Some hikers hate it, others love it, but it’s hard to hike without: hitchhiking. Add in an immense language (and sometimes cultural) barrier and suddenly getting into the bed of a truck to get from A to B becomes its own adventure. During the hikes in Japan, days 4 and 5 in bear country, apart from the cabin, as in, spoiler, a really beautiful cabin, nothing exciting happened.
Drinks at the trailhead
The brightly lit windows of the drying room watch me from the darkness like a pair of watchful eyes. However, there are no signs of life in the small guesthouse located just at the foot of the mountain: no footsteps, no voices, no movement. A handful of brightly colored jackets; The hikers still sleep in their beds. I’ll have the mountain to myself, if I hurry.
Even up here, a two-hour walk from the nearest road, there is one: a vending machine. Of course. After all, this is Japan, where you find them in the most unexpected places. The selection? Classics: Pepsi, soft drinks, juices, two types of canned coffee, water. Its lights flicker, blinking at me with silent temptation.
«Okay then,» finally relenting. I reach into my pocket, fingers brushing against the reassuring jingle of coins, as the machine waits patiently for my choice. Dawn is quickly approaching and the ink of the night sky fades into shades of charcoal and slate.
Race against the sun
Dawn comes fast, too fast. Because Japan is much further south than anywhere else I’ve hiked, the sun rises over the peaks much earlier than I’m used to in April. Or I’m too slow.
Mount Mimata rises to my right and Mount Nakadake, at 5,876 feet, to my left; the latter is the highest peak of the Kuju mountain range. I spent the third day of my Kyushu trek hiding in the camp’s small shelter as the rain poured down, pooling puddles that continued to grow by the hour. A good opportunity to finish “Farther” by Anish (one of my favorite writers), listen to music and try to make friends with that other lonely hiker who showed up in the afternoon, soaked and with a small puddle forming at his feet while muttering “Sumimasen”.
And patience had its reward: today we return to the blue sky and the sun.
How long would you wait for a problem?
After descending from Makinoto Pass, I find myself in a bind: take a horrible hike or break up my connected trail through Kyushu and hitchhike.
442 is a busy highway that passes through Taketa, where I planned to resupply before tackling my next mountain: Mount Sobo.
There are two types of hitchhikers: those who go by time and those who go by number of cars. You either say “I’ll stick my thumb out for 15” minutes or “I’ll stick my thumb out for the next 23 cars that pass by.”
What is the longest I have waited for a problem? 2 hours, on the PCT, as it got dark at Steven’s Pass in Washington.
Look at me donut man
There are 3 components to hitchhiking besides luck:
1. It seems as harmless as possible
2. Schedule (daylight and people going to work probably won’t accept it).
3. Location (be visible, stand where it’s easy to stop and cars don’t go fast)
I have the harmless part nailed (I think) and it’s 1:00 p.m. I walk down the road to a gravel pullout. On the other side, a man sells fresh donuts from his food truck. Her apron is covered in powdered sugar and she looks at me curiously. I wave and turn onto the road, waiting for the light to turn green. As the cars slowly move toward me, I stick out my thumb.
I can feel his eyes on me. I can feel the drivers eyes on me. Hitchhiking is being vulnerable in public. Standing in broad daylight, asking for help, for a ride. Exposed to the one thing most of us avoid like the plague: rejection.
You can’t hitchhike in Japan
The first car approaches: two young, dark-haired men in a sleek, brand new rental car. We look into each other’s eyes, the corners of my mouth pull up into a confident smile, my head tilts a little to the right, and then…
Gravel crunches under the tires. They stopped, the first car stopped!
They won’t roll down the window, so I open the back door and approach them in English. They speak Japanese. I show them Taketa on the map and they nod. After getting into the back seat, I said goodbye to Donut Man.
Nena is singing “99 Luftballons” when they drop me off at Taketa. I don’t think the two men even went to Taketa.
Later that day I was trying to hitchhike again. Trying to get to the trailhead to climb Mount Sobo. Again, the first car stopped, and when the lady asked me where I was going, she simply nodded and took me to the trailhead, then got out of the car to point me in the right direction.
You can’t hitchhike in Japan because the Japanese are so willing to go out of their way to help you, they just take you wherever you need to go (in my experience) (let’s see if this streak continues) (I hope I haven’t cursed him now).
Mount Sobo – the end
My last big goal for this hike is Mount Sobo, one of the “100 Famous Japanese Mountains,” located at a gentle elevation of 1756 m / 5761 ft. But the climb is 4022 feet. And none of them are rewarded with any kind of view, just endless switchbacks through the bare forest. (It’s giving off AT vibes, I know, I know.)
After two days of freezing rain, sweat is dripping from my temples and I’m starting to doubt whether it’s really worth it. At the junction where the summit trail splits, I drop my pack with relief (not my best decision in bear country) and run up the small trail to the top of Mount Sobo. Boy, oh boy.
It’s worth it? More than worth it. 360 degree views, Kyushu stretching out around me, decorated by the craziest cloud inversion I’ve ever seen from Mount Elbert off the CDT. A chilly breeze reminds me that my jacket is still in my backpack. I wrap my arms around myself, jumping up and down to keep warm, taking in the view until my teeth won’t stop chattering.
P*rn cabin (excuse my language)
A rare talent: finding good places simply by scrolling through Google Maps. That’s how I found this beautiful cabin. Solar power, compost toilet, several bedrooms (including one for early risers), a charging socket, a Bluetooth speaker and a small kitchen with a wood stove. The hiker’s paradise.
In Europe, many cabins have a “winter room” that opens out of season for shelter. Unfortunately, in recent years they have been frequently vandalized. Finding this entire cabin in such perfect condition (with a donation box inside) baffles my European brain once again.
I can hear the grass grow
After some coffee at dawn (sometimes I sacrifice being ultralight in favor of drip coffee… I’m a girl too), I begin the descent on the other side. While the curves were hard work, this route included multiple ladders, chains, and ropes. Japan doesn’t mess around with its trails and I’m here for it.
When the trail leads me to the road where I wanted to hitchhike, my plan quickly becomes reality. Not only is there no traffic. The road is so overgrown that there never seems to be any traffic.
“Shit,” I quickly review plan B: it would be a “nice” 20-mile road hike.
Defeated, I walk toward a patch of grass when I see a sun-faded bus schedule that’s barely readable. 2020. This has not been updated in 6 years.
“Well, 6 years ago, there was one bus a day and it passed in 20 minutes.”
Not that I had anything better to do than wait 20 minutes.
I don’t think the bus driver has ever seen anyone jump with such excitement while slowly maneuvering around the corner of the steep mountain road. It looks about 100 years old, but it instantly matches my enthusiasm when I climb up. We can’t figure out where he’s going or where I want to go, but after hands and feet and pointing at my map and many apologetic smiles, I realize: it doesn’t matter. He’s going somewhere, and somewhere is where I need to be.
Until next time, Kyushu.
There is still much more to see in Kyushu and surely, with better preparation, you could find a more sensible route across the island. But for now I’ll leave it. Hiking adventures will continue on the mainland at the end of April.
