I went on a trek in Japan’s Northern Alps with a Japanese grandpa – and discovered the power of resilience

“I’m glad you are here and did not choose to go climb Mount Fuji,” a retired engineer from Hiroshima told us on our second day in the Northern Alps.

My cousin, sister, and I were in Japan on a multi-day trek, hoping to scale four peaks including Japan’s fifth-highest mountain, Yarigatake (3,180m).

Hastily organised after our initial plans to climb mountains in India and China fell apart, it was the first time three of us travelled together, thanks to supportive parents and spouses who stepped up to take care of our young children while we were gone.

The only thing we had planned this trip was accommodation for the first two nights. Everything else we would decide on the go, sometimes on the same day.

We confirmed our route in a kissaten, with my Japanese-speaking cousin doing the heavy lifting, navigating websites and calling hotlines to book various mountain huts.

“The view is better here. You see nothing when you climb Mount Fuji. It’s nicer to see Mount Fuji than to climb it,” continued Ohata-san, a solo trekker planning to climb Yarigatake three years after lung surgery to celebrate his 75th birthday.

He was right. In the Northern Alps, we were treated to days of breathtaking landscape – mountains rising through the misty dawn and granite outcrops interspersed with verdant alpine shrubs stretching endlessly under clear blue skies.

TAKING THE OMOTE GINZA ROUTE

For the Omote Ginza route we had picked, we started at Nakabusa Onsen trailhead – two trains, one bus, and a van ride away from Tokyo – for a four-day three-night trek. We spent the night at Ariakeso near the trailhead so we could start early the next morning.

We made sure to carry cash heading into the mountains knowing we would need it for everything – board, meals, and merchandise. From magnets, cotton neckerchiefs to tees, Japan has perfected the art of marketing souvenirs to entice even the most hardened non-impulsive climber.

Walking in the cool forest was a gentle warmup for the steep trail ahead. As the forest gave way to our first views of the mountains, I was glad to have maintained my momentum.

Contrary to expectations, there was mobile data on the mountains which was helpful for checking locations but we still had to conserve phone battery.

Arriving on the ridgeline with Enzanso to our left and Tsubakurodake (2,763m), marked 1km away, to our right, we made the mistake of heading directly to Tsubakurodake without putting down our backpacks, thinking it was just a short walk away.

One of the oldest mountain huts in the Northern Alps, Enzanso has expanded into a sprawling facility with a main building and three annexes. Travelling in threes had its benefits: We were assigned a small private room.

It was somewhat embarrassing to admit that I got lost in Enzanso. Navigating the maze of narrow corridors between identical rows of bunk beds opening into common areas, I went through a nondescript doorway down a steep flight of stairs only to find myself in yet another dormitory instead of the main lobby I was expecting. I gave up and returned to our room to wait for my sister and cousin instead.

For everything that has been said about Japanese toilets, I am sure those people have never encountered dry toilets in the mountains where waste has to be airlifted down the mountains and water, a precious commodity.

When you have to carry your trash for days until you leave the mountains, you start to be more mindful about accumulating plastic wrappers, wet wipes, and leftovers in disposable bento boxes. Once, we witnessed a staff chastise someone for throwing her used tissues into the trash bin for empty noodle cups and disposable chopsticks.

In the mountain huts, what struck me was the quiet consideration in group living, even if it were just for a day each time. We might not chat with other Japanese climbers but we would be helping to serve rice, soup, and tea to everyone at the table. A big tangle of phones was casually left at the charging station in the lobby with high foot traffic.

At the toilets, I saw some women do well-rehearsed backward shuffles to reposition bathroom slippers neatly for the next person. I followed suit.

JOINING OHATA-SAN

The next day, the trail proved unexpectedly pleasant, mostly flat, along gently undulating paths traversing the Northern Alps. We enjoyed sweeping views of the surrounding mountain ranges with surprise sightings of Japanese rock ptarmigan and macaques.

It was here we met Ohata-san, in his handcrafted Italian suede wingtips, while taking a break. Turns out we would be hiking to the same mountain hut but, unlike us, he would skip Otenshodake (2,922m) and Nishidake (2,758m) to conserve energy for Yarigatake the next day.

Even though the trail was well-marked, we got a little worried when we saw no one for a few hours descending into the valley. It did not feel right but Google Maps confirmed we were on the right track. We had no choice but to trust the process.

We were happy to finally arrive at Hyutte Nishidake and happier to see Ohata-san again.

That evening, Hyutte Nishidake served nabe, soupy comfort food one could only dream of on a trek. Steam from the simmering pots fogged up the windows, blocking the sunset. No one seemed to mind.

Over the next few days, it almost felt like we were back in school, meeting Ohata-san at mealtimes to dine together.

I didn’t believe it when my cousin said one could be tired of teishoku, the traditional Japanese meal comprising one soup and three dishes, when my best meal on previous treks was overcooked instant noodles. Yet, by the third day, I found myself agreeing with her.

Ohata-san showed us how to switch things up and make ochazuke with our teishoku (umeboshi, rice, furikake, grilled fish, and tea).

While the Omote Ginza route is considered to be challenging, it was manageable. I was more weighed down by the thought of scaling Yarigatake. Seeing its intimidating sharp jagged peak in the distance, we were like hobbits trudging towards Mordor.

It was also my first time scrambling. I had recently started climbing in an indoor gym and it was exhilarating to be outdoors doing something similar. I enjoyed the challenge, being agile, climbing on all fours, and heaving myself over ridges.

“Take picture, if you want, I take rest.” We laughed. This arrangement with Ohata-san worked well.

ASCENT TO YARIGATAKE

The third day was probably the most exhausting and stressful. Forecasts indicated it might rain in the early afternoon, just when we would attempt the most difficult part of the trek – the final ascent to Yarigatake – so we had to keep a fast pace.

Ohata-san gave us tips on climbing steel ladders safely and tucking trekking poles securely behind our backs between our backpacks. We would also rent helmets at Yarigatake Sanso for the final ascent.

If there was a prize for the most hurried ascent, we would have won it. Racing against time, braving chilly winds and ominous grey clouds, we scrambled, braced ourselves on steel chains, then climbed a series of precariously-perched ladders (pro-tip: don’t look down) to reach the summit.

Ohata-san told us we might have caught a glimpse of Mount Fuji on a clear day. All we saw was the ground we stood on – a tiny, narrow vertigo-inducing rocky strip in a sea of clouds.

We chuckled at our poor luck, congratulated ourselves for somewhat conquering our fear of heights while crouching low on the rocks, avoiding the edge. Only Ohata-san walked to the far end to take a photo next to the summit shrine.

The rain caught up with us on our last day, toggling between light drizzles and moderate rain, complicating our steep descent on loose rocks into the valley.

When Ohata-san’s knees started hurting, we walked slower and took more breaks. By then, we had become very acquainted with the general etiquette of murmuring “chiwa” for “konnichiwa” (hello) and “gozaimasu” for “arigatou gozaimasu” (thank you) to passing trekkers.

Thankfully, Ohata-san felt better after some painkillers and herbal antispasmodics.

The last part of the trek was easy and a little uneventful, a never-ending flat forested trail along the rain-swollen Azusagawa that would have been an enjoyable scenic walk if not for the fact that we needed to catch the last bus departing from Kamikochi to the nearest train station as accommodation was costly in Kamikochi.

Reaching Kamikochi after more than nine hours, we agreed a good soak at the public bathhouse would be the best cure for our aching muscles.

LIFE LESSONS WITH A JAPANESE GRANDPA

With every trekking trip, it gets a little easier. Maybe I should celebrate small victories like the elderly Japanese climbers who are happy to imbibe in the mountains. But I’m still hesitant as I want to be in my best possible state without sabotaging my early nights with alcohol. Besides, buying overpriced beer eats into my merchandise cash stash.

For years, I’ve proudly declared that I’m up for backpacking as long as I don’t have to use shared bathrooms. Yet this trip, I wouldn’t have made it to the Northern Alps if I had insisted on private bathrooms. Seeing the older trekkers around us willingly trade comfort for the mountains’ revitalising views, it felt like the right choice.

Ohata-san’s trip might have been made possible with careful planning but he was open to making changes and befriending fellow climbers.

We joked if we could be like him one day, going on solo multi-day climbs in our seventies.

Ohata-san told us he would not have been able to summit Yarigatake without us. What he did not realise was we might not have done it without him either.

He didn’t just stay at the back of the pack most times, he chose to be there for the last climber, especially when there were ladders or chains ahead.

As American ski mountaineer Hilaree Nelson once said: “I think there’s so much aversion to risk-taking… you have to take risks if you want to learn anything about yourself… How we move forward, how we create things, how we have ideas is by taking risks and being a little different or being passionate about something. You don’t have to climb Lhotse to do that.”

Climbing with a Japanese grandpa showed us that trying new things, embracing humour and openness, and taking calculated risks can make our lives far more rewarding – even if it comes with zero visibility at the top.