Let it snow!.. even if it is yellow: the winter wonderland of Hakuba

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My fifth trip to Japan was to be different. A winter holiday, a white (post) Christmas, and the chance to polish up on my fledgling and fairly recent cross country and back country ski trekking skills.



Having thought the next trip would be cycling in Cambodia, a dose of the travel blues after Africa ended sent my decision otherwise. Reframing the importance of facing new challenges each day, I set out seeking information for a New Years in the Nagano alp region of Honshuu and to visit both Chihiro and Hiroshi again



Several emails to and from and between a friend of this hotel owner and that pension owner, and my itinerary came together as swiftly as the snow was to fall a month later.



So I left Auckland, settled into a shorter than expected 11 hour flight and whiled away the hours listening to meditations for frequent flyers, osmosing the science of happiness talking book, and tapping to tasteful music



Two meals and 10 hours 15 later, and it was an efficient passage into the arrivals hall and out into the known Narita landscape.



But not before practicing my queuing skills. 90 minutes later from entering the queue of the Japan Travel Service, I made friends with two Australian students, made a hash of my first proper Japanese conversation this trip, and made valid my locally purchased Japan East pass.



The price, ’22,000 yen’, flashed up on the counter till and the smiling gent delivered his plastic tray for transferring my offering. After handing over 30,000 yen, I was returned an offering equal to my change, and with relief said farewell to the Aussie students and went out into a frigid Tokyo night at 5 degrees Celsius



Being dark by 4:30pm and just passed the winter solstice, the red tinged sunset that we saw on arrival quickly descended into darkness, then pulling into the Radisson Narita 25 minutes later.



Full of excitement for the adventure ahead, I rose early, lapped the 20 metres pool several times and packed up for the bus transfer back to Narita to access the Express train. Who was this tourist wandering through the foyer in her togs and towel at 6:30am? Eyebrows raised mere micro millimetres being the country I was in.



After helping an Australian snow boarder living in Cairns find the travel centre, I headed into Tokyo station, quickly found the onwards reservation counter and with a smidgen of time left for a brewed coffee, I made the platform with 5 minutes spare.



The Nagano bullet train took just over 1.5 hours, countryside flicking by at a rate of knots and then the crowds really began.



Searching in vain for an empty coin locker, I loitered, an angel shined on me, and one became available just as I was to head to Jigokudani to see the snow monkeys. I had visons of carting my roller bag up a snowy hill as had Dad in Kyoto the year prior



Our gloved bus driver weaved up the valley to Kamishiro, where we were plonked road side and figured the 40 minute walk all my Google searches talked of began from here



Steam rising from road side vents gave way to an icy road, a small village of traditional homes and the entrance to the trek to see the famous macaques of this area. About now I felt blessed to have dressed like a tramper, leaving the classy dressed folk at Narita that morning standing out like a sore thumb.



Nonetheless, my preparation failed to protect my posterior. I fell no less than 5 times on my way up the slippery path, through the woodlands, steep banks, and small streams running alongside, all the while countering that I would banish any thoughts of wearing fashion boots or leather shoes in such an environment, ever.



The macaques were incredible and I would rate being there in winter as one of the memorable moments of this trip. Tame to tourists and typically misbehaving, it was full of frolicking, diving, examining one’s hands and running along the edge trying to attract each other’s attention. And that was just the tourists



I took lots of photos, and dunked my GoPro in the excrement filled water which promptly froze its movie making capacity. Was it the excrement or the cold:hot ratio? Who knows but removing a battery and reinserting it always solves technical problems.



Gently returning to the bus stop, my frozen hands needed a pick up. Sitting at around 5C and dark falling, I made for the jidoohambaiki (vending machine), the god of anything hot or cold and before I knew it a warm corn soup was encased in mine and an envious Australian’s hands.



A brief wait and chance to buy some snacks, and the Hakuba bound bus arrived, dead on time as usual. Within a dark yet safely driven hour we had begun to arrive in Hakuba village, a long valley of resorts, snow jumps, and, behold, house-high snow! “Mamonaku, Happo” in the breathy tone of a Japanese tour driver, we had arrived.



Yet finding Hotel Square was not straight forwards.



A cheap annex from a neighbouring hotel, I needed guidance so I was informed. Then a 10 minute wait became over an hour for a distance of about 400 metres. I had a good old chat to the multi lingual tourist bureau guy, Kaze, and found an oasis of calm, warmth and a view of the pro’s carving a path down Happo One from my balcony.



The bulldozers worked through the night and the snow fell heavily.



Waking up, I was greeted with a white paradise, quite different from my night time view. Happo was a happy place and this called for a happy dance.



Having mixed information on cross country courses at Snow Harp, the old course used in the Nagano 1998 Winter Olympics, I to’ed and fro’ed my Japanese with the attentive tourist lady. Settling facts, it was not open and my choice was to be either Iwatake or Tsugaike today, both accessible by free and frequent snow shuttle buses.



So off I trundled, getting skis organised within minutes of arriving at Iwatake, and starting out on the trail with a wide smile and spring in my free binding heel. The fit was perfect and the service brilliant.



Mount Iwatake is just over 1290m and the elevation of the cross country course around 700m, enough to get a breathy clutch in the throat combined with frigid air of 1 to 4 celsius.



The scenery never ceased to amaze. Passing one lady and sighting only 3 in 3 hours as I climbed hills sideways, ploughed down sideways, and at times careered down front on, I was in infant off piste territory for my back country skills and well chuffed!



Leaving trails of parallel lines for powder so fine it slips through your fingers as much as you slip through it, this was one super cross country day and my maximum break neck speed of, I’d say, 20kph



Soggy gloves but not so soggy feet lead me to try Tsugaike’s trails, taking an afternoon shuttle there from Iwatake. Dark was not the threat to play but a rapidly increasing snow storm, and once I had back tracked down the main street of Tsugaike I nearly cut it short. How wrong was I, and once moving and warming up, I passed a group of skiers having a lesson and weaved a path down the valley to a large over bridge and steady uphill rise.



About then, common sense prevailed and I hustled back to the entrance, 10 minutes’ walk downhill from where the shuttle stopped, feeling well satisfied that I had seen two great ski paths in one day. Dunking myself in the onsen, I thawed, considered the absent mindedness of leaving my iPhone at the tourist centre the day before, my watch that night, and soon to be my balaclava the next day.



An adventure tour was dialled for the next day. An excitable Evergreen representative arrived at a civilised hour, all the while as we navigated through slippery bulldozer graded streets with snow falling in bucket loads.



Saddling up at the headquarters with poles and snow shoes, a bumpy suspension-less van took us to Iwatake, where we had a briefing on the trip ahead – first heading up to the top gondola then into the wilderness



Too cold for any wildlife, this wilderness trip was about hip flexor training and how to avoid frostbite.



Our international 3 person crew of two Japanese and a German lead us downhill, up hill, and around hill, circumnavigating the picnic table at which we would have our early lunch. Yukie-san, sworn to lose weight by leading the pack of adventure-ites, donned her large backpack full of lunch wraps, fruit, hot soup and sugary tea as resistance. We chomped, we stomped, and we romped in search of a bush toilet around the twig like white-scape that was Mt Iwatake mid-winter.



Never one to trusty yellow powder patches, we navigated carefully around again, back to the summit, and dripping endorphins from our incredible experience. This was serious alpine territory, and the mainly foreign tourist crowds were loving it.



Come 3:30pm and we were back at Evergreen’s base, the snow progressively getting heavier, roads whiter, and with many a happy boarder or skier passing by on their way to or from the many slopes to choose from. My Goretex Salamon hikers had been properly road tested in thigh deep snow with an old pair of cheap gaiters and merino socks …all the while, I stayed relatively dry. Go the Kathmandu socks and shoe sales! But thumbs down to the balaclava loss, left when I tried to proof me of anything entering my jacket cocoon that morning. If there is someone out there wearing it and gaining benefit, I am happy to know!



Then some wrong turns on foot became right, I sought out XC ski outlets that failed to deliver what I wanted, and trudged an hour return in watery black snow to reserve my train ticket, with a constant expression of awe impressed on my features. Topped off with an emergency call out for two soggy apartment key cards, after one hot outdoor onsen at Goryukan Hotel again with the gentle patter of snow falling on my bare back, the world was at peace.

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