Okumusashi/Nagatoro North Alps | A Story About Learning How to Walk from the Devil's Throat

There is a steep slope called the Devil's Throat."

It appears suddenly on the way to the Nagatoro North Alps. A single path stretches straight upward. There is no spectacular view, nor are there any rocky areas. It is just that the entire surface of the path is covered in dead leaves.

Rather than being fluffy, they are brown, compressed dead leaves that seem to have become one with the ground, as if they have been stepped on by the soles of dozens of people.

I knew even before stepping on it that there was loose gravel underneath.

Before I knew it, I was choosing the edges.

The edge of a rock, the side of a tree root.
Places where the leaves were thin, or where they were supported by something.
My feet were searching for those spots on their own.

My eyes were fixed a few steps ahead. I wasn't looking at where I was stepping now, but reading ahead to the next landing spot. There was no time to stop and think. Even while I was thinking, my body was standing on a slope. Gravity was quietly pulling me downward.

I realized it when I looked back later.
I had been reading the hardness of the ground under the leaves with the soles of my feet.

The scariest part was the "moment of slipping."
Even when I thought I had read it right and intended to step, the ground under my feet would still slide mushily.

Before my body could react, the soles of my feet would alert me. My whole body would react in that half-second.
Shift my center of gravity toward the mountain. Drop my knees slightly. The movements my body had memorized came out automatically.
I didn't fall. But my heart skipped a beat.

The person who named it really understands.

There are few places to rest in the Nagatoro North Alps.

The elevation isn't high. However, small ups and downs continue endlessly. My breath hitches on the climbs, and my knees shake on the descents. Like a body blow, it quietly wears down my legs.

The complacency of thinking "it's just a low mountain" is the most dangerous thing here.
The steep stairs just below the Toragaoka Castle ruins are the same. Neither the climb nor the descent is easy.

It's not the kind of thing you can just power through with sheer willpower.

That's why, lately, I try not to think too much.

The only thing I focus on is the soles of my feet. Is my weight properly on my supporting leg? Am I stepping on the ground evenly?

The soles of your feet are honest. They tell you before you lose your balance. They let you know before your momentum fades.

That is why I do not treat the soles of my feet carelessly.

The Nagatoro Northern Alps are,
honestly more grueling than they are fun.
But they clearly reflect your own way of walking back to you.

You cannot fake it. Sheer willpower won't work either.
Are you standing properly? Are you putting your weight on it correctly?

It was a mountain that kept asking me those very questions over and over again.

Even after some time has passed since coming down from the mountain, that sensation remains.
When I walk through town, when I go down stairs

— the soles of my feet sometimes ask: 'Are you stepping properly on the ground of everyday life, too?'

Conclusion | On the mountain, even your way of walking is seen through; you cannot fake it.

If you'd like, please stop by my past works too! ⤵︎