Mountaineering

When I was a kid my mother dragged us from one end of the country to the other in search of mountains to climb – our local Cuilcagh, the Mournes, Errigal and of course the Macgillycuddy Reeks. In the elementary school I was asked what the highest mountain in Ireland was and I could proudly point to Carrauntoohill on the map and say “I climbed it” (well nearly, we didn’t go to the absolute top because my father was carrying Cian (who was just over 1 year) on his back and it was too steep and nobody wanted them to go pitching off the side of the mountain). My English teacher then looked at the height (conveniently marked on the map) and said “Ahh 1041 metres, smaller than Daisen” – Tottori’s local tallest mountain. Of course I didn’t need this incident to tell me that Japan has much higher mountains than Ireland – I just have to look outside but the point was seriously reinforced by the hike we went on just over a week again.

We went to climb Mt. Mitsoku, a sacred mountain dotted with temples. The best part was that after the climb we were to stay the night in the main Temple complex and had been promised beer and entertainment.

I scabbed a lift to the mountain but unfortunately the convoy I was in arrived too late to climb – nobody is allowed to go up after 3pm. We were a bit miffed cause we had been told it was only an hour up and half an hour back and though it does get dark early here (7pm and the lights are all necessary) we thought it was a bit anal – we were 15 minutes late. But the Japanese don’t budge on these things so we settled into the monastery after being reassured that we could climb it in the morning – our zazen meditation class with the monk was going to be at 6.30 so we could climb the mountain at 8am (yippee). They had some Buddist scripture for us to copy out (I’m ok at tracing kanji but still illiterate so I have no idea what any of it says). After dinner the entertainment started – traditional Japanese dances by some yukata’ed women and a kid in all the gear. Then some different women came out, they were in yukatas too and even had on the pale geisha make-up but they were looking more hoary than pale as the moon. They were in fact several guys in drag who entertained us with a fan dance – it was genuinely hilarious especially when one of them began to loose his fake eyelash.

More beer was consumed (would you believe I actually like beer now – it’s a slippery slope from here on out) and the French CIR who organised the trip asked us to gather into our national groups and perform something from our country to entertain the Japanese people who had shared their culture with us. And so as everybody gathered into their national groups I sat there hoping no-one would notice if I slipped into my American accent and trying to figure out if there was anyone else who was the only one from their country. Lots of Americans, a sizable group of Canadians, two British guys, two girls from New Zealand, a Russian … no wait two bloody Russians and there was even two French people. I was the only one from Ireland so I tried the I have Canadian cousins can I join you trick (they were willing but it was me who couldn’t brazen it out) then I realised just cause I haven’t got the passport doesn’t mean I’m not British. I went to school in the north, I was even bloody born in the north so I wandered over but couldn’t go through with that either. And not just cause I don’t know all the words to the British national anthem – I actually know it better than the Irish one though there was a point when I did know the Irish one (enough to be appalled at what it means).

So eventually I figured out what I was going to do – up I got beer can in hand and asked everyone to raise a glass (ok can) for a toast. I taught them how to say Kampai! in Irish so we Slainte!’ed all round and it was going so well at this point (ie I had drunk more beer) that I decided to teach everybody the 1-2-3’s. So they watch me and then I slowed it down “1, 2, 3” before speeding it up and having the craic of watching a room full of half-cut people falling all over themselves trying to do a 1-2-3 quickly. And so we drank on and soon it was 4am and time to grab those two hours of sleep required before meditation.

Meditation was not what I expected – I’ve never successfully meditated (my Catholic school tried to make religion more interesting by having a prayer room (comfy seats and heating ensured that my prayers had the soft rhythmic quality of snores)). This was cool though lots of breathing, counting and a monk wandering around whacking people on the back with a big stick … seriously he was beating the shit out of them but I was a good neophyte and kept my mind on my breathing and counting as he went round smacking people.

Then it was time for the climb and Jesus was it a climb. None of these namby pamby ‘walks’ for the Japanese – parts of the hike were literally 180º inclines – we were scrambling up rock faces. It was great, I loved it. I may never sweat so much in my life again but it was fantastic. Anyone who comes to see me has to come and do it. Half-way up there was this temple built on stilts out over the edge of the cliff it was on – you could go all the way around on a little walkway and get an uninterrupted view of the country and mountains for miles. At the top of the hike was the main temple though and it was seriously impressive. It’s a small wooden temple that appears to be floating on the side of a cliff-face. The temple covers a shallow cave in the cliff and used to house seven statues one of which is hollow and filled with sacred scriptures. Its beautiful – completely worth the punishing climb. If anyone has seen Princess Mononoke there’s a bit near the start where it shows the village elders sending the prince guy away and the decision is made in a similar structure.