Registered as one of Japan’s first World Natural Heritage sites, Yakushima is located to the south of Kagoshima Prefecture’s Osumi Peninsula, the southernmost point on the island of Kyushu. In contrast to the tropical feel of the coastline, the island’s majestic silhouette clustered with rugged summits makes a strong impression on visitors. Yakushima is home to ten peaks over 1,800 meters high and 46 peaks over 1,000 meters high, earning it the nickname “the Alps of the ocean.”
This makes Yakushima a paradise for mountain lovers, and famous routes such as Mount Miyanoura and the Jomonsugi Cedar bustle with visitors. However, it’s not only tourists who pass through the Yakushima cedars to reach the summits. The inhabitants of Yakushima have also done so since ancient times to offer prayers to the deities who reside there.

The lives of Yakushima’s inhabitants have been enriched by the bounty of the mountains that loom behind their villages. Calling the familiar mountains that can be seen from their settlements maedake and the ones set farther back and usually out of sight okudake, the islanders developed a lifestyle of going back and forth between the mountains and villages. At the same time, these mountains are also objects of reverence. Over many years, various rituals symbolizing the islanders’ faith coalesced into pilgrimages to worship mountain deities, called take-mairi.
There are 24 settlements on Yakushima, each of which has carried out its own form of mountain pilgrimages since ancient times. However, during the period of accelerated economic growth after World War II, younger generations began to leave the island, and many villages are said to have temporarily stopped the practice. Despite these adverse circumstances, the village of Kusugawa has continuously preserved the important ritual. I decided to take part in its mountain pilgrimage, which has the longest history of any on Yakushima.

At 5:30 a.m. on the last Sunday of August, just as the sky was starting to grow light, the residents of Kusugawa who would participate in the pilgrimage gathered at Kusugawa Tenmangu Shrine. First, we were purified on the beach that spread out before us and worshipped at the shrine. Then, one of the participants pointed at Mount Kusugawa Maedake and said, “That’s the mountain we’re going to climb.” The peak looms at a height of 1,125 meters as if keeping watch over the village. Carrying rice, salt, shochu, and incense to offer to the mountain’s deity, we set off from the beach at sea level.
Along the main road, I saw a stone marker bearing the words “Kusugawa Trail” and asked Yusakuro Maki, the chief of the district, what kind of trail it was.
“That stone marks the entrance to the old mountain path. During the Edo period (1603–1868), it was used to transport felled Yakushima cedars from the mountain. The British botanist E. H. Wilson also used it when he studied the Yakushima cedar trees in the 1910s.
It is along this ancient path that the Kusugawa pilgrimage proceeds. Along the way, there are several small wayside shrines that the villagers’ ancestors built to pray, and we stopped at these on our way toward the summit of Mount Kusugawa Maedake.

We proceeded deep into the forest, passing through a grove of planted cedars. The first place where the group stopped was a spot called Nonoyokei. It represents the boundary between the mountain and the village—in other words, that between the realm of the deities and the human world. After making offerings and placing our hands together in prayer in front of a small wayside shrine at the base of an ancient tree standing amid the dark forest, we entered Mount Kusugawa Maedake, the home of the deity. The chorus of animals that had rung out through the village in the early morning was replaced by the chirping of wild birds and the babbling of streams. Southern plants such as tree ferns and night-scented lilies grew in the forest alongside cedars carefully tended by the locals.
The path became increasingly treacherous. Since it is not normally traveled by climbers, it was more poorly maintained than I had anticipated. The stones that had been used for centuries had slick surfaces, and we climbed while being careful not to slip. Members of the group familiar with the mountain led the way and cleared the brush, while those who followed tied pieces of marking tape to indicate the descent route and ensured the safety of the pilgrimage. Although the group had initially been engaged in friendly chatting, the conversation petered out as some members already began to fall behind.

After Yoshitogi Slope, one of the hardest parts of the climb, we reached a giant tree with divided trunks sharing the same roots, known as the Triple Cedar. The inhabitants of Kusugawa consider this tree to be sacred, and when the village still had an elementary school, it was the destination of schoolwide field trips. One of the three trunks had been toppled by a typhoon about ten years ago and left in that state. When I asked about the age of the tree, nobody knew. Instead, one of the pilgrims shared something interesting with me.
“I heard that a small wayside shrine was placed at the base of the Triple Cedar around the 1910s or ’20s. As the tree grew, the shrine rose up with the stump. Can you see it?”
About two meters above the ground, the division of the trunk created a small space, and a wayside shrine was buried deep inside it. This shrine seemed like a testament to the powerful vitality of life in Yakushima. After climbing another kilometer or so up the mountain, we reached the Shiratani-Unsuikyo Ravine. This is a popular sightseeing spot with a well-maintained woodland path, making it easy to view Yakushima cedar trees over one thousand years old and the moss-covered forest. A little over two hours after starting our pilgrimage, we had climbed about 800 meters in elevation. In the past, this is where the group would apparently divide into two parties, one that would climb Mount Kusugawa Maedake and one that would climb Mount Ishizuka, the peak beyond it, offering prayers at both summits.

After the Shiratani-Unsuikyo woodland path, we returned to an ancient route resembling an animal trail. Smiling wryly, even an experienced pilgrim who had summited the mountain many times before remarked “Quite a climb, isn’t it?” as the path became even steeper. After rehydrating ourselves at a small waterfall, we gradually approached the summit.
Fog descended as we drew close to the ridge, enveloping the mountain in a dreamy atmosphere. A nameless dead Yakushima cedar had fallen, its massive weather-beaten stump slumbering like a fossil. The stump was covered with mosses, and new fungi were growing on the fallen cedar. This complex web of living things created a sight so mystical that it seemed to be not quite of this world. For the ancestors of Yakushima’s islanders, mountain pilgrimages must have made them feel a divine presence and brought home the fact that they, too, were part of the ecosystem.
We arrived at the summit at 10:45 a.m., four hours and thirty minutes after we had set out. The fog had gradually turned into rain clouds, and by the time we reached the summit, it had begun to rain. Although I unfortunately could not enjoy any views of the village of Kusugawa below, different scenes of the natural forest amid changing weather conditions were now deeply etched into my memory.
“Thank you.”
“We’ve made it again this year.”
After placing rice, salt, and shochu in front of a wayside shrine, all of the pilgrims pressed their palms together with solemn expressions on their faces. Although their individual prayers varied, from good health and the safety of their families to success in business and world peace, everyone shared the same wishes for the security and prosperity of the village. After satisfying our hunger with the bento boxes that we had brought, we began our descent.

After almost four hours of carefully descending steep slopes while following the pink marking tape, we arrived back at the village. Not accustomed to mountain climbing, I was so exhausted by the end that I could barely lift my feet, but I somehow managed to descend the mountain by myself. The oldest of the participants, Mitsunori Enoki, stayed by my side and offered smiling words of encouragement. “I can’t believe we came up this way, can you?”
Upon returning to the village, we gathered at a sacred place called Masaki Forest, where a monk was summoned for a final prayer and ritual purification. In the old days, all of the villagers would apparently take off from work on the day of the pilgrimage, and when the delegation of pilgrims returned from the climb, an afterparty called uchumuchu in which multitiered food boxes filled with delicacies were served along with alcohol would be held in this forest.

Kusugawa is the only settlement on Yakushima where historical documents that describe the island during the Edo period still exist. Because of this, the island’s unique culture of daily life in coexistence with nature is said to remain strong here. At the same time, Yakushima is a remote island experiencing depopulation. Kusugawa is also seeing its population gradually decline and age, making it increasingly difficult to maintain the village’s traditions in the same manner as before. Although the village’s mountain pilgrimages used to be carried out in the spring and autumn according to the old lunisolar calendar, nowadays they are carried out every year on the last Sunday in August. Switching the event to a weekend during the summer vacation encourages younger generations to participate so that they can carry on the tradition into the future. On the evening of the pilgrimage, everyone, including villagers who were unable to participate and the women who had prepared the food, gathered at a community center for a party. Everyone’s greetings of “Thank you” and “Good job today” made me feel reenergized.
One of the pilgrims murmured: “When the date of the pilgrimage gets closer, I think reluctantly, ‘Oh, do we really have to do it again this year?’ When we enter the mountain, I feel discouraged and decide, ‘This year will definitely be my last.’ But when we reach the summit, I find myself declaring, ‘Let’s come again next year!’ It’s a curious thing.”
Joining in the tradition of this historic settlement was a great honor, and it had been a precious day that brought me closer to the island’s deeply rooted tradition of mountain worship. While drinking with the villagers of Kusugawa, I also learned a surprising fact.
“On a scale from 0 to 100, if today’s pilgrimage was a 100, then hiking to the Jomonsugi Cedar is about a 70.”
This gave me a renewed appreciation for the difficulty of the pilgrimage.