Pathway to Japanese Literature

Nishiyama Hot Springs

Beside my ear there suddenly roared a mountain stream’s torrential downpour-like sound.
When I opened my eyes, dawn’s faint glow leaked through gaps in haphazardly closed storm shutters and shone brightly upon newly papered shoji screens.
A single shade-loving butterfly – having apparently strayed inside during the night – perched visibly on a screen frame.
From some indeterminate source drifted a faint hot spring aroma.
I rose quietly and looked outside.
Across Yukawa River’s valley shrouded in white mist, mountain lilies stood starkly white amidst lush green foliage on the opposite bank.
At intervals through the valley sky echoed cuckoo calls – undimmed by rushing water’s roar.

I went down to wash my face and entered the hot spring.
The hot water gushed forth from beneath a high rock wall; one portion was channeled into the house, while another remained pooled in rock-hewn basins.
A hot waterfall had also been constructed.
As I soaked motionless under its spray, shoulders pummeled by the falling water, I already felt as though considerable time had passed since entering the mountains.
However, in reality, it had been only yesterday that we departed Kajikazawa in attendance on Prince Asaka and arrived at this Nishiyama Hot Springs—one of the trailheads into the Southern Alps.
A significant change in environment serves to make the passage of time appear much longer.
The party in attendance on His Highness consisted of Major Fujioka, the military aide-de-camp; Asano, an official from the Imperial Household Ministry attached to the princely household; Mr. Yamada, the photographer; Maki; and myself. In addition, Lieutenant Itō of the military pigeon research committee participated, bringing eight carrier pigeons.
From Yamanashi Prefectural Office came four officials in attendance: Principal Ishizuka of Tsuru Middle School, Dr. Kashima, Assistant Inspector Maruyama, and Constable Saiki. Even when combined with Mr. Ōtō—special correspondent for *The Tokyo Asahi*—and Mr. Moriyama of *The Hōchi*, the party numbered no more than twelve; however, requiring nearly forty porters even after dismissing some en route, the expedition’s total count exceeded fifty.
I believe such a large mountaineering party entering the Southern Alps was likely unprecedented.

In Kajikazawa, Konya served as the royal inn.
When His Highness arrived around 2:00 PM on July 19th, not only his attendants—as went without saying—but also newspaper and wire service correspondents found it convenient to lodge at this house for every occasion, so that every room downstairs became fully occupied in an instant.
Perhaps because many people still went out shopping even at night, the town was somehow abuzz with activity.

On July 20th, from early morning, the front of Konya bustled with townspeople and local residents who had come to see off His Highness’s departure.
For His Highness’s use, the Yamanashi Prefectural Office had specially prepared a sturdy chestnut steed; unwilling to render their goodwill futile, His Highness did not let even his straw sandal-clad footgear restrict him, and mounting it, he departed Konya at 6:40 AM.

The weather stabilized into ideal conditions for mountaineering—making it intensely hot from early morning.
Passing through Kisosawa, His Highness arrived at Myōhō-ji Temple in Komuro around 7:30 AM.
This temple was so renowned it was called “Little Minobu,” an impressive structure indeed.
It bore the name Mount Tokuei, with a plaque inscribed “Hekihō Peak” in bold characters hanging at its mountain gate.
Long designated as a resting place, it had tea and sweets prepared.
Moreover, acceding to the temple’s request, His Highness rested briefly before planting a commemorative larch tree and departing at 8:15 AM.

From here, passing through Yagawa Village to Summit Teahouse involved a continuous 900-meter ascent.
They endured the scorching sun on their backs as they gasped up the long mountain pass—a sweltering ordeal along a windless trail with scant shade.
Sweat poured ceaselessly, leaving everyone’s faces flushed and steaming.
Throats parched, yet there was no water.
When they reached Yagawa Village, a mountain stream finally flowed there.
The villagers likely used that water for drinking, as no other wells could be found.
Though lukewarm and unpleasant, all drank it to quench their thirst.
Unfortunately, I was struck by it—the injury to my intestines plagued me until nearly journey’s end—a memory that still fills me with resentment.

His Highness dismounted from his horse at Yagawa and, while engaging in cheerful conversation with those around him, vigorously climbed the steep slope on foot.
Wishing to quickly reach the summit and rest in a cool place, everyone followed closely behind His Highness's footsteps to avoid falling behind.
They arrived at the Summit Teahouse at eleven o'clock.
It had taken only about three and a half hours from Kajikazawa, so it was not particularly late.
From His Highness, they promptly received one bottle each of soda chilled in cold water and had them for lunch.
Along the roadside near the summit on their way, there was a cluster of white-flowered snake strawberries, and with no one to pick them, countless red-ripe berries peeked out from beneath the leaves.
For those who had once tasted them, it would have been impossible to pass by without plucking some.
After the meal, they retraced their steps, selected fifty or sixty of the largest berries from among them, and presented them to His Highness. Delighted beyond measure—for His Highness had a particular fondness for mountain delicacies—he remarked, "These have an excellent flavor," and inquired, "Might there be other places where these grow?"
Recalling that when I had accompanied Mr. Takeda, we had gathered and eaten some near the Byōbu Hut, I humbly provided that information.
On the 26th, while descending from Mount Komagatake, we carefully searched that area and found plants but not a single fruit.
There were many climbers in that area, so it seemed they had all been picked by someone.
When I reported this circumstance, His Highness smiled and said, "That is regrettable."

Standing before the teahouse gazing eastward where the view opened up—only here and there could one glimpse sunlight catching on Fujikawa River’s flow far below—cumulus clouds swelled upward across an afternoon sky already shrouding all mountains from Fujikawa River through Mitsuzaka Range to Tenzan Mountains.
As time passed clouds rolled like swirling mist from Mount Genji ahead; sunlight dimmed bringing faint chill.
The clouds thickened further showing signs of imminent drizzle though still early for scheduled rest—yet His Highness voiced agreement: “Well then let us set out.”

The one-and-a-half-*ri* stretch between Summit Teahouse and the next Ame-no-Chaya was a steep uphill path along the southern side of the ridge. At 1:20 PM, His Highness arrived at the teahouse. He took a rest while waiting for those who had fallen behind. I recalled this teahouse originally being located about half a *ri* west of here, at the fork leading to Ike-no-Chaya; upon inquiring, we learned it had been moved to this spot last year. As this place stood 400 meters higher than Summit Teahouse, it must have been the true summit of the long pass. From there, it was all downhill—first following a gentle slope westward along the mountainside for about thirty minutes, then plunging down 500 meters in one breath to cross the upper reaches of Senjō Valley. Once across, the path followed the valley in a wide detour around the mountain’s spur. The slope was gentle but monotonously long to the point of tedium. Taking advantage of having heard His Highness’s account of last year’s journey through the Northern Alps—which he had graciously climbed—I recalled the bear cub kept at Tateyama Hot Springs that had been intended for presentation to him at the time, and inquired, “What became of it?” To this, His Highness replied, “I declined that offer.” The pass crossing from Kajikazawa to Nishiyama had simply been called Ōtōge (Great Pass), but His Highness graciously bestowed upon it the name Ashinare-tōge (Familiarized Pass) at Governor Ōta’s request.

Thus, His Highness arrived at Nishiyama Hot Springs at 4:50 PM.

Ascending Hirokawauchi

The party departed Nishiyama Hot Springs at 6:30 AM on July 21st.
The morning sun’s rays illuminated the mid-slopes of the Shirakane Mountain Range, its peaks towering overhead along the western bank of the Hayakawa River.
However, in the low valley shaped like a V-shaped trough, winds descending from upstream felt chillingly cool against skin still warm from the hot spring’s lingering heat.
At Yukawa’s riverbed below the hot spring, porters prepared luggage while waiting.
His Highness donned prearranged mountaineering boots, placed both camera and lunch into his backpack, and shouldered it himself.
They proceeded upstream along Hayakawa’s left bank, ascending and descending rugged heights.
After an hour’s walk through groves, fields unfurled before them with Naraida’s houses lying low beyond.
Elementary pupils and reservists lined the roadside, bowing as His Highness passed.
At the village entrance stood a small shrine said to enshrine Naraō.
His Highness paid shrine respects before resting briefly in an adjacent tent.

●Nishiyama Hot Springs

They diverged from the Naraida-Ashizuru route and crossed the wire suspension bridge spanning the Hayakawa River.
The bridge was quite long, swaying considerably.
Moreover, since many in the party were crossing a suspension bridge for the first time, various comedic mishaps unfolded midway.
At this, His Highness doubled over with laughter.
Once across, they rested for over twenty minutes at a rest area near Hirokawauchi’s confluence point on the mountain spur.
With Police Chief Kitada of Kajikazawa, District Governor Ōta of Kitakoma, the mayor of Nishiyama Village, reservists, and press photographers taking their leave here to turn back—just as His Highness had remarked, “Now we can truly feel like we’re mountain climbing”—the party left human settlements behind for the first time, sensing a tranquil ease in being cradled within the mountains’ embrace as their bodies and minds gradually settled into calm.

Rounding the mountain spur to the left, they crossed the bridge over Hirokawauchi—which formed a small gorge stream—passed through rock-strewn fields where soybeans and other crops were cultivated, wove in and out of mixed woodlands, and advanced along a monotonously long path for over two hours.
The sunlight intensified, and sweat poured unceasingly.
Assistant Inspector Maruyama, leading the vanguard, spotted a viper lying by the roadside and struck it dead with a single blow.
Though vipers were said to abound in this area, none were sighted thereafter.

Around 11:30 AM, a small stream flowed down from the right-hand side, and they rested by its bank to have lunch. Maki promptly boiled water with the Ceros stove, brewed tea, and presented it to His Highness. As the morning had been occupied with various tasks, they couldn’t afford to rest for long.

Before long, they crossed to Hirokawauchi’s right bank and turned right to arrive at Ochiai of Kogō. The valley abruptly widened, its expanse strewn with massive boulders in wild disarray—likely remnants of an ancient mountain breakthrough. Ōkago-no-sawa too lay choked with jagged rock debris. With the riverbed now impassable from this point onward, they abruptly scaled three hundred meters up a protruding ridge’s edge before traversing a damp, shadowy forested slope where old-woman lilies grew thickly. Though their roots were said to be edible, there was something unsettling about these plants—their flowers and leaves exuded an uncanny aura. In less than an hour’s time, they emerged at Hirokawauchi once more.

The appearance of the valley had completely changed from downstream—the rugged riverbed now sloped steeply, and amidst large trees felled by landslides that lay tangled like disheveled hair, the water cascaded in a furious torrent. They climbed primarily along the left side where massive rocks were accumulated. They spoke little. The tip of His Highness’s ice axe struck the rocks with a metallic clink-clink. The valley widened slightly and began trending southwest, bringing them to an area of fine sandy soil where river willows grew in dense clumps; through the nearby forest, they could make out the roof of an old hut. This was tonight’s campsite. It was around 5:00 PM.

The large group of porters briskly completed their assigned tasks—setting up tents, preparing meals—all while singing in robust voices.
His Highness, fond of mountain greens, inquired if there was any butterbur, but despite searching the vicinity, none could be found.
The sunset light that had been illuminating the summit of Mount Daitōmatsu overhead vanished abruptly, and as a cold wind began rustling down from upstream, a lively meal commenced around a natural stone table with His Highness in their midst.
The muscles of everyone’s faces, illuminated by the campfire, moved with a pleasant vividness.

Tonight, I had the honor of being allowed to stay in His Highness’s tent.

First Pigeon Dispatch from the Snow Valley

The narrow upper reaches of Hirokawauchi’s sky shifted from pale crimson to watery blue-green as dawn broke.
The porters had long since risen and were busily preparing for the morning.
Downstream in the valley, beyond Hatayama’s peak, Mount Fuji—unseen the day before—revealed its graceful form above layers of horizontal clouds.

They dearly hoped to cross Mount Nōtori today as planned and reach its col with Mount Ainodake.
Otherwise they wouldn't secure a good campsite.
They departed around 7:00 AM.
They clambered up a riverbed much like yesterday’s and after three hours reached a point where the valley formed a snowfield.
While it paled in comparison to the great snow valleys of Kenzawa and Shiroumagari，this valley held a remarkable amount of snow for its stature—a nearly ten *chō* (about 1，090 meters) stretch extending before them.
His Highness，perfectly equipped for the snow valley with mountaineering boots and an ice axe，observed his attendants frequently slipping and nearly tumbling down as he cautioned，“Everyone must take care—this is dangerous，” then vigorously ascended the steep snow-covered slope.
The usual exaggerated jokes from Lieutenant Itō，Dr.Kashima，and Special Correspondent Moriyama—who had gained a reputation as the trio of men—prompted not only the entire party but even His Highness to halt in their tracks and burst into laughter.

After lunch came the decision to release carrier pigeons announcing the first dispatch of their ascent. His Highness had these pigeons carry messages to Takanawa Palace, specifically adding instructions for Administrative Officer Kurita to convey congratulations on Prince Yamashina’s marriage.

Lieutenant Itō advanced to the snow valley’s center holding two carrier pigeons fitted with celluloid message tubes on their legs.

“Wait there, Itō—I’ll take your photograph now,” His Highness said as he quickly aimed his camera, prompting his attendants to hurriedly produce their own cameras.

At His Highness’s signal—“Is everyone prepared? Then proceed”—the pigeons were released.

Thick clouds billowed up that instant from Noro River valley to the east, drastically narrowing their visibility.

The pigeons circled overhead two or three times before alighting on a nearby mountain birch.

They drove them off by throwing stones and shouting.

When the pigeons took flight again, they traced a great arc through the air—growing smaller like swallows as they climbed southward—until finally disappearing into cloud cover.

In such mountains, they say pigeons follow river courses to reach flatlands before finding roads homeward.

“This being our first trial in alpine terrain like the Japanese Alps with untrained birds,” Lieutenant Itō remarked, “failure remains possible.”

Yet reports state this pigeon reached Nakano at 8:10 AM on the 23rd—over twenty hours later.

All six subsequently released pigeons reportedly returned intact save those from this dispatch and two final ones from Mount Komagatake’s summit—their message tubes mysteriously lost.

They surmounted Mount Nōtori.

Ōyomogizawa’s cold water fell like a waterfall with a rhythmic patter, pouring into the snow-filled tunnel. Keeping Ōyomogizawa to their right, they continued along the snow valley of Ōmonozawa. Before long, the snow gave out, and the waterless valley became a precarious staircase of loose, crumbling rocks piled in layers. The great ridge of the Shirakane Mountain Range they aimed for showed two or three ochre cliffs ahead—seemingly within reach—but they estimated it would still take at least two more hours to arrive. On the steeply sloped rock folds, delicate alpine flowers—small rock violets, rare bellflowers, and Hakusan lilies—displayed their fragile beauty; yet the rocks proved so brittle that a misstep would instantly crumble their edges, permitting no carelessness. As the valley grew steeper and became impassable, they turned right and climbed in single file through a stretch of short dwarf pines. After climbing, they finally emerged onto a broad, plateau-like ridge top.

The ridge, with its rock fragments laid out like roof tiles, was easy to traverse.
Alpine plants dotted the spaces between them like blue-green moss.
A nearby southern prominence formed by an accumulation of towering rock masses was the 2,891-meter Mount Hirokōchi.
The distant mountains were mostly shrouded in clouds, but the massive forms of Mount Ashio and Mount Shiomi remained unmistakable.
To the west coiled the Tenryū River—a silver serpent coursing south through Ina Basin—while at the extremity of Kiso Komagatake Mountain Range floated Mount Ena: a solitary giant whale adrift in a sea of clouds.
“That there—” At the tip of His Highness’s ice axe glowed Mount Norikura’s twin peaks—translucent purple under backlight.

Waiting for the lagging porters, they began tracing the ridge northward. On the rough surfaces of greywacke and sandstone, blackish lichen clung firmly. Uraishōdō azaleas, kokemomo berries, yellow-flowered rhododendrons, and himesuge sedges—clinging to rock crevices with slender stems—bore undeniably beautiful flowers. The dwarf pines crawled flat against the mountain’s skin, concealing themselves. The mountain ridge finally grew rugged and uneven, and the ascent over utterly rugged rocks continued for some time. On the narrow summit stood a triangulation point marker. This was the 3,026-meter Mount Nōtori.

The mountain’s spine became a desolate wilderness of grass, dwarf pines, and rocks, where ptarmigans with their chicks scurried about busily; then at some point transformed into a narrow ridge lined with cliffs on the right, where they ascended and descended rocky outcrops two or three times.
His Highness, gazing down into the valley from the cliff’s edge, took note of ochre rock cliffs—terrible as gaping wounds where the mountain’s sardonic flesh had slid away to expose its bones—and snow resembling bandages swathing those wounds, then remarked almost to himself, “This is magnificent.”

After crossing a peak higher than the triangulation point, the ridge pointed northward, descending over two hundred meters in one breath before reaching a boat-shaped hollow.
One hollow gave way to another.
In one such hollow—a somewhat spacious grassland where alpine plants like Chishima bellflowers, rare mountain blooms, alpine edelweiss, yellow mountain anemones, and delicate orchids were in full bloom—His Highness’s tent was pitched.

The cumulonimbus clouds billowing up in the western sky shone with edges like silver rims under the setting sun, but from around sunset onward, they frequently saw flashes of lightning.
However, the evening shower never came.
Since they had to melt snow for water, cooking took considerable time and effort.
Mr. Hiraga, who had been awaiting His Highness’s arrival at Mount Nōtori, presented a young rabbit he had caught along the way.
By His Highness’s preference, it was added to miso soup, and the resulting rabbit stew became an unexpected delicacy.

Tonight, Mr. Maki was permitted to stay in His Highness’s tent.

From Mount Ainodake to the Noro River

They welcomed the morning of July 23rd with restless awakenings.
The cold likely played its part too—but an indescribable anticipation had left their eyes sharpened through sleepless hours.
When they stepped outside,the grassland glistened dew-drenched like water-splashed earth,the tips of their toes prickling as though treading needles.
The sky where dawn broke now burned gold-brown,sunrise still fresh.
Others emerged too,gathering eastward gazes.
None appeared well-rested alike.
A thin mist hung low,dividing Fuji—bellflower purple crowning its peak,aquamarine lapping its base.
Crimson bled across eastern horizons until Phoenix Range’s far right edge clarified translucent pink,brightening by moments.
Mr.Yamada scrambled setting tripod legs.
His Highness rose unbeknownst,camera gripped like others’,eyes riveted eastward.
“Yamada—sound readiness,”he commanded.
Vermilion slashed sudden—arc becoming semicircle yet ray-less still.
One breathless instant taut.
At Yamada’s “Ready!” shutters snapped chorus-like.
I exhaled relief,surveying surroundings.
Fuji’s sunlit half radiated violet first—then Ainodake,Nōtoridake—every peak near-far bowed piously,holy light bathing brows.

From the campsite to the summit of Mount Ainodake was a journey of approximately one and a half hours.
Traversing through dwarf pines and grasses, they crossed two or three gentle, hill-like outcrops and emerged directly beneath Mount Ainodake.
From there, they proceeded to climb straight up the rocks toward the summit.
Taking a break at a spot with remaining snow along the way, they arrived at the summit around 8:30 AM.
The summit was relatively wide, with alpine plants now in full bloom around the triangulation point—deep mountain sedges, mountain globeflowers, rock azaleas, white-horse yellows, Hakusan lilies, and alpine seaweorts—their reds, whites, yellows, and purples intermingling in a vibrant contest of hues.
To the east and north lay long snow fields, over which the restless hands of white mist already crept and swirled.

His Highness, without even taking a break, had the luggage placed here and departed for Mount Kitadake with a party of six.
As my stomach had become slightly unsettled, I received His Highness’s permission to wait here instead. After finishing an early lunch, I informed the porters descending to the Noro River of tonight’s campsite location and instructed them to come meet us partway once preparations were complete, sending them ahead first.

The sultry, stormy weather saw clouds growing thicker from around noon.
Mount Kitadake, presenting a sharp pyramidal form as it tilted eastward while towering, and Mount Senjōgatake, which had spread its roots deep into the Noro River’s recesses—both would appear and disappear with the passing clouds, though gradually the periods of concealment grew longer.
Mr. Yamada (Photographer), who had arrived late, was utterly engrossed in capturing shots here and there, enthralled by the marvels of the mountainscapes that transformed in tandem with the shifting clouds.

Suddenly, the sound of distant thunder resounded from nowhere.
Startled, I looked around in all directions. To the west and south, ink-black storm clouds—as if splashed with pitch—boiled upward, their mass seemingly advancing toward us. But after a moment, they veered northward. Before one could register the first or second violent thunderclaps near Mount Senjōgatake, large raindrops pattered down.
Above the Noro River valley, the rain curtain smoked white but dissolved in the dry air before reaching the ground, leaving the valley floor bright.
Since neither His Highness—needless to say—nor any member of the Party had brought rain gear, they worried it might start pouring; however, as the thunderstorm fortunately moved northeastward, they were finally able to feel relieved.

His Highness's party returned at 3:00 PM.
The round trip had taken six hours.

Major Fujioka, the military aide-de-camp, recounted to me: “As this was the highest mountain we climbed on the expedition, at Mount Kitadake’s summit, His Highness led us in three cheers of ‘Banzai!’”
His Highness expressed his satisfaction, saying, “Ishizuka said it would take seven hours, so I was concerned, but we achieved surprisingly good results.” He then rewarded the party and sat down in a grassland slightly west of the summit, where he rested for about twenty minutes.

From an area near the border of Kai, Shinano, and Suruga provinces, they began their abrupt descent into the Noro River valley, traversing a precarious rocky ridge with poor footing. This place had hardly retained its original form, but one could infer from the surrounding features that it had been a single cirque. As they descended, the valley grew steeper, and several small waterfalls came into view. After descending for about an hour, they encountered a snow valley that filled the entire gorge—stretching on for several hundred meters. Large mountain birches and white firs lay broken or uprooted with their roots exposed, buried in the snow. This must have been where a large avalanche had swept through. They emerged onto an old gun emplacement site; below it on the wide riverbed, tents stood neatly and tautly pitched. Because they had cut and cleared mugwort to create a thick underlayer, it felt soft and springy. Around the campfire stood over a dozen char nearly a foot long skewered on sticks. With water plentifully available, they washed their faces and limbs, wiped down their bodies, and felt refreshed for the first time in days.

His Highness remarked that today’s journey had been richly varied and most enjoyable, and the party were utterly astonished by His Highness’s physical stamina.

During dinner, as I was cooking and eating porridge alone due to my unsettled stomach, His Highness graciously bestowed upon me a portion of his medicinal wine.
This was a gesture of truly profound reverence.

From Mount Senjōgatake to Mount Komagatake

On the morning of the 24th, awakened by the cheerful calls of Japanese robins and accompanied by the warbling song of bush warblers, the party departed the campsite shortly after 6:00 AM.
After descending a little over ten chō along the river, they turned left and ascended a small stream, reaching the summit of the Kōshin Border Mountain Range at 8:30.
“Splendid progress—perhaps we should set up a rest.”
When His Highness spoke, Dr. Kashima—as if he’d been waiting impatiently for the words to hang in the air—immediately let out an absurdly shrill “Thank youuu!” which never failed to make everyone laugh.
“Ippondateru” refers to resting while standing by propping a pole beneath one’s backpack—a term used by Shinshū porters—but His Highness had them demonstrate the technique.

From there, they pushed through a white fir forest so densely clustered that even at noon it seemed dark, tracing northward along the long ridge extending toward Mount Senjōgatake.
After about an hour of effort, they emerged from the forest belt and came out onto a rocky peak covered with dwarf pines.
To the north loomed Mount Senjōgatake in all its grandeur, while before them gaped the cirque-like depression of Ōsenjōsawa like a colossal maw.
To its left, the serried peaks of Yarigatake-Hodaka jut forth like silver arrows from the distant edge of the sky.
Following Kasagatake, Yakedake, and Norikuradake, the vast Kiso-Komayama mountain range spread out like a deep indigo curtain, its peculiar transverse valleys studded with sharply glinting snow.
To the right of Mount Senjōgatake rose the snow-crowned peak of Mount Komagatake; towering even higher were the massive forms of Mount Kitadake and Mount Ainodake, while to the south, Mount Shiomidake thrust up its shattered rock dome.
When I peered beneath my feet, there lay a sheer cliff several dozen fathoms high, buried in dwarf pines.

From there, following what appeared as wave-like traces of human footprints imprinted upon the persistent sea of dwarf pines, they finally managed to traverse it after over four hours.
Next, they climbed the steep slope of loose rocks at Maesenjō, and while pausing to catch their breath partway up, encountered thirteen or fourteen middle school students descending under staff guidance from above.
His Highness summoned the staff members for an audience and conducted various inquiries.
Then His Highness called the students closer and good-naturedly allowed himself to be surrounded by their cameras. With a gracious smile playing about his lips, he remarked in jest, “Take good care of it now.”
The group of students gave three cheers of “Banzai” for His Highness before parting ways.

They reached Mount Senjōgatake's summit around three o'clock in the afternoon. Here they took commemorative photographs centered on His Highness, relished slices of received yōkan, then advanced northeast along the narrow border ridge sculpted by two cirques and a cirque-like depression from all sides. After two and a half hours' progress, they successfully descended to Kitazawa - tonight's designated campsite.

The porters who had descended Noro River earlier that morning pitched tents on an expansive sandy area upstream from Kitazawa's grimy hut ruins, completing encampment preparations. A dozen foot-long char caught en route sizzled over flames as before. With this being their final camping night, elaborate dishes matching His Highness's tastes were arranged; long after dinner ended, animated talk persisted around crackling fires until late hours.

The following day, July 25th, dawned to a lively chorus of bush warblers, Japanese robins, and finches singing at daybreak.
At 7:00 AM, they departed the Kitazawa campsite, followed the stream to Sensui Pass, passed through Komatsu-dake, and reached the summit of Mount Komagatake by 11:00 AM.
Upstream in Kitazawa, bullfinches were chirping incessantly within the dark grove of trees.
I recalled how once here, someone had seized the hanging nest a hawk had captured.
Under clear skies, the sunlight blazed intensely from morning onward.
When they reached the top of the pass, the forest ended, and slopes piled with pitch-black crumbled rocks appeared to both the right and left.
At the Marishiten Great Rock Wall that they gazed up at from the pass, even His Highness stood momentarily captivated, murmuring “Magnificent!”
The stretch ahead toward Mount Komatsu-dake’s summit had originally been quite arduous to ascend due to dense dwarf pines, but with some sections now cleared, the climb had become somewhat easier.
At Mount Komatsu-dake, over twenty members of a youth group who had climbed from Shinshū Todai awaited His Highness.
His Highness later laughed, remarking, “They must have wanted to see what manner I adopt when climbing mountains.”
The southern face of Mount Komagatake bristled with massive granite blocks colloquially called *Roppōseki*—hexagonal stones—their snow-like whiteness so striking that the peak bore the epithet White Collapse Mountain.
This ascent proved particularly grueling, yet to His Highness, such terrain seemed all the more to his liking.

As His Highness was scheduled to stay at Nanajō Hut tonight—and with ample time remaining—there was no need whatsoever to hurry.
Thus it was decided they would take a leisurely rest at the summit of Mount Komagatake.
Having climbed a steep slope under the midday sun, everyone’s throats were utterly parched; their minds must have been filled with thoughts of water.
His Highness bestowed upon us the water from his canteen, but that too soon ran out.
At that moment Mizuishi Harukichi came climbing up from Orenzawa, cradling a cypress-bark hat heaped mountain-high with snow.
Everyone broke into cheers.
Day after day Harukichi had shouldered those bulky pigeon cages, tending to the birds even when others rested, scarcely finding a moment’s respite—but there, with the final two pigeons released and relief washing over him at last, he must have anticipated everyone’s thirst, dashing off to fetch snow before anyone could ask.
He was bestowed a box of caramels as a reward from His Highness.
After lunch His Highness gazed endlessly at the surrounding vistas, climbed the massive boulder at the summit where cameras surrounded him from all sides, then wandered about the mountaintop with no particular destination.
I had hoped to gather alpine rock plants for His Highness’s gracious tasting but regrettably failed to find any of suitable quality.
With His Highness at the center, the entire party took another commemorative photograph.

Around 1:00 PM, beer—presumably from the prefecture—was presented to His Highness.
His Highness never partook of any item—be it drink, fruit, or otherwise—unless it could be distributed beyond himself to his entourage; when such distribution proved impossible, he would merely express gratitude for the kindness, never once touching it himself.
On this occasion, as even a single cup per person could be apportioned to the entourage, His Highness appeared thoroughly satisfied.
We all offered our thanks to His Highness in unison.

●Marishiten Peak, Mount Kitadake, and Mount Ainodake as Seen from the North

From the summit to Nanajō Hut takes one hour.
Descending slightly eastward from the summit—where weathered granite fine sands lay spread like snow—they followed the edge of a cliff perpetually overlooking Jigokudani (Hell Valley) to the right, first winding downward through dwarf pines and yellow-flowered mountain azaleas, then navigating between massive boulders and thick dwarf pines that overlapped left and right; after leaving the pines behind and descending awhile longer through forests of mountain birch and deep mountain hazel, they reached the hut.

The hut commanded an open view from north to east, allowing those within to take in the peaks of Yatsugatake, the Chichibu Mountain Range, Mount Jizō, and Mount Hōō without even rising from where they sat.
This location marked the mountain’s seventh station, but owing to the nearby Nanajō Falls, it had come to be called Nanajō Hut.
The waterfall’s water served as the hut’s drinking water—of unmatched clarity and chill, so cold that one could not keep their hand submerged for even a minute.
His Highness arrived at the hut at three o’clock in the afternoon.

Descending to Tōgahara

July 26th.

Today contrasted sharply with yesterday, the fog lying thick from dawn onward. His Highness’s departure commenced at seven o’clock sharp. Through gaps in the mist shrouding the trees, glimpses of Yatsugatake’s peaks occasionally emerged, but as they descended, the fog condensed into heavy droplets—dew now cascading from the treetops like rain. With no vistas left to covet, their progress quickened just as His Highness had remarked—“This refreshing coolness suits us well”—bringing them to Byōbu-iwa Hut shortly past eight.

The prefectural authorities had fervently petitioned for a detour to Oshiraku Valley, yet His Highness—mindful of reaching Tōgahara’s rest station by noon and wary of delays even on the improved trail—regretfully declined their entreaties, opting instead for the conventional descent route to Takeu. Screen Rock’s imposing face, the perilous Sword’s Blade Crossing, ancient hemlocks and white pines gnarled with age, the silent poise of granite formations—all these, I noted, appeared to hold His Highness’s keen fascination.

His Highness arrived at the Komagatake Shrine office at eleven o'clock.
After paying his respects at the shrine and planting a commemorative pine tree, His Highness departed immediately without a moment's rest.
It was twenty minutes to noon.
His Highness declared “Let us make haste,” took position at the vanguard, and strode briskly down the windless sweltering midday path.
Sweat poured down in rivulets.
“It feels invigorating to push through while sweating under the summer sun,” declared His Highness as he quickened his pace still further.
This was truly an exhilarating forced march.
And right on schedule at exactly noon, His Highness arrived at the entrance of the Kitahara Residence in Tōgahara, which had been designated as the rest station.
We had long heard from His Highness's attendants that he particularly favored all matters proceeding precisely as scheduled, and this mountaineering expedition—fortunate in its flawless adherence to plans—had now achieved its perfect conclusion. Though it felt presumptuous, even we could not help but share in the profound joy matching His Highness's evident satisfaction.
Thus still in his traveling attire, His Highness bestowed upon the party champagne sent from the palace, whereupon the party wholeheartedly celebrated His Highness's health.

The Kitahara family were a prominent local household engaged in sake brewing, a house of historic distinction having once served as Emperor Meiji’s temporary residence during his travels, with a stone pillar standing before their gate commemorating the sacred site.
The party followed in His Highness’s wake and were shown to their designated rooms.
The family members seemed utterly consumed by preparations for His Highness’s luncheon.
Hearing that the bath was ready, I went out with Maki-kun to claim it.
It had been a week since my last bath, and in my pleasantly tipsy state from the long soak, when I returned, the hall adjacent to the inner audience chamber had been assigned as our quarters, and the party was already seated at the meal drinking beer.
As the drink took effect, the party’s spirits rose ever higher—toasting vigorously, pouring drinks liberally, conversing animatedly, and roaring with laughter.
His Highness did not reprimand this state of affairs; rather, declaring “It would be lonely if I could not see everyone’s faces,” he removed the partitioning screen, shifted his seat closer to the hall, and surveyed the party with an amused smile.
We approached His Highness’s presence without reservation, taking turns to receive permission to pour sake for him.
What an unheard-of unrestrained banquet this must have been in polite society!
Moreover, it must have been a harmonious gathering of joy that abolished all distinctions between noble and commoner.
Because our commotion was so great, the household members—who at first had been peeking modestly from behind screens as if startled—eventually sat in perfect rows beyond the threshold of the next room, their expressions filled with emotion as they gazed enraptured at this spectacle.

His Highness had the party accompany him a little past three o'clock and departed by automobile for Nirasaki Station.
He was scheduled to return to the capital on the 4:10 train.
Maki-kun and I were unable to accompany them due to the porters' delayed arrival.
Later, from Major Fujioka, I learned that His Highness had inquired repeatedly, "What of Maki and Kogure?"

A week later, Maki-kun and I were summoned to attend the imperial palace in Takanawa. And having been bestowed gracious words of commendation from His Highness, as well as receiving through an elderly lady-in-waiting from the inner palace the kind message—“His Highness has expressed great delight in this recent mountaineering expedition; you have labored admirably”—the two of us could do nothing but tremble in awe at this honor far exceeding our station.
(July 1922)

(Taishō 12, 8th Month, *Chūgakusei*)