

Emi and I splashed sea water in our faces as a rudimentary cold water ablution ritual (mizugori) and then I followed Emi’s instructions and took a stone from the beach. Our first stop from here was the Fujizuka, a heap of rocks purportedly built up over the centuries by pilgrims who left a stone from the sea here and prayed for a safe journey. What we saw was disappointing though. It was a flattened concrete cone in a mock shape of Mt. Fuji and had large boulders of roughly equal size neatly arranged in the concrete. I’m sure no one carried such large rocks up from the seashore. Though there was a small pile of stones at the very top, I heard that once the pile became too large, the stones were removed. In fact, by tradition, the stones were meant to be removed after the pilgrims’ safe return.

Emi and I went up the steps to the small wooden shrine at the top, placed our stones, and said a prayer. This was most certainly starting off with the sense of a spiritual journey, unlike my previous visit years ago.

As the TV crew recorded some scenes in the area, an elderly man approached Emi and me and began telling us about the mound. He took us around to the backside and here, beneath the skirts of the concrete structure, was a lot of sand with hand-sized stones in it. It looked as though the concrete mound had been dropped on top of the sand mound. I asked the man if that was the original Fujizuka and he confirmed it was. He also pointed out a rectangular and vertical concrete door-like shape in the back of the concrete mound. He explained that just last year the mound had been cut into and several large urns bearing coins from the late Edo Period had been found inside. This story was much more interesting to me!

Fujizuka

We had a long way to walk and more things to see. Some ways out of town and climbing the slopes of the mountain into the rural landscapes between city and nature, Emi pointed out a stone marker that indicated when the road forked which way to follow the Murayama Route. The rocks were small volcanic boulders that had been inscribed with lettering, but it was the simple triple-peaked outline of Mt. Fuji that intrigued me. It was a neat symbol that one would associate with modern travel and not. I became suspicious as we encountered two more such boulders, both painted with bright white letters and the triple-peaked Fuji symbol. The rocks may have been the original markers but the engraved letters and symbol now seemed very modern.

Our final destination was Sengen Shrine. Tomorrow we would come to witness the annual opening of the Murayama Route where it led from the shrine into the forest. It was going to be quite a big ceremony with lots going on.