Traveling through the Showa Era Part 5: The Winter of the Far-End Express 'Soya' — An 11-hour Showa Journey from Hakodate to Wakkanai

At the snowy Hakodate Station, three Hokkaido trains were lined up.

There was a scent of the sea at Hakodate Station in winter. After taking the Seikan Ferry from Aomori and crossing the Tsugaru Strait, you finally arrive in Hokkaido. The platform at Hakodate Station is the starting point for heading even deeper into Hokkaido.

The people and luggage that flowed off the ferry now disperse on the platform. Hakodate was both an arrival station from Honshu and, at the same time, a major junction.

The platform at Hakodate Station is not straight. This is because the tracks extending toward the Seikan Ferry pier curve, and as a result, the entire station is curved. I, too, had crossed the sea on that ferry and arrived here.

Waiting for the passengers who got off the 11:20 AM ferry, three trains were lined up on the curved platform. The limited express 'O-tori' bound for Abashiri was on track 4. The limited express 'Ozora No. 3' bound for Kushiro was on track 3. And on track 2 was the express 'Soya' bound for Wakkanai. Passengers who came from Honshu would split off here toward eastern Hokkaido and the northernmost reaches. Even now, I think about what a deeply evocative station it was.

The train I am taking is the express Soya on track 2. It is a KiHa 56 series diesel car dressed in the vermilion and cream express livery. Of course, it is a standard-class car with four-person box seats. There is no reclining. As a cold-weather measure, the windows are slightly smaller and double-paned. The floor is wooden, and there is a small table under the window. That was the train I would be riding all the way to Wakkanai.

At Hakodate Station, I bought a 'Hokkaido Timetable' and the cheapest Makunouchi bento for lunch. For a student on a budget trip, that was enough. At that time, I was aiming to become a photographer. So, my travel companion was a beat-up Nikon F2. The black paint was peeling in places, and the brass base was visible at the corners. With my bento, the Hokkaido Timetable, and the dented Nikon, I boarded the express Soya on track 2.

The 'Ozora' and 'O-tori' on the adjacent platforms departed first, and the station became a little quieter.

Then, the departure bell rang for track 2 as well. It is a somewhat harsh bell that echoes through the Showa-era station. The conductor's whistle follows. The deck doors close with a rattle, and a short typhoon horn sounds. It begins to move slowly. The car body sways with a clatter, and the silhouettes of people on the platform flow backward. The Soya does not pick up speed immediately. It crosses the complex points of the vast Hakodate station yard one by one, gradually accelerating.

Once it starts running, the length of the Soya becomes apparent.

From Hakodate to Wakkanai. It is an express train that traverses the land of Hokkaido. Moreover, from Oshamambe, it enters the so-called 'Mountain Line' of the Hakodate Main Line, heading toward Sapporo via Kutchan and Otaru. It then goes through Asahikawa, Nayoro, Otoineppu, and Horonobe, reaching Wakkanai at the northernmost tip of Japan. It continues to run as a single train from Hakodate to Wakkanai. For many people, it might have been an astonishing train. It is not a limited express. It is not fast. The interior has box seats. You board before noon and get off at 10:45 PM. But for me, that astonishing aspect was its charm. From one end of Hokkaido to the other, entrusting my body to the train. In that inconvenience, there was the core of the journey.

Inside the train, the JNR music box plays. It is 'Alps no Bokujo' (Alpine Pasture). This is followed by the conductor's announcement. I remember it was an announcement about cars that terminate at Asahikawa and guidance for passengers going all the way to Wakkanai. For some reason, they call the train cars 'kuruma' (vehicles). That feels somehow gentle.

After passing Nanae and hitting the gradient at Niyama, it gradually moves away from the urban area of Hakodate. The low rows of houses recede, the distant mountains gradually grow larger, and eventually, it emerges on the shores of Lake Onuma. Winter at Onuma was the beginning of the journey, yet it felt like a preview of entering the depths of Hokkaido. While watching the swans from the window, I open the Hokkaido Timetable on my lap. It starts from the Hakodate Main Line page, and eventually, the pages shift to the Mountain Line. The express Soya was a train where the pages of the timetable would change as it ran. So, I fold the corner of the page. I keep it so I can immediately open the next place I will see. Where am I running now? Where will it stop next? I had no choice but to check my current location by looking outside the window and at the paper timetable. The timetable was not just a booklet, but a tool to know my position within Hokkaido.

Passing Onuma, it reaches the coast at Mori. The Soya draws a large arc to the right along Uchiura Bay. The winter sea was not so much blue as a heavy gray. Waves crash into the places where the snow has abruptly stopped.

Oshamambe, a 2-minute stop. The Soya passes through the wide yard and chooses the track that branches to the left, entering the Hakodate Main Line, commonly known as the Mountain Line. From here, it heads to Sapporo via Kutchan and Otaru. It might look like a detour now. But at the time, Otaru had a major presence as an economic city and port. The Hakodate Main Line could not avoid Otaru.

When it hits a mountain pass, the engine under the floor begins to roar. Under the floor of the KiHa 56, two DMH17 engines are at full throttle. A diesel car was a train that carried its own engine to run. When it hits a gradient, the sound becomes heavy. The speed drops, and black exhaust blows out from the ceiling.

Memana Pass, Kutchan Pass, Inaho Pass, Otamoi Pass. The train heads toward Otaru while repeating mountain passes and tunnels, and passing through S-curves.

The winter sun is beginning to tilt. Arrival at Otaru is at 3:57 PM. The stop is 2 minutes. Having left Hakodate, I feel like I have already traveled enough. Even so, I haven't even reached Sapporo yet. Looking at the timetable again here, the speed of the limited expresses that were on the platforms next to me in Hakodate becomes apparent. It was about time for the 'O-tori' and 'Ozora No. 3' to arrive in Sapporo via the Muroran Main Line and Chitose Line. The Soya's arrival in Sapporo via the Mountain Line is later than the limited expresses. Even so, it wasn't left behind by a huge margin. Even though the Soya was an express train going through the mountains, it was stubbornly chasing the limited expresses.

Sapporo, the final supply base

Arrival in Sapporo is at 16:30. The stop is five minutes. The 'Oozora' and 'Ootori' are, of course, already gone. The express trains that gathered in Sapporo scatter once again, heading toward their respective parts of Hokkaido.

Sapporo, the largest station in Hokkaido. Voices of various people can be heard, and the platform is bright. Many people board and alight from the Soya here as well, and the air is refreshed. Most of the passengers change at the two stations of Otaru and Sapporo, and it seems few people ride the entire way.

I get off on the platform and buy a bento for dinner at a kiosk. I also buy beer. I even toss a mini barrel-shaped bottle of Suntory whisky and some peanuts into the bag. Beyond this point, there are no more supply bases. It is not an exaggeration to say that is how I feel. On long-distance express trains of the Showa era, how to secure food was also part of the journey.

As the train departs, the lights of Sapporo city flow past the window. In the warm train car, I open a cold beer and eat my second bento.

On the small table of the box seat, there is a bento, a canned beer, a Hokkaido timetable, and a paperback book. A Nikon F2 is rolling around on the adjacent seat. Outside is snow. The inside of the train is warm from the heater, but only near the window glass does it get cold. Only my shoulders and arms won't let me forget the Hokkaido winter.

After leaving Sapporo, the Soya heads toward Asahikawa via Iwamizawa, Takikawa, and Fukagawa. From here on, it becomes a completely nocturnal train. I fold the page of the Hokkaido timetable again and open the next one. It wouldn't be strange for the day to end between Hakodate and Sapporo. Yet, the Soya still goes north. Keeping the name 'Express,' it enters the Hokkaido night.

Into the Soya Main Line at night

Departure from Asahikawa is at 18:33. The Soya finally enters the tracks that bear its own name. From here on, it is the Soya Main Line. Perhaps the Soya feels as if it has returned home. It is a long northern track that goes through Nayoro, Otoineppu, and Horonobe toward Wakkanai.

Passing Pippu, we head toward the Shio-Kari Pass. I would like to write that a magnificent snowy landscape spread out outside the window, but it is night. The Shio-Kari Pass was not a place to see with one's eyes, but a place to feel with one's ears. The DMH17 engine groaned heavily, and the train body began to tremble in small increments. I could feel with my body that we had hit an incline. The distant town lights fell away little by little, and only my own face reflected in the double-pane window looked back at me.

What I remember about the Shio-Kari Pass is the novel by Ayako Miura. It is a novel based on a story from the Meiji era, where a passenger car uncoupled on the Shio-Kari Pass and began to roll backward out of control. Masao Nagano, a railway employee on board, jumped onto the tracks and is said to have sacrificed himself to save the passengers. When I encountered that place name inside the Soya, the memory of when I read the book overlapped with the night window. Even though it was dark and I couldn't see anything, that place felt strangely profound.

By the time we pass Nayoro, the number of people has decreased, and I can use the box seat by myself. Someone is throwing their legs onto the opposite seat. There is also a dexterous person who twists their body to use three seats, trying to lie down somehow. I can hear someone's snoring. The luggage on the overhead rack sinks into the darkness, and only the hanging coats move slightly in time with the swaying of the train.

I was sitting by the window, but I could barely see outside. My face was reflected in the double-pane window, and beyond that, only snow was flowing sideways. The snow illuminated by the train's lights appeared white for just an instant, then immediately vanished into the darkness. Rather than looking at the scenery, I was only watching the fact that we were moving through the darkness.

At that time, I wanted to become a photojournalist. But I had no foothold for that. Would I join some company? Could I even get in? I couldn't even see what I would be doing next year. The DMH17 engine groans under the floor. The train body sways. The Soya just keeps rushing north through the snowy wilderness. That feeling was as if I were being carried toward my own invisible future.

There was a limit to what I could do inside the train. I read a paperback book. I flip through a weekly magazine. I open the timetable. I eat a bento. I try to sleep, but I can't, and I look out the window again. Unlike now, I cannot kill time with a screen in my hand. Time remains right in front of me. Therefore, I had no choice but to spend time with that time. It was boring, cold, and long. But that length was the journey itself.

The Soya stops briefly for a train exchange. The stop time is one or two minutes. I get off onto the platform. The air stabs at me all at once. I pack the fresh snow piled up beside the platform into a small cup, which is the lid of the Suntory barrel-shaped whisky. I immediately return to the train and, in the heated box seat, pour the whisky over the snow. It is an instant on-the-rocks. Perhaps people would say something about hygiene if it were today. But in the Hokkaido of those days, even the snow on the platform was a tool for the journey. The paperback book became a plate for the peanuts.

Speaking of Otoineppu, it is black soba. A cold platform, steam, black noodles. For those who know Hokkaido railway travel, I think it is a place name where something rises up just by hearing the name. However, the stop for the Express Soya is two minutes. Unfortunately, I cannot eat it. The Soya will not wait. I had no choice but to leave the black soba for another journey.

By the time we passed Horonobe, the map in the Hokkaido timetable was finally nearing the tip of the island. Outside the window, there should have been the Teshio River, wilderness like Siberia, and even Mount Rishiri, but I couldn't see a thing. For one thing, it was snowing. All I could see were station lights, small platforms, snow-covered tracks, and the darkness that immediately returned. Still, I knew that in the unseen expanse outside, there was a vast wilderness. The train was running through it. The timetable and the station signs that flashed by for an instant told me how far we had come.

My own face reflected in the double-paned window. Snow flowing sideways through the night darkness. Fresh snow on the rocks, picked up from the platform. A truly quiet time was passing.

Wakkanai 22:45

Arrival at Wakkanai is at 22:45.
It really was long; my bottom and lower back were aching.

As the final brakes were applied and the train body swayed slowly, the Soya slid into Wakkanai Station. A little snow was dancing in the light of the platform.
The people who got off all looked somewhat tired. People with large luggage, people wearing hats pulled down low, people walking with their shoulders hunched. Since it was the terminal station, there was only one direction to walk. Everyone turned their backs on the train and headed toward the ticket gate.

Wakkanai is a town that was once the gateway to Karafuto. But what I saw that night was not a historical explanation, but a dark platform, snow, and the end of a long journey. There should have been something on the platform indicating it was the 'northernmost station in Japan.' However, I don't remember if I had the luxury of standing there and feeling sentimental. All I remember is the roar of the diesel engine that had soaked into some part of my body.

Passing through the ticket gate.

Leaving the sparsely populated waiting room, I found myself in front of the dark station where snow continued to fall.

The people who got off the Soya put on hats or hoods, carried heavy luggage, and disappeared into the mottled mix of snow and darkness.
I had no fixed place to go.
It's cold.
Somewhere near the station, there must be at least one red lantern bar counting on passengers from the Soya. I had no choice but to think so. I readjusted my heavy backpack, hung my Nikon around my neck, and started walking.

Bonus

The End