It's nearly midnight, and Tokyo appears to never sleep. After 20 hours of travel, it feels as if our journey has just begun. We are lost in a city of millions; our caravan, crammed of tiresome travelers and hastily packed gear, is off to find slumber and then, of course, snow.
I am the only American in the crew; the rest, all Canadians, are equally foreign to the vibrant city and culture of Tokyo. There is an overwhelming sense of anonymity as we wander through the chaos of people and street markets. On our second evening in the city, we come across an absurdly intimate bar, big enough to host just four or five thirsty patrons. Even the entrance is small; I struggle to fit through the door with any semblance of coordination. My embarrassment is fleeting, for within minutes we are sharing spirits, a kind of liquid language, with new friends.
From the urban masses to the cozy tavern, we embark on an adventure of contrasting opposites. As we leave the city limits, the glow of Tokyo's vitality in our shadows, we board a ferry north toward the quiet and colorless mountains.
We travel up the Northern Pacific coastline to the stormy Hokkaido Island, landing finally in the snow-covered docks of Niseko. With fronts of cold air escaping from the Siberian tundra and picking up Pacific moisture as they move east, Hokkaido is known as a wintry haven.
We finally arrive at our destination, the Black Diamond Lodge, amid heavy snowflakes falling lazily under the streetlights. Despite our anticipation for the coming morning, we are lulled to sleep by the storm's promise of fresh tracks. Over the next three weeks, we spend each morning shoveling the previous night's new snowfall off our trusty 4 x 4 lifted truck. As we meander up narrow single-lane mountain roads, we pass evenly spaced forests and Japanese hot springs resorts.
The tree skiing seems nothing short of a lucid backcountry dream. Our own turns refresh each day with new flurries. We break trail without ever crossing a single track and our après routine of hot spring soaking and cold beers helps to soothe our tired legs.
Hokkaido's snowy mountains are in stark contrast to Japan's urban and industrial culture. Technology meets the mountains only at Japan's premier ski resorts, where heated, self flushing toilets and sushi delivered by conveyor belts both greet and spoils tourists. Beyond these lodges, the mountains are void of the lights and noise of the city. Japan has had a rich history of celebrating land and beauty, and enjoying the simpler customs such as a cup of tea in the calm of a storm. And so, high in the mountains, far away from modern distractions, I feel at home in Japan's traditions.
[If you missed the previous seasons of 'A Skier's Journey,' check out season one and season two.]
