All I really knew about Hakodate was that it was in Hokkaido, an old sea-side town, and I’d be able to find a place to camp not too far from the city. That was all I needed to know.
I was dying to go camping. I went with one of my childhood friends right before moving to Japan, but it had almost been a year and the spring was fast approaching. I couldn’t bear another day indoors.
I bought some relatively nice supplies, as it would be my first solo-camp and I would be heading into Hokkaido. I wanted to be prepared for a lingering winter if it came down to it.
I ended up getting a very warm sleeping bag, an ultra-light single-person tent, a tiny inflatable pad to sleep and sit on, some rope, a utility knife, and a hiking backpack to put it all in.
A few weeks later, my students were on spring break and my paid time off kicked in. I got on an express train to Aomori, which was then the same train set to travel under the Strait of Hokkaido, resurfacing outside of Hakodate.
Everywhere I had been in Japan had impressed me, but there was something different about Hokkaido and it was palpable the moment the train was back on the surface world and I could see the mountains.
I had enough time to walk around Hakodate and eat some lunch before my train off to the mountains. It was Saturday, so the morning market was out.
One of the greatest things about Japan is how everywhere has their own little special thing. Especially food. Hakodate was no different. After a solid walk around, I walked into a random place that had rice bowls with squid, squid being one of the “must-eat” things in Hakodate, according to the Internet.
It was incredible. I even took photos. Then, I stopped by a convenience store, picked up some bread, beer, nuts, two apples, and a bag of carrots and went to the train station. I got some local sake, wine, brie, and some trinkets I figured I could give to some friends eventually. I made a point to load up on marimo keychains. Marimo are little algae balls and the most beautiful word in the Japanese language.
Then I had to get to my train platform.
I was heading to Higashionuma Camping Ground, a tiny place a few kilometers away from Choshiniguchi Station, a train station literally in the middle of nowhere. The further the train got from Hakodate, especially after changing trains in the mountain town of Onuma, the more people really started to seem surprised to see a foreigner around.
I was in my element.
I got to the campsite and was happy to find that it was in the middle of the woods and right next to Lake Onuma, but disappointed to find how bitterly cold and fierce the wind was. I also found out that I was not allowed to build a fire at my campsite.
It was April 25, a Friday, opening day for the campsite, and the weekend before Golden Week. The boat rental was closed. I assumed the same building was the camp store based on the big plastic ice cream cone out front. I wasn’t sure about the bike rental, but I rode a bike around the mountains in my day-to-day life, so that didn’t seem like much of a treat anyway. Still, it was beautiful. I set up camp so I had a view looking across the lake straight at Mt. Koma-ga-take, it’s sharp peak coated in snow. While my back was turned setting up my tent, crows made for my bag of provisions. I scared them off once when they got close and assumed I had scared them good. But they played me for a fool and came right back and ate quite a bit of bread before I noticed them again.
I was unwilling to eat the same bread they had put their nasty beaks in, so I found myself with a bit of a shortage of food. Granted, I did anyway. I hadn’t counted on the camp store being closed for the season until Monday/the end of my planned stay.
I laid down in my tent, ate some cheese and drank some wine for a little while, then went on a walk. There wasn’t much hiking to be done in the area. It started getting dark, so I went back to the campsite, washed my face, grabbed my produce and beer and sat on a bench looking out at the lake until the sunset. The wind was getting fiercer and fiercer. I noticed how all the other campers had brought firepits them. They all looked so warm and cozy. No one else was there alone. No one else was a foreigner.
I laid back down in my tent, put my headlamp on and read some Dharma Bums. After a while, I got sick of reading with the headlamp but still wasn’t ready to sleep. So I put on an extra layer of clothes, grabbed my wine and cheese and went back out to the bench to look at the stars. I saved myself one last apple and a bit of cheese for breakfast. I still had about half a bottle of wine when I started getting cold and sleepy. I found that I was most comfortable keeping all my clothes on while inside my sleeping bag. The wind was constantly blowing, and my ultralight tent was not keeping in any of the warmth I was radiating. I curled up in my sleeping bag and woke up with the sunrise, brittle from the cold.
I ate what was left of my provisions (I had a sip of wine, but I was saving the sake for when I got home for no particular reason) and then made for what I had thought was the camp store the day before. It was more like a boat rental and restaurant that was indeed closed for the weekend, and would not have stocked general provisions like I had hoped anyway.
I got out a map on my phone to confirm that I was in a predicament. The mountain town I had changed trains in was the closest place I’d reliably be able to buy food. The next train was at noon. Five hours seemed like a long time to wait for a train that I would only ride for seven kilometers. And so I saw the opportunity for adventure.
I was staying at a free campground, so I figured I could just bring all my stuff and see if I could find a better place to camp on my journey to town to get food. Worst came to worst, I’d just come back.
So I packed up my campsite and made south down the road, walking alongside the lake. It was a nice walk. I kept finding nice little places to hang out, but none seemed like a good place to camp. Smoking weed in Japan was across the board pretty much not chill at the time, so I found myself struggling to think of a reason to linger anywhere more than a few minutes.
Soon, I was coming up on the next station south from where I started. The name had “hot spring” in the title, but it was closed for the season. I figured that meant the resort and not the train station and I could go confirm that in person, but then I noticed how the road did not lead to the train station. I would have to turn around to get to the turn to the proper entrance. Through the bush, I could see the train platform. I got out my phone and made sure no trains were due to come from the other direction anytime soon. Then I took a few looks around, ran across the street, jumped over the guardrail and ran down into the little patch of forest dividing the road from the railroad and felt alive for the first time in years. I cross the little forest and tossed my bag up on the platform and climbed up. The platform was a huge cement block overlooking what appeared to be a farm. I sat on the concrete for a moment, exhausted. I had far too much stuff with me and had it all on my back. I decided I may as well have a few sips of wine. Then I went to explore the farm. I’d only need to burn about an hour if I wanted to catch the train.
I could see horses from the platform off in the distance. I couldn’t really tell if they were fenced in. Near the train platform, there was a building in the shape of an ice cream cone. The sign in the window read “Close.” Shops in Japan were always either open or just close.
There was what I can only describe as a rabbit coop next to the great ice cream cone. They all froze as I approached. They were beautiful little creatures and I wanted to watch them for a while, but I felt bad for scaring them so continued down the little dirt road.
The further down the dirt road I got, the more it felt like I shouldn’t be there. I got to a gravel road and saw that if I continued straight, there was an enormous luxury hot spring resort ahead, accompanied by a construction team and their corresponding equipment. There was a smaller scale, but similar scene to the right. So I went left, toward what appeared to lead to nowhere. But it lead me to a view of the field that the horses were in.
I started to walk towards the now visible fence but got the feeling I was being watched and turned around. There was some old man riding a bicycle down the gravel road. I decided I had done enough exploring and started walking back to the train platform. As I walked, I got out my phone and confirmed that the way I had been going would have just brought me back where I had come from, but on a road instead of through the bush.
“Hello!” the old man shouted, moseying near on his bicycle. He looked like he was about 60, meaning he was probably about 100 years old. Generally speaking, Japanese people age like elves.
He was wearing one of those Hawaiian shirts that old Japanese men tend to wear. It was unbuttoned, exposing his tank top underneath. He had a pack of cigarettes in his shirt pocket.
We started talking. It was just small talk, “where are you from,” etc, etc. But as we spoke, I realized I hadn’t had an actual conversation with someone in a few days, so it was actually kind of refreshing. Sometimes I forget that humans are social creatures.
He was from Osaka and could kind of speak English, but he quickly switched to Japanese when he saw me reading the time table for the train in Japanese.
“Well, I better get back to my wife,” he said after a while and left me at the train platform after he confirmed I had read the time table correctly.
I sat on the ground, got out my wine and Dharma bums, but was much too distracted by the sound of birds and the lake in the distance to pay much attention to reading, and gave up to look at the clouds. My train came about twenty minutes later.
As I approached Onuma, I started wondering if I really wanted to just eat bread in the cold by a lake when sleeping in public, and thus urban-camping, is legal in Japan. So I decided to ride back into Hakodate and see what I could see.
Read Part II, Part III, Part IV, Part V, and Part VI.
These days, I’m just tellin’ stories.
