The Snowboarder's Journal • The Snowboarder's Journal 22.1 • ONSEN FOUNTAIN: Myoko Vignettes

Shin Biyajima approaching an empty hut in the Mt. Myoko backcountry—a quick break on a foggy descent from the crater at the summit.

The hotel lobby smells like kerosene. I’m with Eric Jackson at the base of a ski area called Ikenotaira. It’s cold and overcast. The streets are bare. The elderly woman behind the counter has a round, cheerful face. She wants to talk, to show us how the antiquated heater in our room works. We want to sleep.

It’s quiet—weirdly quiet in this place I first heard of a decade or so ago. Someone told me it was “the Mt. Baker of Japan.” Myoko Kogen sits about 175 miles northwest of Tokyo and 30 miles south of Joetsu and the Sea of Japan, on the other side of the range from better-known Hakuba. It’s where Japanese legend Shin Biyajima grew up riding. He’ll meet us tomorrow. Communication has been sparse as Shin is tending to a newborn baby at home in Nagano and just wrapped up working behind the scenes for the Natural Selection Tour’s Myoko-based duel.

It’s funny how little specific info we’ve been able to glean from the internet on what is, by all accounts, a well-trafficked part of Honshu, the most populous island of Japan. What we do know: volcanic Mt. Myoko is home to four distinct ski areas, none of which reach its 8,051-foot summit. There are at least four more spots within a half hour’s drive, ranging from single chair, beginner-oriented establishments to upscale Lotte Arai to the north, owned by its namesake Korean chocolate giant. It’s been an historically slow snow year on Honshu, but things are about to turn around. We’ve arrived right on time.

Myoko Kogen snow forecast, 1/23/2024: “According to Niigata Local Meteorological Observatory, heavy snow is expected to fall in the prefecture from tonight until the 25^th, both on the plains and along the mountains, due to the strongest cold air stream of the winter. Heavy snowfall is expected to reach warning levels in some areas tomorrow, and the locals are being warned about possible traffic disruptions. The expected 24-hour snowfall is 40-60 centimeters in the Joetsu plains and 70-100 centimeters across the alpine ski resorts, followed by a similar amount across the following 24 hours. In addition, strong winds are expected, which may have some effect on lift operation.”

I read this from the comfort of new accommodations, up the road from Myoko proper at Seki Onsen. The kerosene was just too hard on our lungs. The local lift infrastructure, the young Canadian behind the desk tells us, went undamaged by the New Year’s earthquake in Ishikawa, 200 miles to the west. At 7.6 on the Richter scale, it was devastating for many, causing over 200 deaths and destroying more than 20,000 homes.

Here in this dead-end hamlet on a Tuesday, it seems we’re the only ones around—at least the only ones at this two-story, Australian-owned, onsen-equipped hotel. It’s expensive. It’s not quite a Ryokan in the traditional sense—maybe it once was, but the food is some kind of semi-westernized mishmash. Shin and cinematographer Hiraoki “Yone” Yonekura will arrive late to meet us. Eric and I eat bland beef and rice then watch snow begin to fall, lightly, out the window.

In a tiny ski area office, maybe 8 feet by 10 feet, a woodstove blasts full throttle. The walls are lined with vintage ski gear. Outside, no more than 10 steps away, a hunched-over lifty clears snow off slowly spinning chairs with a wooden broom. A jolly man who appears to be in his early 60s, well dressed in blue slacks, a grey wool button up, and clean leather boots, speaks with Yone for several minutes. He then hands us tickets and says, “tell them Seki Onsen number one.” We exchange bows.

The two-seater rocks slowly up through birch forest. There’s at least 2 feet of new snow, but the base is still pretty thin—sticks and stumps protrude under the deciduous canopy. On the first run, Shin airs off a cat track near the bottom and lands on rocks, badly bruising his thigh. He shakes it off and we lap a few short but steep pitches, exploring the bounty of the storm carefully, cutting across debris from a large glide avalanche, finding our way through bamboo thickets back to the chairlift. It’s still snowing. It will only get deeper from here.

With the low-key-famous single-seat upper chair closed, we retire to the day lodge for an early lunch. Inside the dark, steamy building, ’60s Olympic memorabilia shares the walls with a 5-foot-tall tribute poster to Craig Kelly, who frequented the area decades ago. Behind the cashier, they’re selling t-shirts that say, “Seki Onsen: Fuck The Patrol.” Not that we’ve seen any patrol, but the backcountry policies are decidedly liberal up here on the northwest side of Mt. Myoko.

Shin drives fast in his tinted black Mitsubishi Delica. He knows the roads well. He’s been riding here for more than 25 years, he explains, since he started snowboarding, since before the tourists arrived en masse. With a pro career spanning two decades and still going strong, Shin is now in his early 40s and has earned the respect of folks near and far for his smooth style, local knowledge and relaxed demeanor.

Shin’s father, an engineer who worked on apple sorting machines, took him into the mountains near Nagano at a young age. Shin skied first, then started snowboarding at age 12. He watched the 1998 Olympic halfpipe contest in the rain—snowboarding’s debut at the Games. That opened his eyes to world-class riding. Since, he’s traveled the globe as a snowboarder, made multiple trips to AK, and filmed alongside Travis Rice, among many others. He lives in Nagano with his wife, Mina and their baby daughter, Nina. He and his dad own a raw vacation property at nearby Lake Nojiri. He hopes to build on it someday—treehouses, underground structures. Something funky.

Now, he’s racing down to Akakura Onsen, the most popular resort on Mt. Myoko. His stereo is playing low-tempo beats with a metaphysical narrative rolling over top of it: “Your rhythms should change from season to season by design, not by default,” and so forth. It’s snowing as hard as it can physically snow—giant flakes pouring from the sky, obliterating the landscape.

“This is the best day in this winter—the most snow, the most coverage,” Shin says. His Delica throws a triple-overhead plume as we accelerate out of a corner, drifting through a tunnel of white.

Gully, obviously. Then Japan’s steepest cut run, according to Shin, which measures 42-degrees. We make two laps there enjoying chest-deep snow, then traverse out past a beacon check station and billy goat amongst avalanche barriers. Baker-esque, indeed, with that Japanese twist. It’s deep, blower, with some storm slab activity, but nothing too concerning. We poke our way around to the site of the Natural Selection duel. The landings are still firm from the tracks laid by Raibu Katayama and Torgeir Bergram, so we seek out our own hits. The retreating storm blows itself out with heavy gusts.

There’s so much potential out here, but what on a good season would be pillow stacks, this year remains bushes and rock. Still, with a bit of searching, there’s plenty to ride. Through two laps we’re out there almost till dark, finally catching a snow-covered summer road through a tunnel and back to the top of a groomer, powder-soaked and fully immersed.

Back in the main village of Myoko Onsen, we dine in a small, basement restaurant with bench seating for around 20. A disinterested young Australian waiter with an Ed Sheeran haircut brings us local cucumbers and miso (a specialty), fried chicken karaage, then sukiyaki (personal hot pots with a sweet soy broth) from a friendly Japanese-run kitchen. Outside, long lines form at every hole in the wall along the main strip of road. It’s interspersed with tourist shops and small hotels and the usual trappings of a low-key destination resort. Judging by the crowds (and lack of available accommodation) it seems Myoko is growing in popularity faster than the infrastructure can handle. Despite having to drive to the lifts, I much prefer our choice to hang on the quieter fringe up the mountain a bit.

The sun’s out, kind of. That two-day storm delivered the promised snow totals. We’ve moved once again, to a large, Japanese-owned hotel five minutes down the road from Seki Onsen. It’s much cheaper than the spot up the hill and mostly populated by vacationing families from nearby cities. There’s a very mellow beginner slope serviced by a dedicated quad chair right out front. Beyond it, views of the Seki Onsen backcountry and the northeast side of Mt. Myoko, when the clouds part. The food, served in a large, non-presumptuous dining hall, is spectacular—artfully prepared five-course dinners featuring assorted sashimi, blowfish, wagyu beef and sea bream shabu shabu, all included in the stay for around $90 per person per night. Despite its size, it isn’t easily found on Expedia—Shin brought us here.

En route to Akakura, we pass a military procession headed the other way—Shin says there’s an army base near Arai. North Korea lies around 600 miles west across the Sea of Japan. In the late ’70s and early ’80s, dozens of Japanese citizens were abducted from nearby coastal areas by the dictatorial regime, as the story goes, to teach Japanese language and culture at North Korean spy schools.

Although it’s sunny in the valley, clouds still envelop the high country. As we ride the aging lower gondola at Akakura, warming snow bombs off cedars. Yet it’s wintry up high. After a lap in the same zone as yesterday, we don snowshoes and move higher. “Buna” (Japanese beech) trees up here grow bigger, widely spaced with thick, meandering branches reaching up to 100 feet tall. As Shin explains, “Buna are special. They’re a sign of a healthy forest—and they also mean spaced-out, good tree runs.”

There are fewer Buna nowadays than there once were. Following World War II, the Japanese Forestry Agency encouraged logging beech forests and replacing them with more commercially viable conifers. Millions of Buna were clearcut. Yet, cultural reverence for the tree remained strong, and a grassroots movement in the ’70s was able to halt the practice, further solidifying the Buna’s revered presence in the Honshu high country.

Standing beneath these tall, quiet Buna under lightly falling snow, the sun filtering through high clouds occasionally, it’s hard not to slow down and appreciate the calm. Hard for me, at least. Eric and Shin spend the afternoon jumping beneath Buna before we all drop over a convexity and into a barrier-speckled, zig-zagging chute. It’s a run that, once you get to know it, must be infinitely lappable—sustainably steep, high-walled, and strewn with airs for at least 1,500 vertical feet, funneling back to the same tunneled exit as the day prior.

Around 50 folks are assembled at the top of the highest chair on Mt. Myoko. They’re a mix of locals and foreigners, visitors from around the world. Skinning up toward the crater rim under clear, sunny skies, we can see the Hakuba alpine far in the distance, above building valley clouds. Separating us from Hakuba is Myoko-Togakushi National Park. Established in 2015, we’re inside its northwestern edge.

Midway through the hour-and-a-half ascent, we meet a guy named Tahzeem, from Cordova, AK, who now lives in Montana. A marine biologist, he’s learned of this zone at a local hostel. We chat with him and let the brightly kitted ski tourists chuff past. They probably won’t want to ride what we’re after, anyways.

Shin is surprised at the volume of folks in the area today. He expected two or three crews, he says. Still, we find our own lines, dropping from the crater rim to the caldera, just under the craggy summit cone. Mt. Myoko is an active volcano. Its last significant eruption was around 2,500 years ago. These lines into its belly are a worthy attraction—big blind rolls off the top that would be dicey without proper snowpack and terrain evaluation, complete with rippable gullies and ridgelines, and a few airs throughout. Nothing massive, but still critical terrain.

I drop last. It’s steep, stable and smooth. Looking back up, there are still a few clean lanes left after lunchtime. Shin and Eric climb for a second round and a crew of young Norwegian skiers invites me to sit with them and eat chocolate they brought from home. They tell me they were sent here by someone in Hakuba who suggested the Myoko alpine would be a little less crowded. Seems the secret is well out in the open these days. I wonder if their advisor in Hakuba told them to approach it with caution as we watch a dozen folks drop into the bowl, a couple of them getting hung up atop a small cliff band after they followed Shin’s tracks.

Rather than ascending to the crater rim and riding sunny southwesterly slopes back to the ski area, Shin suggests an alternate, more adventurous route down the mountain. We exit stage right past a massive steam vent belching sulfurous fumes. Shin calls it an “onsen fountain,” which holds a certain poetic resonance. This high fumarole indeed fountains down the mountain, emerging as healing hot springs (or onsen) in the villages below. We set a mellow, climbing traverse through weather-worn overstory. Late day sun creates shadows like a barcode. It’s too pretty not to make a few extra credit turns. Then, we drop into the fog.

Visibility is near zero. This might be a good run if we could see, but instead it requires riding by feel. No one has been here since the storm. Shin keeps looking at his phone, following a GPS trail. “Stay on the ridge,” he says. “Don’t go right, whatever you do.”

Out of the mist appears a quaint alpine hut, fronted by bamboo. Walking through the door, it’s empty inside, with classic, rubberized tatami floors. An idyllic place to spend a night, perhaps on another journey. There’s a second door 10 feet up, indicative of just how deep the snow can get up here. Despite the recent storm, it’s still a low-door year.

Below the hut we find a summer road and follow it south, traversing toward our vehicles. It’s getting late. Breaking trail through the flats in thigh-deep snow is proving even more arduous than expected. Cutting below steep slopes and above high-banked creek beds, we finally stop short of our intended descent. We’ll have to hustle a ride back to the vans.

Dropping into a mellow tree run, we emerge beneath Mt. Myoko’s fog ceiling near the top of Ikenotaira. A forming crust is evidence of today’s warmth down low. Tomorrow, temperatures will rise further; Myoko will need another reset. For now, alpenglow lights the northeastern horizon. We ride together down an empty mountain.

In late February, nearly a month after our departure, Shin was caught in an avalanche in the Myoko backcountry. It took him through the trees, and he suffered life threatening injuries. Thankfully, he survived. After three months in the hospital, Shin is back with his family and on the mend. We thank Shin for his gracious hosting and wish him a speedy return to full health.

The Snowboarder's Journal - The Snowboarder's Journal 22.1

ONSEN FOUNTAIN: Myoko Vignettes

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