Nokogiriyama, also known as "Sawtooth Mountain," is a peak just off the western coast of Chiba Prefecture's Boso Peninsula. As its name might suggest, it has a jagged profile like that of a Japanese saw, and its history as a stone quarry during the Edo Period (1603-1868) has also left somewhat "jagged" physical results into the mountainside.
On one sunny day during Golden Week, Troy and I, as well as two friends (Fiodar and Katya) made the trip from Tokyo down into Chiba. It's actually easier to get to Nokogiriyama if you live south of the city, because then you can just take a ferry across the bay, but as it was we trundled our way along the coast on train lines I'd never heard of before.
From Hama-Kanaya Station we strolled through a small, sleepy port town until we got to the foot of the mountain. We had some trouble initially finding the start of the hike, but so did some Japanese people, so it wasn't like we had missed any blindingly obvious signage. From the Kanaya side there are two pathways up the mountain: Sharikimichi or Kanto Fureai no Michi. Since both are (supposedly, having only walked up one) of equal length we chose the Kanto Fureai no Michi, for no particular reason. And for the next hour we slogged our way up steep, uneven and, because of recent rain, squelchy stone steps.
But, after about 45 minutes, the view that greeted us at the top was more than worth the lactic acid and quad pain. As opposed to a single peak, the top of Nokogiriyama is actually a large complex belonging to Nihonji temple. Its most famous view is almost certainly the jigoku nozoki (view of hell) where you can queue to stand at the precipice of a chunk of stone jutting out over a ravine.
Unfortunately the wait time to take a photo there was over an hour, so we decided to forgo that pleasure and spent the rest of our time seeing what else the mountain had to offer.
Like pretty stunning visages!
Then we stopped at a 30-meter-tall (98 feet) relief of the "Hundred-shaku Kannon" carved into the walls of one of the old quarries as a memorial for victims of World War II.
For people who followed the British show "Top Gear," the open area in front of the Kannon was also the finish line for a race between Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond and James May (who we previously saw at the penis festival).
Next, we wound our way around to a stone Daibutsu. Originally completed in 1783, this 31.05-meter-tall (101 feet) is nearly twice as tall as the arguably more famous Todaiji Daibutsu in Nara Prefecture.
For comparison, here we are for scale: It's quite an imposing structure.
Just off to the side of the Daibutsu was a smaller statue surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny jizo statues that I overheard someone refer to as onegai-jizo (wishing jizo). You could purchase a little statue, make a wish, and leave it with the others. Many of them had bleached white and lost their little red caps and kerchiefs.
After leaving the large grassy clearing in front of the Daibutsu, we started to wend our way down the mountain via the trails that took us past 1,500 stone arhat statues. They were carved by master artisan Jingoro Eirei Ono and his disciples between 1779-98. They were placed in erosion-formed caves and each had a unique (and sometimes amusing) visage. Unfortunately during the anti-Buddhist sentiment (haibutsu kishaku, literally "abolish Buddhism and destroy Shakyamuni") of the Meiji Restoration many were beheaded, their broken faces just left on the ground. Recently there has been a repair campaign, but that's far from complete.
Of course, during the course of the hike up and down we got an opportunity to see some of the old quarries up close, as well as some stunning natural rock formations.
Finally we made it down the mountain. I confess that throughout this trip I couldn't get Edvard Grieg's "In the Hall of the Mountain King" out of my head, maybe because I kept thinking it would be thematically appropriate as "In the Hell of the Mountain King"? Since we (sort of) went to look at hell and back, does that mean we triumphed over the forces of evil? I'll let you all decide.
On one sunny day during Golden Week, Troy and I, as well as two friends (Fiodar and Katya) made the trip from Tokyo down into Chiba. It's actually easier to get to Nokogiriyama if you live south of the city, because then you can just take a ferry across the bay, but as it was we trundled our way along the coast on train lines I'd never heard of before.
From Hama-Kanaya Station we strolled through a small, sleepy port town until we got to the foot of the mountain. We had some trouble initially finding the start of the hike, but so did some Japanese people, so it wasn't like we had missed any blindingly obvious signage. From the Kanaya side there are two pathways up the mountain: Sharikimichi or Kanto Fureai no Michi. Since both are (supposedly, having only walked up one) of equal length we chose the Kanto Fureai no Michi, for no particular reason. And for the next hour we slogged our way up steep, uneven and, because of recent rain, squelchy stone steps.
But, after about 45 minutes, the view that greeted us at the top was more than worth the lactic acid and quad pain. As opposed to a single peak, the top of Nokogiriyama is actually a large complex belonging to Nihonji temple. Its most famous view is almost certainly the jigoku nozoki (view of hell) where you can queue to stand at the precipice of a chunk of stone jutting out over a ravine.
Like pretty stunning visages!
 |
| Looking out towards Tokyo Bay |
Then we stopped at a 30-meter-tall (98 feet) relief of the "Hundred-shaku Kannon" carved into the walls of one of the old quarries as a memorial for victims of World War II.
For people who followed the British show "Top Gear," the open area in front of the Kannon was also the finish line for a race between Jeremy Clarkson, Richard Hammond and James May (who we previously saw at the penis festival).
Next, we wound our way around to a stone Daibutsu. Originally completed in 1783, this 31.05-meter-tall (101 feet) is nearly twice as tall as the arguably more famous Todaiji Daibutsu in Nara Prefecture.
 |
| In his hand, he's holding a container of medicine. |
For comparison, here we are for scale: It's quite an imposing structure.
Just off to the side of the Daibutsu was a smaller statue surrounded by hundreds, if not thousands, of tiny jizo statues that I overheard someone refer to as onegai-jizo (wishing jizo). You could purchase a little statue, make a wish, and leave it with the others. Many of them had bleached white and lost their little red caps and kerchiefs.
After leaving the large grassy clearing in front of the Daibutsu, we started to wend our way down the mountain via the trails that took us past 1,500 stone arhat statues. They were carved by master artisan Jingoro Eirei Ono and his disciples between 1779-98. They were placed in erosion-formed caves and each had a unique (and sometimes amusing) visage. Unfortunately during the anti-Buddhist sentiment (haibutsu kishaku, literally "abolish Buddhism and destroy Shakyamuni") of the Meiji Restoration many were beheaded, their broken faces just left on the ground. Recently there has been a repair campaign, but that's far from complete.
 |
| Some statues were so eroded that they hardly seemed like human figures at all. Reminds me a bit of coral. |
 |
| Eerie, no? |
 |
| Looked up and found this little guy peeking out from a ledge. |
Of course, during the course of the hike up and down we got an opportunity to see some of the old quarries up close, as well as some stunning natural rock formations.
 |
| Mountain kings and queens! |
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