Tag Archives: bicycle trek

The Land of Totoro

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Totoro Summer
Rishiri Island, Hokkaido, Japan, June 29, 2018

Rishiri-to (Rishiri Island), was one of four small islands we ferried to during our Hokkaido trek. Each of these islands offered beautiful, inexpensive campgrounds, and except for one night, we had the grounds to ourselves. One of my personal objectives during the trek was to have Babra experience authentic Japanese tempura. In a small shop run by an elderly couple on Rishiri-to, we found The Best fare of that kind I’ve ever had. 凡天 (Bonten) may or may not still exist as we found it six years ago; the couple was advanced in years, the shop was small, unassuming and might easily be overlooked. But among other dishes we sampled was tempura uni – sea urchin battered and fried to perfection tempura-style. Like the other three islands we visited, a road lacing along the coastline made bicycling a complete circumference (30-some miles in the case of Rishiri) enjoyable. Lots of birds, flowers, fresh air… and a couple of Totoro sightings!

Teuri Campground… and a note on AI Lens Blur

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Thursday Morning Coffee Bar, Teuri Island Campground
Teuri Island, Hokkaido Japan, June 21, 2018

Clean restrooms close by (to answer the first question on the minds of most casual campers), good clean drinking water, quiet, and the entire grounds to ourselves. I don’t imagine that the camping situation has changed much since we visited Hokkaido in 2018. Traveling to Teuri with our bicycles was easy via the ferry from Haboro on Hokkaido’s west coast. We only spent two days on Teuri, but agreed we could easily have enjoyed a week on this small, bird-rich island.

Scrolling down panels in lightroom as I brought up the above photograph, I decided to give a relatively new feature a try: Lens Blur. With a single click, this AI-driven feature isolated what it interpreted to be the subject and foreground and then blurred (decreased the clarity) of the background. It worked well – which is to say, I liked the result.

To be sure, a more competent photographer equipped with the right lens could easily have achieved similar results in-camera. But six years ago when I captured this image, I was a less competent photographer. Less competent not only from a technical standpoint, but also my eye was less well developed, and so I didn’t always appreciate the pleasing effect a bokehed background could add to a photograph.

While I could have used masks and clarity sliders to isolate the subject and achieve the same effect, this Lens Blur feature significantly speeded up the process. So…

I might have more to say about AI technology in future posts. It’s here, part of our world now. Lots to think about. JD

Home with the Catch: Rhinoceros Auklet

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Rhinoceros Auklet returning at Dusk with a Catch of Sand Lances and Squid
The grayish-white protuberance on the bill – the horn that inspires the Rhinoceros Auklet’s name – is fluorescent and thus highly visible to their fellows when diving for fish or flying in dim light.
Teuri Island, Hokkaido, Japan, June 19, 2018

You might encounter this puffin relative just about anywhere along North America’s Pacific coastline, and in fact there are breeding populations scattered from Canada through Alaska’s Aleutian Islands. But perhaps the best place to see Rhinoceros Auklets is on Terui Island off the west coast of Hokkaido where they gather in the hundreds of thousands to nest – the largest Rhinoceros Auklet breeding colony in the world.

The northwest cliffs of Teuri are pockmarked with burrows which the auklets have dug deep into the sandy soil to keep their eggs and chicks safe from gulls and other predators. During the day, the parents leave their chicks behind as they venture out to sea where they dive for food – primarily Sand Lances and squid. As twilight gathers, the adult auklets return to home, somehow sorting out their burrows from among the tens of thousands of similar tunnels. Gulls await the returning auklets, keen on stealing an easy meal. This is an example of why for many species it is so important that their numbers remain vast. Were only a few auklets to return, they’d each make an easy target for the waiting gulls. But with hundreds of thousands flying in, the relatively few gulls are overwhelmed, and although the gulls manage to take a few meals, most of the auklets make it safely to their burrows where hungry chicks are waiting.

On Terui Island, guides are available to take birders out to the nesting site to observe the spectacle of returning auklets. Along a pathway, a few low lights allow for a good view of the birds as they scurry through low, dense vegetation. Some of the auklets will be quite close, but in order to get good photographs a fast lens and a camera capable of handling high ISO values is necessary as using additional lighting is not permitted (and would be wrong, even it were). You’ll be hand-holding and so you have to hope you catch one standing still to momentarily collect its thoughts, as in the above photograph. JD

Along the Herring Highway

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Herring House (Nishin Goten)
West Coast of Hokkaido near Haboro – June 17, 2018

Somewhat paralleling the boom and bust of America’s west coast sardine/herring fishery (see Cannery Row), in the late 1800’s through the early 1900’s, fortunes were made and lost on the back of Hokkaido’s west coast herring fishery. The building in the above image is a Nishin Goten, a communal house for the herring fishermen of that era. Inside are the captain’s quarters, other areas where fishermen and other employees (I’m assuming the fishermen’s wives who were vital in processing the catch) could roll out their futons. Such houses featured a kitchen, a place to store slippers (in those days woven from grass) and a bit of furniture. These days, several Nishin Goten are preserved and open to visitors – well worth a stop if you’re traveling Hokkaido’s west coast along the famed Herring Highway.

Juxtaposition: Two Views of Flying into Japan

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Above Tokyo, Flying into Narita Airport on Japan’s Main Island, Honshu
The ancient poets of Tang and Sung Dynasty China called city life “chaos and dust.”
Approaching Chitose Airport, 33 miles SW of Sapporo on Japan’s most Northerly Island, Hokkaido
A much more agreeable landscape for a bicycle trek

Date in Morning Fog

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Date in Morning Fog
Hokkaido, June 7, 2018

On the morning of the sixth day of our Hokkaido trek, we passed through Date (dah-tā), a seaside town southwest of Sapporo on the shore of Uchiura Bay. The town is known for maricultural products such as scallops and sea urchins. This photo is another early experiment in softening rather than sharpening an image.

Seawall Foggy Morning with Fishermen, Hokkaido

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Seawall Foggy Morning with Fishermen
Hokkaido, Japan, June 4, 2018

This photo is an early experiment with softening rather than sharpening an image… taken before I appreciated how important careful note-taking is… I think this is in the harbor of Hagino.

We arrived in Japan on May 28, spent three days in the Crown Prince Hotel in Chitose, Hokkaido getting acclimated – figuring out where we might purchase fuel for our camp stove, re-assembling our bicycles and so forth -, and then on June 1 we embarked on a 67-day, 1,300 mile bicycle-camping trek circumnavigating most of coastal Hokkaido. For both of us, the trek was a fulfillment of childhood dreams of a self-guided bicycle trek in a foreign country. It was quite possibly The Most exhilarating adventure either of us had ever undertaken.

I paid for a significant part of the trip when I published an article in Adventure Cycling Magazine, which if you’re interested you can find here. We also published several articles about this trip right here on Cutterlight. The easiest way to access those is to simply type Hokkaido in the search box in the upper right of any Cutterlight page.

As I go through the 1,342 photographs from this trip (that’s after the initial culling), I’m not sure how many new images I’ll have to post. But I will underscore the feeling Barbra and I came away with after the trip. Go! If you’ve ever thought that a bicycle trek is something you might want to experience – think back to when you were 12 or 13 or 8 or 58 and riding in a car passed a couple or a small group of bike trekkers and wondered what it was like… wondered if you could do something like that – our answer is Why not?

Tunnels of Love – Light at the end of the Tunnel – Tunnel Vision: A Bicyclist’s Point of View

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A kind snow tunnel – not too long, plenty of light, and just enough shoulder.

There is something about tunnels, sometimes dark and scary, sometimes magical and transformative.

When I was very young, my family drove around in a Volkswagen Beetle. I remember enjoying the magic of the immediate darkness of tunnels. The dark would be simultaneously met with the crackle of static on the radio as we lost reception. Then the heartbeat of yellow lights would blink into the windows from the dim tunnel lighting providing a rhythm to accompany the radio static. With a jolt from this world, the Beetle would be blasted back into the light and back into normal. It was fascinating to my young imagination.

Some welcome! Eighteen meters tall (almost 60 feet), the demon of Noboribetsu would be the perfect host to some of the tunnels we traversed.

Fast forward to our current bike trek in Hokkaido. Our ride has brought a whole new stream of consciousness to the tunnel. In recent years, hadn’t given much thought to these marvels of modern engineering, the exception being the time I drove our pickup while towing our fishing vessel Gillie through the unnervingly narrow tunnel that leads to the town of Whittier, Alaska. Steering wheel gripped tightly in my hands, I could feel the boat trailer sashaying back and forth on the slick railroad tracks that transversed the abyss. But that is another story.

The first “real” tunnel seemed long, but at just over a mile, it turned out to be merely average.

Our introduction to the tunnel by bicycle happened the very first day of our Hokkaido trek. It was a kind introduction as the tunnel was of the type designed to keep the heavy winter snowfalls off the road. Wrapped tight to a mountain pass, the tunnel’s outside wall featured a series of openings where sunlight poured in, giving the space a comfortable, open feeling. Moreover, there was a large enough shoulder to ensure safe passage even for our somewhat Rubinesque, trailer-towing bikes. Though several hundred meters in length, this first light-filled tunnel with its wide sidewalk was a breeze.

Our first “real” tunnel – dank, dark, cold, long and narrow – came later. We hugged the shoulder, our safety lights blinking, pedaling as fast as possible, worried that approaching vehicles wouldn’t see us in time. The amplified roar of oncoming traffic echoed and mixed with the odor of mold, grease, diesel and exhaust fumes and in that dark tube we experienced the paradox of simultaneously feeling that we we traveling very fast while making little progress. Jack found the energy in his legs to pull ahead, even while pulling the trailer. My nerves must have been apparent as a kind driver slowed behind me and escorted me to daylight.

At this point, I can’t believe how many tunnels we’ve gone through. The best tunnels have been the snow tunnels. They rank high because of the natural light and their relative brevity. On rare occasions, we’ve traveled through tunnels with a sidewalk separated by a safety railing. But even these tunnels can’t muffle the brain-rattling sounds of roaring trucks and screaming motorcycles, and there’s always the sense that you’ve got to concentrate on maintaining an unerringly straight course lest you pin yourself to some protrusion jutting out from the soot-stained tunnel wall.

One day, we had a relatively short ride from Yoichi to Otaru along Hokkaido’s southwest coast. The map showed tunnels…lots of tunnels…between the two towns and in fact the ride felt almost like a constant tunnel as even when we weren’t physically inside a tube we were psychologically preparing for one. This day featured our worst tunnel experience.

As usual, we were swallowed into the tunnel in question just as we had been swallowed into the semi-darkness and wet chill of previous tunnels. We rode on a sidewalk, which was just wide enough to handle our bike’s girth with panniers and the trailer. But perhaps a kilometer into the dimness and utterly without warning, the sidewalk shrunk to half its size. The next thing I knew, Jack’s front panniers hit the railings and he screeched to a stop. Escaping with a bloodied knuckle and a mouthful of expletives, we survived the tunnel by crowding into the flanks of our bikes and walking the remainder of the way, our shins absorbing a few pedal bites in the process, the experience bringing fresh gratitude for the light at the end of the tunnel!

After a wonderful two-days in the city of Otaru, we steeled our nerves for the ride up the coast. The ride would be beautiful. But there would be tunnels. Lots and some really long ones. Rattled from the most recent tunnel experience, at the first one we encountered we opted to push our bikes through on the very narrow sidewalk. Just wide enough to accommodate our bikes in this fashion, the sidewalk seemed to have been installed for maintenance workers rather than pedestrians. Our plan was for me to follow Jack closely and shout a warning if the outside trailer wheel got too close to the edge of the walk. Using this strategy was maybe safer, but it seemed like it took forever.

As we traveled up the coast, traffic grew lighter. We couldn’t stomach another long walk through another dark and deafening tunnel and the one we were now facing was truly a beast – two nearly adjoining tunnels spanning almost four miles. It was time to shore up our confidence and place some faith our fellow drivers. We strapped on headlamps and, as I was in the rear position, I added a couple of blinking lights to my rig and off we went.

Translation? Tunnel after tunnel after tunnel after tunnel!”

At some point, I had adopted a strategy of singing in the tunnels in order to drown out the deafening noises and to distract myself from my own nerves. I didn’t just sing. I sang at the top of my lungs. This turned out to work pretty well – once Jack didn’t take my singing noises as anguished cries for help. And so for most of four miles I belted out any song that came to mind.

Time to take in some sunshine, enjoy lunch, and scan for birds.

Once we had finally put the beast behind us, we pulled off the road for a rest and a celebratory lunch. Apparently you can burn some serious calories pedaling like a dervish while simultaneously singing at the top of your lungs!

Tinged with the unknown and eliciting perhaps mixed emotions of safety and danger, tunnels remain fascinating to me. For a little while, they take you out of the world in which you’ve been residing, close in around you, carry you along in a way that demands a kind of trust… and then deliver you to some newly lighted world on the other side.

A happy bear eating salmon at one end and light at the other. A perfect tunnel.

Yagishiri Island Hokkaido – Power of a Storm

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Barbra and a young friend cheese it up for the camera at Yagishiri’s ferry port.

A cool ocean breeze drifted in across the Sea of Japan and the sun was shining brightly as we set up our tent on Yagishiri Island. Brilliant orange-yellow Day Lillies speckled the green, gently rolling countryside around us. It was easy to imagine the Suffolk sheep the island is known for tucking their black faces into tufts of rich grass and quietly grazing a few hillsides away.

Yagishiri is home to Suffolk Sheep. Brought over from Scotland, they grow cute and tasty on the island’s lush grass.

The campsite was ideal. Our tent was nestled into a flat between hills and protected from coastal gusts by a small building. The campsite featured cold running water, an immaculate restroom, and even an outdoor shower.

We stowed our bike bags beneath the tent’s fly and headed down an inviting pathway to what the map boasted as a swimming beach. Although the sun was high in the sky, I wasn’t prepared to take a chilly Sea of Japan swim. I noticed that the beach was covered with countless tiny treasures – blue, green and amber beach glass polished smooth, crab husks, miniature clam shells, dried sea urchin shells- some with their spines still attached, and colorful small rocks with interesting patterns. Larger flat rocks offered perfect surfaces on which to create found art displays with favorite finds from the beach. What a lovely, relaxing way to spend part of an afternoon.

Yagishiri-to (Yagishiri Island) is a short ferry ride from the town of Haboro on Hokkaido. There is one main road that follows the island’s perimeter which is only 12 kilometers (just over seven miles). After exploring the beach and with our bike bags stowed at the campsite, we hopped onto our now feather-light bikes and went out to discover the rest of the island. 

As the sun moved in and out from behind a few gathering clouds, I couldn’t help but smile. When I was young, my family traveled a good bit. During those trips, I fantasized about having my bike with me so I could explore those places at a bike’s pace – slow enough to catch all the details around me but fast enough to actually get somewhere. It’s exercise up the hills, the coast back down a pleasantly earned reward.

Off in the distance we began to hear the rumble of thunder. We had nearly reached the opposite side of the island from our camp. Looking out to sea, we tried to discern which way the thunder was coming from. Toward the sea, the clouds were thin and light. Looking toward Hokkaido’s mainland, the clouds were thick with rain.

Rather than turn back, we decided to continue around the island. We guessed the lighter clouds were coming our way. However, a few minutes later, big splats of rain hit us. Seems we are not meteorologists! Near the top of a hill, we spied a path leading into a small forest which, according to our map, would lead to a shrine. We decided a quick side trip there might give us shelter from a burst of rain. We found the shrine in a state of some disrepair. Tall grass grew around the gate-keeping statues and stone lanterns, and scattered ladders and work tools gave the site the look of a place that was on someone’s to-do list. 

Suddenly the clouds ripped open as a torrent of rain poured down. We sat on the dry steps of the shrine enjoying the sounds of rain drumming on the forest canopy while birds chittered complaints in the forest and tree frogs sang in celebration. It was lovely to wait out a squall with no appointments to attend to and no plans for the afternoon. As squalls do, it passed. We got back on our bikes and continued our tour of the island.

A treasure trove of glass floats filled this small fishing boat to the gunwhales.

As we neared the highest elevation on the road, lightning flashed in the distance. This time, it seemed clear the angry cloud mass was heading straight for us. There was no more leisure in this ride; it was time to get back to camp. The flashes and booms were still over ten miles away according to our primitive counting measurement system – one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand… The race was on.

As we neared our campsite, the clouds opened up and once again began to unleash sheets of rain. We hurriedly parked our bikes, grabbed our water bottles and rushed to the tent. As we did, we noticed something strange: the side of the building we were camped by was now open. It seemed magical. We hadn’t noticed any type of opening when we set up the tent. It turns out there was a rolling door, like a garage door. While we were gone exploring, some kind person had come along and opened the building for us. The opening revealed a friendly space with a dry concrete floor, kitchen sinks and stainless steel countertops – a perfect place to duck in out of the rain and cook our dinner!

We positioned our camp chairs near the opening and watched our poor tent get pounded by rain. Soon the thunder and lightening passed directly over us. I’ve always loved watching lightening storms. It was exciting and wild to have the strikes pass close by. We counted them as close as two miles away! Eventually the storm faded across the hills, across the sea and into the distance.

Rain, rain and more rain – waiting for a lull in a series of squalls on Yagishiri-to.

By now it was getting late. Our bellies were full of a hot soba concoction Jack had whipped up and our bodies were warmed by the last sips of peaty, smoky whiskey from a purchase at the Nikka Whiskey distillery. With the rain waning, I t was time for bed.

Our little tent is amazing. It had been thoroughly doused. Yet the fly had held out through the worst of it and our sleeping bags and all of the gear inside the tent was snug and dry. Nestled inside our cocoon, we both quickly drifted to sleep.

Then –

Flash! Crack! Boom! The lightning and thunder came in nearly simultaneous sequence, jolting us awake.

While we had been soundly asleep, another intense squall had crept upon the island. This time the lightning strikes were practically on top of us. Two in a row where there wasn’t time to count to one thousand-one between the nearly blinding flash and the earth-shaking boom had our eyes wide open. A tent previously described as “tough” and “sturdy” now seemed to be but a flimsy piece of nylon separating us from the elements. “Give me your hand!” I demanded of Jack. I grabbed his hand as another Flash! Crack! Boom! pounded down from the heavens. I squeezed my eyes shut but couldn’t keep out the blinding flashes. I plugged my ears to muffle the thunder’s roar. I wondered about people who’d been struck by lightening and had survived. What did that feel like? Were we going to be one of those stories?

“We’re in a low place,” Jack assured me. “We’ll be fine.”

The next blinding flash lit up the tent. This time the roar of thunder came after “one one thousand.” Maybe it was moving away? I still clung to Jack’s hand. Another blinding flash. I buried my head in my sleeping bag and counted – one one thousand. Then, right away, another flash – one one thousand, two one thousand. My heart was still racing. While this squall seemed to be passing, I wondered if another set of storm clouds would move in.

A few minutes passed and another flash came – one one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand, four one thousand. 

As the thunder and lightning slowly drifted further away, I finally released my grip on Jack’s hand. My heart slowly returned to its normal rate as the drumming of rain on our tent softened. For the remainder of the night it rained and rained, but the thunder and lightning had ceased. The next morning, I woke up wondering where exactly the lightening had struck. A moment later, I felt grateful that I didn’t know. 

First Stop in Hokkaido – Don’t Miss Beautiful Chitose!

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A mosaic of farmlands on the flight into Chitose evoked visions of fresh melons, strawberries, cherries, wines, cheese, and Hokkaido’s famous beef.

Although the city of Chitose, which lies just south of Sapporo, is generally seen as merely an airport stop, it’s a charming city in its own right. We found it to be the perfect place to stage and prepare for our trek around Hokkaido. The local Homac store sells butane camping stove fuel, there’s a beautiful green belt, and – as just about everywhere in Hokkaido – excellent restaurants.

A depiction of the Sapporo Beer Brewery paves the sidewalk outside the Chitose airport.

We quickly discovered that convenience stores such as 7/11 and Lawson are not only convenient (they all have restrooms… clean restrooms), but they feature very good coffee and a variety of tasty prepared foods to quickly fuel up hungry bicyclists. 

Bob!? Is that you? We hadn’t seen this character since we were kids… Either we were a lot smaller or he was a lot bigger back then. American-style hamburgers have not been on our menu… and I really didn’t care for the way he was looking at Barbra.

A passerby who works with one of the international airlines that frequents Chitose stopped to talk with us as we assembled our bicycles outside the hotel. He recommended the restaurant Ramai, which specializes in curry soup. Chock full of chicken and vegetables and exceptionally flavorful, we enthusiastically pass along the recommendation.

Keen to check out Hokkaido’s young and growing wine industry, we found Grace Winery open for tasting…

…in addition to haskap berry wine (also known as honeysuckle berry), the winery features whites and reds of German origin as well as Pinot Noir. The grapes at this winery were grown in the Yoichi area, which provided all the incentive we needed to make sure that Yoichi would be a stop on our trek!

At the the Chitose Aquarium (well worth a visit) we had our first encounter with Ainu culture. The Ainu are indigenous to Hokkaido and northern Japan, sharing many traditions in common with the indigenous people of the Pacific Northwest. Here salmon skin footwear is displayed. 

Rare and endangered, Itou (Japanese Huchen) are a close relative of taimen – the world’s largest salmonid species. Growing to over a meter in length, there are still fishable populations in some of Hokkaido’s waters, though catch and release is strongly encouraged if not the law of the land. 

The Chitose River is remarkably clean and clear despite running through an urban area. It receives a strong run of Chum Salmon, which each fall are caprtured by this Pacific Northwest style fish wheel for the local hatchery. In late spring and early summer, visitors to the aquarium can participate by releasing a cup’s worth of salmon fry into the Chitose River, giving them a bit of ownership in maintaining healthy populations of salmon and a healthy river.

Caddisflies and May Flies were coming off the river the morning we walked its banks.

These angles caught a brown trout – right in the heart of the city!

While this colorful finch sang his heart out.

Although the cherry blossom were finished, Azeleas were still in glorious bloom – including colors we’d never before seen. Across the river, an aosagi (gray heron) is perched on a rock, no doubt anticipating making a meal of the many Japanese Dace that populate the river.

Although the Japanese express great concern regarding the several hundred higuma (brown bears) that inhabit the island, of far greater danger are the huge suzumebachi (Japanese Giant Hornet) which account for a number of deaths each year in Japan. We found this one beginning a nest and uneasily got this capture before backing off.

We enjoyed a wonderful, stress-free stay at the Ana Crowne Hotel in Chitose. Hotel staff were extremely accommodating to our unusual needs – even allowing us to store our large bicycle boxes with them until our return in August.