Changing Myself to Match the Mountain | A Story of Falling Three Times on Tobi-iwayama After the Rain

💡 Itinerary Data (Summary)

Chiba's mountain trails are slipperier than I imagined

I headed to the mountains of Chiba, aiming for a break in the rainy season.

This time, I am walking a minor route that continues from Monomizukayama to Tobi-iwayama. Although there are markers, there are sections where the mountain trail is not shown on the topographic map. There are more situations where I have to make my own decisions compared to general mountain trails.

The start of the walk went smoothly. I passed through the forest zone and proceeded while repeating small ups and downs.

I felt something was wrong on a slope. I placed my foot down. I shifted my weight. The next moment, my foot slid sideways. It was dangerous. I instinctively reached out for a nearby tree.

The rain from the previous day remained. The mountain trail was wet. Fallen leaves were stuck to my feet, and the ground was soft.

I started walking carefully. However, I slipped again. And slipped even more.

Then I fell. It was just enough to land on my bottom.

"Well, it must have been a fluke," I thought at the time.

When walking in the mountains of Chiba, you sometimes encounter clay-like soil.

This time, it was more than I had imagined. Every time I placed my foot down, an unpleasant sensation was returned. It was a feeling of not being able to trust the ground anywhere.

The more I braced myself, the more I slipped. A traverse path near the entrance of the Ushino-ne Old Trail. It was almost collapsed, so it would have been over if there hadn't been a rope.

However, my feet continued to slide after that as well. When I fell for the second time, I thought, "Huh?" By the third time, I was convinced. My usual way of walking didn't work today. The fact itself was more shocking than the act of falling. As your mountaineering experience grows, your body begins to move on its own. This slope is fine. I can brace myself on this kind of incline. Such sensations are naturally acquired.

I used to be the same way. However, this day was different. Every time I placed my foot and shifted my weight, the ground would crumble. It was slippery. At first, I thought I was just choosing my footing poorly. I carefully selected my spots and shortened my stride. Still, I slipped.

I finally realized it. The problem wasn't my feet, but the ground itself. The soft, uncompacted soil was giving way under my weight. Until now, I had always walked stably by gripping the ground with my whole foot and applying weight appropriately.

If I felt like I was going to slip, I would brace myself. That usually worked. But on this trail, it was the opposite. The more I braced, the more I slipped.

The physical intuition I had relied on for years was no longer applicable.Because I believed I could walk it, it took time to accept that reality. And after I fell for the third time, I finally made up my mind.

“Today is not the day.”
Of course, that didn't mean I was going to turn back.
It meant I would stop trying to force my way through with my usual walking style.”

Walking in harmony with the mountain

“Today is not the day.”
After falling for the third time, I finally admitted it.

It wasn't giving up. It was a change in strategy.
I wouldn't seek speed. I would shorten my stride and place my feet carefully.
I would focus my awareness on the sensations transmitted to the soles of my feet.

Will the ground hold? Will it crumble?
I probed for reactions with every step.I brought things I had previously done unconsciously up into my conscious awareness, one by one..

The number of times I checked the route also increased. I would walk a few steps, stop, check my footing, look at the slope, and search for markers. And then, another step.

Instead of walking the mountain at my own pace, I would adapt myself to the mountain of that day.Little by little, my way of walking changed to that.

It wasn't just the slopes that were dangerous

The part that required the most focus was the detour just below Tobi-iwayama.
It seems it hasn't been maintained by human hands for a long time.

It was a slope that seemed to have been eroded every time it rained. Wet fallen leaves were piled up underfoot. The soil beneath them was soft and crumbled every time I stepped on it.

The trees were also sparse. There were few places where I could lean my body.

I looked down the slope. I couldn't see any terrain that looked like a landing. If I slipped, I wouldn't stop. I would likely fall straight to the bottom of the valley.

Such thoughts crossed my mind.

Moreover, the trail was hard to follow.
There were markers, but it wasn't clear where the correct path was.

The path was unstable, and the route was unclear. I never realized that having both of those factors combined would be so nerve-wracking.

When I finally made it through the danger zone,
honestly, I felt like I had come back to life. I was relieved.

It wasn't over yet.
Suppressing the urge to let my guard down, I braced myself once again.

All that remained was to head toward the summit.

Even if the mountain is the same, it is not the same as yesterday.

As I approached Tobi-iwa Mountain, the scenery began to change little by little. The dense forest belt that had been there until then broke, and places where bright light shone through increased.

That change alone made me feel lighter. 'I'm almost at the summit.' That realization welled up. It was like a prelude to being released from the long tension.

And then, to the summit. The view opened up all at once. A 360-degree panorama spread out. I stopped in my tracks involuntarily.

Because the time I struggled was so long, the scenery resonated in my heart even more.
'I'm glad I came.' Those words came to mind naturally.

What I struggled with this time wasn't the slippery mountain trail.
It was changing myself to adapt to that mountain trail.

I felt like what I wrote at the beginning finally made sense to me.
Perhaps the moment when knowledge and body mesh only comes after you have fallen.

If the ground changes, the way you walk changes. It's an obvious thing, but somewhere along the line, I thought my usual way of walking would still work.

After descending, while drinking beer with namero and fried horse mackerel at Kanaya Port, I was thinking, 'If I walk a similar mountain trail next time, how will I walk it?'

I will probably struggle again.
Even so, I feel like I will be able to adapt to the mountain a little faster next time.

After finishing the Ushino-ne Old Trail & Tobi-iwa Mountain hike

I stopped trying to force my way through and steered toward adapting to the mountain. This change was the most valuable experience of this hike.

The mountain trail this time was tough, and I fell for the first time in years. Strangely, I didn't feel down. Rather, what I was thinking was, 'How should I walk next time?'

How to place my feet.
How to shift my center of gravity.
When to use my hands.
I feel like I can walk a little better with just a few small adjustments.

Looking back, the skills I have now are the result of such trial and error. As I continue hiking, I can see both my limitations and the possibilities that lie just beyond them at the same time.

I quite enjoy this reflection. Every time I hike, I find new challenges. Every time I hike, I find more things I want to try. Even if the mountain is the same, it is never the same as it was yesterday. I think that is why I never get bored.

I also write about "small discoveries felt while mountaineering" and "lessons learned from hiking." I would be happy if you could take a look at my other articles as well.

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