Bears, Beers And Woodland Spirits: How I Got Hooked On Hokkaido

As we make our way inland to Lake Akan, the wetlands  give way to hill-country and forests with heavy broadleaf and conifer canopies alive with the chatter of cicadas. The lake itself is picture-perfect: still, blue, and cradled between two volcanoes, each skirted by forest that stretches down to the lake's edge. 

According to Ainu folklore, the two volcanoes are a woman, Machineshiri (Mt Meakan), and a man, Pinneshiri (Mt Oakan), whose strained relationship means Machineshiri is inclined to rumble and smoke as a rebuke for past misdeeds of her partner. Thankfully, she seems in a forgiving mood during our stay by the lake, content just to watch over us and her wayward man in silence. 

Among the quiet onsen hotels, cafes and artisan gift shops of Akan township lies its spiritual heart, Akanko Ainu Kotan, or Ainu village — likely the largest traditional Ainu settlement in Hokkaido.  

As I wander up the Kotan's central cobblestone street past rustic wooden buildings housing homes and craft shops, each beautifully carved in distinctive Ainu style that curiously echoes Indigenous American and Polynesian art, I'm struck by just how limited our notion of Japan as a monocultural society is. 

In Hokkaido the cultural signature of the Ainu is everywhere, from place names to magnificently carved civic sculptures of woodland mammals and birds, and a universal desire to honour the environment by preserving ecosystems and habitats. After all, this relatively small landmass is home to seven of Japan's 35 national parks and 12 designated prefectural natural parks. 

Late in the afternoon we're met by Kengo Takiguchi, a local Ainu guide and artisan wood-carver, who leads us on a walk through the forest behind the Kotan. 

Before we wander among the trees, Kengo offers a Kamuy-nomi, an Ainu prayer, that affords us safe travel through the woodlands. 

"I've never met a bear through here, but I always carry this," he says tapping a cannister of bear spray holstered to his chest.  

As we walk through the forest (feeling an element of protection from both incantation and cannister), Kengo shows us how Ainu culture and the forest are inextricably linked. The Ainu believe that all the wild plants and animals that have sustained their people from the year dot are gifts from the Kamuy spirits that inhabit all natural things — from the river water rushing down the mountains, to the salmon spawning with in it, to the grapes growing among wild vines and the robust trees from which the Ainu take bark to weave clothes. 

"Everything Ainu lived off was of nature. Food, clothing, housing," he says. 

As a prolific wood-carver, Kengo draws our attention to the trees, greeting them like old friends who occasionally offer him a gift of a fallen branch. Everything you need is gifted here, he tells us. As an expression of thanks, he returns the chips from his wood-carving to the forest. A gentle reminder that sustainable practice is as much about respect as it is survival. 

From Lake Akan we head northeast and stop briefly at the foot of Mt Io (Atosa-Nupuri "Naked Mountain" in Ainu), where volcanic vents hiss with bubbling water and send clouds of eggy-smelling steam down a bare, windswept gully. Here and there among the vents, sulphur within the water has stained the rocky landscape bright yellow. 

While the accessibility to a spectacular abundance of sulphur here attracts visitors year-round, tourism followed in the footsteps of mining. Japan exploited the area's sulphur deposits to feed industries such as gunpowder, insecticide and paper production from the 1870s to the 1960s. While there's some evidence of the buildings and railway that once serviced this open-pit mining operation, the barren, jagged appearance of Mt Io is its most striking legacy. 

As we near Hokkaido's northeastern coast, a spine of mountains forms a peninsula with a rocky western coastline that we follow to Utoro, a small fishing and onsen village that marks the gateway to Shiretoko National Park. 

Shiretoko is an adaptation of the original name Ainu gave to the area:  Sir Etok. It means "the Edge of the World", and it's easy to see why.  The remote and rugged Shiretoko Peninsula juts 80km into open seas that ravage its coasts with high surf through autumn and shroud them in drift-ice in late winter. Summer brings an other-worldly tranquillity as the ice retreats and mountain forests echo with the wood-snapping, calls and grunts of a star-studded cast of wildlife including brown bears, foxes, deer, woodpeckers, eagles and the huge, rare Blakiston's fish owl which also boasts a 2-metre wingspan. (Hokkaido doesn't do birds by halves.) 

The northern tip of the peninsula, and a horseshoe of the surrounding ocean, was declared a national park in 1964 and a UNESCO World Natural Heritage Site in 2005.  While you can reach the more stunning areas of the park by traversing its mountainous peaks or kayaking beneath its steep westward cliffs, our modest tour still gives us the chance to explore another jewel in Shiretoko's crown – the Five Lakes walk. 

The lakes are fed by underground springs and are located within a stone's throw of each other in a cluster of primeval forest next to a visitor's centre. When viewed on a map, the layout of the lakes resemble a giant paw print. Which seems apt really. Because if that isn't a stark enough reminder that we're about to step into prime bear territory, the compulsory 15-minute safety video briefing sure is. 

In a nutshell: be sure to make a little noise when walking in the forest as sneaking up on bears unintentionally or otherwise makes them grumpy; if you meet a bear, back away slowly without making eye-contact; running away is an open-invitation for a bear to chase you and they run much faster; and finally, seeking safety up a tree is pointless as they climb better than you too. 

Okaaay ...  

The possibly of encountering bears while exploring Hokkaido woodland certainly adds an edge of intrepidity to an otherwise leisurely hike as we walk among ancient trees and chocolate box vistas of Mount Rausu reflected in the glassy waters of five serene lakes. 

But today, as we make our way along the 3km trail that links the lakes, the only reminder that order in these forests is maintained by the rule of claw are markings our guide shows us on a tree. For some time we study four long scratches, each about a foot long and an inch apart, etched deep into the bark at eye level. Nice. Bear fix. Tick. 

That night we join a night safari in the safe confines of a minivan. We're told it's unlikely we'll see bears or owls on account of the engine noise, but we do get to see an Ezo red fox with a very rare black coat. Unlike its burly forest-mates, the fox seems to welcome the presence of our slow-moving van as it trots along in front of us snapping up insects attracted by the headlights. 

The edge of the world is perhaps one of the world’s most endearing places.

We make a day trip winding across the Shiretoko Pass to the fishing town of Rausu on the eastern side of the peninsula. The saddle of the pass offers sweeping views of Mount Rausu, Shiretoko's eastern coastline and Kunashiri Island. In Rausu we board a whale watching cruise (diving sperm whale tail breaching moment. Tick!) and get bizarrely close to Russian territorial ambition. (The Soviets claimed the Kunashiri Island chain after World War II and not even the break-up of the USSR in the early 1990s saw Russia unclench its grasp). 

Towards lunch we're introduced to the Rausu Fisherman's Wives Collective who dedicate their talents to preserving seafood culinary traditions unique to the Shiretoko region. We help prepare what amounts to a seafood banquet and try our hand at following their recipe for hokke fishcakes. Japanese seafood tradition is an enigma, and this is an absolutely delicious way to discover first-hand how it's all put together.  

From Shiretoko we make our way along the northern coast heading west through Shari and the surrounding agricultural land to Abashiri. Although the tourist-facing edge of this town prides itself on its Meiji-era prison museum, wildflowers steal the show in summer with fields of Siberian lilies, lemon daylilies and wild roses turning rolling landscapes into seas of colour.  

From Memanbetsu airport to the south of Abashiri we fly west to Sapporo. Hokkaido Prefecture's capital derives its charm from its design. Built with a measure of contemporary town planning in the 1870s, Sapporo's wide avenues criss-cross in a grid pattern that are a far cry from the labyrinthine streets and alleyways of Tokyo or the curving canals of Osaka. 

The orderly plan of central Sapporo lent itself to another of the city's unique features — an underground pedestrian network that maps the streets above. At its heart is the Sapporo Ekimae-dori Underground Walkway, a massive, 520-metre-long subterranean avenue. 

 Not only does this latticework of walkways link major transport hubs, retail zones and entertainment districts, it also makes getting around the inner-city on foot a breeze during Hokkaido's icy winters. 

Above ground, summer is perfect for enjoying Sapporo’s many green spaces, from flower festivals in the inner-city's Odori Park to the city’s hilly western fringe that’s home to the Mt Okura Olympic Ski Jump Stadium (that still makes for a spectacular visit in summer with superb cityscape views). 

However, the city’s best summer drawcard is beer.  The local beer brewing culture is as old as the city itself with a multitude of breweries asserting Sapporo’s status as Japan’s beer capital. The Pilsners and Pale Ales of dozens of craft start-ups jostle for recognition with malt-rich brands that have been quenching thirsts since the Meiji-era. 

Sampling Sapporo’s endless ale offering is as simple as visiting a local microbrewery or izakaya. But a tour of Sapporo’s Beer Museum gives you an appreciation of the big beer picture and every sip a crisper edge. 

For seasoned travellers who've become immersed in cultural icons of Japan’s Golden Triangle, Hokkaido in the green season offers a blast of something new. For first-time travellers, you might find yourself skipping Honshu and Kyushu altogether and coming back to this unfettered northern isle again and again.