Travel Logs Venturing Into East Hokkaido’s Untamed Wilderness
Eastern Hokkaido, often referred to as Japan’s wilderness, belongs to nature. Expanses of protected wetlands, old-growth forests, vast lakes, and active volcanoes dominate this unspoilt region. The indigenous Ainu people have long lived in harmony with the environment here, and this symbiotic relationship between humans and eastern Hokkaido’s wildlife has preserved the rare wildlife and natural wonders for millennia. Explore this extraordinary place through this active four-day itinerary.
Day 1
You’ll want a window seat as you fly into East Hokkaido. As Kushiro comes into focus, it’s instantly apparent that you’ve arrived in the wilderness. When the plane’s wheels descend for landing, vast expanses of unspoiled forests and wetlands stretch out as far as you can see.
The boardwalk through Kushiro Wetland
Eager to explore, I grabbed my luggage from the carousel and hopped in a rental car, driving 25 minutes to Onnenai, an entry point to Japan’s largest wetland, Kushiro Wetlands. Here, I met my two guides, both proudly born and bred in Kushiro, and keen to share their extensive knowledge of Kushiro Shitsugen National Park. “These wetlands are approximately the same size as Osaka Prefecture,” they tell me. “They’re around 25 by 36 kilometers.”
Arriving at Onnenai Visitor’s Center
This vast wetland is a designated National Park and is protected by the Ramsar Convention, which aims to preserve wetlands and the species that rely on them for survival. Perhaps the most important of these, the guides tell me, are red-crowned cranes, named after the bright red patch on the top of their heads. “Most people think the patch of red is feathers,” my guide told me, “but it’s actually an area of red skin that they develop on their heads in adulthood.”
Looking out across the wetland
These indigenous species were once hunted to near extinction. “People had thought they’d disappeared altogether, but in the 1920s, around a dozen were discovered living on Kushiro Wetlands,” my guide told me. Thanks to ongoing conservation efforts and this huge area of protected habitat, they have made a remarkable comeback. “Today, there are around 1,800 red-crowned cranes in East Hokkaido,” the guides delight in telling me. “We have more than half of the world’s population right here.” To ensure they continue to thrive, they are now a designated Special Natural Monument of Japan and a testament to East Hokkaido’s dedication to living harmoniously with nature.
Much to my glee, we spotted two of these jewels in the wetland within just an hour of landing in Kushiro. My guide spied a pair of them flying in unison, as elegant as I had imagined they would be. We all watched in awe. My guides, who must see these beautiful beasts every day also watched in silence, smiles on both their faces.
The guide shares information about the wetland
The wetlands also provide an important temporary home or stopover to migratory birds, including Stellar’s sea eagles, bean geese and whooper swans.
Despite their immense size, the wetlands are very easy to explore. A well-maintained raised wooden boardwalk makes it accessible to anyone, and the flatness means that on a clear day, you can see for miles.
My guides, both born and bred in Kushiro
These wetlands are dominated by grasses, including yachibozu, clumps of grass that form over decades, their name means “bald heads of the wetlands”, which gives an idea of their distinctive appearance. Yoshi, a grass similar to sedge, is also prevalent. Our guides pointed over to a spot in the distance, not accessible by boardwalk. "There, the remains of a 10,000-year-old settlement built by Hokkaido’s Indigenous people, the Ainu, were recently found. They used the grass to make their houses, and it is believed that they hunted the fish that would have swum in the water here at the time." The remains are a reminder of the long-lasting synergy between local inhabitants and nature in East Hokkaido.
Yachibozu, “bald heads of the wetlands”
As we meandered along the path, our charismatic guides pointed out other naturally occurring plants that the Ainu once used in their daily lives. Ezo torikabudo, a pretty but poisonous blue flowering was used in hunting here. Other plants were eaten or used as medicine.
Yoshi grass, once believed to have been used for building homes
Long ago, these wetlands used to be part of the sea and are now kept marshy and nourished by ten rivers that wind through them. Our guides demonstrated the deceptively deep waters here by asking us to plunge a bamboo cane deep into what appeared to be a watery puddle below. The stick went down more than a meter before meeting with the soft, peaty ground. “We show people this so that they aren’t tempted to step off the boardwalk,” he laughed.
Plunging a stick into the marsh water
After we explored the marsh, I felt compelled to understand more about Hokkaido’s Ainu population. Though numbers are unclear, official estimates of the number of Ainu in Japan is around 20,000, though most people believe that number is very conservative. I drove to Ainu Kotan on the shore of Lake Akan, which is home to the island’s largest Ainu population. There, I met a local guide from Tsuruga Adventure Base who took me for a stroll along the lakeside.
The cosy office for Tsuruga Adventure Base
As we walked, he explained that this caldera lake is considered a power spot; a spiritual place where you feel connected with nature. As the water lapped at the shore and a rainbow appeared over the lake, I understood why it had earned this reputation.
Rainbow over Lake Akan
In fact, this special place is one of the only places where you can find the rare algae marimo, a designated Special Natural Monument in Japan, known for its fluffy spherical shape. You can see this incredible species at the nearby Akankohan Visitor Center.
Marimo moss at the Akankohan Visitor Center
It was hard to believe as I walked along the shore, but this enormous lake freezes up to 90 centimetres deep during winter. It’s so thick that people can safely walk across it, drill holes in the ice and fish for smelt before cooking and eating them on the lake. Though it was certainly cold, the lake hadn’t yet begun to freeze, but the cool breeze carrying the scent of pines was bracing.
Autumn foliage around Lake Akan
As we approached a forested trail along the lake, the scent in the air changed to the distinctive smell of sulphur, with wisps of volcanic gas drifting across the path. “Put your hand here,” my guide suggested, gesturing a nondescript rock. Even on this chilly afternoon, my hand was instantly warmed. My guide explained that the hot springs bubbling below keep these rocks warm. He said local deer were also familiar with these cosy spots, using them as naturally heated mattresses in colder months.
Feeling volcanic heat emanating from the rocks
Within this patch of forest is a boiling mud pool, called Bokke, which comes from the Ainu word “pofuke”, meaning “bubble up”. This mud volcano continuously bubbles with boiling mud, emitting the smell of hydrogen sulphide.
The bubbling mud pond, Bokke
No matter how cold the weather gets, the snow never settles on these pools. Though it’s unsafe to get too close to the Bokke, our guide did show us a spot along the lake’s shore where the lake water and hot spring water mingle. The perfect place to warm up our hands before we ventured back through the forest.
My guide, showing me the highlights of Lake Akan’s forested shore
As we walked, our guide pointed out bear scratch marks on a tree, which he said had appeared during the night around seven years ago. Ezo brown bears are taken very seriously in Hokkaido. Though rarely aggressive, they are wild animals and guides will give you thorough information on responsible hiking (make noises so they know you’re coming, never approach or startle them, carefully back away). For extra protection, guides here carry bear spray, too. When they are spotted, trails are immediately closed until the guides assess the area to be safe again.
Bear scratches on a tree
As the light faded, parts of the forest were gently lit with otherworldly illuminations; from projections to flickering fairy lights and an ethereally glowing tree. You could almost imagine fairies emerging from the trees, accompanied by a fleeting shimmer of light. As we walked back to the main village, we noticed the glow of orange lanterns, carved into traditional Ainu shapes that are said to bring good luck.
The inside of a tree trunk, lit at dusk
Nearby gift shops sold similar carvings, distinctly different from the more delicate woodwork you may associate with Japan. You can find these elaborate carvings decorating hotels and restaurants throughout Hokkaido, providing a reminder that Ainu culture is at the heart of this part of Japan.
Lanterns carved with luck-bringing Ainu patterns
After an active day, I was thankful for my ryokan’s hot spring bath as I relaxed that evening. A soak in the shared onsen was the ideal way to soothe my post-hike aching muscles and revive them for the next day.
Day 2
After a hearty Japanese breakfast, we headed to Mt. Io, meaning “sulphur mountain”. It’s also known as Atosa-nupuri, meaning “bare mountain” in Ainu. On approach, it’s easy to see why it earned these names. Plumes of sulphur and steam pour out of more than 1,500 fumaroles, according to our guide, leaving the surrounding areas of the mountain bald.
Plumes of steam and sulphur rise from Mt. Io
Even a layperson like me could see this is a very active volcano. Our guide assured us that it is closely monitored 24 hours a day and that she would automatically get an evacuation notification if anything changed.
Plumes of steam and sulphur rise from Mt. Io
While the general public can access a spectacular but small area at the base of the mountain, our guide took us to a secret trail, used only by deer and guided groups. Due to the risk of falling rocks, hikers without a guide aren’t permitted to follow this route.
Learning about the alpine plants at Mt. Io
Far from being bare, as the mountain’s Ainu name suggests, the trail had a startling diversity in landscape. Before ascending, my guide showed me the alpine plants growing here. “Despite the low elevation, these alpine plants thrive because of the volcanic soil,” she explained. The landscape looked unlike anywhere else I’d seen in Japan, and brought to mind outback Australia; scrubby and wild. Small pieces of bright yellow sulphur rocks peppered the ground, and my guide reminded me that we mustn’t take anything out from National Parks.
Alpine plants at the foot of Mt Io
We walked on, taking a path through maple trees that had recently dropped their leaves onto the forest floor. I hadn’t paid attention to the incredible straightness of the path until my guide pointed it out. “From the late 1800s to 1963, this mountain was a sulphur mine,” she explained. “This path through the trees was a railway that transported sulphur from the bottom of the mountain.” The sulphur was used to make gunpowder and insecticides and to produce electricity. Before that, Ainu used the mineral to make fire.
Walking along the old railway line
While the mine thrived, 400 people lived here on the mountain, and even all these decades later, traces of the mines remain. She pointed out a mangled metal track that had been swallowed up by a young silver birch as it grew. It was now suspended several feet over the ground, entangled within the trunk. “Nature is stronger than us,” she said, as we looked up at its sculptural form.
A mangled metal frame that has been reclaimed by nature
Our guide showed me the three main types of maple trees, mountain, painted and full moon, that grow in the forest here, each with a different leaf shape. I learned to distinguish them as we crunched through the leaves toward the trailhead.
Discovering the various maples that grow in the forest
When we reached the trailhead, we donned our helmets to protect us from falling rocks. At some of the more precarious points, we picked up the pace to get through the area as quickly and carefully as possible.
Helmets on in case of falling rocks
We stepped through rocky valleys, spotting fumaroles dotted all over.
A huge piece of sulphur
“It’s the diversity of this climb that people enjoy,” my guide told me. During our relatively short hike, we’d encountered scrubby alpine plants, dense forests and Mars-like rocky areas, finally coming up to the mountain’s crater, locally known as “bear trap crater”, though it has never been used for that purpose.
A rocky section of the climb
From here, we could see far-reaching views over Kawayu Onsen town and snow-capped peaks in the distance. The first snow of the season had already settled on the highest peaks in the region.
Views from near the crater
At the top, our guide shared red bean-filled bear-shaped snacks with us. The perfect sweet treat to refuel us for the descent. “This is where the fun begins!” my guide laughed.
At the crater
Red bean-filled bear snacks
Thank goodness for my guide. I would never have spotted the route down alone. The path, first trodden by deer, was virtually invisible and involved a lot of pushing through branches and relying on the support of sturdy branches to assist us in carefully walking the steep and muddy trail. Just a short walk from the crater, my guide pointed out “fumarole number one”. The power that this fumarole emitted was staggering. The guide assured me that it was safe to breathe the air here because it’s mostly steam that these fumaroles emit. It’s only when you witness something like this fumarole that you begin to imagine just how powerful and active the earth is under there.
Fumarole number one, the mountain’s most powerful
Once we reached the bottom of the mountain, I enjoyed a break in the on-site cafe and shop, MokMok, which had a long, sunlit sofa in front of a huge window, dubbed the MokMok Theatre, that looked out over the mountain and its fumaroles.
Learning to row
After a local lunch, I drove to Lake Kussharo, the largest caldera lake in Japan, for an afternoon of rowing a canoe. These vessels are known for their sturdiness, but the lake was blissfully still, looking more like a mirror than a vast body of water.
Enjoying the autumn colours and the stillness of the lake
My guide gave me a quick 101 on how to row which, even for someone with astonishingly bad coordination was very easy to learn. Lifejacket and wellies on, I sat in the boat while my guide pulled the canoe into the lake and got in. At first, I tried to impress the guide with my strong rows. He suggested more than once that I take it easy, and after a few minutes, I reluctantly listened and placed my oar down. He was right. This was a far better way to appreciate the moment. Despite its enormity, we appeared to be the only people on the water. There was just the stillness of the lake. Periodically, I heard a fish plop into the lake, or a gaggle of geese, flying in from Russia, announcing their arrival.
The mirror-like surface of Lake Kussharo
I asked the guide if he did this every day. “Most days,” he replied. “This is like meditation,” I said. “You must feel so serene every day”. He smiled the smile of a man who did, indeed, have a serene way of life. Honestly, if I could bottle that feeling of drifting on that mirror-like lake whilst looking at the autumn leaves, I would be rich.
As I took in the colours of the shoreside maples, I caught sight of a mink, just as it caught sight of us. “An invasive species,” the guide tells me. Nonetheless, this visitor is very cute.
A mink on the shore
Soon afterwards, we saw an otter swim to the shore, proudly carrying its catch of the day, a crayfish, in its mouth.
An otter with a crayfish catch
As we rounded a corner, I saw plumes of steam rising from the rocks on the shore. A boiling hot spring bubbled furiously in a rock pool next to the placid lake, quite the juxtaposition! We rowed up to the small beach where the guide tossed some eggs in a sieve and found a pool of boiling onsen water to heat them. As we waited for our mid-row snack, we took a closer look at the spring.
In awe of the spring
Onsen-cooked eggs feel like the ultimate outdoorsy snack. I washed mine down with a kelp tea, made from local Rausu kombu. Before we headed back onto the boat and back to shore, my guide meticulously picked up every last piece of eggshell, leaving no trace.
Onsen eggs
Onsen eggs with kelp tea
That evening, I drove to Utoro in Shiretoko, a narrow peninsular that stretches out to the Sea of Okhotsk, reaching towards Siberia.
Day 3
Upon arrival at the Shiretoko Goko (five lakes) visitor’s centre, we were ushered into a room to watch a short video about bears in the area.
Watching a safety video about bears in the park
Safety is paramount, so the key messages of making noise, not veering off the trails, not eating (our guide noted that bears smell food from up to 30 kilometres away), staying calm and moving carefully away from the bear if you see one were clearly stated.
The wooded trails of Shiretoko Goko
Our guide told us that the bears knew the park schedules and generally avoided the area during these times. However, when someone does report spotting one, the trail is promptly closed to ensure the safety of visitors.
Before I entered the park, I was asked to sweep my feet and clothes with a provided brush to ensure I didn’t accidentally bring in any seeds from invasive species.
Taking a selfie by the lake
As we walked through this virgin forest, our guide pointed out signs of wildlife I’d never have noticed. Dozens of trees along the trail that appeared to have been taken to by an enthusiastic driller were actually the work of woodpeckers who peck at the trunk at around 20 pecks per second to find bugs to eat. My guide told me that the reason they’re able to peck with such velocity is because their tongues act as a kind of brain seatbelt. On cue, as we discussed these curious birds, we heard the tapping of a great spotted woodpecker on the hunt for its lunch.
A great spotted woodpecker
It wasn’t just the woodpeckers leaving their mark on the forest. “Have you ever smelt bear poop?” my guide asked, gesturing at a little pile on the boardwalk. “I have not,” I confessed. With that, he seized a nearby twig and scooped up a sample. “Smell it,” he urged with a smile, slowly bringing the stick towards my face. Reluctantly, I leaned forward and inhaled. Much to my relief, I can report that bear poo does not smell.
Bear poop on the boardwalk
A bear footprint along the trail
Bears have a varied diet, which is one of the reasons why they like the Shiretoko Five Lakes area so much. The forest is a veritable smorgasbord of their favourite treats; skunk cabbage, mountain grapes and ants, to name a few.
Mountain grapes
I concur that the grapes are delicious. The guide offered us some he’d found on the forest floor as he pointed out the bear claw marks where these 900 lb creatures had hauled themselves far up into the trees to reach the vines they grow on. Somehow, seeing the evidence that they’d been here made them feel real. Despite not seeing one, it was thrilling to know we were in the vicinity of these incredible creatures.
Bear claw marks
After my enthusiastic response to eating the mountain grapes, our guide suggested I try ants too, assuring me that they are tangy, bitter and delicious, kind of like the lemon of the insect world. I refrained.
Spectacular views at the lakes
The forest path winds its way around the park’s five lakes, each of which have extraordinary views of the snow-capped mountains and forests.
Pristine trails
Besides the boardwalk, some signage and hiking boot footprints along the trail, there’s no trace of humans here. When I found a button that had popped off a hiker’s shirt, I realised that I hadn’t seen any other trace of rubbish since I’d been in Hokkaido. Pristine on another level.
Though I had seen plenty of evidence of bears in East Hokkaido, I had yet to see one in the flesh. Thankfully, there is a way to see them in their natural habitat that keeps both them and us safe; the Brown Bear Boat Cruise in Rausu.
Brown bears
As I listened to the safety briefing and tugged my lifejacket on, I was buzzing with anticipation. Though it’s not guaranteed, I was told it was highly likely I’d see bears on this cruise. I hopped into the small fishing boat and began to scan the rugged cliffs, my binoculars in one hand and phone in the other.
Despite me scanning the cliffs like a hawk, it was my captain who first spotted a wild brown bear. I had thought about little else but bears for days, but I was still stunned to see it. I squealed (quietly). Colossal and beautiful, minding its own business, paddling in the water. Just magnificent. I frantically alternated between my binoculars and phone, trying simultaneously to be in the moment but also capture it on film forever. I watched it until it was out of sight, then went back to scanning the cliffs, eager for my next bear-induced dopamine hit.
Day 4
Driving in East Hokkaido is a bit of a safari. It’s almost inevitable that you’ll see multiple deer, and you’re likely to see foxes, tanuki and various bird species, too. It was birdwatching that was on my mind as I drove to Kiritappu Wetland, another wetland protected by the Ramsar Convention.
Canoeing through the marsh
I met my guides on the banks of a waterway that weaves through the marshes. They gave me a lesson in canoeing and warned me it might be a bit tougher than Lake Kussharo because of a strong breeze.
Canoeing through the marsh
My guides also shared the importance of this area as a habitat for waterfowl. Whooper swans, Stellar’s sea eagles, Eurasian wigeons, herons, white-tailed sea eagles, black-eared kites and red-crowned cranes can all be found here.
Snipes looking for worms
As we canoed down the narrow river and deep into the marshes, various birds swam on the waterway ahead of us, leading the way. After a few minutes, we reached a stretch of open water, with several peat islands providing a spot for Latham’s snipes to search for worms.
Break time
As we rowed on, I heard the spooky sound of a creaky wooden door opening. “It’s a stag”, my guide laughed as he saw me cautiously looking around. Just then, I noticed several pairs of eyes on us. An impressively large stag and a group of does watched us from the banks. Ours were the only boats on the water, so it was easy to imagine that these deer rarely saw humans and were as interested in us as we were in them.
Refuelling with a warm maple sap drink
We rowed to the shore to watch the wildlife for a while, noticing multiple sets of deer prints on the peaty sand. This was the spot where we had refreshments; a biscuit and a warm drink our guides had made from maple sap and herbs they’d collected themselves. This tasty drink fuelled our slightly tougher row back when we faced the wind head-on. We took it easy, taking plenty of opportunities to grab our binoculars and take a closer look at the birds of the marsh.
On the lookout for birds
We watched as white-tailed sea eagles swooped over the water, sending other birds scattering in formation. We saw one of these magnificent birds vertically descend on the water, claws outstretched as it plucked a fish right out of the water and flew off with it. I felt like I was watching a David Attenborough documentary in real life.
Birds fly over the marsh
When we got back to the banks of the river and packed away our wellies and lifejackets, our guide spotted three red-crowned cranes, two parents and a baby. We all looked through our binoculars to observe them wading through the marshes. “Ainu people called them gods of the marsh”, my guide said. What an honour to see these majestic creatures reigning over their kingdom.
Red-crowned cranes on the marsh
The wildlife sightings didn’t end there. Even as I drove back to the airport right afterwards, I saw two more red-crowned cranes from the car window. The most perfect ending and a beautiful reminder of how the conservation efforts of East Hokkaido’s people have ensured this wildness continues to thrive.
