Mounting Iwate

I woke up early Saturday morning, not due to the brimming morning sun toasting my pasty white body, but due to the overwhelming hard-on throbbing back and forth under the covers. What’s so strange about that you might say, I am after all at the point of optimum virility and therefore it’s only natural to welcome each day with a three handed salute. Saturday, though, was very different. The prospect of mounting Iwate-san was the catalyst behind this raging throb and not the thought of inappropriate affairs with a sinful wench (or a piece of fruit for that matter), which is normally the case. Iwate-sans’ subtle beauty and enigmatic presence had grabbed my attention ever since I first caught sight of it upon arrival in Morioka and I knew we would come face-to-face sooner, rather than later. The moment was now, so with a little carpe diem to the mirror and some last minute packing of chicken breasts I was ready for my date with Iwate-san.

A heady 120km down the expressway in Damo’s power-house motor, named ‘Priscilla’ by the way, was more than enough to further the adrenaline coursing through my veins. A quick pit-stop to digitally capture Iwate-san from afar was in order and offered a brief reminder of what the day ahead posed. Iwate-san doesn’t come under the guise of being a remorseless monster like the Fuji’s of this world, but still I wasn’t naïve enough to assume it would be a cake-walk. At 2038m it’s not something that Jack & Jill would race up in a hurry, but having said that it certainly doesn’t have an overwhelming presence. A lavish bump with a splash of arrogance would be how I would describe it.

Arriving at Obuke station for the rendezvous with the other eager hikers brought a wry smile to my face as I surveyed the hopefuls. The crew was certainly motley, as Rick described it, and the full experience spectrum was represented within. From the severely under-prepared, Alison Watanabe and her best hiking denims, to the grossly over-packed, Maddie ‘The Hippie’ McDonald who brought enough trail mix to feed a commune for 12 years, the group had all the hallmarks of getting hopelessly lost and turning into a cannibalistic group where only the strongest would survive. Nick Boardman, as per usual, offered the first laugh of the day with his IRA Halloween costume/hiking gear that he’d brought along. Obuke also gave us a chance to meet Iwate’s newest ALT named group D (birth name unknown), who at this point was quiet and unassuming.


As we set off I straggled along at the back of the caravan dilly-dallying with the Hippie and the Beaver (Heather), whilst Nic and Ange took up the rear as part of their AJET responsibilities, how they would regret that one later. Living by the motto of ‘it’s a marathon not a sprint’ is certainly not for me so I decided to storm my way to the head of the group with Jacques in tow, who at this stage was foaming at the mouth in wondrous awe of the ‘awesome beauty that mother nature had provided man’, damn Canadians and their hippieness. Leaving Beaver and the Hippie in our wake we soon came across a trail of smoke and thought that someone had really decided to attack this mountain full steam. It was, in fact, Hollie ‘The Sweat’ Vicars puffing on a fag amidst some of the purest air to be found for miles, you have to admire her devotion to her habit. Weaving in and out of the various splinter groups that had formed the next encounter of note was with Sophia ‘The Sweat part 2’ Van der Vinklebottom who mocked me with a ‘tortoise and hare’ comment as I flicked her lifeless body to the side of the trail where it belonged and continued on my Edmund Hilary-like assault on the mountain.

With a full complement of buddies along side me (Jacques, Nick ‘Nick Boardman’ Boardman and Mark ‘Sick’ Skeith) we soon had veggie powered Rick and half human half cyborg Anne ‘soccer mom’ Parry in our sights. A brief photo opp/rest along the edge of one of the lava flows and the race was on again for the top. I would like to say that Rick peaked too soon, but there were enough carrots in the engine room to see him reach the overnight cabin before us. It was at this point, with 2km to go, that Iwate-san revealed itself as a potent force. Severe scree infested inclines and rocky topography, also in the plus 45˚ zone, put the calves to the test and the sweat glands pumping profusely (not even Pocari sweat could disguise the fatigue setting in). Looking over at Anne was a bit disheartening, to say the least, as there were no physical signs of exertion whatsoever, not even her hair, which can only be described as the 8th natural wonder of the world, seemed phased by the ordeal.

Having arrived at the cabin with an hour or so of daylight left we were greeted by an attic dwelling version of Rick raving about his private little snug away from the group. As darkness sprawled over the mountain and the rain thrashed from the sky the remainder of the group slowly reached the cabin. Spirits were damp, but not low and soon everyone was tucking into the Hippies trail mix and their own food reserves. At this point I was acting as an aid organisation (Paul Aid) doling out devilishly tasty chicken breast sandwiches, crispy salad, painkillers, hoodies and t-shirts to those unfortunate enough not to be able to afford such luxury items. With grub in bellies and fresh clothes for all it was time for the booze to come out. A mixture of rum, vodka and whiskey, when I say whiskey I actually have no idea what the hell that rat piss actually was, was on the menu. Good ‘ol Mark and his rancid bottle of ‘Oceans White’ was as unwelcome as his ‘nuking Hiroshima was a blessing for the Japanese’ comment. By now the day had taken its toll on some of the group and they decided to hit the hay i.e. solid oak floor at 200hrs while the rest of us talked some shit for a while and thus annoying the crap out of those that were actually trying to sleep. Group D had, by now, taken a seat in the inner circle and started to reveal a little of her personality via the medium of squeak. None of us were too clear at what messages this renegade Smurf was trying to convey but she made the group laugh with its occasionally decipherable ‘thanks dude’, or ‘peace homes’ and other Ninja Turtle style comments. Skip forward to a huddle in Ricks attic and the worlds biggest moth biting a chunk out of his eyeball, laying a host of eggs in Sick’s hair and generally us causing enough noise to encourage the sleeping Iwate-san to spit a lava bomb on us we all sought repose near on 2300hrs.

A plethora of synchronised alarms ‘welcomed’ 0300 and ascent time. Conditions were miserable with rain and gale force winds being the highlight. A horrible scramble in the pitch black, even my MIR space-station lamp attached to my head was useless in these conditions, to the crater took about 45 minutes and exhausted most of us. Momentary elation atop Iwate-san was followed by misery as it soon became clear that the weather would not give and although the sun would rise, it wouldn’t be shining on us. Tantalising glimpses compounded the frustration as an occasional break in the clouds would afford a view of what might have been. An awesome vista it was too, perhaps like a capable poker player mother-nature didn’t want to fully show her hand, I guess you just have to respect that and move on.


The descent was brief and without major incident except the 178 falls by Group D, and the near death of Suzanne. The one major surprise being the rapidity of the Sweats descent arriving alongside Jacques, Nick and I, perhaps the scientists have just gotten it all wrong about the ill effects of smoking on your health. With everyone safely at the bottom and soaking in the onsen I was satisfied with my one-night stand on Iwate-san. As a true lady will never put out on the first night, Iwate-san didn’t go the full way which has left me gagging for more.