Cloud-grabber Mountain: A Survivor Story

Kumotori-san, 雲 取山, on the border of Tokyo, Saitama prefecture, and Yamanashi prefecture literally means cloud-grabber mountain. It is the highest point in Tokyo and a short 1-hour train ride from the glitz and glamour of one of the largest cities on the planet. It is also in the beloved and too-frequently-visited Chichibu-Tama National Park. My fellow hiking partner, Daniel (you may remember him from the Asamayama hike), and I decided to brave the everchanging weather, rise above the stratus clouds and plow through the amoebic cumulus clouds in order to catch a few peeks of the surrounding peaks.,

The hike to Kumotori-san is a 2-day affair, complete with summiting about a half dozen peaks along the way. It isn't too difficult...even you, yes YOU, could do this hike. You just need to pack up your camping gear, bring some food, and be sure to not forget the water. Yep, simple, right? Well, not exactly.

It was getting dark after about 4 hours of hiking on that first day, and we were nearing our campsite--an area right next to a small cottage (6000 yen/night) out in the middle of nowhere where you can stay and eat and replenish your water. Being the robust yenny-pinchers that we are, we had previously decided to take the true and cheap route by camping (300 yen/night). There were only about 20 minutes left of hiking until we could finally settle down for the night. That's when it happened. I remember it vividly, viciously. It struck like a viper and tightened like a boa. Muscles I never knew I had were congregating and glowing in pain like fireflies in a 7-year old's Mason jar. I was immobilized; my legs turned to knotted oak trunks. I was miles away from any sort of civilization, and I was cramping up.


In that circumstance, I did what any real man would have done: I rubbed my leg over and over again with a comical, painfully silly, and pathetic expression on my face while saying "Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God! Oh my God!" I finished the last gulp of my water, and I limped my way towards Base Camp 1 (it's not actually named that...I gave it that name to add drama).


Once we reached Base Camp 1, we set up camp. Base Camp 1 was not what we were expecting. The cottage was nothing more than an abandoned, boarded-up building with no sort of clean drinking water. We made a crucial mistake--we assumed. We assumed there would be water...that we would be fully hydrated (with extra to spare) for the 8 hour hike the next day in the stifling heat. Instead, I wrestled in my sleeping bag that night praying that it would rain so that in the morning I could collect the water from the pans I set out and not hike the remaining portion with cramps that felt like death and could only be healed by one, H2O.



The next morning we woke up to no avail. It didn't rain, there was no water. We were going to die. We started our hike with no real plan. In about 5 minutes our plans changed when we came upon a brand new hikers lodge. It was our oasis on the mountainside with enough clean water for a blue whale to find refuge. I downed about a gallon of water and filled my 2 liter bottle for the remainder of the hike. Sure, we felt kind of stupid for not figuring this out the night before, but in actuality, I never felt better. The rest of the hike went splendidly. Ironically enough we had breathtaking views of Mount Fuji from the top of Cloud-grabber Mountain. This is very strange considering about 99% of all summer skies are covered in a thick haze. We also saw a couple snakes, a horde of monkeys, and some deer walked by our tent during the night.

Cultural Realization #523

Sports are a universal language, the World Cup is proof. Well, except for Americans....they don't speak the language of soccer, ahem football, too fluently. I am a coach for the Uenomura junior high school baseball team. It is nice to coach something as simple as baseball. Although I don't speak Japanese, the sport itself transcends all languages. It is simple. Also, it is convenient that English phrases, such as "nice pray", "two outto", and "nice catchie," have hurdled the language barrier relatively phonetically unscathed.



Last weekend, I also learned that basketball needs no language to be played. Sure, it would help if I knew what the play was and what my teammates were telling me. But there are certain things that trump communication in sports. For instance, generally, being big dwarfs being small and knowing the play. Thus, there isn't much to say when sheer dominance is being performed on the court and you don't even know what your teammates are saying. I don't want to say it was talent, it wasn't. Instead, it was a combination of being nearly eight inches taller than everyone else and them never playing against someone eight inches taller than them. In a way, I felt like my, then, teenage brother playing against myself (a chubby, underdeveloped lad). No wonder he always wanted to play against me--talk about a self-esteem booster.



Anyway, Brad and I had a fantastic time playing in the tournament. Last weekend was just the first couple rounds of the tourney. We won the first game 65-15 and the second by nearly 30. Our team consisted of all Japanese people and two foreigners. We were faux pas to say the least. We were turning more heads than a phillips screw driver. Our teammates really seemed to appreciate our contributions though, so they didn't seem to mind our incessant yelling of encouraging English phrases. Note: our rendition of "And 1" didn't really work. I guess cheers aren't directly translatable. Also, the ref did have to blow the whistle to tell me to not touch the ball after we (read as Brad or I) made a basket. I didn't actually know what she said, but I said I was sorry in Japanese, basically the only phrase I know. Anyway, it was a fun time...enjoy the videos.

Shrines, Trains, and Autonomy

From living 12 miles outside of a midwestern town of 566 people to visiting Tokyo on a whim, life brings awesome paths. As a pre-driver's license, sugar-addicted adolescent, I remember riding my 1-speed bike (the kind where you break by peddling backwards) that long hilly road into town just to buy a pack of baseball cards and a can of coke. In that amount of time now, I can go from my little mountain village in the middle of Japan to the bustling streets of Tokyo. The amount of open land and sky seemed infinite in west-central Minnesota. Whereas, the only thing that seems infinite in Japan are the overcast skies and the line of cars.


Above is a picture of me on my way back from Tokyo. In the background is the blurred image of a torii. Torii are gateways to Shinto shrines and can be seen all over Japan. In Japanese, torii is comprised of two kanji; 鳥 tori (bird); and 居 i (place). According to the mathematical law of summation, the two together create a place for birds--a perfect bird perch. Birds are considered messengers of the gods in Shintoism.


During the summer night festival in my village, some determined, young lads marched up the mountainside equipped with flaming torches to set ablaze the nearby torii. This is not seen as satanic, as in burning a religious symbol like the cross. Instead, it is a special celebration of something important that I never fully understood. To use an idiomatic expression: it's for the birds.