Last week, like many other times during my stay in Tokyo, I found myself and some friends shuffling through Shinagawa station towards the Shinkansen gates. It was a Friday morning and our agenda was brief: buy a few bentos, a pack of gum and board our train down to Kagoshima. We'd be staying there one night and spending the rest of the weekend in Yakushima; completing weeks of planning and managed anticipation to trek though the island and try to capture some of its fabled magic.
I have a soft spot in my heart for traveling within Japan. I always marvel at the hub and spoke network of Shinkansen that can take you from the contemporary surroundings of Tokyo, to within just a few hours, a new place entirely, seemingly lost to time and drenched in the light of the early 1990s. I have no doubt that this phenomena adds to the magnitude of Japan's nostalgia and romance. It provides a “difficult to remember yet familiar” sense to each new place, and again it was there that day as we made our way west towards Kyushu...
The Shinkansen from Tokyo to Kagoshima is a tepid six hours sprint past Japan's major western cities. Perhaps its due to the waning novelty of the Shinkansen (as I’ve used it so often), or that I've been to many of these cities before, but the trip down felt quite routine. We arrived, rested and in good spirits.
Kagoshima quickly invoked the feeling of a dated beach town as we walked to our hotel. It was my first time to visit there, and even though we arrived at night and could not see much of our extended surroundings, it still felt like a uniquely charming city (given it’s archetypal shortcomings). Hovering over the Central Station, a giant ferris wheel almost reminded me of Carnival as it flashed in color. It was contrasted by the colder industrial view looking down the city’s main throughway towards the bay. Trams dotted through traffic providing an even more vibe-y feel to the scene.
In Kagoshima for dinner we ate unagi at a local shop in the shotengai. The ambiance was everything you'd expect. As we looked around the room from our table, we could see tatami seating behind us and people reaching over and pouring for their friends glasses of beer. Amongst the formalities of the dining room, we found the unagi to be fantastic. And after exploring a bit more of the city with some local friends, who joined us after dinner, we prepped for our departure to Yakushima the next day.
On Saturday, with the sun risen, Kagoshima began to unveil more of its personality as we made our way to the ferry port. The volcanic iconography we kept running into the night before suddenly made sense as we were unmistakably greeted by Sakurajima - which distracted us a bit from getting our ferry tickets. And afforded me the opportunity to snap this pic, as it steamed up over the bay...
The hydrofoil ferry took us to Yakushima in just two hours…
When we arrived and finally stepped foot on the island, I felt a stark contrast there compared to all of the other places I’ve been to in Japan. In a unique way, when you’re on Yakushima you lose your connection to the present. The pace of the island, the ambiance and scenery - everything just feels immune to the passing of time. It is not a place lost to some past era - like many of the other places you’ll visit in Japan are; Yakushima feels as if it just simply exists regardless of when you visit. If you could capture relativity and assign it to a place, I’d imagine Yakushima would be a good example of what you may find.
From our initial arrival time, we would have two days on the island. The first day we began with a drive to knock off some essential preparations for our main reason for visiting the island; the Jōmon Sugi trek, which we’d be doing the following day. We found one of the very few (maybe even the only) ATMs open on the weekend to stock up on cash. Then we checked into our hotel; a lovely guest house run by a retired couple, called Yakushima Orange House. Although, their house was orange and ours was black. So, while perhaps a bit misleading, it was a great, small and sturdy accommodation nonetheless.
After checking in, we set off to explore the island’s main road and some of the attractions easily accessible from it. I was slightly surprised to find that Yakushima has many restaurant options. For lunch, we stopped at a shop called “Restaurant Katagiri-san” and had the local special of flying fish hitsumabushi. Flying fish is a staple at all of Yakushima’s restaurants. It has a unique “island” taste to it, in that while it may not be the most attractive fish you’d find, it’s history of being abundant in the area ensures its fresh and prepared extremely well almost everywhere you’ll go. It was a great meal and I’d venture to say you’d be hard pressed to find a better flying fish dish anywhere else.
After lunch we were on our way to Ohko waterfall. It’d be about a 40 minute drive that would take us around the southernmost part of the island and back up north from there as we looped down. Along the drive, we constantly remarked at how quickly the fauna changed in sudden and hard to conceive ways. We passed clumps of palm trees then moved through cedar areas… then we were passing terrain that looked almost Hawaiian like - with lush vegetation in fields along the right side of the road leading up to stark cliffs and mountain heads towards the interior of the island; with the ocean in constant view to our left. After driving for a while, the main road slowly bleeds into the Seibu Rindo Road - which is fully within the World Heritage protected forest. We entered this part of the island as the sun was beginning the early stages of setting for the day. Golden hour had passed and we were moments away from starting Blue hour light. The island was cooler and many monkeys were camped out on the road. We slowed down our car to take a look (and to be sure not to hit any).
When we arrived at Ohko waterfall, a slight misting rain began to fall. This would be our first experience with rainfall during our stay on Yakushima. Rain was promised and we welcomed it as it added to the mystic of the falls. The falls and adjacent park were empty, besides us, at this hour. We were able to walk across the boulders that rest at the fall’s base to enhance the sensory experience the falls provided. I remember the cool air, cold rain drops and deafening sound the falls produced as I sat and meditated. After some moments of reflection, and an initial and slowly building realization that I was in a truly special place, we began to have some fun by taking some photos together and walking down the streams to dip our hands into the cold spring water. In the low light, I was also lucky enough to snap this pic of Ohko waterfall, that due to the slow shutter speed on my camera, made the fall’s water blend into almost a dreamy long exposure look…
After it was simply too dark to stay by the falls, we made our way back to our car; the rain began to intensify in step with the darkness of the island’s nightscape. Despite the lack of any meaningful light to navigate with, we headed towards the ocean to Hirauchi Kaichu Onsen. The drive was pretty treacherous as we meandered off the main road down nondescript back streets until we reached the literal end of the road which was marked by a shrine and staircase. Although it clearly was not a parking lot, we figured that since we were totally alone - and due to the weather conditions (darkness and rain) it was likely to stay that way, and we left our car there and began to make our way down to the onsen.
I was shuffling between taking out an umbrella and trying to turn the flashlight on from my iPhone. Heading toward the onsen, we passed a small donation box and a long concrete path that said … “no shoes beyond this point.” We took a beat to take in the scene. The path lead directly into the ocean. Although at this point the sky was completely void of any sun light there was still ambient light emanating over the ocean and illuminating our view in a ghostly dim blue haze; giving us enough visibility to see the waves crashing up against the rocks that lay across the shoreline. It was just a few hours too early for the high tide to be far enough out for us to access the onsen pools. We had to turn back (or else we’d have just been swimming in the tidal pools in cold ocean water). We quickly adjusted our plan to an onsen slightly off the tidal pool but still on the beach with the ocean in sight. We rested in the onsen after a long day of travel and began to mentally prep for the following days trek into the interior of the island and up through the mountain trails of its ancient forest.
Sunday morning, 3am was our wake up call. The day had arrived for us to visit Jōmon Sugi; the perhaps 7,000 year old cedar tree that ultimately is the spiritual guardian of the island. In the early hours of that morning, we basically were comatose as we made the final preparations to our packs; trying not to forget any of the food, water and energy gels that we brought with us… There was a slight chill to the morning air and daybreak was still hours away. Before we shlepped our half-asleep selves into the car we geared up with rain jackets and head torches as we’d begin our hike in complete darkness.
At a bit past 4am we began our drive to the Shiratani Unsuikyo trailhead. Moving through Yakushima at this time was again a bit other worldly. There was pure silence on the roads with the exception of the occasional hum and glow from vending machines that came into sight as we drove around curves. Through our car’s headlights we also noticed that as we made our way up the mountain, rain began to fall. All the while we had been playing music through the car’s stereo to set the proper vibe for the trek. As we entered the parking lot to the trailhead, fittingly we shut off our car as the chorus to Paul McCartney’s “Live and Let Die” played out.
At just after 5am we began the hike. The rain was steady. The trail was completely dark. We used our head torches to check the map to find the starting route. We had opted to bypass the recommended trail to Jōmon Sugi and to take the Shiratani Unsuikyo path. Due to our limited time on the island, we wanted to maximize every opportunity to see as much as we could - and to spend as much time as possible getting lost within the ancient forest. It’s been said that the Shiratani Unsuikyo trails were the inspiration for Princess Mononoke. We all wanted to make sure that, despite the added time and difficulty associated with this route (often attempted over a two day span), we too would be able to walk through this part of the forest on our way up the mountain that day.
Our first few hours of the hike gave us an adrenaline rush and a sensory overload. We were in complete darkness looking for trail markers with our head torches. Also, we were trying not to fall on the wet rain soaked rocks. At this stage of the trail, we were mostly walking next to a loudly running river. It was hard to hear each other speaking and often we had to turn around, stop walking and talk face to face to convey messages. As we continued getting deeper into the trail while still in total darkness, we all began to realize that upon daybreak we would be disoriented as our forest surroundings began to reveal themselves. And sure enough, upon first light, the stunning beauty of Shiratani Unsuikyo came into focus. At that moment we found ourselves crossing a small river, looking upstream to day breaking and illuminating moss covered boulders. We were in it.
The next few hours we trekked at a very slow pace. We were just in awe of the forest. Stopping frequently to take photos, to pat down large trees and to wave our hands across the mossy rocks. I really feel that since we had emerged into this landscape from the darkness before sunrise, the dreamy ethereal vibe was magnified significantly. It was as if we suddenly appeared here, similarly to a dream sequence - not knowing how we got there; real disorientation. And as a film photographer, everywhere I looked I was stunned at the the way the light cut through the forest to provide amazing shots like the one I took below…
As we continued through the Shiratani Unsuikyo, we began to notice the intense micro climates of the island that would contribute to the complexities we would later encounter on this trek. It seemed every half kilometer we walked the weather would completely change. As I mentioned, it started out raining but then it would change to sunny, then cool and breezy, then rainy again and then we’d encounter patches of heavy humidity. It was a dance of layer on, layer off - jacket on, jacket off all throughout the day.
While all of the trees in the early stages of the Shiratani Unsuikyo are stunning, the first giant named Yaki Sugi, Nanahon Sugi (which is over 1,000 years old) broke through the trail and shocked us on how large it was compared to all the others we previously saw.
We continued through the Shiratani Unsuikyo for a bit more. It’s trail is quite challenging as it starts out up hill and then proceeds to go downhill and then back up hill and finally downhill again. It is an extremely steep path across the mountain’s revine. Some of the more iconic views of this completely moss covered path can be seen in the shots below…
After navigating through the Shiratani Unsuikyo path, our plan was to then head down the Arakawa trailhead. To make it to Jōmon Sugi, trekkers will need to take the Arakawa trailhead to the Okabu footpath where the final leg of the trek commences.
The Arakawa trailhead is by far the easiest part of the trek, as it is utilizes a completely flat train track. While it still takes a few hours to complete, the Arakawa trailhead allowed us to regain our pace and even socialize for the first time that day as we saw other people heading towards Jōmon Sugi.
However once we got to the Okabu footpath, the difficulty of the trek leveled all the way up again. The Okabu footpath is a direct ascent up the mountain to the biggest of the island’s trees - crescendoing with the reveal of Jōmon Sugi. At this point in the day, we were feeling some slight fatigue. The elevation change of the Okabu footpath was a challenge, however what made this path by far the most difficult was that as soon as we got there, Yakushima cranked up the humidity. It was hot, and we were losing a lot of water.
We knew though that Jōmon Sugi was within reach, so we kept pace with the other trekkers (in a now quite crowded trail). We overheard some guides taking other groups up telling them (it felt like over the course of two hours) that Jōmon Sugi was just 30 mins away over and over again. At this point we were spent… there is no easy way to say it.
The Okabu footpath though is where the giants live. Every so often we’d approach a tree so large that we were sure it was Jōmon Sugi - only each time to find out after our excitement peaked that it was not. Until finally, after six hours on the trails… we arrived at Jōmon Sugi.
It is difficult to express the scale of this tree. It is so much larger than any of the massive trees we previously encountered on the trek. It leaves no doubt whatsoever that it is the guardian of the island. Visually it looks much more like a slab of marble or stone than a tree. It is so wide and dense that you can feel its gravity. The scale of time that it represents is even harder to fathom though. While the viewing experience of the tree is a bit crowded as almost everybody hiking within the area is headed to it as their destination - it becomes difficult to have an intimate moment with Jōmon Sugi. However, I was able to block out the others around me through deeply reflecting about what it meant for Jōmon Sugi to spend all of this time perched on top of this mountain. Thinking about all of the rainfalls, all of the typhoons, all of the cold snowy evenings it has experienced led me again to think about the concept of relativity; as I spent time in the company of Jōmon Sugi, I thought about the differences in how it and I perceived the passing of time. What does one day mean to something that has lived for 7,000 years? How does it quantify a moment? Impossible thoughts… but meaningful.
After we paid our respects and thanked Jōmon Sugi for it’s stewardship of the wisdom it’s gained after all these years, we began our descent back down the mountain to where we’d come to discover a truly spiritual moment…
It had taken us six hours to ascend to Jōmon Sugi. If we were able to make the same pace down, we’d finish just before sunset. 12 hours was our target time. The only issue was… the humidity amplified the difficulty of the hike and left us too weak to complete the descent in proper time. By the time we arrived back to the Shiratani Unsuikyo trailhead we had all fallen down multiple times (due to the extremely slippery wood and rock path) and at this point to keep everyone healthy enough to finish we changed our plan. We decided to give up on finishing before dark and to take a long break to allow everyone to rest and rehydrate for the final push home. This ensured that the last two hours or so of the hike would be in complete darkness again.
With our head torches on and our senses heightened, our teamwork in descending through the Shiratani Unsuikyo in darkness was remarkable. The lead trekker would call out terrain, and the trailing trekker would ensure the two in front of them were upright and on steady footing with their head torch providing clear view of the ground. We were back close to the river, so the sound of running water added to the ambiance of the scenery. We also ran into deer who were unafraid of us, and allowed us to walk past them in the most natural of ways.
We were close to the finish and almost all the way back down the mountain when we approached the suspension bridge that would take us over the river towards the trailhead start. And that’s when it hit us…
Emerging out from under the canopy of the cedars above us, and stepping foot onto the suspension bridge above the river, revealed to us the most unbelievably clear night sky I’ve ever seen. That evening the moon was close to its “new phase” - which meant there was absolutely no light pollution at all. And when I looked up into the sky from the valley of the mountain’s revine, I could see the entire Milky Way extending from my left above Yakushima’s mountains to my right across the ocean. The way we were situated in that valley removed the sky’s flat static nature and added such extreme depth and curvature that it felt as if we, standing on Earth, were also moving across the universe like the stars above us. The longer we stared upwards the more stars we saw, and the faster it felt that we were being absorbed and surrounded by them. Shooting stars started to streak across the sky. I remember saying “its too much, its too much.” Seeing the cosmos in that setting was deeply emotional. I distinctly remember a feeling of confident belonging come over me. I did not feel small or alone amongst the scale and depth of infinity, but rather I felt sure that Earth, everyone and everything thing on it was part of something - and we always have been. Everyone should see the stars and be reminded of this at least one time.
We made our way off the suspension bridge and found a large stoney area next to the river. For the next hour or so we sat there, using our packs as head rests to stare up at the cosmos. Our trek that day took us 16 hours to complete. We both entered and exited the forest in darkness, stunned at what we experienced - leaving no question in our minds that the legends there are real…