A Holy Pilgrimage Up a Japanese Mountain

A light rain is falling from the heavens as Kazuhiro Hayasaka stands before a large sign, pointing out the different sections of the path up Mount Haguro. Haguro is one of Dewa Sanzan’s three sacred mountains and Hayasaka-san is a Yamabushi priest, one of a group of ascetic monks believed to have special powers. The name is easy to translate: yama means mountain and bushi means lying down or prostrating. These men, when they are not leading people into the hills, spend their time in the forest at one with nature. 

The three mountains are located in the Yamagata Prefecture on the Japanese island of Honshu. Haguro, Hayasaka explains, represents our present life. While trekking behind him to its 415-metre summit, we are to contemplate life, happiness and prosperity in silence. He tells us to watch for carvings on the 2,446 steps. Find all 33 and your dreams will come true. 

The morning began at a pilgrim lodge in the village of Touge. There were once more than 300 lodges here, but now there are only about 30, each one catering to worshippers from a certain region of Japan. Daisin-bo usually receives pilgrims from the Chibu prefecture, east of Tokyo; today Hayasaka is in charge of our group, who are here in autumn to sample the experience. Pilgrims usually come here during summer, dress in white – the colour of death and movement to another life – and climb the three mountains. They also fast, spend time in smoke rooms and meditate beneath cold waterfalls. In recent years, Hayasaka has welcomed repeat visitors.

“This mountain has 1,400 years of history of spiritual rebirth,” he explains. “I’m increasingly hearing that people in the modern world are looking for retreat or reconnection. There must be many reasons for people to come to this place, but the most important is to let your body be in nature.” 

The weather’s inclemency means we are soon the only walkers tackling the stone steps. We cross a bridge over a stream that is lined by autumnal foliage. Stopping for a moment, Hayasaka shows us a thousand-year-old grandpa cedar and five-storey pagoda, which was built in the tenth century and survived the Meiji Restoration. After each break at yet another shrine, the priest blows his horagai, a horn made from a conch shell, before we all move onwards.

The steps grow gradually steeper and I allow the rest of the group to pull ahead to walk in silence. It is then I begin to appreciate the elements as the pilgrims might. The wind lashes the canopy of ancient cedars, turning it into a troupe of howling dancers. Gold and orange leaves blow across the path. Drops of rain threaten to turn my glasses into a blindfold. Close to the mountaintop, as we approach the Sanjin Gōsaiden shrine, fog rolls in, blocking the views and giving the landscape a ghostly appearance. 

As soon as we get inside, the rain begins to pour. We follow warmed hallways to the temple to offer the mountain gods a gift, then are presented with a hearty vegetarian feast prepared using foraged mountain vegetables. It is then I realise I’ve not seen a single one of the 33 carvings. What that means for my dreams, I’m completely unsure.