A Silent Sky, With a deafening Forest

Yamanashi Kaleidoscope

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A Silent Sky, With a deafening Forest

I’ve only been attacked by a wild animal twice. Once, in the middle of a desert by a Javelina (kind of like a desert pig) when I got too close to her babies, and the other an overbearing swan in a public park. Both of which ironically being while trying to take a picture. Well, I guess generally when trying to get the best shot a photographer has to put oneself in precarious situations from time to time, right? That being said, up until the point of this story, I’ve yet to throw myself into bear territory at 2 am for some photos of the night sky. Being the middle of the rainy season in Japan at the time, there weren’t many chances one could get to see a clear sky at night – let alone even a glimpse of the north star, but after thoroughly watching weather apps day after day, a break in the daily sludge of rain finally appeared. Here, a chance for some great photos presented itself, and I knew there wasn’t any better place to go other than 甘利山 (Amariyama). To locals, when this mountain comes to mind it is most famous for a bloom of ツツジ (tsutsuji) or in English, rhododendron flowers which dot the mountains sprawling grassy summit. However, this time around I went with a bit of a different objective. Being a mountain in the southern alps of Yamanashi, Amariyama is far away from any sort of civilization save for a seasonally run campsite just below its peak. Now for me, this means little to no light pollution and a pristine view of the stars above. With this in mind, I grabbed a friend and together we planned our late-night journey into the alps. After discussing, prepping some gear, and of course a bit of coffee – we left my apartment around 11 pm and began the drive. At the close of such a hot, groggy day, the night air had an invigorating sense about it. As we sped along the empty express way with the windows down, our surroundings gradually changed from buildings into rice paddies; and once passing the last convenience store on the road, (which for some reason Yamanashi has so oh-so-many of) we began our ascent of the mountain. After one look at the endless meandering blue line which lit up the map application on our phones, it was easy to tell this would be no short drive. About 5 minutes in, we were quickly greeted with the first of many BEWARE OF BEARS signs.

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Translation: beware of bears - Yamanashi Prefecture

Now, it never exactly instills confidence when seeing a sign like this, especially in the middle of the deep forest late at night. I don’t know who may or may not have seen The Revenant movie, but personally when I’m reminded of the danger of bears, I instantly think of Leonardo DiCaprio getting himself shredded apart by a giant grizzly. Maybe not the best thing to think about when in the woods at night? Well despite this, we continued up the road with cavalier attitudes chatting and listening to our favorite songs in the dead of night.

The farther we climbed, the narrower the road became. More and more warning signs stood among the trees as if screaming at us to watch our surroundings. Eventually after what felt like hours of driving, the road finally widened, and the trailhead parking lot came into view. Stopping the car in the empty lot, I prepared what little camera gear I had and the two of us stepped out into the cool mountain air. Crossing the wide dirt clearing, I caught a glimpse of the glimmering city below, each building and road resembling just a small speck of light from so high on the mountain; a preview of what beauty was to come as we continued our journey up. As we walked, our path to the trailhead was illuminated by the gleaming moonlight, and it was here I realized my own miscalculation – a sky so powerfully alight with the moons glow would bear no stars.

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In any hope of this newfound realization being incorrect, we nonetheless entered the thick brush, and began the hike to the summit. The eerily silent forest seemed to beckon, and as I walked, the shadows of towering trees seemed to watch me from the dark. Moss hung low from branches, and resembled ghosts drifting through the night. Though a hair-raising silhouette, the growth in the pitch dark was beautiful.

Through the sheer silence of the forest, so much as a twig snapping beneath our feet was enough to startle us. The farther we climbed, trees became shorter, the sky seemed to grow larger, and the light of the moon lit the mountainside ablaze with a coolish hue.

In an instant, the silence erupted with a crash through the brush. Footsteps, heavy and loud, heading directly towards the both of us. We froze in out tracks, and the bear warning signs from earlier began to flash that bright yellow in my head. Those footsteps, or should I say hooves? Got louder. I shone my pathetic 100-yen flashlight into the darkness and was met with only the mist from a passing cloud. Silence, save for the pounding of our hearts, resumed.

We stared at each other in disbelief, neither of us knowing if we should turn back or continue for the sake of this now pointless seeming “photo mission”. Nonetheless, we continued up the trail more keenly to our surroundings.

Another minute in, and about 50 meters ahead of me a bear warning bell hanging from a tree made its way into view, my flashlight reflecting on its metal curves. As I cautiously stepped towards it, whatever had been with us on the mountain top resumed its movements. Well, more like their movements. All of the sudden, rustling could be heard on either side of the trail. My heart resumed its pounding, I began to sweat, I whipped my head (and flashlight) around. Two harrowing pairs of eyes gleamed at me frozen within the darkness.

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I was brought back to sanity with a shock of relief upon realizing what had been seemingly chasing us up the mountain all this time.

A newfound sense of confidence carried us both to the top of the mountain. This was all great in theory, but upon summiting and of course, processing what had just happened, a quick look back into the sky revealed an expanse of grey rolling clouds. No stars in sight. In a desperate attempt to erase the fact it could have been all for naught, I frantically set up my camera on its tripod to capture the dull sky.

15 minutes passed. The camera closed its shutter one last time. I was left with moonlit photos of the grassy highland and a grey, twisting sky above.

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A quick look at my phone, and it had gotten late – almost 2 am for that matter. I packed my gear and we retreaded down the mountainside, on high alert of course for any creature which might run at us this time.

Upon returning to the car, we got ready to “sleep”, despite the fact that we’d only get around an hour of rest in order to see the sunrise the next morning.

I awoke the low rumble of a car engine pulling into the parking space beside us. Peering out the window the lot had become almost full, and people were sleepily gathering themselves in order to make the early morning hike. We followed pursuit, and once again began making our way up to the top. This time, the forest was bright and alive with a humming of birds and insects screaming louder than the sharp sound of the alarm which woke me up 15 minutes ago. Morning dew clung to the grass and flowers, and the Tsutsuji in all their pink glory were finally visible within the light. Breaking through the tree line again, we followed the same trail as before to the summit. The glow of dawn gave the mountain an entirely different personality, its flower freckled face open for all to see.

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As we reached the top, the sun just began to crack its self out of the bluish clouds, streaking through the sea-like sky with bright, warming colors that almost seemed to signify the peak of our journey.

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We remained on the top of the mountain for around an hour, watching the sun gradually brighten until it was high above the clouds. Its rays pierced the through the mist which still hung low over the grass, and a sense of warmth and calm began to wash over me.

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On our descent, we passed by the tree which once looked so scary just a few hours earlier, now displaying a deep, vibrant green with birds perched atop its no longer “ghost like” moss.

It was different; but as just as the night sky had showed me before, It remained beautiful.

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