Trip 40 — Niue and Dogojima Walks

Dogojima day 3: Uzuki to Minamigata
Thursday, 7 March 2024

Today: 45525 steps/34.23 km/21.27 mi/6h 32m Total: 66751 steps/51.61 km/32.07 mi/9h 22m

"I'm Oyama-san," the other guest said at dinner. He translated it. "Big-mountain man."

"I'm Seth. Are you visiting?"

"I'm a kayak instructor. Tomorrow is a kayak test."

"Me?" I laughed.

He did too. "Mr. Matsuyama."

With only two guests at the Geo Resort Symphony, I wondered whether dinner would be any less elaborate than the night before. But it was just as drawn-out, and almost completely different — except the start.

"Sea cucumber again," Kinuko said. "I'm sorry."

"It's fine. I like it," I said, with more truth. It had started to grow on me, as long as the slices were thin.

What followed was just what I needed: a series of vegetables grilled by Mr. Matsuyama at the table. Thinly sliced zucchini, over the fire for a few seconds and drizzled with oil; clusters of eringi mushrooms; thick scallions; plain and spicy lotus root; pumpkin; breaded fish cake; and finally a whole eggplant, which outlasted all the others over the flame, cut in half.

Well, that was wonderful, I thought, as I mentally prepared to climb the overgrown trail to my cabin.

"Don't worry, the meat is coming," Kinuko said.

I didn't need more, but first there was an arc of sliced mackerel sashimi, and then Mr. Matsuyama brought out a giant slab of fatty beef.

"Is it Oki beef?" I asked.

"Shimane beef," he said, referring to the prefecture that includes the Oki Islands. "I don't like Oki beef."

"But we had it yesterday, correct? The hamburger with Hokkaido and Oki beef."

"Yes, that's right."

I guess both beefs serve their purposes, and I had no beef with that.

"Do you want to grate the wasabi?" he asked.

Most wasabi in the United States is made from horseradish with food coloring. Real wasabi is difficult to find. Mr. Matsuyama handed me a piece that looked like a miniature green space shuttle, along with two graters.

"This one is sharkskin; this one is steel," he said. Sharkskin is the traditional grater.

I happened to try a circular motion, which roused a chuckle from my host, but the plant still morphed easily into a paste. He collected it and put it on the side, for the beef.

The meal was even longer than the one with the students, and it culminated in a glass of homemade bitter-orange liqueur. I would come back to Dogojima just for that.

I came to Cafe La Mer at eight this morning to pay the bill. Kinuko had given me rice balls to take with me, in lieu of breakfast; I wanted to get an early start anyway.

"My husband is nervous," she said, before Mr. Matsuyama arrived.

"Why?"

"Kayak test."

"I'm sure he will do great."

He showed up and they saw me off. So did the cats, who always seemed jumpy around me and probably didn't mind watching me head toward the village for the last time.

The three tunnels, and past a noisy colony of seabirds in Fuse, and then I was on my own at the Jodogaura Coast. The geology was especially rich here, with jagged shapes from hardened lava in what was once a riverbed. The islets nearest the road resembled craggy dinosaur backs, or bat wings.

The official way to head west from here was National Route 485, but the Jodogaura road continued uphill into the forest, proceeding to Iibi village via a zillion switchbacks. A red sign said "Complete road closure," but I hoped it was just for motor vehicles.

The only risk I could see was loneliness. The ground was messy from fallen pine needles and the occasional branch or rock, but it was a lovely walk, made even lovelier with no cars or tunnels. At times the cedar was especially dramatic, standing tall, perfectly straight, at attention. I occasionally caught sight of the sea, but this was a forest walk.

I descended into Iibi, rejoined the main road, passed through two more tunnels, and took a break at Nakamura Beach. A group of schoolchildren, maybe six years old, came by, and we exchanged smiles and shouts of "Konnichiwa!" This looked to be a popular place in summer, with a wide promenade and a bus schedule that winter can only dream of.

I climbed again, until the road plateaued and I reached the hill village of Igo. This is where I could have spent last night, if I hadn't stayed at the Symphony. There's a whole house that's newly been made available for guests, and it's the only place to stay between the Symphony and the Hotel Uneri, at least in the winter. But it was more than $300 for the night, and how could I have missed Mr. Matsuyama's grilled steak and vegetables, or the bitter-orange digestif?

Just past Igo, another small road scurried away into the forest. This one seemed to be open to vehicles, but it was a long way to get to a place that could be reached much faster on the main road. I followed a stream, almost to sea level, and then I went up and up and up, along another stream, and past more cedar and pine, all the way to the top.

And there's a glimpse of the village the road will come to, far down below, but there's just a quick view now, a little tease, don't get too confident, because we're going back into the forest, and more switchbacks, and the giant slabs of rock next to the road have lovely patterns, and—

"Prtrtrtrtrtrtr," I heard in the distance, followed by the squeal of a bird. I paused.

"Prtrtrtrtrtrtr," I heard again, followed by another squeal.

I had seen a sign about hunting, but I hadn't thought much of it; it hadn't mentioned that it was permissible. But is that what I heard? A repeating rifle? To hunt birds?

"Hello!" I shouted. "Konnichiwa!"

I heard the sound again, but then it stopped. I continued. One car did come by, perhaps to a construction site. The village below kept teasing me and then disappearing again. I never seemed to get closer to it.

The ups and downs were wearing me out. The other day I went fast because of the rain; today I paid the price, with fussy legs and some frustratingly slow kilometers, many longer than 12 minutes.

"Where is this village?" I said out loud. I needed to pause and have a rice ball or two.

And then the village appeared, tidy rice paddies and a couple of shrines. The waterfront didn't have a good beach for sitting, but the stairs next to the Kumi River were pleasant enough. It felt wonderful to sit down. Dogojima had warmed up, and a sip of cold water was refreshing.

There's a group of islets in the Sea of Japan, midway between Japan and South Korea, known internationally as the Liancourt Rocks. In Japan they're called Takeshima; South Korea calls them Dokdo, and both countries have laid claim to them. Kumi is the closest village to them on the Japan side — they're even part of Shimane prefecture — and there's a museum about the Korean occupation, which has gone on since 1952. Although Takeshima isn't much land, it was an important base for the hunting of Japanese sea lions (the animals are nearly extinct), and when South Korea took over, Japanese fishing boats were suddenly subject to seizure.

The museum had photographs related to the fishing and sea-lion industries on Takeshima, but there wasn't a word of English, and I regrettably didn't understand much from the person showing me around. I did, however, get to put a sticker on the map showing from where the museum has had visitors. I seem to have been the first one from the Americas, perhaps the whole Western Hemisphere.

The next tunnel south of Kumi wasn't the longest of the day, but it was barely lit; I turned on my phone's flashlight. The darkness encouraged me to pick up speed, and I might have reached the Hotel Uneri in not much more than an hour. But the Oki Onsen Goka was on the way; why not step in? Besides, my hosts at the Geo Resort Symphony had given me a coupon for 150 yen off the admission fee.

The soak was great for my legs, back, and mind, but it didn't make them want to carry on for the final two and a half kilometers. I plodded through, past more rice paddies and more basalt columns, and then through the longest tunnel of the day, at 646.6 meters. It was well-lit, and I counted down the numbered blocks that formed the tunnel's walls. I stood just shy of the exit, the opening perfectly framing what was just ahead: the Hotel Uneri.

Go on to Dogojima day 4