Fuyuji-yama (冬路山)

Fuyuji-yama (冬路山, 625.1 m) is a little mountain about 45 minutes northwest of Asahikawa, on the border with Horokanai Town. It’s actually one peak on an undulating ridgeline that forms a sort of bowl behind a big flat farmland. The two main peaks on this ridge are Fuyuji and Shirakke-yama (シラッケ山, 625 m), although there’s an unnamed peak that actually stands, at 640 meters, taller than either of them.

I went out to Fuyuji this past Saturday, which I think was an incredible day, weatherwise, for just about all of Hokkaido, judging by the pics people posted on Facebook. I followed Google Maps to the end of a looping road behind something called ‘Guest House Osarappe’ to get to the trailhead. The looping road, and a little spur that stretched north from it, was plowed, which was a blessing. There wasn’t any obvious parking for the mountain, so I wedged the car up as close as I could to the snowbanks by the intersection. I was out of the way, and I didn’t expect anyone else to come by here soon.

I had spent the past couple of mountains mostly skinning up and down, and not wanting to lug the skis around on the mountain, I decided to snowshoe up, which turned out to be a mistake. Near the trailhead I saw some snowshoe tracks near some ski tracks, but as I climbed, the snowshoes disappeared and the skis tracks multipied into maybe six or seven separate runs, big swoopy things through knee-deep powder, presumably a couple of days before. Oh well, I was already well on my way on the snowshoes.

I walked for a little ways along the edge of a field before reaching a forest of what I think were Sakhalin fir, big dark evergreen things clustered tight together and with great deep tree wells for unwitting skiers to fall into. Fun fun. After a couple of minutes I came to a bit of a forest road, following the snowshoe and ski tracks up along it until it dead-ended at a little ravine.

The snowshoe tracks descended into the ravine and climbed up from there, but I didn’t like the idea of climbing up the bottom of a ravine, so I started making my way straight up the north face of the adjoining ridge (which, admittedly, I probably wouldn’t have been able to do on skis; it’d have been a switchbacky laborious affair). It was a fairly short climb up to a bit of a lump in the ridge, where I stopped and ate some candy (Specifically Kamu Kamu Peach). Clouds had sort of shrouded the mountain when I arrived, but as the sun came up they were burning off and I could see the haze of Asahikawa off in the distance over the farmland below.

Heading up the ridgeline was pretty straightforward; I followed some of the ski tracks heading down the other way but it wasn’t tough to navigate. I had fun knocking some snow off the trees as I passed.

Below the summit it was quite steep; there was a big open field with deep S-turns etched on it that I didn’t want to ruin so I climbed up a little ways to the left. Halfway up I dug a pit and performed a couple of shovel compression tests. There was a couple of centimeters of loose powder sitting on top of about four cm of crust, and below that it was pretty evenly consolidated snow. There was a weak layer maybe 40-50 cm down that failed on the seventh swing from the shoulder. The split was along a very smooth layer. It took enough strength to make it fail that I wasn’t super worried, but I certainly kept it in mind. I got another layer to fail much further down (like 1.5 m below the surface), but it took enough effort and was deep enough down that it didn’t worry me.

Past the avalanche test it was a pretty short climb through an open forest of big gnarled Erman’s birch up to the top of the ridge, and from the ridge I headed to the right, up the shallow slope towards the summit. The summit itself is broad and sparsely-treed; there’s a piece of pink tape tied to one of the little saplings to indicate the summit. The views are terrific, though: to the west you can see over the big plans surrounding Horokanai, and the low foothills of the Teshio Mountains. The long white ridge of Bozu-yama (坊主山, 776.1 m) and the sharp bald peak of some unnamed 672-m peak are particular standouts (left and right respectively in the second pic below). I imagine that on a super-clear day you could probably see all the way out to Shokanbetsu-dake (暑寒別岳, 1491.6 m) on that side. To the east you can easily see over Asahikawa and you’d probably have an amazing view of the Daisetsuzan; but if you could see the Daisetsuzan from the top of Fuyuji, you probably made the wrong decision and should be atop Asahidake (旭岳, 2291 m) right now.

The descent was quite easy. I was a little miffed with myself that I had chosen today to snowshoe: the snow was crusty but the slope was good and the trees were wide enough that it would have been no problem to get up a little speed for some big turns. The only point I’d really have had to push myself along would have been the trek across the field back out to where I stashed the car.

OTHER WAYS YOU COULD CLIMB FUYUJI

It wouldn’t have been too much trouble to make the traverse from Fuyuji along the ridge to the northeast to Shirakke, and there’d probably be some good skiing down the slopes over there as well–the tradeoff being that you’d have to walk out a little ways.

It doesn’t look like the climb up from the Horokanai side of the mountain would be too bad either; in fact, I did see some ski tracks coming up from that side. There’s a pretty attractive ridgeline, in fact, coming up that side, that would lead you right up to the summit.

Trailhead: 7:01 -> lump: 7:33 -> avalanche test 7:56-8:38 -> summit: 8:57 -> trailhead: 9:37

climbing time: 1 hour, 56 minutes / descending time: 40 minutes

You can find the Strava page for the climb here.

If there’s one mountain out east that everyone has climbed in the wintertime, it’s Mokoto-yama (藻琴山, 1000 m). Well, okay, maybe it’s Nikoro-yama (仁頃山, 829 m), but Mokoto-yama is the more attractive one. It towers over the broad Lake Kussharo and features relatively easy access and a short climb to the summit from Highland Koshimizu Campground (ハイランド小清水キャンプ場). I decided that I needed to go check it out, so I woke up one morning before the sun came up and headed for the trailhead.

When I got there, the sun still wasn’t up but the sky was reasonably light. A couple of snowplows were still patrolling the road, escorted by tired-looking guys in Nissan X-Trails. There’s a small parking lot at the trailhead with room for maybe 10 cars (strategically parked) but I was the only one there. As I got ready an X-Trail pulled up nearby and the guy put his seat back and started smoking.

There’s a small sign at the trailhead indicating that, as the mountain has become more popular, so too have avalanches become more frequent. The warning, which included all sorts of aggressive precaution (never go into the backcountry alone, or, avalanches are quite common around here), sort of spooked me, alone in the early morning. But I had come this far, so I crossed the snowbound campsite beyond the sign and headed up into the evergreens on the slope to my left.

In the campsite there were a good number of old tracks, maybe from a day or two prior, but as I headed into the trees they seemed to thin out. I considered switching back and trying to mount the top of the ridge—which would have been advisable in avalanche territory—but the slope didn’t look too bad and I was following someone’s tracks, so I continued.

Eventually I traversed a shallow gully and came to a low ridge, where the snow was windblown and crusty and the tracks I had been following disappeared. I decided to turn my skis upwards and start climbing the apex of the low ridge; partway up I rediscovered the tracks I had left, only to find that the maker had given up. The snow was disturbed and there were ski boot tracks and a bit of a hole where the skier must have removed their skins to head back down. At any rate, I continued.

The trees thinned and I found myself near the top of the big main valley. Across from me the slope was almost totally clear of trees and crisscrossed with ski tracks. Above me, just below the ridge at the top of the valley, the trees were dense and looked impassable, so I made a careful traverse northward, towards the summit. The slope here was crusty and windblown and tough to navigate in skins, but it was better than the avalanche-prone alternative of a wind-loaded gully. Maybe I was just still spooked from the sign.

I finally had to mount the ridge or else face backtracking, so I started pulling myself up between the trees just below the ridgeline. It was hard going on skis; it might have just been smarter to take them off and climb through on foot. The snow was certainly crusty enough to get a good foothold in plastic ski boots. If I were to climb again I think I would make an effort to mount the top of the ridgeline as early as possible, to avoid having to clamber through the trees just below the ridge.

By and by I made it onto the ridge, though, facing down a huge valley that swept down to Lake Kussharo below. The lake was crisscrossed with snowmobile tracks and footprints, which looked pretty neat from altitude. The wind that had blown the slope I had traversed had also formed a huge cornice, which I stayed very very clear of. The wind had turned around since then, though, and with a vengeance, so I decided to head up the ridgeline with haste.

Near the summit there’s a bit of a saddle, and the wind was blowing through here something mighty. The climb to the summit itself was pretty steep so I took off my skis and tucked them behind a little rise so they wouldn’t blow off and climbed up to the summit in my boots. The sun was sitting off to the southeast and it was lighting up Oakan-dake and Meakan-dake to the south; to the north I could see the sharp peaks of Shari-dake and Unabetsu-dake’s broad flanks behind it.

On the way down I stashed my climbing skins and made my way back over to where I climbed. The skiing was crusty near the ridge but there was a sweet little stash about halfway down, where I laid down some S’s and felt like a real pro. Before I knew it though, I was back in the trees and with the sun coming up temperatures had risen above zero. The snow on the bottom half of the mountain was sticky and wet and I had to push myself out. With wax I might have been fine but I haven’t waxed my skis in a little while, and the snow was so wet that it was actually sticking to the bottomof the skis. Which I had never seen before but there ya have it.

Back at the car I packed up all my stuff as the first of the day’s climbers were getting there.

Highland Koshimizu Campsite: 6:18 -> top of the main valley: 7:11 -> summit: 7:41 -> heading down: 8:02 -> Highland Koshimizu Campsite: 8:19

climbing time: 1 hour, 23 minutes / descending time: 17 minutes

You can find the Strava page for the climb here.

A couple of weeks ago I had to drop Sam off at an English camp in Fukagawa, so I decided to take the afternoon to climb a nearby mountain called Okirika-yama (沖里河山, 802 m). It’s one I’ve driven past any number of times on the way to Sapporo, but I’ve never bothered to check it out. I had just gotten my skis and skins a couple weeks earlier so I was eager to try them out.

Okirika-yama is one peak of a three-peaked massif south of National Route 12 in Fukagawa–the other two peaks are Otoe-yama (音江山, 795 m) and Irumukeppu-yama (イルムケップ山, 864 m). Like Kitoushi-yama, I’m pretty sure that Okirika-yama’s slopes were, or are, the site of a ski hill called Fukagawa Ski Field (深川スキー場)–although with nearby Kamui Ski Links I wouldn’t be surprised if they’d gone out of business. I didn’t see any evidence of chairlifts or lift towers, but it was evident from signs along the snowy slope and newly-planted trees that in the summertime this area gets some traffic. I think there’s a road that climbs the ski hill called Irumukeppu Skyline (イルムケップスカイライン).

Anyway, in the winter there’s nowhere to leave your car, but Prefectural Route 79 (the road closest to the ski hill and the one that the summertime Irumukeppu Skyline branches off of) is a fairly deserted road in the wintertime, so I pulled my car as close up to the snowbanks as possible and left it there. If I went back, I would probably excavate a little ways down the Irumukeppu Skyline road and leave the car there. Leaving my car on the road was a mistake.

There was a pretty length approach to the hill itself; what was more surprising was that there were big snowcat tracks along the road. Hmm. The tracks were a little crusty, so I imagined that they had probably been made a day or two earlier.

The snowcat tracks actually continued all the way up the ski hill-road (what I imagine is the Irumukeppu Skyline), crisscrossing in switchbacks as they climbed. When I got the opportunity I left the Skyline and started climbing through the powdery fields. I ran into some old snowshoe tracks, probably from a week previous or so, as well as that snowshoer’s ski tracks back down; a little higher up I also came across a ton of snowmobile tracks, a lot fresher. Now and again I could actually hear the snowmobiles, but they were on one of the neighboring peaks and I never actually saw the snowmobilers themselves.

As I climbed the ski hill I found myself mounting a big ridge; the climb was long but it was never really difficult. Near the top of the ridge it shallowed out pretty substantially and I had to start pushing myself. It was evidently the top of the ski hill, so I followed the snowmobile tracks into the forest closer to the summit.

The ridge narrows considerably near the summit and I found myself back on the road, and back in the tracks of the snowcat. Which was pretty remarkable, because the ridge’s flat top could barely have been wider than the snowcat itself. Soon I came to the end of the road, where there were a few signs covered in blue tarp. Snowmobile tracks and footprints headed into the woods at the end of the road, so I followed those. It wasn’t 50 meters before I came to the steep cone of the summit. One of the snowmobilers ahead of me had climbed up, postholing up to his groin, so I elected to leave the skis on and switchback my way up. The cone itself was maybe 10 meters tall so it was pretty short work.

In the summer, the top of the mountain is capped by a little outlook platform, but in the winter it’s just a big cornice with the summit marker, a couple signs, and mounted binoculars sticking out of it. It was mostly clear and I got an amazing view over the huge Sorachi Plains below and back out towards Kamui Ski Links and Kamuikotan. On a clear day you’d probably be able to see down to the suburbs of Sapporo, looking south. I stopped for a little while and ate a Snickers, but it was pretty windy so I didn’t spend much time. I descended a bit, packed up my skins, and headed out.

The upper slopes of the mountain were pretty flat so I wound up pushing myself along for quite a bit, but when I got back to the open terrain of the ski hill it was great going. The snow wasn’t particularly deep but a lack of tracks–especially lower down, where the snowmobilers hadn’t been–made up for it. It wasn’t fast skiing by any means but it was good fun. I found myself back at the bottom of the ski hill before I knew it.

It was a bit of a pain skiing out along the snowcat’s tracks, especially since they climbed a couple of short hills and I didn’t have skins on anymore. It wasn’t so troublesome that I would have put the skins back on, but I was getting a pretty blister (new boots) and I just wanted to be back at the car.

I had been a little worried that my car had been towed or ticketed or something–I had, after all, left it on the side of the road–but after the little climb from the trailhead back up to the road, I found it still there, safe and sound.

trailhead: 12:49 -> bottom of ski field: 13:07 -> summit: 14:23 -> bottom of ski field: 14:35 -> trailhead: 14:42

climbing time: 1 hour, 33 minutes / descending time: 18 minutes

See activity on Strava