These bones iz mighty tard. Some days I have an urge to say that.

We were on the Oyarei Landslide Slope just five days ago (a national holiday), but bigger mountains and longer hikes are looming on the horizon (Nagano, August), so we thought it was good to try to get in a bit of a long hike now, so we came again, but taking a longer route, starting on the far side of Yanbushi, and coming down on the Oyarei side.

Somehow, the kinks in the joints and muscles got worked out. After twenty inutes or so, we hit a rhythm and all was well.

Actually we made pretty good time.

So for those wondering how long it might take you, here’s what it took us: the parking lot {7:52}, Nishi Hikage Zawa (West Shady Creek) trailhead  {7:56}, Ooiwa (The Big Rock) {8:27}, Yomogi Pass {9:06 ~ 9:10}, Yanbushi Summit (a cup of tea) {10:26 ~ 10:40} , Shinkubo (two-thirds of the way to the Oyarei Peak, with a small (intentional) detour on the way, and at Shinkubo itself, 17 minutes worth of swatting {12:17 ~ 12:47}, the Oyarei Kuzure Parking lot (via the kuzure–the landslide slope) {13:55}. Back along the road to the West Shady Creek trailhead parking lot ( a bit of dallying in a cool creek for good measure) {15:20}.

Here we are crossing the river near Ooiwa, the big rock. That’s not the big rock in the picture. That’s the little “big rock.” The big “big rock” is another thirty seconds along the trail. It’s hard to get all of the the big “big rock”  in one aesthetically-pleasing picture.

Here’s the view from the Yomogi Pass.

I think that just before we got there we were talking about “when ‘a life’ starts.” We concluded (I think) “that it doesn’t.”

It’s nice when you’re walking along with someone with the same intui-logi reading as you. You can both say whatever you want “logically”—a little of this, a little of that—then kind of fall into an “intuitive” silent agreement—and those silences become some of the most wonderful moments of your life.

And when you’re walking with someone with the exact same intui-logic reading as you,  you can talk about anything and everything–and I do mean anything and everything–without ever having to worry about coming up on a thorny issue. You may come to a thorny plant or two (a thistle bristle might sneak up on your shin, for example,  or a thorny leaf may thrust itself up, upon a strong green stem, from a dead tree stump, right in the middle of the trail, daring you, it seems, not to go around) . . .

. . . but a thorny issue you and your intui–logic-balanced hearty hiking comrade will never encounter.

A scientific note: If the grade of the mountain and the mutual pace of two hearty hikers allows each of their heart rates to increase to its OLPFHH (Optimal Level for Pleasant Feeling during a Hearty Hike), then they can overcome significant (but not too wide, mind you) gaps in their intui-logic readings.

A further scientific note (proved conclusively on this hike): If two hearty hikers both settle perfectly into their OLPFHH and have intui-logic readings that match exactly, their souls will dance together and music will be heard.

Here’s what we saw about halfway between Yomogi Pass and the top of Yambushi.

Mr. Fuji.

I think we were talking about the etymology of philanderer and philanthropy just then. Biophilia, too, for what it’s worth.

Of course, we came upon several sitting trees during the course of the hike. We always do.

You may have had enough of the scientific talk already, so I’ll leave discussion of the evolution of sitting trees for another time. Maybe I’ll deal with it when I explain my often-felt and  easy-to-explain-with-hard-science urge to climb trees and beckon for the rest of the hearty hikers to join me—an urge that comes to me despite being of an age at which my “bones” can get “mighty tard.”

And how lucky we’ve been, twice now in July, to meet with such glorious skies up here on top of Yanbushi!

Last week the sky had been been painted by Van Gogh. This week it had been painted by somebody else.

Mr. Fuji again. Or Fuji-kun as we outrageous hearty hikers sometimes call him. That guy just hangs and hangs around.

The peak of Yanbushi is famous, this time of the year, for its yanagiran meadow. Here’s a yanagiran.

We saw three or four plants in bloom. Last year, we got up here a couple of weeks too late for the “festival.” This year we were perhaps a week early.  But we were happy enough with the few blooms we did see–and there’s always next year.

Between the peak of Yanbushi and Shinkubo (the point from which the descent down the Landslide Slope begins), we came to the Valley of Life and Death and Life. We didn’t know that we would. It hadn’t been described in any guidebooks or on anyone’s blog.

We took a right-turn detour into the Valley, and what do you know, there were all my “mighty tard” bones lying right there on the ground!

And there was the dead hip bone of the stump-elephant tree . . . with a baby cedar growing right out of the top of it!

And low and behold, there was another tree—never mind what kind—that had died . . . then decided it didn’t want to be dead! At that moment, it had a bit of a dialogue with its roots, sussing out whether they had the strength to carry on, and when they shouted out, Yes! we’d be delighted to!—the tree decided it wasn’t dead anymore . . . and just like that, it wasn’t!

You have to stop and feel amazed.

                                                                 (Totally unknown Shizuoka folk duo)

From the edge of this Valley of Life and Death and Life, we noticed a deer trail up to the ridge (not on most folks’ beaten path. We took it. Having passed through the Valley of Life and Death and Life to get back up on the ridge, how do you think we felt when we saw Mr. Fuji looking like this?

A little bit farther along, we spotted a cluster of yashio trees—my favorite, as you know. What an unexpected joy!

I really, really love these guys.

And we discovered a “redwood” tree that had gotten itself all twisted up trying to find California. But he seemed pretty happy with where he’d ended up.

We stopped to eat at Shinkubo but cut the meal short. For some reason a zip-zippity-zip black creature (like a fly when airborne,  like an acrobatic leech when on land) zeroed in on my exposed flesh, along with 332 of his buddies, but not the flesh of my fellow hearty hiker. (Later, I researched this and confirmed that a zip-zippity-zip black creature’s taste in flesh is totally unrelated to the intui-logi reading of the flesh’s possesser. )

So immediate escape was deemed necessary, and into the strong sun and down the Landslide Slope we plunged.

Here’s what we saw when we began the plunge.

And here’s what we saw when we looked back. (Compare to last week’s picture of the same place if you like.)

And here’s what we looked at to confirm the grade we were slip-slip-sliding down through the loose rock.

Not much shade was to be had, unless you could fit under the shade of the leaf of a berry bush.

And of course, there is always at least one flower you’ve never seen before.

And then the walk along the road, and the hour soaking the bones in the hot spring, and then the road back. The mimosas were in bloom all up and down the river.

Looked lovely from the car.