Words: Tim Patterson
Photos: Ryan Libre

The cliffs at the bottom of the gorge were steeper than I thought, and it was touch and go for about an hour, punching holes in the snow-pack and hanging on to any shrub I could find, hoping the whole face wasn't about to slip-slide away into the stream below, dog-tired, and the sun way past gone down over the jagged tri-peaks of Mt. Ashibetsu. 

Meanwhile, Ryan Libre, my partner in this misadventure of April Fools, was slogging through chest-deep powder only a stones throw from the cabin where we hoped to spend the night, but it wasn't until he descended into the ravine to find me, resigned to a teeth-chattering night in a snow-cave, that he stumbled upon a few feet of shiny stovepipe protruding from a wind-blown drift.

But it all worked out in the end, as these things nearly always do, and it's almost warm in here now. Ryan and I are lying in our sleeping bags, slurping down spaghetti, making noises like bears, faces buried down in the pot. We've got a fire going in the rusty tin-can stove, plenty of hot food and enough candlelight to write by. This is a big cabin, with heavy charcoal-black beams, thick stone walls and two-stories of sleeping bunks – but it's totally buried in snow. It took 20 minutes of shoveling before we could crawl through an upstairs window and lower ourselves down to the floor.

Welcome to springtime in Hokkaido.

Everything is soaking wet, but we're going to sleep well tonight. The pasta is finished, and there was homemade chili before that, with fat kidney beans and mounds of Parmesan cheese. We've left the window open for ventilation, and can see three shivering stars in a patch of dark blue sky, the sound of the stream coming through too, like ten-thousand splintering icicles. I've got a bottle full of that stream water right next to my bag, water so cold it burns the whole way down.

There are a lot of huts like this one in Hokkaido, tucked away in valleys and perched on ridges throughout some of the most gorgeous mountains in East Asia. A few of the more popular and accessible cabins charge for bunk space, but most are built and maintained by volunteers, left open year-round to anyone in need of a dry place to
hang their socks and lay out a sleeping bag. Some shelters are downright luxurious, with tatami mat floors, magazines, stacks of blankets and well-stocked wood piles, while others are little more than flimsy lean-tos, but even the most humble hut is a welcome sight at the end of a long day on the trail.

Over a dozen shelters are scattered about Daisetsuzan (Big Snow Mountains) National Park, a massive wilderness area in central Hokkaido. Some of the more comfortable cabins are conveniently positioned by remote trailheads, allowing weekend hikers to drive into the mountains on Friday afternoon and get an early start Saturday morning. Others boast natural hot spring pools a few steps from the front door, the perfect medicine for clammy skin and tired muscles. Read More...