Let me paint you a picture.  It’s 10:00pm on a winter’s night just after the new year.  A figure is walking alone on a steep and winding mountain road, hours away from any sign of civilization, fighting off the chill with a winter coat and a pack of cigarettes.  A full moon occasionally peeks out through a thin smattering of clouds, and there is no sound save his shuffling feet and steady breath.  He looks down at his music player and shuffles aimlessly through songs, trying in vain to keep his attention away from the current situation.  He trys so hard at this he doesn’t notice the road ahead curving right, nor does he notice the road’s guard rail passing at his side.  Only when he takes a step in to nothingness does he notice that he is no longer walking, but tumbling down a steep incline.  As he bounces off of trees and struggles to clutch on to anything that will stop his uncontrolled descent, he wonders how he got in to this predicament in the first place.

The first jetfoil of the morning departed from the town of Ibusuki at 8:00 sharp the same morning.  The two hour ride to the small volcanic island of Yakushima was an expensive one, but well worth it from what the young man had learned through internet publications and word of mouth.  As the boat sped along he snacked on an orange and the bag of dried squid he bought from the small grocery underneath the hostel he had called home for the last two nights, and planned out his route to the magnificent hike that was sure to await him on this beautiful island.

Although this strapping young mad had the entire day to devote to hiking among Yakushima’s beautiful 3000 – 5000 year old trees, the bus schedule dictated that his hike couldn’t start until 2:00 in the afternoon.  What bad luck!  But the brave young man persevered, vowing to himself that this expensive trip to Yakushima would not be let to waste.  He considered his options as he ate lunch:

Renting a car was out of the question, because his drivers license replacement hadn’t come in yet.  He could rent a bicycle… but no, the ride would be a serious challenge to even the most seasoned Tour de France racer.  He could take a taxi, but that would cost him a fortune.  In the end, he decided to bide his time until 2:00, hike for as long as daylight would allow, then hitch a ride, or as a last resort call a cab back in to town.

The hike was everything the young man dreamed it could be and more.  Spectacular, ancient trees towered over his head with an air of majesty.  Wild deer grazed the snow-strewn ground, and from nearby trees the occasional monkey let loose a startling scream.  Three hours later it was 5:30, and he was at the furthest point of his hike, at the summit of the island’s tallest mountain, staring transfixed in all directions at the beauty that seemed to offer itself as a tribute to his courageous perseverance.  With a sigh he turned around, knowing that the sun would be setting soon and he needed to ge the most technical part of his hike out of the way before night overtook the island.

By the time the young man completed the loop and stood once again at the entrance to the trail, it was 9:00 at night.  He had been hiking for nearly 6 hours, but he soon discovered that his legs weren’t at their journey’s end just yet.  There was absolutely no sign of life to be seen.  The small ranger’s station was completely dark.  He walked around to the back door – and yes! There was a light coming from one of the windows.  He approached the window and raised his hand to give the glass a rap, but his stomach sank as he realized that there was nobody there – the bathroom light had been left on.  He considered climbing through the window and staying the night inside the rangers cabin, but thought that it would be poor form for a foreign English teacher on a working visa to break and enter anywhere, even in the middle of nowhere on an island two hours south of Kyushu.

There was nothing else for it – the young man tightened his belt and started walking the four hour trek back along the road to Anbo, hoping a car would pass on the way and pick him up.

Our now scratched and bruised hero stood up and brushed himself off.  He looked up at the road above him and guessed that he had rolled down about thirty feet.  It was a miracle he hadn’t broken anything.  He hiked back up to the road and sat on a cold rock at a scenic pullout.  The view was incredible, be the moonlight he could make out the silhouette of a massive valley, snaking down to the distant lights that marked his destination.  He pulled out a crumpled road map and guessed at how far he had walked, and decided he was about a quarter of the way.  He stubbed out a cigarette and continued down the road, ignoring the numb pain from his tumble.

Eventually his phone got a signal, and within fifteen minutes he was in a taxi covering the last stretch of road before town.  Once at his discounted rate business hotel (a connection made entirely by the propitious taxi driver) and no longer concerned with such base necessities as warmth and shelter, the young man asked about any izakayas around with decent food and cold beer, for he realized that he hadn’t eaten since lunch.  The inns hostess offered him a ride to a cramped three table joint a few minutes away, and the young man graciously accepted.

The mom and pop ramen shop cranked out a bowl of hot noodles and a glass of beer in a hurry.  At the bar sat three volunteer firemen, and it wasn’t long before the young man was caught up in conversation about firefighting on the little island.  After a little bit, two of the men left leaving the drunkest to slur incomprehensible babble at the young man, occasionally stopping to laugh hysterically and take a sloppy swig from his mug.  Two more men came to the bar, who introduced themselves as fisherman, and the young man’s day ended with a half Japanese, half English chorus of “What would you do with a drunken sailor?”

The morning the young man arrived boarded his return ship, and arrived safely in Tomiai by mid-afternoon.