Endurance Test

Blog 4.

Pouring rain drenches the four of us, 3 Danes and a Brit, on this day trek from T8 to just before T11. We quickly separate and I find myself chatting with Jon, taking some minor wrong turns from time to time, but finally finding the way to his inn, where I leave him to find my own accommodation for the night, feeling pretty tired and cold, the bones in my feet aching the most that last couple of wet kilometres.

Booking accommodation blind can lead to some nice and some nasty surprises. Tonight I am in luck, as the business hotel is modern and clean, and my spirits soar after a hot bath during which my laundry is in the washing machine. It is just as well, tomorrow is a big day, the first henro korogashi, an 800 m vertical rise, a 400 m descent, and another 300 m rise to the famous temple 12 at the top of the second mountain.

Who do I bump into at the tumble dryer but Max, one of the Danes. We head out on our expedition in the morning together with a coffee and snacks from the convenience store, tackling the rain and the mountain as an indomitable duo, garnering nods of respect from passers-by.

Slowly, slowly, gently planting the foot and straightening the knee, I try to keep to the sherpa technique I read of in Mindful Walking. Up and up and up, getting soaked to the skin. It is toasty warm though, under the poncho, under the rain jacket, and under the merino fleece, for wet or not, this is exertion like never before. As steep as it is, I am constantly surprised at how I manage it. I hear my breath, but I am not panting. With every breath I feel fitter. I do not know where this strength and desire to tackle this mountain are coming from, but I am enjoying it to the full. Beginner’s energy, I guess. There is something unusual in this vitality.

Steadily, the morning turns to noon, the temperature drops, the bird and frog chorus cease to accompany us at around 600 m altitude. The forest is a wonderland, misty and mystical. Silence. This trail is magnificent, the rain is part of it, is part of me, now. Photo opportunities are everywhere but the phone is unresponsive to wet fingers and besides, it is best not to interrupt the rhythm of the hike. Breathing it in, capturing it. Forest bathing at its best.

Pride. That is a new feeling. I am proud to be doing this. I leave Max, a seasoned Camino walker, a little behind but pause here and there as he catches up. My bell is attached to my waist pack, dangling and ringing rhythmically with my steps, its clear and comforting chimes help me meditate my way up. I do not even notice the weight of the rucksack on my back.

Lunch under the awning of a small forest temple is short and sweet, as perspiration turns cold. Best to be moving again before the body closes down. Knees, oh jeez, the descent is a killer. Concentrate on putting the feet in the right place and, er, not falling down the mountain. Climbing is preferable to this! An opening, a road, we emerge out of the forest for a short spell of daylight and spectacular views of the valley below, a treat before reentering the forest.

The second ascent is cruel, as the path of narrow rocky gullies is transformed into a stream of brown water. No amount of Goretex can keep the feet dry as it runs in at the ankles. Japanese signs warn of danger. Another henro korogashi sign, there are 6 sections that defy agility. Using both trekking poles to haul myself up the crevasses, I am still finding strength from somewhere.

The book said 4 to 6 hours, Osamu-san said 7, and in the end it takes us about 8.5 hours to get to temple 12 at the top, just 10 minutes before closing time. Just enough time to ring the temple bell and get the temple stamp and calligraphy from the monk, who kindly phones for a taxi to get us to our lodging, a further 4 km away. All of a sudden, our legs can hardly carry us and hypothermia cannot be far off. A hot chocolate from the vending machine keeps us upright as we wait in the cold rain for the taxi to make the ascent to us by road, the monk waves goodbye and all is quiet.

Sudachikan is the name of the lodging. You win some, you lose some. An old lady bent double steers us behind her vegetable shop to a dirty cramped space where food is on the table and tells us to eat. We want to get out of the wet clothes and into a hot bath, but there is nowhere to change and none such luxuries in sight. Where is my room, where is the bath, I plea, but answers are not forthcoming. I show the old man my dripping fleece, wringing it, and ask again, where is my room, I want a bath, I am cold. I take my wet socks and shoes off. More people arrive, among them Jon and Osamu-san, fresh from the spa in the next town. I have never been so glad to see friendly faces. Max is shivering in misery.

Where is the toilet, where is the bath, where is my room, I ask again! The old man gets up and takes the dog and us out for a walk in the rain, plastic slippers on our bare feet, down the dark country lane, to an outhouse which is the filthy lodging. He starts filling a filthy tub and I reluctantly use the filthy stinking toilet. These old people have not cleaned here in decades! Is there even a room for us… ? He shows us an occupied bunkbed in a room full of other people’s gear, indicating the floor is for us.

I have had enough. I look at Max and he has the same idea. Despite having paid, we cannot stop here. Back at the vegetable shop, it is chaos. The pilgrim I saw the day before in the henro hut has arrived and other people are eating. I sit next to my surrogate dad Osamu-san who takes my cold hands in his to warm them and tells the old man and woman we cannot stay. His sympathy is the last straw and I turn my head away as the tears of fatigue fall. Alarmed, he is on his phone booking rooms for Max and me at a hotel in the next town and arranging a fast ride.

Heaven at nearly 9000 yen is worth every penny, a clean mountain spa hotel. Aching and shivering, I hobble up the last steps of the day to my room, put on the yukata and hobble over to the spa. On the little stool in front of a mirror washing my body, I wonder where all the bruises come from, from collar bone to hips and thighs: the backpack! Getting in that onsen bath, I have the whole place to myself, it is bliss to soak my aching limbs in the hot water.

However nice the bed is, sleep escapes me. Jetlag or not, I am too sore to lie comfortably. The next rainy, misty morning dawns, I go back to the onsen to warm up for the day hike ahead.