Traversing
the Shiretoko Mountain Range

by Naoki Ishikawa

On the Shiretoko Peninsula animals have a strong presence, but in the mountain range that runs through its center, there is a wildness that you can feel throughout your body.

Except for the occasional expert climber, Shiretoko National Park doesn’t allow people to enter the ranges in winter, but in the short summer, they open the gate to ordinary climbers. Iwaobetsu onsen—where there is a hut—is the starting point, but if you are traversing the mountain ranges, you have no choice but to carry your own tent, sleeping bag, and food. At any rate, it requires a certain amount of experience.

I wanted to traverse the mountains of the Shiretoko range alone—the last edge of Japan that follows the line of Kamchatka and Alaska. Each time I visited Shiretoko, I looked up at the mountains and thought it would be wonderful if I could walk through them.

One summer, I decided to put my long-harbored plan into action. I climbed Mount Rausu first—where I met several climbers—but when I reached the traversing trail, all signs of human presence vanished. At a field of flowers in Mitsumine, I was taking photos and lost track of time, and when I returned to camp, it was already evening. The campsite was unmanned, but there was a locker-type box for storing food. Brown bears inhabit the area, and if you have food inside your tent, or cook near your tent, they will be drawn to the site by the smell. Therefore, you need to put all your food into this solid, stainless steel, locker. These are not common in Japan, but they are not unusual in places like Alaska National park.

I pitched my small tent, spread out my mat and sleeping bag, and slipped in. After I stared at the map for a while and finished reading the entire thing, all I could do was sleep. It was still a little bit light outside, but I wrapped myself in my sleeping bag and readied myself for tomorrow.

I woke up in the middle of the night. It was dark, and the temperature had dropped. I sat up and poked my face out of the tent—I was checking to see if there was a bear—but my eyes were distracted by the night sky. The stars were glowing brightly, and it looked like the whole sky was illuminated, twinkling. I was by myself under the sky—entirely happy.

The next day I headed to Mount Io, passing through Mount Sashirui, Mount Okkabake, Mount Minami and Mount Chienbetsu. The trail connecting Mount Rausu and Mount Io usually takes three days and two nights to traverse, but good climbers can do it in one night and two days. Furthermore, I was planning to traverse in one night and two days even though I had stayed at the closer camp, Mitsumine, and not in Futatsuike, which is a little further along the trail. It was a slightly atypical journey—and it made the second day long—but there was no way around it, and, all idle thoughts disappearing, I focused on walking.

Pushing through the shrub sapped my strength, and there were lots of volcanic stones and tree roots which made it difficult to find solid footing and descend from Mount Io. Because of this, I had my five senses tuned in at all times to make sure I was aware of my surroundings while walking.

Are there any bears? Where are the water springs?

Thinking about such things while facing the wilderness naturally encourages the wildness within me to emerge. And somehow I can keep walking. After those two days, I was filled with that feeling. Walking on the rugged spine of that peninsula with your own feet allows you to take in the nature of Shiretoko with your whole body—of that I am certain.