In the Mitane district of northwestern Akita Prefecture, a region dotted with vibrant green rice fields, dragonflies with iridescent, multi-toned wings drift lazily above a tranquil marsh. The silence is broken only by water trickling down from mountain springs some 800 meters above and by the occasional joke cracked by Tatsuo Kitabayashi, the cheerful octogenarian proprietor of Kitabayashi Nojo Farm.

Mitane Town serves as one of the gateways to Shirakami-Sanchi, a UNESCO World Natural Heritage Site spanning the mountains of Akita and Aomori prefectures. Recognized as a UNESCO World Natural Heritage Site in 1993, Shirakami-Sanchi protects one of the world’s largest remaining old-growth beech forests, whose ecosystems have remained largely undisturbed for thousands of years. The forest continues to shape life far beyond its boundaries, filtering the water that feeds wetlands and rice fields, sustaining unique wildlife, and supporting the food traditions of the communities that surround it.

Sitting inside individual-occupant, box-shaped wooden boats, Kitabayashi demonstrates how to pick junsai (watershield)*, a delicate aquatic vegetable that grows only in exceptionally clean, spring-fed marshes. Each young shoot is naturally coated in a translucent jelly that gives junsai its distinctive silky texture, making it one of the region’s best-known seasonal delicacies. Harvesting it takes surprising skill: locate the spherical parent leaf floating atop the water, grasp the stem just beneath its tiny bud several centimeters below the surface, and snip it cleanly without letting the slippery plant disappear back into the marsh.

That pristine water is no coincidence. Slowly filtered through the ancient beech forests of Shirakami-Sanchi, it provides the conditions that allow junsai to flourish. Here, the connection between forest and food is immediate: the journey to the table begins high among the beech trees.

After several hours on the marsh, the freshly harvested junsai quickly makes its way from wetland to table. Visitors can take their harvest home or choose to enjoy it freshly prepared as part of the experience**. Back at the NPO Mitane Town Tourism Association, staff member Aya Sasaki surprises us with a creatively prepared “junsai cocktail,” where the silky vegetables are dressed with a refreshing aojiso (green perilla) sauce. The simple preparation highlights junsai‘s delicate texture while demonstrating how one of Shirakami’s signature ingredients continues to inspire contemporary cuisine.

*Tours are generally conducted in Japanese, but guides will assist international guests using gestures and simple language as needed.

**After harvesting, guests can take their junsai home free of charge. Optional experiences include an on-site tasting at the farm (+¥1,000) or having the junsai prepared at Moritake Onsen Hotel (+¥2,500; advance reservation required).

For centuries, the communities surrounding Shirakami-Sanchi have looked to the forest not only for fresh water, but also for food. Long before supermarkets connected remote mountain villages with the rest of Japan, people relied on seasonal wild vegetables, edible plants, mushrooms, and freshwater fish harvested according to nature’s rhythms. Knowing when to gather them, how to prepare them, and how much to take without damaging the forest became knowledge passed carefully from one generation to the next.

We enjoy a restful night’s sleep at Kawadoko Berabo, a cozy inn built with warm wood and home to an unmistakably moody resident cat. Breakfast offers another introduction to the region’s food culture. Alongside okigisu, a delicate deep-sea fish from the Sea of Japan, sits shottsuru, one of Akita’s traditional tastes—a soup made with clear fish broth, sea bream, tofu, snap peas, and junsai harvested the previous day. Another unfamiliar ingredient quickly draws attention: uwabamisou, a mountain vegetable prized for its crisp stems and roots, served in a fragrant soba broth.

“These are incredibly labor-intensive to prepare,” our host explains, deftly stripping away the plant’s tough outer fibers to reveal the tender flesh beneath.

Not long afterward, the journey returns to the forest itself. In the mountain town of Fujisato, local guides introduce visitors to the traditions of sansai—foraging for edible wild mountain vegetables*. More than simply gathering edible plants, sansai is a tradition built on generations of accumulated knowledge about the forest: understanding seasonal cycles, identifying edible species, and harvesting only what the landscape can naturally replenish.

Guides demonstrate the ideal stem thickness for harvesting the tastiest uwabamisou, as well as precisely where to snap the plant so it continues growing. They also explain that these mountains are shared with snakes and Asiatic black bears. Carrying a starter pistol, they periodically fire warning shots—not to scare wildlife away permanently, but simply to alert bears that people are approaching and avoid unexpected encounters.

Having spent their lives exploring these forests, the guides effortlessly identify an astonishing variety of edible and medicinal plants: fragrant myoga (Japanese ginger), heart-shaped dokudami (chameleon plant), yamaudo (mountain spikenard), which requires careful preparation before eating, and countless others. Their knowledge reflects a lifetime spent observing the rhythms of the forest.

Deeper in the mountains, the route leads to Garo Falls, where spring snowmelt dramatically increases the waterfall’s flow before winter transforms it into a striking frozen cascade. Nearby, guide Kazuyasu Ichikawa shares the legend of Tanaka no Oicho, a giant ginkgo tree said to have grown from a chopstick planted by the Buddhist monk Kobo Daishi. The story is one of many local legends that reflect the spiritual significance forests have long held throughout the region.

Moments later, Ichikawa reaches into his backpack and begins playing a flute carved from the hollow stem of an itadori (Japanese knotweed) plant. The simple instrument is another quiet reminder that, here, the forest has long provided not only food and materials, but also inspiration.

Back at the local mori no eki (“forest station”), the day’s harvest appears once again on the table alongside shio konbu and fragrant kuromoji (spicebush) tea. Throughout the day, the same lesson quietly repeats itself: the forest is not simply protected scenery. It continues to shape the flavors, traditions, and daily lives of the communities that call Shirakami home.

The day’s final stop, the Shirakami-Sanchi World Heritage Conservation Center (Fujisato), brings that relationship into sharper focus. Rather than recognizing a single species or landmark, UNESCO designated Shirakami-Sanchi for protecting one of the world’s largest remaining old-growth beech forests, where natural ecological processes have continued largely undisturbed for thousands of years.

Nature advisor Mari Shiratori points toward a large illustration. This image shows a beech tree that has fallen—usually after a lifespan of 250 to 300 years—thereby enabling light to filter down to the forest floor, where mushrooms and countless other life forms begin to grow. In this way, the cycle of life continues.”

She smiles before adding: “This beech forest preserves the same relationships in nature that have existed for thousands of years. That is why it continues to be protected for future generations.”

*Tours are generally conducted in Japanese, but English support is available. See details here.

The deeper one travels into Shirakami-Sanchi, the more apparent it becomes that nothing here exists in isolation. Rain, forests, rivers, lakes, and even the food grown beyond the mountains are all connected through the same continuous cycle. Exploring the forests of Aomori reveals not only extraordinary scenery, but also the ecological processes that earned Shirakami-Sanchi its UNESCO World Natural Heritage designation.

The Aomori side of Shirakami-Sanchi is perhaps best known for Juniko (“Twelve Lakes”), although the name is something of a misnomer. As guide* Kazuyo Yonaiyama explains, the area actually consists of 33 lakes, formed when a massive earthquake reshaped the landscape in 1704.

“The lakes’ names directly reflect their appearance,” she says. “There is Nagaike (Long Lake), Ketoba-no-ike (Rooster’s Comb Lake), and, perhaps the most famous of all, Aoike (Blue Pond).”

Aoike’s vivid blue waters seem almost unreal. Fed entirely by underground springs, the lake shifts from brilliant turquoise to deep sapphire depending on the light, creating one of Shirakami-Sanchi’s most iconic landscapes.

As a licensed forest therapy guide, Yonaiyama’s attention extends well beyond the lakes themselves. Along the forest trail, she points out delicate lace-like ferns, toriashi-shoma, whose leaves resemble a chicken’s foot, and graceful katsura trees with heart-shaped leaves. “Shirakami-Sanchi is famous for its beech forests,” she explains, “but there are many other beautiful trees here.”

She pauses beside a kuromoji shrub, gently crushing one of its leaves to release its distinctive fragrance before explaining that its essential oils have long been valued for their calming properties and ability to promote restful sleep.

The conversation soon returns to the beech forest itself. “Rain falls onto the beech trees,” Yonaiyama says. “Their roots absorb the water, the soil naturally filters it, and it eventually flows into these lakes before reaching the Sea of Japan. Then the cycle begins all over again.”

The explanation echoes what had become increasingly apparent throughout the journey. The same forest that nourishes the wetlands where junsai grows also feeds mountain streams, fills the Juniko lakes, supports wildlife, and sustains the communities living around it. Water is the thread connecting every experience.

That connection becomes even clearer at the Shirakami-Sanchi Visitor Center, where interactive exhibits introduce visitors to the region’s ecology and cultural history. A large-screen film offers sweeping aerial views of the ancient beech forests, while displays highlight species including black salamanders, cherry salmon, and crimson glory vines. Together, the exhibits reveal how both nature and people have shaped Shirakami-Sanchi over thousands of years.

The center also introduces visitors to the Matagi, traditional mountain hunters who have lived and hunted in the forests of northern Japan for generations. Their knowledge of the forests has been refined over centuries. Rather than simply hunting game, the Matagi have developed a profound understanding of animal behavior, seasonal rhythms, and the balance required to live alongside nature. Interactive exhibits, opportunities to sample beech nuts, digital birdwatching stations, and an immersive VR experience invite visitors to explore the forest from entirely new perspectives.

That evening, back at the inn, the scent of hiba (Japanese cypress) wood chips quietly fills the room. After spending the day following water from the mountaintops to the lakes below, even the fragrance of the forest seems to linger—a gentle reminder that in Shirakami-Sanchi, the influence of the beech forest extends far beyond the trees themselves.

*Guided tours in the area are conducted in Japanese. For visitors requiring English-language assistance, we recommend arranging an interpreter in advance.

After learning how Shirakami-Sanchi shapes the region’s food, culture, and waterways, the journey ends where it all begins: inside the ancient beech forest itself. While the UNESCO World Heritage core zone remains strictly protected, guided trails around its edges offer a rare opportunity to experience one of East Asia’s last great temperate forests while understanding why preserving it requires such careful management.

On our final day, we set out on a 3.5-kilometer hike departing from Aqua Green Village Anmon, one of the main gateways to the Shirakami-Sanchi trails.

Although the World Heritage Site’s protected core zone remains off-limits without special permission, the surrounding trails reveal the same towering beech forests and remarkable biodiversity while minimizing human impact. Along the way, guide Keiko Watanabe points out faded markings carved into trees—remnants left by
Matagi hunters and mushroom gatherers long before formal hiking trails existed. She explains how Asiatic black bears climb beech trees each autumn to feast on beechnuts, often piling branches and leaves beneath them to create makeshift seats while they eat.

Generations of stories and beliefs are woven into these forests. “For the
Matagi, these mountains are sacred. They believe that gods dwell in beech trees whose trunks divide into three branches.”

Standing beneath the towering canopy, it is easy to understand why. Light filters softly through leaves that have repeated the same seasonal cycle for thousands of years, while the quiet seems almost untouched by time.

Yet the forest is changing.

Watanabe pauses before offering one final observation. “Beech trees usually produce a large crop of nuts every four or five years,” she explains. “This year, however, they fruited after only two years. That is extremely unusual. As the climate changes, it may be the trees’ way of ensuring the survival of the next generation.”

It is impossible to know exactly what the future holds for Shirakami-Sanchi. But after following the forest’s water to the marshes where junsai grows, sharing meals shaped by its seasons, learning from guides whose knowledge spans generations, and finally walking beneath its ancient canopy, one thing becomes clear: the beech forest is far more than a protected landscape. It is a living system that continues to nourish both nature and people—and whose future depends on understanding that every part of it is connected.

Article by Kimberly Hughes
Photographs by Riko Miller

*This article was written in October 2026.

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