Southern Japanese Alps Crossing – Day 2

The second day of the crossing of the Southern Alps holds bad surprises and deceptions. Maybe the SAR team on day 1 was right…

The shelter was empty apart from the resident mouse. It was too early to walk in the Southern Alps. However, in the morning, two hikers pass me on their descent, but they don’t stop to chat and I don’t try either. So whether they were successful or whether they were changing, I don’t know. After a few more hours of uphill climbing, the trail finally climbs above the tree line.

The Chausu hut is still closed; only the winter room was open. I skipped Chausu Peak (8,541 feet) and Tekari (8,502 feet), even though it is part of the official Southern Alps hike. The sky is gray and gloomy, and I still didn’t feel like doing 11 miles round trip when my food supplies are at their thinnest (have I learned anything since the PCT? Apparently not).

Maybe I’m lazy too.

From the Chausu shelter, patches of snow cover the road. At first, it was just a harmless case of wet feet. But soon I’m drilling, up to my thighs.

“Okay, we’ll go slower,” I tell myself. Trying to stay calm about the conditions I HAD BEEN WARNED ABOUT, while a little voice says: It will only get worse.

And so it was.

april fool

The Southern Alps traverse heads north toward Kamikouchi (9,194 feet), mostly right on the ridge. At this point, the snow layer was a thick layer that hid the entire trail. I shuffle around and hike as best I can for a while. Branches scratching my bare legs.

But soon I reach a section that seems impassable. Until now, some faint footprints had given me hope (illusion) that this hike would be possible. But now there is no trace of human travel. Just a steep slope of unstable snow surrounded by cliffs.

“It’s not my first rodeo,” I say, remembering Forrester Pass in the Sierra Nevada a few years ago. But back then there was a boot pack on the other side of the parachute, and now I would have to create my own. I try to take a step in the snow and it crumbles under my weight. Small boulders of accumulated snow roll down a ravine that promises broken bones at the worst. My heart sinks.

Plan B. My eyes carefully scan the cliffs, assessing the snow, measuring loose gravel and rocks to hold on to. “It seems steeper than it is,” I whisper, sounding more like the defensive hiss of a cornered animal. But when I tried to climb it, it was much steeper than it looked, and after sliding a few feet, I quickly backtracked to the last stretch of dry trail.

This is. I have to turn around.

What would the pineapple do?

I bite the dry skin of my chapped lips. What are my options?

I could stay another night in one of the cabins I passed, read my book, cook, and make this attempt to cross the Southern Alps seem less like a failure. Great news, even, I would no longer have to ration food and I could devour my entire bag of food. Go back to Shizuoka, take a shower, and take a bus to Hokuto. C’est la vie.

I look at the road ahead once more. This is my limit then; This is the most fear and danger I can handle.

“Really, Pinecone?”, the name of my PCT route rings mockingly in my ears. Is this all I have?

Did I give this mountain everything I have today? Maybe the girl that I am is too scared to move on. But the woman I want to be wouldn’t do it.

I take another step towards the crumbly white. This time, I kick him deep and wide. I take my time creating a small plateau to hold one foot on.

Carefully, I put weight on it until my other foot was suspended in the air. It remains, for now. I dig my poles into the snow and take another step.

Little by little I am crossing the slope. I only try to move forward when I’m sure I have a firm grip. Forrester Pass has nothing on this. Halfway up the slope becomes almost vertical. At least that’s how it feels.

I swallow hard and panic rises in my chest. ANYTHING, sing, cry, scream, but you CAN’T panic.

A taste of WHAT THE SHIT

When I put both feet back on the dry road, I’m waiting for the wave of relief. But the annoying voice has returned, wondering what awaits us and doubting whether continuing the crossing of the Southern Alps is the right decision.

My gaze is directed to the horizon, to what awaits me ahead. Hand on heart while no one’s looking: Mount Hijiri in the distance looks fucking scary, and it’s not even the highest point of the Southern Alps Traverse.

Day 2 continues as an antics of glissading, scrambling and postholing. I could already see the red roof of the midday rest hut, but my pace is so slow that it would still take me hours to get there.

A cold gust stings my face; The air feels crisp. Draining every ounce of energy from my body. Finally, I stop to put on my waterproof pants and base layers in an attempt to stay warm. In addition to the cold, a strange headache presses on my temples.

I won’t get very far today; The midday hut is the end of my day. I’m already late.

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