Steepness and Beauty go Hand in Hand
It’s early June and the long-awaited summer hiking season is finally here. I join the usual crew—PAPERSKY editor-in-chief Lucas, photographer Isao Nishiyama, and myself—for another journey. This time, we’re headed to Kamikōchi, in the heart of Chūbu Sangaku National Park.
Though it’s not raining, the sky is still overcast. As we step off the bus, what strikes me most isn’t the scenery, but the crowd. For a moment, it feels like we’ve arrived in Shibuya or Shinjuku. People stroll along the riverside boardwalk in surprisingly light outfits. Many of the men, especially those from overseas, are in T-shirts and shorts, carrying nothing but their phones. Some women walk by in short skirts or even heels. Sure, it’s only a five-minute walk from the bus stop, right at the trailhead, but I was expecting more people to be geared up for a hike or at least a solid walk.
We set off toward Myōjin First Pond. The sky remains bright but sunless. Looks like night will come early.
I sketch here and there along the trail. Once we reach the pond, we turn back to head home. As we approach the end, it’s already quite dark and we pass a few more tourists—some of whom, surprisingly, are just now setting off for the hike. Is summer in the mountains really that casual and welcoming? The question lingers as we make our way back to the inn.
We make a toast to our reunion over a warm, comforting meal and a bit of sake. After a soak in the bath, we head to a small room labeled Archive. Inside is a personal collection curated by the innkeeper, a mountain lover himself. Books, photo albums, manga, and old videotapes fill the shelves. We rummage through the records and eventually put on a VHS featuring the Kamikōchi area. What we see leaves us stunned.
Aerial footage from a helicopter shows the razor-sharp summit of Mt. Yarigatake, its peak as narrow as the tip of a spear (hence the name “Yari”), barely enough space to place one’s feet. Yet packed tightly together are over a hundred climbers, waving up at the camera. One slip, and it feels like the whole crowd might tumble down like a stack of river stones. At least, that’s how it looks to me. Sure, the weather appears stable. There’s little snow, and the wind is calm. But the sheer drop, the glacially carved rock faces, the steep angles, the staggering height… Who cares if it’s summer? It’s terrifying.
After the video ends, Nishiyama begins reading a manga aloud for Lucas, who can’t read kanji. He reads everything. Dialogue, sound effects. He even changes voices for each character. It’s the first time I’ve ever seen someone read manga out loud. But something about Nishiyama’s gentle tone and Lucas’s innocent focus creates a strangely heartwarming moment.
Then the dialogue takes a turn.
“My foot’s crushed.”
“I can’t move my hands.”
“You cut the rope, you traitor!”
“Rumble, rumble, rumble”…
The manga turns out to be Kokou no Hito, a fictionalized account based on the life and records of the mountaineer Buntarō Katō. My curiosity gets the better of me, and I start reading. It begins with the tone of a coming-of-age sports story, but quickly shifts into an unforgiving world of extreme alpine conditions where characters meet brutal, untimely ends, one after another. There’s no doubt some dramatic license was taken, but it feels real. As if this were the true nature of the mountains. The warm, almost comical manga reading we shared stood in stark contrast to the grim content that was unfolding on the page. With the story still sitting heavy in my chest, I slip into my futon, silently hoping tomorrow ends safely.
I wake to brilliant sunlight. Clear skies above. Today’s destination is Dakesawa. Unlike the smooth wooden deck paths of Kamikōchi, the trail feels raw and untamed. The hike to Dakesawa takes about three hours, including sketching breaks and short rests. Along the way, we keep stopping, again and again, drawn in by the scenery. The higher we climb, the more powerful the beauty becomes.
Steepness and beauty coexist in the mountains. Perhaps even go hand in hand. That may be part of why mountains continue to lure people in, and continue to take lives. These thoughts surface as we keep climbing. Yesterday, stepping off the bus and seeing the crowd, something felt off. Maybe it was the sense that they had come without reverence for the mountain. There’s no need to be afraid without cause, but respect matters. And in the mountains, that respect means awareness that your life can be taken suddenly, without negotiation.
In the heart of nature, every breathtaking view is first and foremost a gift of being alive. Maybe that’s why these moments feel so vivid. Because danger is always close. The awareness of risk sharpens our sense of presence. From the mountain hut, gasping after the climb, the view strikes deeper, more intensely. Just beyond, a snow-covered ridge stands like a quiet warning: “not yet.”
CHALKBOY
Chalkboy’s career as an artist started when he was tasked with designing the chalkboard menu at a cafe where he worked part-time. Since then, his distinctive hand-drawn style has appeared in restaurants, shops, publications and events both in Japan and abroad. He’s also active in hosting workshops and live drawing sessions, and leads the hand-lettering collective WHW! (What a Hand-Written。www.chalkboy.me
National Park Poster Project
A collaboration between PAPERSKY, artist CHALKBOY, and outdoor boot brand Danner, this project creates original posters inspired by each of Japan’s national parks. Traveling together to various regions, CHALKBOY and PAPERSKY capture the unique spirit of each place, while turning their illustrations into a line of original goods.
https://store.papersky.jp/collections/national-parks-of-japan-postcard