The Norikura Highlands: Lava Flows, Waterfalls and Not Enough Sleep

If I’d known Norikura was a potentially active volcano I would have never taken my family camping up there.

I would have let them go by themselves.

What does “potentially active” even mean? Norikura’s highest peak, Ken-ga-mine, was formed by a volcanic eruption 9,600 years ago (as of last Tuesday). It was somewhat reformed in a second big burp 400 years later. Ebisu-dake, a bit to the north, is said to be the child of an eruption from 2,000 years ago.

Going by the math we’ve got another five millennia of dormancy to enjoy. But some wise guy loses his calculator and starts making wild claims on Wikipedia and there I am lying awake all night in the tent. 

Not that I ever get much sleep in a plastic 7’ x 7’ dome with three kids and a snoring wife.

Hot Molten Past, Cold Snowy Present

Ten thousand years ago the eastern slopes of these mountains were marked by a vast valley. Then Ken-ga-mine blew its top – twice – and the subsequent lava flows filled that valley, creating what is known and enjoyed today as the Norikura Kogen Plateau.

The peaks of Norikura are blanketed each year with six meters of snowfall. Even in summer, snow remains on the upper northeastern slopes. When it isn’t snowing, these 3,000-meter mountains trap plenty of rain clouds coming in from the Sea of Japan. All that rain and snowmelt translates into rivers running all over the pond-dotted highlands.

Hike to where these rivers reach the edges of Norikura’s ancient lava fields and you’ll find waterfalls pretty enough to make you forget that whole ‘potentially active’ thing.

Zengoro Falls

I’d say that Zengoro-no-taki is the most well-known of Norikura’s many waterfalls for two reasons. One, it’s the first one I heard of, so logically it’s the one most people talk about. Two, it is breathtakingly spectacular in Winter.

I take pictures of every waterfall I see. And if you shuffle them around and pick one and ask me to tell you which waterfall it is, chances are I’ll embarrass myself. For me, what makes this or that waterfall memorable is (a) me slipping on the rocks and hurting myself or (b) the surrounding scenery. The latter, I am happy to report, is what I remember about Zengoro.

Note: Outside of Winter, head for the upper viewpoint, where you can see Ken-ga-mine in the distance. Otherwise it's just a waterfall.

The name Zengoro comes from a certain legend about a fisherman named (you guessed it) Zengoro. “Z-Dog”, as his friends called him, was known to be super-adept at catching char fish in the pool at the bottom of the falls – until one day a giant char attacked him and, depending on who is telling the story, pulled him into the water or simply scared him enough to make him slip on the rocks and hurt himself. Either way, everyone seems to agree that he escaped with his life, which seemed enough to name the waterfall after him.

This doesn’t explain why no waterfalls have been named after me.

I’ve found no hint of what these 20-meter falls might have been called before Z-Dog almost became Z-Fishpoop, but it was likely a nonsensical name considering the name of the river that feeds the falls: 小大野川, the Ko-Onogawa, or “Small Big Field River”.

Sanbon-no-Taki

This name - which means “Three Falls” - confused me. Three times. The trail leading to these falls leads past two distinct sections of cascading water, with a bridge spanning the river above the second appearing to lead to a third. I shared my keen observations with my son as we climbed the steps and crossed the bridge.

Up past the bridge we came upon a third waterfall – then a fourth, with a fifth over to the left. No wonder my kid largely ignores me.

These three upper waterfalls are the ones collectively known as “Sanbon-no-Taki”, with the lower two having no names. Or no signs with names anyway.

 

Interesting to note is the fact that these three waterfalls flow from three separate water sources: a swamp to the left, the Ko-Onogawa in the middle, and to the right, a tributary to the Ko-Onogawa, named... I don’t know, Ko-Ko-Onogawa? At the bottom the swamp and the Ko-Ko join the Ko and gurgle together downstream toward Zengoro.

A more striking element of these three falls – at least to me – was that, though right next to each other, they looked entirely different from one another. The falls on the right bounced and splashed over a wall of black lava rock that from below looked like it had three sections.

The middle waterfall plunged straight down. Coupled with the mossy rocks and thick foliage it looked straight out of Jurassic Park.

The falls on the left, meanwhile, were unremarkable enough that I didn’t bother taking a picture of them.

Bandokoro-no-Taki

After spending the last six hours visiting ponds and waterfalls and listening to me comment on all the people cycling up the mountain, my family was, I think, ready to go home. But there was one last waterfall to see. I parked in the shade, a short walk up the road from the $2 parking lot at the head of the trail, and took the keys and one kid as insurance against my wife driving home without me.

Japan loves to tout the “Biggest/Best/Most Beautiful Three” of everything possible: scenic spots and night views, lantern festivals and fireworks displays, steak and soba, gardens and train rides; even the best three regions for finding beautiful women have been largely agreed upon (by a group of aging male bureaucrats no doubt).

The trend is equally prevalent on a local level, so it was no surprise to find out that Norikura had decided on its Three Best Waterfalls. Or Three Most Iconic, or Three Easiest To Hike To. You kind of have to apply your own accolade since the official term, 乗鞍三滝, just means “Norikura Three Waterfalls”.

Not to be confused with the aforementioned Three Falls That Are Really Five.

So Bandokoro-no-Taki enjoys its status as one of the 乗鞍三滝. And yes, it’s nice, though I might not be able to pick it out of a lineup. On the other hand, up the path from this waterfall, along the Little Big Field River is Ko-Bandokoro-no-Taki and Sengenbuchi-no-Taki (making, of course, another set of three falls).

Not to knock Bandokoro off its pedestal, but I’d vote for Sengenbuchi as one of the Best Three Waterfalls of Norikura. It wasn’t more than a couple of meters high, but it fell into a pool shadowed over on both sides by arching walls of rock. In other words, it was different and I could pick it out of a lineup. 

Which is more than some people who work in YosemiteValley can do with their waterfalls.

Potentially Returning

Though our one-night camping trip to the Norikura Highlands didn’t bring us within walking distance of Norikura’s 3,000-meter peaks, we were clearly within lava flow distance. But potentially active or not, Norikura will see us returning before long (or so goes the plan). My wife wants to see the flower-filled alpine fields of Tatamidaira.

We might have gone up there during last weekend's outing but for two things. One, we’d spent most of the morning feeding a strange compulsion to see all of Norikura’s Three Whatever Waterfalls. And two, by mid-morning those peaks had begun playing hide and seek in the clouds.

And what good is an alpine field of wildflowers if you can't see the potentially active volcano?

If we could have driven up there we would have. But cars are not allowed past the parking lot near the Sanbon-no-Taki trail head; to get up to Tatamidaira you have to hop on a bus which, as a sublime coincidence, costs three thousand yen round-trip.

We’ll wait for the next sunny day before shelling out a hundred and something bucks for that particular alpine privilege. In the meantime maybe Norikura will erupt again and I’ll be able to get some sleep in that crowded tent.

Then again, there’s always that other rumbling keeping me awake...