My Failed Attempt to Cross Japan's Northern Alps

While living in Japan in the summer of 1999, I decided to hike across the Hida Mountains, also known as the Northern Alps. My plan was to start at Shinhotaka Onsen, a hot spring resort at the base of the mountains, and traverse Mount Nishi-hotakadake, Mount Oku-hotakadake, and Mount Yarigatake. According to AllTrails, the route spans 18.7 miles, gains 9,458 feet of elevation, and takes 15.5 hours to complete.

This was before personal computers and the internet were widespread in Japan, so my research was limited to whatever I could glean from a travel guidebook. 

I also lacked appropriate gear. I don’t know what my 70-liter pack weighed, but I do know that my four-season tent weighed seven pounds, and my synthetic 0°F sleeping bag weighed over six pounds. I know, because I still have them. On top of that, I packed a thick wool sweater, a heavy synthetic-insulated jacket, water, and three days’ worth of food. Worse still, I was in poor physical shape. But, being an intrepid and impetuous young man, I decided to go for it anyway.

I took a bullet train from Nagoya to Shinhotaka Onsen and camped there for the night.

From Shinhotaka Onsen, I rode two cable trams up to Nishiho Hut, just above the tree line at 7,765 feet. I camped again, got up at 3:00 a.m., and climbed to the summit of Mt. Nishi-hotakadake, elevation 9,543 feet. The view was breathtaking.

The other hikers were laughing at my massive pack. They were carrying ultralight backpacks or just daypacks since they planned to stay at the mountain huts. I would soon discover exactly why they were laughing.

After I began ascending Gendarme, a semi-technical ridge at 10,377 feet, it became clear that my pack was too heavy and bulky for the nearly vertical climb. I feared I would lose my balance and fall thousands of feet to my death. My climbing method became ridiculous: I would lift the pack onto a ledge above my head, climb past it, reach down, haul it up again, and repeat. After many repetitions at a painfully slow pace, it became obvious that I wouldn’t reach a place to camp before dark. I admitted defeat and was forced to retrace my steps.

Here’s a video that a YouTuber (not me) took at Gendarme:

See what I mean?

The root of the problem was a combination of three factors: my lack of knowledge about the trail, my unwillingness to pay for lightweight gear for a single trip, and my stubborn insistence on camping without the appropriate gear. In hindsight, instead of hauling heavy camping gear, I should have stayed in the mountain huts like most sane climbers.

Let this be a lesson on how not to plan a backpacking trip!