Some facts. October 21. A two-day hike up and down Mt. Kobushi (2475 m) from Mokidaira (1433 meters). Distance going up along the Chikuma River, about 7 km, coming down via Mt. Sampo and Mt. Oyama, a bit farther. The trailhead, by car from Shizuoka, about three hours.

The Chikuma Trail is maybe the easiest trail I’ve walked going up any of the “Famous 100 Mountains of Japan.” It only took us about 4 hours to the top, and that was with me taking 634 pictures—and a leisurely lunch.

The trail takes you past the headwaters of the Chikuma River, known downstream as the Shinano River—the longest river in Japan. 

So here you are. Last week you were in the Alps hoping to see the yellow larches up against a blue sky—but the skies were overcast.

Now you’ve crossed the parking lot and stepped onto the mountain trail—and the skies . . . well, not a hint of grey anywhere.

You can feel yourself stepping into another world, into a world of color, into a big warm room filled with love.

Yes, yes, you don’t think about it—your lips just do curl up.

You come to a shrine. Right on the trail.

Inside you meet Jizo-san. He’s about 10 cm tall. But it doesn’t matter how tall he is. It only matters the expression on his face. What a sweet, comforting compassionate fellow he is! How at ease he makes you feel. You put your hands together. You hope maybe, somehow, that you can repay the favor. Sometime, somehow.

And this day you feel truly blessed.

Because this day you can believe that each and every one of the beautiful leaves is a little Jizo-san.

A symphony of comfort and compassion in yellow, blue, red, and orange.

The river rolls on . . . water so pure.

You can’t help it. You feel giddy.

You can see a young girl sitting at a piano, all nerves. You can remember how you loved the tears that welled in your eyes.
Maybe you’ll even see that girl turn a cartwheel twirl.

And it’s all right to feel joy.
It’d be hard not to.
You’ve felt the light through the trees . . .

. . . and primary colors are the most primary matters.

And yes, it’s true each leaf has its own voice. A Jizo’s voice.
Recognize each leaf’s equal worth—and everything becomes easier. Everything  begins to make sense.
And the river rolls on.

If you come to a stack of rocks, go ahead and put one on yourself. It might be a light for the next person who comes along.

Up,  up you go—but you’re amazed by how gentle the trail seems today.

And up ahead. What’s that?

Why it’s the larch tree/blue sky combo you were looking for last week!

You pass the headwaters, the trail turns up into a fir forest, but you haven’t got much farther to go. Before you know it you’re on the ridge . . .

. . . and you’ve got a completely different view.
And there you are on the summit!

Otsukaresama deshita.

The obelisk atop Mt. Jizo, one of the three peaks comprising Mt. Ho-o-san-zan, in the southern Alps.

October 13th.

Ho-o-san-zan.

We started our hike at Aoki Kosen Onsen, a little under three hours from Shizuoka City by car.  The last thirty minutes of the drive was along  a sometimes dirt road that was sometimes a dirt road with a lot of potholes and ruts. Unless you have a 4-wheel drive, high-sitting vehicle, go slow.

We Hearty Hikers had known the fall colors would be lovely, and we’d tried to wait for a blue-sky day, but the weather, especially in the mountains, is difficult to predict, and after an hour or two of walking and hoping that the mist would blow off, we accepted the fact that the day was meant to be grey—and shifted gears mentally. We reminded ourselves that a grey day has its own beauty.

Of course, it helped to hum to ourselves those lyrics of NDuaDuo:

Grey is our play / On a day like today / Grey is just grey / As we go on our way.

And the grey was beautiful—and we could, as NDuaDuo suggests, “recognize a fallen leaf’s equal worth.”

The guidebook said it was a six-hour walk up to the Ho-o-san-zan Lodge, but it only took us about five. Sometimes our times are right about at what the book says is average, and sometimes not—and it’s all fairly random . . . all to say that posted times serve as a rough estimate at best.

The climb from the onsen to the summit of the first peak, Mt. Jizo, takes you up about 1700 meters, so it’s a pretty good haul.

There are a lot of waterfalls along the way, all very lovely, though on this day the mist made it difficult to get a clear picture.

Up, up we went.

The lodge is situated at 2382 meters. As you approach it, you move into the area that the larch trees like.

They are magnificent.

We had a quick lunch at the lodge, then set off on the final kilometer, in distance, to the top of Mt. Jizo.

The first half of this last kilometer is still in the woods and not so, so steep, but once you’re out of the woods and onto the sandy slope, it gets steep indeed. Overall, that last 1 km of walking rises about 400 meters.

I think the body language explains it pretty well. A tough thirty minutes.

I got myself plum tuckered out.

Half of the Hearty Hiking team, though, did just fine—had energy to spare.

The rocks, in the photo above, comprise the Mt. Jizo summit, at 2764 meters. Some say the obelisk is shaped like a bird’s beak, and thus the three-peak range was named Ho-o, the “Phoenix” Mountain. The obelisk is also said to be shaped like a Jizo, and thus the name Mt. Jizo . . .

. . . and that also helps explain the large  number of Jizo statues on the top.

What’s a Jizo? Here’s a quotation from a book I’m writing now. The narrator is not any sort of expert on religion or Buddhism, but his description is fairly straightforward, easy to understand, an not too inaccurate, I think.

A Jizo is a bodhisattva—that is, a Buddha in the making. But she, or he, has chosen freely (using her or his very own free will) to postpone the final leg of her spiritual journey in order to offer comfort and support to those souls struggling here in this earthly vale of tears. She especially takes pride in protecting children—and has an even more special interest in looking out for children who have been lost in childbirth or miscarriages. Basically, though, she, or he, is looking out for everyone. You’ll find her representation all over Japan, but primarily in Buddhist temples.

. . . If you tried to describe the appearance of the majority of Jizo statues with a single word, I think you’d have to choose ROUND.

These Jizo statues make me very happy. I do feel like their spirits are looking out for me—and they make me want to look out for others.

Some of you know, I’ve got a Jizo in my back yard.

And in the book I’m writing now, the Jizo at Enkoji Temple in Kyoto and the Jizo at the Mt. Aozasa trailhead make cameo appearances.

Just below the rocky summit with its couple dozen jizos, just down from the larches . . .

. . . very beautiful larches . . .

. . . down in a sandy field . . . is an entire village of Jizos.

They are watching out for all of us.

Under blue skies. Under grey. Always.

We walked back down and spent the night in the lodge. The next morning, we climbed back up, about an hour, along a different trail, and hit the ridge about a 45-minutes walk past Mt. Jizo.  In the above photo, we’re looking back toward Mt. Jizo.

Larches just below the Mt. Jizo summit.

Once we were back on the ridge, it was another hour or so to the top of Mt. Kannon, the highest point on Ho-o-san-zan, at 2841 meters.

It was snowing much of the time. 

And absolutely lovely all the time.

From Mt. Kannon to Mt. Yakushi, it’s an easy and beautiful walk, slightly downhill. The top of Mt. Yakushi is at 2780 meters.

Sometimes, on a grey day, if the sun works its way partially out from the mist, you’ll see a rainbow.
That’ll make you feel pretty good as you zero in on Mt. Yakushi.

Then it’s four hours down through the woods.
NDuaDuo: When your eyes are on the ground / There really is so much to be found. 

Wouldn’t you know it. Get back in the car and drive thirty minutes and you’re back in the land of blue skies. We were sitting out on the porch of the Nirisaki Asahi Hot Springs (carbinated water) when I took the picture below.