Like most events in my life, my introduction to Yufu-dake
came about quite by accident. I’d gone down to Kyushu, to the hot spring
village of Yufu-in, to help lead a cycling tour. Set among the mountains of
geologically-active Oita Prefecture, Yufu-in reminded me of a village in Slovenia, where one might also encounter steam billowing into the air from scattered
underground vents.
East of town Yufu-dake (Mount Yoo-Foo) dominated the
skyline, rising higher than the others. Its double peaks floated pale in the late
afternoon sun. Seeing them flipped a familiar switch. I wanted nothing but to
go climb them.
But the next day would be taken up by the indispensable task
of reconnoitering by bicycle the first leg of the tour. In the morning the other two guides
and I would pass by Yufu-dake’s doorstep, but I would get no closer. A
fifty-five-mile bike ride through the hilly Oita countryside was fair
consolation, but still…
Two weeks later I was back at home, telling my wife how
beautiful Kyushu was. She’d never been there, and seemed only lukewarm on the
idea of taking the kids there during their winter break. But slowly the idea
grew on her.
“Where should we go first?” she finally asked.
“Yufu-in,” I replied without any explanation as to why.
I’ve tried, with varying degrees of failure, to introduce my
kids to the wonders of being in the mountains. My boys would rather go kick
their soccer ball around. My daughter won't usually hesitate, but then every ten minutes along the way she'd mention ice cream.
My wife is generally, quietly non-committal on the
idea of a hike. But the view of Yufu from a nearby roadside lookout point sold her, and
soon the five of us were on our way across the golden grassy flats leading to
the climb up the Yoof.
My boys were excited, walking and running, walking and
waiting, then sprinting ahead again. My daughter, not quite up to the task,
rode in her carrier on my back. Compared to her delight of being able to go up
a mountain the extra weight is nothing.
It was chilly, even there in Japan’s southern reaches. I had
on my ski jacket. My older son wore his long soccer coat. My wife and daughter
had scarves around their necks. My younger son, true to form, was wearing gym
shorts.
Forty-five minutes had passed when we took our first break,
among the trees of the lower slopes. The scenery, or, more likely, the nascent
talk of ice cream, kept the kids happy for a while. My younger son kept
hurrying ahead, though less out of excitement, it now seemed, and more out of
wanting to get to the top and back to the car.
We were going on two hours when we took another break, above
the trees at a point that offered an expansive if hazy view of Yufu’s conical
little sister, Mt. Iimorigajou, and the town of Yufu-in. Big brother passed
around a bag of cheese doodly things. Little brother passed around quiet hints
of his displeasure.
Twenty-five minutes later the top of Yufu seemed to be
inching within reach – though such determinations can often prove false and dispiriting.
Yet another twenty minutes we’d made it to the saddle, the ridge between Yufu’s
twin peaks. Nishi-mine, the western peak, is higher by a handful of old
volcanic boulders. The climb involves a series of chains and, for a dad hiking
with two anxious boys up ahead and an increasingly-heavy daughter on his back,
a fair bit of consternation. Without any protest from anyone we elected to
climb the eastern peak.
My little girl, ever ambitious, wanted to walk to the top.
It was a struggle for both of us, though not one that could dampen our
enthusiasm. We were going to make it to the top, all of us. My sons, visibly
agitated for a chunk of the climb, were now clearly satisfied for having
conquered this dormant volcano. They scampered about the rocks and scrub of the
summit, enjoying what lie underfoot more than the 360-view of the land far
below us.
Eventually my wife appeared, spent but smiling after our
four-hour uphill journey. She still had her coat on. I’d shed mine long ago.
For a while we took in the view, of the quiet land and of
our rejuvenated children. We took pictures and passed around the hodgepodge of
breadstuffs and bento we’d brought. We wondered aloud where the zip line back
down was. We spoke of coming days.
As proud as my boys may have been to be up there, they slowly turned antsy, telling dad in quiet but clear terms they were ready to get going on the long trek back down. My wife asked them - several times - if they didn't want to rest just five more minutes.
Gravity can be a sneaky fiend on a descent,
particularly one laced with snow at the top and strewn with leaves and rocks
and roots the rest of the way. I reminded my boys of this several times, in
part to remind myself as well. A twisted ankle wasn’t going to make hauling my
daughter, who seemed to be gaining weight by the minute, any easier. I welcomed
each moment she said she wanted to get down off my back and walk for a little
again.
We reached those grassy plains marking the end of our hike ten minutes shy of four-thirty - a full six hours after we’d set out. If I had thought it would take that long I
probably would have put my dreamy plans of climbing Yufu aside for another day.
But it was a great hike and a worthwhile endeavor for all of
us, I thought. My daughter now has a photo of herself on top of a mountain. As
far as she’s concerned she climbed it, and if that spurs her on to keep reaching
for new heights that’s fine with me. (She has since climbed several more peaks.)
My boys, though the day may not have
steered either of them toward a life of seeking out new mountains to climb, now
have their memories of this day to add to their growing wellspring of accomplishment that,
I believe, will serve them well regardless of their eventual chosen road.
Besides all that, it is without question that ice cream
tastes so much better after a challenge.
And the hot springs feel so, so good.
