Author: kiwi

Preface

As someone who travels to Hokkaido two or three times a year—and has already visited more than ten times—this trip had three main purposes:

First, Hokkaido’s autumn leaves arrive early. Typically, the colors reach their peak (“見頃¹”) as soon as October begins, making it one of the earliest places in Japan to experience true autumn scenery. I wanted to visit Daisetsuzan National Park to admire the fall foliage and do some hiking while I was there.

Second, two years ago around the same time, I traveled to the Shiretoko Peninsula, where I saw many wild brown bears fishing along the rivers with their cubs—building up fat reserves before winter set in. This time, I wanted to bring my camera and try to capture similar moments of these magnificent creatures in their natural element.

Third, a friend traveling with me has been thinking about buying a Subaru. Since Hokkaido’s car rental market is highly competitive—and autumn is relatively an off-season—we could rent a Subaru at a very reasonable price, drive it for a week, and get a real sense of how it performs on Hokkaido’s winding roads.

This itinerary was designed as a continuation of my Hokkaido trip from last autumn. Starting from New Chitose Airport, the plan was to enjoy the autumn foliage around Daisetsuzan National Park, then pass through the Lake Akan area to attend the evening light installation show, continue on to the Shiretoko Peninsula to photograph wild brown bears, and finally return to the Obihiro region to visit the heart-shaped lake.

For those interested, you can also read my previous article, “Japan Sketches: An 1,100 km Autumn Journey Across Eastern Hokkaido.” Combined with this piece, it will give you a more complete picture of traveling through Hokkaido in autumn.

Day 1: Departure! Daisetsuzan National Park

Daisetsuzan National Park is Japan’s largest national park, home to Mount Asahidake, Mount Akadake, Mount Kurodake, and Mount Tokachidake. The park is known for its vast virgin forests, magnificent volcanic landscapes, and rich ecosystems.

To truly appreciate the autumn colors here, a light hike or mountain trek is essential.

Ginsendai

We set out early in the morning, heading toward our first destination — Ginsendai. The morning sun rose before us, its soft rays filtering through the thin mountain mist and gently spilling onto the road ahead, bringing a touch of warmth to the crisp autumn air. As we drove past the Furano area, the distant mountains looked as if they were veiled in silk, with mist lingering between the valleys — faint, ethereal, and dreamlike, as though we had entered a fairyland. Though we were on a tight schedule, the sight was far too beautiful to simply pass by. We couldn’t resist stopping the car, pulling out our cameras, and pressing the shutter — capturing that fleeting, magical moment.

We then drove to Ginsendai to enjoy the autumn scenery. Ginsendai is actually the trailhead for climbing Mount Akadake, but thanks to its stunning autumn landscapes, it has also become a perfect scenic viewpoint that attracts countless visitors each year.

When we arrived, the sun had just risen, and the morning mist had lifted, revealing the rolling mountains in the distance. The autumn forest was painted in shades of yellow and green, with layers of golden leaves shimmering under the sunlight — like a vivid oil painting of the season.

Taisetsu Kogen Onsen

After admiring the autumn scenery from Ginsendai, we headed to the nearby Taisetsu Kogen Onsen. The entrance here is rather inconspicuous, marked only by a simple sign pointing the way. After entering, you need to drive about 20 minutes along an unpaved off-road trail before reaching the public parking lot of the onsen. The road is a bit bumpy, but the views along the way are absolutely worth it.

On both sides of the road stretched deep valleys, and beside the path flowed a crystal-clear stream, winding gently through the rocks. The trees along the banks had long shed their summer green; layers upon layers of yellow leaves shimmered as sunlight filtered through the branches, scattering golden patches of light across the forest floor — a quiet reminder of autumn’s unique charm.

Just as we were focused on photographing the stream by the roadside, a red vintage car slowly drove past us. The vibrant red of the car contrasted strikingly with the golden leaves, and in that fleeting moment, I instinctively lifted my camera and pressed the shutter — capturing this perfect shot.

A little further ahead, we arrived at the public parking lot of the Daisetsu Kogen Onsen. We weren’t here for the hot spring itself (though you certainly can take a soak here), but rather for the hiking trail around the Daisetsu Kogen Onsen Marshes.

This is a rather little-known route, located at the foot of the eastern slope of the Daisetsuzan main ridge, Takane-ga-hara. The trail winds through the forest, circling several ponds and marshes along the way. It’s especially famous for its stunning autumn scenery — the fiery red and golden maple leaves reflected in the crystal-clear water create a breathtaking sight.

As shown on the map above, the hiking routes are divided into two options. One is the round-trip trail to Midorino-numa (Green Marsh), which takes about two hours to complete. The other is the longer round-trip to Kogen-numa (Highland Marsh), which takes around four hours. However, on the day of our visit, only the shorter trail was open — conveniently sparing us the trouble of choosing between the two.

Before officially starting the hike, visitors are required to stop by the “Brown Bear Information Center” to receive the latest updates on bear sightings. The staff there provide a detailed briefing about current trail conditions and precautions regarding potential bear encounters. After listening to the instructions, you sign your name on the hiking registration form, and then you can enter the trailhead beside it to officially begin your hike.

Though it’s called a hike, it feels more like a leisurely walk. The elevation gain along the route is modest, and the distance isn’t long. Even though this is the best season for autumn hiking, we encountered very few other hikers along the way — which made it all the easier to take our time and truly enjoy the scenery.

The entire hiking trail was filled with the rich atmosphere of autumn. The branches of the trees on both sides intertwined overhead, already painted in the vibrant colors of the season. Shades of gold and crimson decorated the entire forest like a vivid oil painting. The pale trunks stood in striking contrast to the deep red maple leaves, creating an almost surreal beauty.

As we continued forward, we reached a small stream. Standing on a wooden bridge built across it, you could see the stream winding gently through the forest. The clear water shimmered in and out of view among the trees, while the red and yellow fallen leaves along both banks complemented the scene perfectly. The colorful forest looked like a painting brought to life. The air here felt exceptionally fresh and carried a hint of coolness, allowing us to fully immerse ourselves in nature’s embrace and unwind.

In the distance, the terrain grew steeper, and rocky slopes began to appear between the trees. Wisps of white steam rose softly from the ground — geothermal steam released from beneath the earth, drifting gently in the crisp autumn air. Surrounded by hills and silence, the only sounds were the faint whisper of the wind and the gentle rustle of branches.

At the final stretch of the hike, we finally reached our destination — the beautiful Midori-numa Pond. We sat down to rest, snacking on what we had brought along, and enjoyed a rare moment of solitude in nature. The pond before us was so still that not a single ripple disturbed its surface, perfectly mirroring the surrounding mountains and the vividly colored autumn forest. The distant hills were blanketed in shades of gold and crimson, their interwoven hues creating a stunning sense of depth and harmony.

Meteor and Galaxy Waterfalls

After recharging ourselves, we returned to the parking lot and set off toward the Meteor and Galaxy Waterfalls. Along the way, we passed through a long tunnel, and as we emerged on the other side, the view suddenly opened up. We made a brief stop near the Daisetsuzan Dam, where looking up from the base of the dam revealed a breathtaking scene above the tunnel.

Autumn had completely enveloped the entire mountain range. Golden leaves blanketed the slopes surrounding the dam like a shimmering carpet. A gentle breeze stirred the air, sending leaves drifting gracefully through the sunlight that filtered through the branches, landing softly on our shoulders. The entrance of the tunnel, framed by dense autumn foliage, looked like a living painting — walking through it felt like stepping into a world wrapped entirely in the colors of fall.

The Meteor and Galaxy Waterfalls are among the most iconic sights in Daisetsuzan National Park and are also listed among Japan’s Top 100 Waterfalls. Known together as the “Married Couple Waterfalls,” the Meteor and Galaxy falls captivate countless visitors each year with their majestic alpine beauty and dynamic contrast.

Though I’ve visited these waterfalls in all four seasons, each time offering a different charm, it is autumn that makes the scene at Sounkyo Gorge truly magnificent. October marks the best time to admire the red and yellow foliage that cloaks the valley. The cliffs flanking the waterfalls form a natural frame, highlighting their grandeur and dreamlike beauty. The Meteor Waterfall plunges powerfully, a white ribbon of roaring energy, while the Galaxy Waterfall beside it is slender and elegant, like a silken thread drifting gently from the heavens. Together, they create a stunning harmony of strength and grace.

Shirahige Waterfall

After leaving the Meteor and Galaxy Waterfalls, we drove north toward Biei’s Shirogane Onsen area. The mountain road wound through the forest, and not long after passing the famous “Blue Pond” — known for appearing as a wallpaper image on Apple devices — the sound of rushing water striking rock began to fill the air. A crisp, moist freshness lingered around us, leading the way to the direction of Shirahige Waterfall.

Standing on the observation bridge and looking down, the waterfall appeared like countless strands of white silk cascading from the cracks in the rock face. Unlike typical waterfalls that surge down from a mountaintop, this one flows directly from underground springs, seeping through the rocks in layers and weaving together like a natural tapestry of water. The rushing streams pour into the azure Biei River below, whose distinctive “Biei Blue” gleams with a milky luster under the sunlight — so dreamlike through the mist that it feels almost unreal.

Speaking of which, I have to admire Japan’s way of presenting these “small landscapes.” Both the Blue Pond and Shirahige Waterfall are actually quite compact — the pond is merely a small mineral-rich pool that appears blue due to sedimentation, while the waterfall is simply underground spring water seeping through a cliff. Visiting both takes less than 15 minutes, yet somehow, everyone manages to capture stunning photos here.

Tokachidake

After admiring the waterfall, we drove another 5 kilometers deeper into the mountains to reach our final stop of the day — Tokachidake. Though we call it “Tokachidake,” the spot we actually visited was the Bogakudai Observatory, located at an elevation of 930 meters. From here, we could see both the mist-covered summit of Tokachidake and the surrounding mountains adorned in their peak autumn colors.

Standing atop the Tokachidake viewpoint, the scenery took my breath away. Although mist shrouded the mountaintop, the mid-slopes of the mountain were ablaze with color — golden birch, fiery-red maple, and deep-green pine trees layered together, blanketing the hillside in vibrant, almost burning hues.

A gentle breeze rustled the leaves, and as I looked toward the distant ridges, one poetic line came to mind: “The mountains are all dyed red, every forest ablaze with autumn.” Tokachidake in the mist has a beauty of contrasts — barren volcanic land underfoot, yet thriving life stretching into the distance. The intensity of those colors was so striking that even now, as I type these words, the memory remains vivid.

As evening fell and the sky dimmed, we wrapped up the day’s journey. Headlights illuminated the winding mountain road as we descended slowly. In the distance, the lights of Biei flickered against the night, and our day’s adventure came to a close in quiet satisfaction.

Day 2: Departure! Asahidake Hiking

Asahidake

The main plan for our second day was to explore Hokkaido’s highest peak — Mount Asahidake. Standing at 2,291 meters, it is the main summit on the northern side of Daisetsuzan National Park and is also listed among Japan’s “100 Famous Mountains.” Asahidake is the very first place in Japan to welcome the autumn foliage each year.

Starting from mid-September each year, the autumn colors begin to spread from around “Sugatami Pond” halfway up the mountain, then cascade downward toward the Asahidake Onsen area at a pace almost visible to the naked eye. Therefore, our main goal this time was not to reach the summit, but to hike around the mid-mountain “Sugatami Pond” area and enjoy the fall scenery.

As shown in the guide, a ten-minute cable car ride takes you up to the “Sugatami Station,” located at an elevation of about 1,600 meters. This is the starting point of Asahidake’s most iconic walking route. From the cable car station, you can follow a circular trail roughly 1.7 kilometers long, which usually takes about one to one and a half hours to complete.

We arrived early in the morning at the Asahidake Ropeway parking lot, ready to buy our tickets and head up the mountain. But we encountered a small obstacle at the ticket counter — the staff and safety officer informed us that the weather conditions at the top were quite poor. After confirming several times that we only planned to hike around and not climb to the summit, they finally nodded and allowed us to proceed.

As the cable car ascended, the scenery outside the window was still quite beautiful. The distant mountains were shrouded in mist, and although the vegetation below hadn’t yet turned yellow, the lush greenery stretched endlessly beneath us, looking like a vast painting viewed from the sky. At that moment, I thought perhaps the weather at the top wasn’t as bad as they had warned.

It wasn’t until we arrived at “Sugatami Station” that I truly understood the saying “the weather changes every thousand meters.” Thick fog blanketed the area, and fine rain carried by strong winds stung our faces. Visibility was less than ten meters; the world around us seemed veiled in white gauze. Fortunately, we were well-prepared with the right gear, and since the entire loop was only about 1.8 kilometers, we decided to go on — to continue our hike through this plateau where mist and autumn colors intertwined.

Because of the weather, there were surprisingly few hikers on what is usually a busy trail. By the time we reached “Mangetsu Pond,” the fog had thickened so much that we could barely see the path ahead. All the sounds around us had been swallowed by the white mist; only the faint crunch of gravel and wet grass under our boots could be heard. In this kind of weather, the pond showed its most unadorned face — just a quiet puddle of water, stripped of all its postcard charm.

As we pressed on, cold wind swept over the ridgeline, carrying with it fine rain that brushed across our jackets in rhythmic waves. The soft rustle of waterproof fabric was the only sound left. Watching my friend walking ahead, I felt an inexplicable sensation — as if we had stepped into another world. The trail disappeared into the fog, the surroundings emptied of color and sound, and even our sense of direction seemed to dissolve into the mist.

Because the fog was so thick, we didn’t stop much during our hike. After walking for about twenty more minutes, we finally reached Sugatami Pond. As the last scenic spot along the route, the fog began to lift slightly when we arrived, allowing us to catch a glimpse of the pond’s quiet beauty under the light drizzle.

On clear days, Sugatami Pond is famous for reflecting the image of Mount Asahi on its surface. But when we arrived, the area around the water was shrouded in heavy mist, and the silhouette of the mountain had completely vanished. All that remained was a pool of deep green still water. Without sunlight or reflection, what the pond revealed at that moment was a kind of beauty close to wabi-sabi — quiet, imperfect, and deeply serene.

After taking in the view of Sugatami Pond, we began our return along the same path. The fog remained thick, but the rain had eased. In the distance, the faint outline of the valley started to emerge. The trail beneath our feet was slick from the rain, the wooden planks glistening with shallow puddles that creaked softly as we stepped on them. On both sides, the grass had been flattened by wind and rain, displaying a mix of golden and dark green hues — as if autumn had brushed its colors over the landscape with gentle strokes.

As we descended, the air grew warmer, and the fog began to lift. Occasionally, we could see patches of red foliage reappear farther down the mountain. Looking back, the upper half of Mount Asahi was still wrapped in thick mist, as though nothing had ever happened. The droplets hanging on our jackets shimmered faintly in the light — and in that moist, quiet air, our short but memorable alpine hike came to a natural close.

Tenninkyo: A Mistaken Visit to Silent Hill?

After descending from Mount Asahi, on our way back, a friend noticed on the map that there was a place nearby called “Tenninkyo.” Out of curiosity, we decided to make a quick detour — little did we know that this spontaneous decision would lead us straight into what felt like a scene from Silent Hill.

When we first turned off the main road, the sky was only dim and gray, but the deeper we drove into the valley, the denser the fog became. Outside the car, there was no sound — not even the wind moved. Only the low rumble of the engine echoed faintly between the cliffs. None of us spoke. The air inside the car felt strangely heavy.

As we followed the navigation further ahead, the road became patchy and covered with fallen leaves, as if it hadn’t been cleaned for a long time. Combined with the thick fog, visibility was low, and the tunnel we had just passed through looked even more mysterious.

Through the tunnel, faint dark silhouettes began to appear on both sides — those were the columnar basalt cliffs of Tenninkyo. Rows of basalt pillars stood like ancient fortress walls, half veiled by mist. The trees above swayed gently in the wind, their shadows trembling in the headlights, as if something unseen was watching from the fog.

We stopped in this mist-filled valley, enveloped by an eerie stillness. The only sound was that of water trickling over rocks somewhere nearby. Looking up, the towering basalt walls loomed like a massive curtain, slicing the sky into a narrow strip. We took a few photos in the dense fog — my friend’s red jacket stood out vividly against the gray mist, giving the whole scene an oddly cinematic, otherworldly feel.

As the daylight faded, we got back into the car and turned around to head back. The fog lights cut through the white haze as we slowly drove out of the valley. Only when we reached the main road again and saw the glow of a convenience store sign in the distance did that strange, unsettling feeling begin to fade. Tenninkyo now felt like a fleeting dream we had somehow wandered into.

Day 3: In Search of Ancient Bridges

On the third day of our trip, our plan was to head south along Daisetsuzan National Park in search of the old concrete arch bridges once used by the Japan National Railways’ Shihoro Line.

Lake Shikaribetsu
Before exploring the bridge ruins, we made a detour to Lake Shikaribetsu to visit its so-called “underwater railway tracks.” Located at the highest elevation of all lakes in Hokkaido, Lake Shikaribetsu is often called the “Lake in the Sky.” Surrounded by mountains, its surface shimmered in the sunlight with a cold, silvery-blue glow.

Walking down from the wooden boardwalk by the lake, we soon saw it — the legendary railway track. It stretched straight out from the shore, disappearing into the crystal-clear water. In the shallows, the rails were still clearly visible, with gentle ripples lapping against them. The scene felt almost like something out of Spirited Away — as if, at any moment, a train bound for another world might emerge from the mist.

It’s said that this track was originally laid as a temporary facility to haul sightseeing boats ashore during the frozen winters. But on a calm, windless day, the sight of these rails merging into the still, mirror-like lake is almost unreal. The line between reality and fantasy seems to blur, giving the illusion that you’ve stepped into an animated world.

The existence of this “railway in the lake” has also drawn many visitors eager to capture the dreamlike scene. We lingered by the lakeside for quite some time, letting the wind stir gentle ripples across the surface. The rails, reflections, and distant mountains blended into one serene composition — a moment where time seemed to stand still. Perhaps that’s why the locals call Lake Shikaribetsu the “Lake in the Sky”: it makes you feel weightless, free from the burdens of the world.

Sannosawa Bridge
After leaving Lake Shikaribetsu, we drove to the first stop of our “bridge-hunting” journey: Sannosawa Bridge. Built in 1955, this old concrete arch bridge spans 40.4 meters and lies hidden deep within the forests of Nukabira Gensenkyo.

Following a narrow trail from the parking area, we soon heard the sound of a stream flowing below. A little farther ahead, the dense forest opened up, revealing the bridge — ancient and quiet, standing across the valley. The surface of the structure was covered in the marks of time: moss, weathered stone textures, and fallen yellow leaves carried by the autumn wind, all giving it a solemn, dignified beauty.

Crossing over the bridge, we saw a narrow forest path that led onward to the site of the next bridge. But since the route was quite long — and with bears reportedly active this year (though, truthfully, we were just feeling lazy) — we decided to drive to our next destination instead.

Horoka Station Site

Horoka Station was once an important stop along the Shihoro Line, located about 69 kilometers from Obihiro Station and roughly 7 kilometers before Tokachi-Mitsumata Station. It opened in 1939 (Showa 14). At the time, the Shihoro Line was a key route for transporting timber and coal, and the Horoka area served as a crucial relay point for mountain transport. With steep gradients and a harsh climate, operating steam locomotives here was extremely difficult—this section was known as one of the toughest for railway workers.

However, as times changed, the section between Tokachi-Mitsumata and Nukabira was closed in 1978 (Showa 53). Railway transport was replaced by bus services, and Horoka Station quietly became a thing of the past. Today, only the remaining bridges and ruins lie silently in the forest, standing as memories of a once-vibrant era.

Taushubetsu River Bridge (Nukabira Lake Bridge)
The final destination of this “Bridge-Hunting Journey” was the so-called “Phantom Bridge”—the Taushubetsu River Bridge. Driving north from Horoka, the dense forests gradually gave way to open fields and low rolling hills. After parking by the roadside, we followed a marked path for about ten minutes before the bridge came into view across the lake.

Built in 1937, this bridge was once part of the old Japan National Railways Shihoro Line. It spans approximately 130 meters and is composed of eleven graceful concrete arches. The bridge earned its nickname “Phantom Bridge” because it repeatedly appears and disappears with the changing water levels of Lake Nukabira. When the ice melts in spring, the bridge emerges from beneath the water; in summer, rising waters partially submerge the arches; and by late autumn or winter, as the lake recedes, the bridge reveals its full form once again.

When we arrived, it was late autumn, just in time to see the bridge in its entirety. The lower part of the structure was submerged in the deep blue water, perfectly reflecting its arches. Even from afar, the weathered concrete bore the marks of decades of wind and rain. Gentle ripples between the arches shimmered softly, as if whispering stories of the past. Once a vital link connecting people’s lives, the bridge now stands as a quiet symbol of time itself.

Mikuni Pass

After winding through valleys and countless mountain curves, we reached Mikuni Pass, the highest point along Hokkaido’s national highways, at an elevation of 1,139 meters. Standing on the observation deck, the view opened up magnificently—a sweeping panorama that seemed to stretch all the way to the edge of the forest.

Autumn is the most beautiful season here. The entire mountain landscape is dyed in shades of gold and orange, while the distant Matsumi Bridge forms a graceful arc over the sea of trees, appearing as though it were floating above the forest canopy. Looking down from above, it truly feels like standing among the clouds.

Lake Onneto
Leaving Mikuni Pass behind, we continued east along winding mountain roads toward our next destination—Lake Onneto, often called “the most mysterious lake in Hokkaido.”

By the time we arrived, the sun was already dipping toward the west, and the light was softer than it had been during the day. The lake, encircled by mountains, reflected Mount Akan Fuji and Mount Meakan across its surface. Due to the changing light and mineral content in the water, the lake displayed a stunning gradient of colors—from deep blue to vivid green, and finally to a pale, milky turquoise. The layers of color were distinct and almost dreamlike.

A gentle breeze rippled across the surface, causing the reflections to shimmer slightly. Fallen leaves blanketed the shore, and the crisp scent of pine mixed with the cold, clear air, creating a unique stillness. There were few visitors around—only the occasional sound of a camera shutter and the soft rustle of wind through the trees.

Autumn at Onneto has a quiet, profound beauty. It isn’t as bright as Biei, nor as grand as Mount Asahi, yet it possesses a stillness so deep that one almost forgets to breathe. Standing by the lakeshore, gazing at the layers of color fading into one another, I suddenly felt that perhaps the perfect ending to this journey was a place like this—a lake that could bring one to complete calm.

Hidden Gem? Onneto Hot Spring Waterfall
Before leaving Lake Onneto, we decided to visit a natural wonder at the southern end of the lake—the Onneto Yunotaki Waterfall, a hot spring waterfall and one of Japan’s designated national natural monuments.

From the parking area, the only way to reach it was a 1.4-kilometer walk along a forest trail with no cell signal. As we entered, dusk was already falling, and before long the light in the woods began to fade. The towering trees rose high above us, their branches nearly blocking out the sky. Every footstep echoed clearly in the silence, and the faintest sound made us tense up—half-expecting a bear to emerge from the deep forest at any moment.

After about twenty minutes, the sound of rushing water reached our ears. Following the final stretch of slippery stones, the waterfall suddenly appeared before us. Several white streams of hot spring water cascaded down a 30-meter cliff, with steam swirling in the mist where warm water met the cool air. The rocks at the base were a strange blackish-brown color—caused by microorganisms and algae that oxidize manganese ions in the hot spring water, forming manganese deposits. This is the only place in the world where this phenomenon can be directly observed on land.

On the way back, darkness had completely fallen. The forest was so silent it seemed to swallow every sound, leaving only the soft crunch of our steps on fallen leaves. I gripped the flashlight tightly, glancing back from time to time, and only when the parking lot and our car finally came into view did I breathe a sigh of relief.

Akan Lake Shopping Street
By evening, we arrived at Akan Lake Onsen Town. As night deepened, the lanterns along the streets lit up one by one, and the air filled with the scent of wood smoke and hot springs—a warmth unique to old spa towns. Strolling down the shopping street, we passed rows of small shops displaying Ainu-style wood carvings, handmade accessories, and local souvenirs.

Among the many shops in town, my top recommendation is a small store called “Ponson Ningyōkan”. The shop itself isn’t large, but even from outside, you can see rows of delicately hand-carved little foxes neatly lined up on the counter. Each one is no bigger than a fingertip, yet every fox has a unique expression—some lie down lazily, some curl up to rest, and others lift their heads with a faint smile. They’re full of life and personality.

While chatting with the owner, I learned that the name “Ponson” comes from the Ainu language, meaning “little bear” or “child.” Every wooden carving in the shop is handmade by the owner himself. Each cut of the knife preserves the natural grain of the wood, with tones ranging from pale beige to deep brown to a warm reddish hue—simple yet charming. Compared to the more common carvings or refrigerator magnets sold elsewhere, these tiny foxes are quite expensive, but they feel truly special.

KAMUY LUMINA – Forest of Light and Shadow

After dinner at Akanko Onsen Street, we walked to our final event of the night—the KAMUY LUMINA: Forest of Light and Shadow. To avoid spoilers, I won’t go into too much detail about the experience itself.

This was one of the most spectacular light shows I’ve ever experienced in Japan. The entire walking route spans a little over a kilometer, beginning at the entrance of a forest trail. As you walk, the lights and sounds gradually awaken, and the world of KAMUY LUMINA unfolds around you. The forest is illuminated by projections and music, creating an incredibly immersive atmosphere. With narration guiding your journey, you become part of the story itself. Each section features interactive moments—sometimes you wave a wand in rhythm with the light, other times your footsteps trigger sound and light effects.

The weather that night was perfect. Looking up, I could see the sky blanketed with stars. Surrounded by forest, starlight, and glowing lights, I felt as though reality had completely faded away. The story is based on Ainu mythology and tells of Kamuy Fukurou, the owl god, and the bond between humans and nature. Light, music, and narration intertwine beautifully, breathing new life into an ancient legend through a modern form of storytelling.

When I finally stepped out of the forest, the last of the lights dimmed behind me, revealing the quiet town of Lake Akan ahead. In that moment, it felt like reaching the end of a long-awaited drama finale—an ending both moving and surreal.

Day 4: Departure! Searching for Brown Bears in Shiretoko

⚠️ Caution: Brown bears are highly aggressive animals. There is no guaranteed way to avoid a bear attack, so please keep your distance from them in the wild!

Shiretoko is home to the largest population of brown bears in Hokkaido, with several hundred living in the area. Every autumn, the bears gather along the rivers to catch salmon returning to spawn, building up fat reserves for winter. This time, our journey to Shiretoko was all about testing our luck—to see if we could spot one of these majestic creatures in their natural habitat.

Encountering the Brown Bear

We were in luck—by a rushing stream, we spotted a young brown bear. The little bear stood right in the middle of the current, completely unfazed by its soaked fur, its eyes fixed intently on the water’s surface. The stream splashed against its legs as it occasionally lifted its head to sniff the air, then reached out a paw to stir the water, as if searching for the next salmon to swim by.

Watching the cub fishing so intently was thrilling for everyone, but I knew well that a bear cub rarely ventures out alone—its mother had to be nearby. So, we stayed alert, ready to back away at any moment.

Sure enough, only a short while later, a rustling sound came from the thick grass on the opposite bank. A much larger brown bear slowly emerged—it was clearly the cub’s “parent.” The mother crossed over to join the cub, and soon the two bears moved together, one following the other, making their way upstream in search of their next catch.

Although I knew bears have poor eyesight (but an excellent sense of smell and hearing), when the mother bear suddenly paused mid-hunt and turned to look directly in our direction, the moment still froze everyone in place. The air became tense. Almost every photographer on-site began inching backward as quietly as possible, careful not to make a sound.

Fortunately, the mother bear only watched us for a few seconds before deciding we posed no threat. She turned back toward the stream, leading her cub as they continued fishing in the flowing water. Only after their silhouettes disappeared into the forest upstream did we finally let out a collective sigh of relief.

P.S. For more details on how to “encounter” bears safely in the Shiretoko area and the locations where they’re often spotted, I’ve written about it in the “Exploring Hokkaido” chapter of my paid series “The Grand Japan Travel Plan.” Feel free to check it out if you’re interested.

The Shiretoko Mountain Range and the Setting Sun

In October, autumn has already soaked deep into the forests of Shiretoko. Driving south along the coastline, the slopes unfold in rich layers of gold and orange. Occasionally, a few deer wander gracefully through the trees—they glance up at us cautiously, then lower their heads again to nibble on withered leaves. The scene feels quietly harmonious.

A cool sea breeze drifts in from the Sea of Okhotsk, carrying a faint trace of salt. Following a few travelers we happened to meet along the way, we stopped at a lookout point to take in the golden hour before sunset. The distant mountains and the bay were wrapped in soft, warm light, the whole world bathed in a shimmering golden haze.

As the sun slowly sank below the horizon, the glow shifted from bright orange to deep red—marking the perfect moment of sunset. Everything grew still. Aside from the gentle sound of waves brushing against the shore, there was nothing but silence.

Day 5: Exploring the Sacred Land of the Ainu People

Today we left the Shiretoko region, heading toward Mashū, a place the Ainu regard as the “Land of the Gods.” This area is home to some of Hokkaido’s most mystical natural wonders—Kaminoko Pond, Lake Mashū, and Mount Iō.

Kaminoko Pond

Our first stop was Kaminoko Pond. Hidden deep within the forest near Shari in the Shiretoko area, it takes about ten minutes of driving along an unpaved road to reach. It’s said that this pond is fed by underground springs originating from Lake Mashū. Since the Ainu people refer to Lake Mashū as the “Lake of the Gods,” this spring was named “Kaminoko,” meaning “Child of the Gods.”

Walking slowly along the wooden boardwalk that circles the pond, we were surrounded by untouched, primeval forest. Sunlight filtered through the treetops and spilled across the surface of the water, setting it aglow with layers of shimmering blue—clear as glass, tranquil like a gem resting in silence.

The water temperature here remains around 8°C all year round, never freezing even in winter. Fallen trees that have lain at the bottom for decades remain unrotted, still visible through the transparent depths. It feels as though time itself has paused within this sapphire-colored water, sealing everything in an eternal stillness.

Lake Mashū

Leaving Kaminoko Pond behind, our next destination was the source of its water—Lake Mashū. Known as the “Lake of the Gods,” Mashū is shrouded in mystery. It’s said that for most of the year, the lake is enveloped in heavy fog, hiding its full view from visitors. I’ve been to Lake Mashū five or six times before, and it’s true—I’ve rarely seen it on a clear day.

This time, the weather wasn’t ideal either. Thick clouds hung low over the sky, blocking out the sunlight and casting the lake into a deep, muted shade of blue-gray

Fortunately, there was no fog on the lake itself. From the observation deck, we could see the full expanse of Mashū: the water lay still as a mirror, encircled by steep mountain walls, while distant clouds drifted slowly along the slopes. It truly lives up to its name as the “Lake of the Gods.”

Lake Mashū’s divine reputation is well deserved. It’s one of the clearest lakes in Japan, plunging over 200 meters deep with water so pure it holds almost no impurities. Because of that purity, few forms of life can survive here, leaving the lake eerily silent. Standing by the shore, even the whisper of the wind feels subdued. That profound stillness seems to make everyone instinctively slow their pace and lower their voices, as if not to disturb the sacred calm of the place.

Mount Iō (Sulfur Mountain)

After leaving Lake Mashū, we drove toward our final stop of the day—Mount Iō. As the car entered the Kawayu Onsen area, the air began to change. Even with the windows closed, a sharp sulfuric smell seeped in. The closer we got, the stronger it became—until we finally arrived at our destination.

Mount Iō, one of the most iconic active volcanoes within Akan–Mashū National Park, can be recognized from afar by the white plumes of steam rising constantly from its bare, grayish-yellow slopes—as if the entire mountain were slowly breathing.

Following the path left by previous visitors, you can walk right up to the foot of the mountain. The ground here radiates heat, and the hissing sound of steam bursts through the air in rhythmic waves. The hot air hits your face with every gust, making it nearly impossible to linger for long

Next to Mount Iō, there’s a small shop that sells “onsen eggs,” cooked using the mountain’s geothermal steam. At my friend’s strong insistence, I tried one—and it was unexpectedly delicious. The shell carried a strong sulfuric smell, but the egg itself was astonishingly smooth and rich.

Day 6: Destination—The Heart Lake!

This was the final day of our Hokkaido journey. The plan was simple: depart from Lake Akan and take the highway back to Sapporo. But since we had a bit of extra time, we decided to head to a remote place said to resemble the “Lake of the Heart” from The Legend of Zelda.

The real name of the “Heart Lake” is Lake Toyoni, located at the southernmost tip of Hidaka in Hokkaido. Getting there is quite the challenge—you have to drive north along the coast before plunging deep into the mountains, following a long stretch of unpaved road that leads to the lake’s vicinity.

Because it had rained the day before, the dirt roads were muddy and uneven. After a bumpy stretch of “off-roading,” our Subaru was completely covered in dust. Still, to actually reach the lakeshore, cars can only go so far—the final stretch requires hiking over a small hill.

The area is surrounded by towering, untouched forest. Sunlight filters through the leaves, scattering patches of light and shadow across the trail. As my friend and I searched for the correct path and trail markers, I couldn’t help but think: if I were alone, I probably wouldn’t have dared to come exploring here at all.

Sunlight streamed through the gaps between the leaves, bathing the entire forest in a soft, gentle glow. The mountain path beneath my feet grew steeper, and many of the stones were covered in moss, making each step slightly slippery. Just as I was catching my breath, my friend up ahead shouted that we had finally arrived. I took a deep breath, gathered my strength, and climbed the last small rise.

When the drone rose into the air, we were finally able to witness the full view of the so-called “Heart Lake.” Nestled quietly within the surrounding forest, the lake shimmered silver under the sunlight, its shape resembling a blue heart—like a love letter left behind by nature itself.

Epilogue

Though I’ve lived in Japan for five years and visited Hokkaido more than ten times, I still believe it’s a place worth returning to again and again. Every season, every corner of Hokkaido holds its own distinct charm—something that lingers in memory long after you’ve left. As I write this travel note, Hokkaido has already welcomed its first snow of the year, while I, for the moment, have left Japan and am on my way back to my homeland to enjoy the autumn scenery.

From the origin, move forward.

This is a line from a Toyota LAND CRUISER advertisement, meaning “Start from the origin, and keep moving forward.”

“Japanese Floating Life Notes” has now reached its tenth chapter. Since I began this series in 2022 with A City Walk Guide: Hokkaido’s Summer Romance, I’ve wandered through many places—only to find myself writing once more about Hokkaido. At this tenth milestone, I want to express my gratitude to SSPAI and to every reader who has left a comment along the way. This series won’t end here. I look forward to the next journey—to another corner of Japan, where I’ll continue to write more fragments of my floating life.

Written in Shanghai, China — November 2025.

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1. みごろ、meaning the most beautiful time. ↩︎