【Deep Dive Chronicle】Tanigawa-dake Higashi-one — A Line Carved on the Winter Ridge

Part I — White Light Embracing the Valley

We left Fukushima before dawn. Faint starlight remained in the eastern sky as we drove south through the frozen streets. The moment we emerged from the long border tunnel, the world transformed. Snow lay deep, tree branches were wrapped in rime ice, and the twin peaks of Tanigawa-dake reflected white light.

When we arrived at Tanigawa Base Plaza, the morning cold had frosted the car windows. We organized our gear and shouldered our packs. The sky was clear with the particular stillness of a radiation-cooled morning.

We proceeded along the logging road toward Ichinokura-sawa. The snow surface bore fine ripples carved by last night’s wind, suggesting the wind’s path. No stream sounds reached us—everything was frozen solid.

Eventually we reached the confluence at Ichinokura-sawa. Here we put on our crampons. The sound of metal teeth biting into snow was absorbed by the valley. Beyond this point lay winter Tanigawa.

The snow surface was firm, returning small sounds with each step. Looking up at the rock walls, white shadows layered upon one another, their outlines subtly shifting with the sun’s angle.

We silently advanced through the deserted morning valley.

Soon we entered Ichi-no-sawa, where the slope steepened. Snow depth reached below the knees, with both surface and middle layers requiring careful attention. A wrong balance would cause us to break through easily. Catching our breath and looking up, Shinsen no Col gleamed white ahead—the gateway to winter Higashi-one.

Standing at the col, strong wind blew through from the north. Looking back, the deep valley of Ichinokura-sawa sank far below, with rock wall striations standing out sharply. Winter Tanigawa seemed to place beauty and terror on the same scale.

Part II — On the Windswept Ridge

We started up Higashi-one. Initially a gentle snow ridge, it soon steepened, leading us to the base of the first rock wall. The sun remained low, with cold air pooling in the rock shadows.

The snow began to deteriorate, sinking unpredictably with each footstep. We drove our ice axes deep, carefully monitoring weight distribution as we advanced.

Soon a thin white line appeared ahead—a knife-edge ridge. Both sides dropped away sharply, the snow ridge narrowing literally like a knife blade. Y took the lead, with T and S following. I stood in the middle, watching over the ridgeline from the center of our four-person formation.

We could see another party climbing the first rock pinnacle. Voices echoed off the rock, returning to the quiet valley.

Many climbers were waiting their turn at the second rock pinnacle as well. In response, we decided to make a high bypass along the right snow wall.

The slope appeared hard at first glance but crumbled easily when stepped on deeply. Y placed his ice axe securely, and I followed. We deployed rope, traversing while gaining elevation. Carefully searching the boundary between rock and snow, we confirmed each foothold one by one. The wind increased, blowing snow forcing us to squint.

Crampon front-points bit into the snow, ice axe blades quietly cut the air. Wind crossed the ridgeline, thin snow plumes drifting. Our steps were small, breathing controlled. It was a time where tension and silence coexisted.

Breaking out onto the ridge ahead, the slope eased somewhat, then the final snow wall reared up. The cornice had already been cut on this wall, leaving about 10 meters of climbing. Following the traces of cornice cutting, we completed the final push and stood on the shoulder of the main ridgeline.

There stood Tanigawa’s twin summits—Toma-no-mimi (the far ear) and Oki-no-mimi (the near ear)—side by side in the winter sun. The vast expanse of sky and the white line we had walked seized our hearts. Relief at having passed the crux quietly filled our bodies.

Part III — Light’s Afterglow

Standing on the ridgeline, the wind paused for a moment. The sky was crystal clear, and below our feet, Higashi-one drew its white line.

Clouds rising from the valley floor caught the light, wrapping the entire mountain in pale blue. The afternoon sunlight was gentle, with unusually calm conditions for winter Tanigawa.

Our companion standing at the summit nodded briefly. His expression needed no words.

We followed the normal route, descending via Tenjin-one. The afternoon warmth gradually softened the snow, increasing post-holing. Maintaining safety-first spacing, we moved our feet steadily.

Passing Kata-no-koya hut, the shadows of the Tanigawa range gradually lengthened. The sky turned deep blue, leaving only the sound of wind.

Glancing back, the ridge we had climbed was visible in the distance. That line extended faintly and thinly, as if the day’s memory had been carved into the snow.

Returning to Base Plaza, the sun was already sinking. Soaking in the hot spring at Yu Therme Tanigawa, we gazed at the ridgeline’s shadow through the window. Beyond the steam, snow began to fall quietly. That ridge too would now be buried again in silence.

Tanigawa-dake in winter. Its severity and beauty were quietly carved into the depths of our hearts as a single day’s memory.

北村智明

登山ガイド

日本山岳ガイド協会認定登山ガイドステージ2。ガイド歴10年。東北マウンテンガイドネットワーク及び社会人山岳会に所属し、東北を拠点に全国の山域でガイド活動を展開。沢登り、アルパインクライミング、山岳スキー、アイスクライミング、フリークライミングと幅広い山行スタイルに対応。「稜線ディープダイブ」では、山行の記憶を物語として紡ぎ、技術と装備の選択を語る。