Searching for Monsters in Zao

I think people around the world can agree that 2020 has started with some strange weather, and Japan is no exception. Autumn brought record-breaking typhoons almost every weekend, and when winter arrived it brought a bit of frost, not the piles of snow I was expecting. My colleagues told me this was the warmest winter they’d had, which – for a snow-loving girl from wet-wintered England – was just my luck.

But I wouldn’t let this crush my dreams of spending every weekend hurtling down mountains. So a group of us woke before dawn, ski gear stuffed into our bags, and boarded a series of local trains to Zao Onsen ski resort in Yamagata prefecture.

Zao is the largest independent ski resort in Japan, but you couldn’t tell that from the ground. Having failed at deciphering the Sunday bus timetable, we caught a taxi up a windy mountain road. At first, the only snow was visible on distant mountain peaks, but as we climbed, we saw patches of white on the side of the road, until suddenly the road was covered and the taxi driver slowed to a safe crawl.

An onsen town greeted us at the bottom of the ski slopes, steam rising from its many ryokan hotels. People lumbered about in ski boots, their skis clutched at their sides, or crunched through snow in clothes that looked decidedly not snow-proof. Clouds filled the sky, but the snow reflected all the light and made everything seem bright and alive. I was excited to find rivers and streams running through the town, all of them heated by volcanic activity far beneath us. Steam rose from them like fog and I felt their heat as I trudged past.

After checking in, we rented some gear and got ready to hit the slopes. Chaos was unfolding on the beginner slope at the bottom; unending lines of tiny kids in ski school followed their instructor, arms wind-milling everywhere. Adults struggled to balance on their snowboards, and one board escaped entirely and slid down the slope towards us and the parked cars. I could only watch as it gained speed and slammed into the front of a car with a loud bang. Everyone winced.

It was a relief to board the sky cable gondola and head up the western side of the mountain. Up top, it was a beautiful sunny day and we got amazing views of Yamagata city and its surrounding mountains. Chloe and I had skied a lot before, but our two companions from Canada and Hawaii weren’t so confident, so we began with a green course to the bottom. Green should be nice and easy, right?

Wrong. In Europe, there are at least 4 grades of difficulty, but Japan doesn’t have blue slopes. They go straight from green, to icy red, to impossible black. This green slope was therefore a far cry from the virtually-flat runs I’d learnt on – it was narrow and windy, and began with a steep drop. Our friends sprawled instantly. I think we might have kept going, but fortunately a ski instructor saw us and advised that we start on that chaotic beginner slope at the bottom. So we gathered our skis and walked back to the top, getting hotter and sweatier with every stumbling step.

First attempt – failure, but after a lunch of curry and rice, we tried again. Our friends tried the snow plough, and after a few tips, I went up the chairlift with one of them. Chairlifts in Japan are terrifying. There’s no barrier that comes down and stops you from falling, the backrest and armrest/side railings are barely there, and there’s nowhere to rest your skis, so you feel like your heavy skis are slowly prising your feet from your ankles. But I’m not exactly tall, so if I leant back and gripped the railing I felt moderately safe. Also, I didn’t look down.

Avoiding the snaking lines of crazy ski school children became an art form as I taught my friend to ski – to be fair, when I was nine I was one of them! – but my friend persevered. She made it to the bottom, and although she didn’t ski again that day, the next day she skied all morning in thick fog. With every run, the amount of times she fell decreased, until she only fell once (because some kids undercut her)! We were all super proud.

 As evening neared, Chloe and I went back onto the mountain and explored for a few hours. From the bottom, the resort looked small, but once above the clouds I could see all the chairlifts disappearing into mountains peaks to the east and west. We rode four lifts, up and up, but there will still more. In the whole time we were there, we never quite reached the summit!

Exhausted, we all headed back to our fancy ryokan. The guy who greeted us in reception was Austrian! My tired brain suddenly had to go double-pace as we launched into a conversation in German, and I kept breaking it up with Japanese interjections like honto? (really?) and sugoi (amazing.) I even said hai instead of ja (yes!) It’s amazing how quickly we pick up another culture’s social cues. My Japanese is still beginner-level, but all of the fillers and interjections wanted to butt into the German I’ve spent ten years learning! Despite all this, the Austrian guy said he was very happy to speak his mother tongue after so long, and I headed to dinner feeling happy that I got to use German again.

Dinner was a Japanese-style buffet with the most delicious food I’ve ever had. There was melt-in-your-mouth pork, Yamagata ozoni soup, and sesame-dressed salads. Sukiyaki hot pot bubbled on our table, and I learnt that to eat the meat and vegetables, you dip them in raw egg. Sounds a bit gross, but it was actually really nice.

After dinner, we got into our yukata and relaxed in the onsen. There was no snow yet around the outdoor hot spring, but it was still lovely to relax beneath the dark trees. The warm water and full stomachs meant that we got into bed around eight – we’re all in our twenties still, I swear! – and fell into a nice, deep sleep.

Breakfast the next morning was another delicious buffet, with a helping of orange and apple jelly, and a 6am trip to the onsen. Fog hung thick and heavy on the ski slopes, reducing everyone to murky grey shapes. Even the green runs on the mountain became scary, because you couldn’t see if the steep section was about to level out or get steeper, or which direction it curved in. People whizzed past us and disappeared into the murk before we could track where they were going. Our friend had come leaps and bounds since yesterday, so we tried the windy ‘green’ run again. She did so well, until we hit a section we’d accidentally stumbled upon in the fog: a steep, icy red run that gave me and Chloe trouble too.

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We took one look at it – the fog had helpfully decided to lift at this point, revealing the terror before us – and advised our friend to walk. She found this too slow, so she bundled her skis in her arms and slid down the slope on her bum, beating us both to the bottom! As I skidded over the ice, my skis struggling to get any grip, I wished I’d done the same.

Lunch was a childish selection of my favourite things: chicken, chips and chestnut cake, which fueled me for more skiing with Chloe. We went higher than before, back into the fog where there was not a soul in sight. The snow was fresh, untouched powder, and the slopes were utterly empty. We also stumbled upon an avenue of snow monsters.

Let me explain. Snow monsters, or juhyou, are fir trees that have been smothered in snow and frozen, forming odd shapes. In Japan, they can only be found on Mount Zao, but this was a warm year. The fir trees were pretty, but not the monsters I’d seen in photos. Still, skiing down a long avenue of snow-covered trees made me feel like I was gliding through a winter wonderland. I even glimpsed a couple of snow sculptures; the minions and Totoro had been carved in white.

With the day getting on and work looming the next day, Chloe and I reluctantly followed the green run to the bottom of the mountain one last time. By now I felt confident in my skis again and headed purposefully for the bumps to do a few very tiny jumps.

Together, we caught a bus back down the windy road, watching the snow gradually disappear. In grey Yamagata city, the bright snowy wonderland of Zao almost felt like a distant dream. I was dreading work the next day, but when I woke at dawn, the yellow rice fields had become a smooth expanse of white.

Currently reading: ‘Red Sister’ by Mark Lawrence