Your gaze is inevitably pulled to the mountains when you travel through Nagano, Toyama and Gifu prefectures. They loom over townscapes or stand cool and serene in the distance, beckoning you closer.
Note: This story is based on a trip taken in May 2019. Some of the facts about access routes and means of transportation and may have changed.
For us, the temptation to go to these mountains was irresistible. As we visited the towns and cities around Chubusangaku National Park, our desire to head for the mountains had only grown. We had enjoyed exploring fascinating museums, learning about ancient crafts, sampling fresh local cuisines—and of course, luxuriating in Japan’s famous hospitality. But now we were craving an escape from civilization, a digital detox in the clear air of the Japanese Alps, the wellspring of so much of the region’s unique culture.
We decided to enter the national park from Takayama, a picturesque historic city in Gifu, to the south of Chubusangaku. From here buses follow tightly curving mountain roads to Okuhida, then wind their way further east through the Northern Japanese Alps to emerge at the laidback castle city of Matsumoto.
In Gifu, Japanese history is told from the point of view of the people, rather than warlords and emperors. We’d seen imperial treasures in Kyoto, and gazed in awe at fearsome samurai swords, unaware that many were made here in central Japan by artisans creating beautiful and useful items from Gifu’s abundant natural resources.
Their traditions have been passed down through the generations, and each area is still associated with its particular craft. Takayama is a merchant city, the well-preserved houses of its historic district showcasing the region’s exquisite Hida wood carvings. Mino is known for mino-washi, a strong yet delicate type of paper used for everything from lanterns to shoji (screen doors). In Gujo-Hachiman you can visit an aizome (indigo-dyeing) shop which has been in operation for 400 years. And while the city of Seki now mostly produces knives and scissors, elegant katana (swords) are still forged here.
The mountains have left their mark on all of these products. The deep colour of Gujo’s aizome and the purity of Mino’s paper would be impossible without the clear, oxygen-rich waters flowing down from mountain springs. Takayama’s woodworking is only possible because of the rich forests fed by water from the Northern Japanese Alps.
For generations, people in this region have lived by the principle of satoyama: working with nature rather than against it, to keep balance and live sustainably. In the preserved village of Shirakawa-go, we’d seen the beauty and abundance of Gifu’s nature and the hard work and ingenuity required to live in harmony with it. The famous, steeply sloped gassho-zukuri roofs of its farmhouses may be picturesque, but their main purpose is allowing the building to survive heavy snowfalls in the frozen depths of winter.
In turn, those snowfalls told the farmers of Takayama exactly when to plant rice—it is said that they knew simply by studying how long the snow stayed on the peaks. We stared up at the mountains as we left the city of Takayama by bus, wondering what messages they were sending to those who could read them.
During the bus journey, the landscape changed and changed again, with fields alternating with forests and small clusters of houses, and finally the winding roads of the mountains. We seemed to emerge from each tunnel into a slightly more dramatic scene, the peaks higher and sharper, the valleys deeper. We passed tiny villages, lone farmhouses surrounded by rice paddies, and shrine gates standing guard in front of evergreen trees.
As the grandeur of Chubusangaku National Park opened up before us, the effect of the satoyama approach was clear. The landscapes looked wild and beautiful, with obvious human development limited to certain areas. We stopped briefly at Hirayu Onsen, one of the more populated spots, where some people changed to buses bound for Kamikochi. But we stayed on board, heading deeper into Okuhida, to the base of the Hotaka mountains.
Our destination was Shinhotaka Onsen, a hot spring town set far back in a verdant river valley. The unpretentious resort is smaller than Hirayu, popular with domestic travelers but still little known to overseas visitors. Its seclusion means immediate access to nature, with walks and cycling routes following the river and passing through white birch forests, or up into the Hotaka Mountains.
On reaching our hotel, we stepped into an entrance area with dark wooden beams in the ceiling, so huge we thought they must be whole tree trunks. Shoes off, we walked on tatami-mat floors to the lobby, passing delicately painted paper screens and a traditional irori (sunken hearth) on the way.
As with the huge beams—similar to ones we’d seen in gassho-zukuri houses—and the irori, our delicately prepared but fortifying sansai ryori dinner was rooted in the region’s traditions. Sansai ryori is a cuisine based on the mountains’ wild produce, such as foraged vegetables like earthy bamboo shoots and bitter butterbur, and freshwater fish. Other local specialties were also on the menu, like marbled Hida beef, and warming, umami hoba miso.
After dinner we enjoyed a soothing soak in the hotel’s rotenburo (outdoor baths), laden with wisteria and overlooking the rock-strewn river. Each season would change the view, the trees opposite turning red and gold in the fall, snow weighing down the branches in winter, fresh green shoots appearing as spring came around again.
Shinhotaka Onsen has an abundance of natural hot springs—some only accessible to hotel guests but others open to day-trip visitors. As well as large communal pools and secluded private ones, there are several footbaths for weary walkers dotted around the town—one even halfway up Mount Nishi-Hotakadake.
The next morning we decided to make our way further into the mountains. We took the shuttle bus deeper into Okuhida, to the lowest station of the Shinhotaka Ropeway. Clouds of sulfurous steam billowed from the hot springs around the building.
Inside the building, you can get information on the ropeway, including running times. It operates year-round, with occasional extra services in the early morning or late evening. The lack of light pollution and the clear air of the mountains make for truly awe-inspiring views at night and sometimes special stargazing events are held.
The ropeway itself connects the valley floor with the upper section of Nishi-Hotaka-dake, climbing over 1000 meters. We boarded the gondola for the short trip up to Nabedaira Kogen station, which has a visitor center with plenty of information on the natural surroundings, and also a very hot natural footbath.
The second gondola is a double-decker (Japan’s first) which takes seven minutes to ascend to the top station, Nishi-Hotaka-guchi. Once on board, the gondola swooped us up quickly, sending butterflies in our stomachs. As we got higher, the panorama opened up, stunning us into silence with the sheer beauty of the landscape.
On disembarking, we made our way straight to the observation deck to drink in more of the view from 2,156 meters. Even staring down the wide V-shaped valley—towards our hotel, and Takayama in the distance—the horizon was crowded with peaks. Ghostly white birches and luxuriant green pines dotted the snow-covered ground, and plumes of steam drifted lazily from volcanic vents on nearby slopes.
We tore ourselves away from the view and made a brief foray into the trees, enjoying the novelty of the snow patches that still remained at this altitude. People with hiking boots, daypacks and cheery smiles passed us, striking out into the crisp, clear air of the uncrowded mountain trails.
Several routes snake away from the ropeway stations, with Nabedaira Kogen the starting point for some gentle nature walks. The more challenging hikes begin at Nishi-Hotaka-guchi station, from where it’s an hour and a half’s trek up to Nishiho Sanso Mountain Hut. The 2,909-meter summit of Mount Nishi-Hotakadake is another 3-hour climb from the mountain hut up a steep, continuous rock ridge. Only experienced climbers with an adequate level of fitness should attempt this, but the incredible views of the Japanese Alps are worth it if you have the ability and stamina. Alternatively, you can hike down the mountain on a forested trail 2–3 hours to Kamikochi.
As we descended back to the valley, the snow thinning and disappearing along the way, I wondered how different the scene would be in a few months. Winters may be harsh in the mountains, but they’re also stunningly beautiful. It is possible to visit many areas of Chubusangaku National Park during winter, and also highly recommended if you prefer to avoid the crowds. But be aware that some roads are closed to traffic in this season—check access routes before you go.
Snowshoeing around Nabedaira Kogen, skiing and snowboarding at Hirayu, and hiking are some of the winter activities in the Okuhida area. Nishiho Sanso Mountain Hut boasts the only lodge on the ridgeline of the Northern Alps, which stays open year-round. And after a winter hike there’s always the pleasure of soaking in a hot spring bath as snow falls around you.
Our brief time in the mountains of Chubusangaku left us relaxed and restored, reminding of the pleasures of slow travel and simply enjoying the beauty of nature. We felt fortified and ready to face civilization again, but we knew we would be back someday soon, eager to watch the changing seasons play out across the grand peaks of the Northern Japanese Alps.
Written by Rebecca Hallett
