Kumano Kodō Day 2 – Uphills Become Blessings: Surviving an Icy Wind

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TAKAHARA TO CHIKATSUYU.  Elevation gain: 1640 feet.

Feburary 17, 2025

Day 2 began with a faint echo of prayers and modern art at the Takahara Kumano oji shrine, which had opened an art gallery to honor the 20th anniversary of the Kumano Kodō becoming a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It was a fitting start to a day that would lead us through centuries of stories from the 9th-century journals and across landscapes even older.

Steve in the Takahara Kumano oji Art Gallery that oddly asked that you keep your shoes ON when you entered.

As we ascended the Imperial Route, the well-worn flagstones through suburban Takahara turned to crushed gravel and take us past not just shrines and emperors’ tales, but some unmaintained infrastructure from the early days of its World Heritage status. I guess it was somebody’s vision that didn’t make the jump from implementation to upkeep. I get that. The fun is in bringing an idea to life; not in maintaining it. 

Early morning flagstones would give way to crushed gravel

Tall Japanese Cedars line the pilgrimage route

So, in contrast to the well-maintained trail, a sense of neglect hung heavy in the rest areas and dilapidated huts we stopped to explore. In their day, they must have been quite a thing, but now they are pictures of a forgotten era: floorboards rotting, a leaky roof, and unmaintained sinks and toilets.  I try to imagine them full of pilgrims taking a rest and chatting with each other. 

An unmaintained camping hut that I would have like to have stopped at and perhaps had tea.

I wonder who was the last person to boil water here for tea?

Just as we crested the ridgeline, an icy wind blew in like a glacial breath. We would later learn to expect this every day around 10am. Earlier, the steep ascent had us shedding base layers, but now, we just can’t stop to put them back on. For hours, we battled the biting wind as it howled through the swaying cedar forest. On the uphill, the exertion warmed us, and then a chill crept over us on the descent. “It’s a sad thing when you long for an uphill,” I told Suzanne, and then later, “I don’t believe I have ever been this cold on a hike.”

Suzanne bows at the Takahara Kumano oji be begin our day.

This morning, we did pray at the shrine, which is to say I went through the motions: toss a coin in, clap twice, bow twice, pray, bow again, but I prayed to my God, not the shrine’s. I felt surprisingly good about that compromise following the shrine’s customs, which is respectful to both traditions.  

But now, in the bitter cold, my mind rethinks that decision. I’m drawn to those in the Bible who refused to bow to a golden image or pray to the king. A fiery furnace or lion’s den they faced, but did not perish. Was this morning’s bow dishonoring to them?  Or was this more akin to Japan’s Hidden Christians, who, when Christianity was banned in the 17th century, went underground to invent new ways to conceal their beliefs, blending Christian practices with elements of Buddhism and Shintoism? For example, a statue of the Buddha, but prayed to as if Mary.  

During that era, suspected Christians, and sometimes entire villages, were compelled to publicly desecrate images of Christ or the Virgin Mary by stepping on them (a practice known as fumie, or “stepping on pictures.”) If one hesitated or refused, they could be tortured or executed for not renouncing their faith. What if they had appealed to that higher moral ethic that banned graven images and then stepped on them without guilt or renunciation? Jesus did emphasize the importance of one’s inner faith over one’s outward actions, but that too is used to rationalize all sorts of horrendous behaviors.

I had expected the Kumano Kodō to be a largely solitary experience, but today we encounter both day hikers (5) and pilgrims (17). All passed us, walking much faster, and coincidently looking much younger. Why didn’t the icy blast bother them?  I appreciate how careful Suzanne is being, even if she feels like her sprained ankle is slowing us down. I have no such excuse; I’m walking my regular pokey speed.

Yikes its getting cold.

Bento Box Lunch

Our host last night packed two wooden bento boxes of different fried meats, rice, and vegetables but in a 38° unrelenting wind, chopsticks don’t get the job done. I should say the chopsticks worked fine, it was my fingers that felt fat and uncoordinated, dropping what I had clasped moments earlier. Suzanne struggles, so I unpack a titanium spoon for her. Later we find if we had just hiked 20 minutes more, we could have lunched on the relatively balmy leeward side of the mountain, out of the wind. 

There is an unpleasantness about hiking in the extremes, so to occupy my mind, I play the game: how could this be worse? Rain – that would be worse. I begin imagining a wet downpour, pulling out the umbrella, and holding it with my already cold numb hand. My fingers are so cold and then my legs get wet from the rain blowing… why didn’t I pack rain pants? I swear I can feel hyperthermia setting in, or what I imagine it to be like, and then I snap back to this reality and suddenly this doesn’t feel so cold.

While I’m in my thought experiment, Suzanne fires up chemical hand warmers but still can’t get warm. For me, wool socks become makeshift gloves, but the cold seeps ever deeper into our bones.

Handwarmers and wool sock mittens…and still we’re cold in 38° F and an unrelenting artic wind.

Eventually, we reach a highway rest area with an odd assortment of things hikers just wouldn’t need, but it is not for us.  I warm my fingers on an aluminum can of hot coffee from a vending machine, and we snack on onigiri (rice balls).  Cars come and go, and I wonder if I should try to yogi a ride into the village, but don’t give into temptation when Suzanne tells me it is just another mile up and over to our guest house, plus there was one more stamp to get.

The last stamp box of today’s journey.

Emperor Kazan on his Kumano Kodo journey (LHS) before abdicating the throne to become a monk (RHS).

I haven’t shared much about the legends we saw today, this is 10c Emperor Kazan on his Kumano Kodo journey.  He abdicated the throne and became a monk.  According to legend, he traveled this part of the way riding on two oxen (left statue).  The right hand statue is him as a monk, and much older.

Instead of collecting today’s last two temple stamps, we direct our cold, tired bodies to the guest house. It is owned by a charming couple who moved back to the area to take care of his family homestead and ancestors, both in the cemetery and two houses. 

I lay down for a nap, and Suzanne frets about the probable missed stamps. We could start with a long road walk tomorrow, but tomorrow is already challenging enough. It is too far and too cold to walk today. I see the guest house has bicycles. Could I not ride up and over to visit the shrines to collect their stamps? I start wheeling a bike out to the road, and our host runs out to stop me, under the guise of checking tire pressure.

I really was willing to ride this small bicycle to the shrines, but since our host offered me a ride…

I tell our host my plan, and in broken English she says too far, too cold, all uphill, windy road.  “I’m strong,” I say, and she counters that she could drive me up and I ride back. “Okay,” I say and then hear her apologetically ask if I would allow her to drive me both ways? Okay, I guess I can do that, and off we go in her little car.

The Chikatsuyu-oji, the stone inscription was carved by our the ancestors of our host’s husband.

She is right, it is all uphill on windy roads and cold. We chat, and I have a delightful time seeing the uphill shrines, her son’s elementary school, a bit of the village and ending up at another shrine. There, she gets out of the car to show me around personally, then as we leave, gives a quick bow/curtsey to scurry back to the car. This shrine is special because it was her husband’s ancestors who had carved the stone writings. She says as we drive by and she points to an ancient graveyard for warriors, the ancestors they moved back to care for.  

Another delicious dinner provided by our host.

We are upstairs on tatami mats and a long way to the bathroom tonight. It wasn’t until I soaked in the ofuro, or deep hot Japanese bath, that I felt the life and feeling return to my fingers and toes. As I’m soaking, Suzanne and our host talk mother/grandmother talk and share pictures on their phones, something I’m oblivious to until the next morning when she calls Suzanne babachan, an affectionate and familiar term for grandmother.

But tonight, heat rises, and in this cozy upstairs room, we are finally warm.

Two days of stamps.

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