Toyama, both in name and in actuality, is a landscape dominated by mountains. Most famous and revered of those is Tateyama (立山). Today we'll go halfway through the Tateyama Kurobe Alpine Route, stopping at Murodō (室堂) to marvel at the enormous gorge of snow that is Yuki-no-Ōtani (雪の大谷, "giant snow valley").
Located at an elevation of 2450 meters, Murodō and Yuki-no-Ōtani can be quite cold during the early season, dipping into negative digits in the daytime, so be prepared for radically different, not-infrequently bad weather. Of the two trips I've made to see Yuki-no-Ōtani, the first (mid-May) was miserably cold and included icy pelting by the wind, while today's trip (taken late-April) featured the blue skies and vistas from the posters. In any case, Yuki-no-Ōtani and the Alpine Route open in mid-April, with the former slowly melting away until the walking path closes in late-June.
Regarding the word/phrase "Tateyama": Often referred to in English materials as "Mount Tate" or, redundantly, as "Mount Tateyama", Tateyama can refer to both the three-peaked mountain or the entire section of the Hida mountain range located in Toyama Prefecture. Though there is a mountain called Tateyama, there is no single peak with that name—climbers ascend Oyama (雄山), the second tallest—and it can be a bit difficult to pick the mountain out from the crowd when viewed from down below. Adding to the confusion is the existence of Tateyama Town (立山町, Tateyama-machi), a municipality that encompasses a largely similar area.
Let's start at Dentetsu-Toyama Station, the effective beginning of the privately-operated Toyama Chihō Railway that's located to the east of JR Toyama Station. This area has been a frustrating and ever-changing maze of construction detours in the run-up to the opening of the Hokuriku Shinkansen line in 2015, so allot five or ten minutes to figure your way around to the right station. If you're reading this in a post-Shinkansen-opening world—congratulations and welcome!—you should theoretically have an easier time as the two disparate stations are reunited.
Buy a ticket for Tateyama Station (¥1200, 1 hour 10 minutes) and find a train that's headed in the proper direction. This company operates two lines at this station; you want a train headed to Tateyama (立山), not Unazuki (宇奈月) or Kamiichi (上市). Of course there are transfer possibilities that may work out to be faster, but keep it simple and stick to a direct train.
Don't worry about the utter lack of English signage, as there's almost certainly a station attendant who is aggressively willing to attempt to help you. Failing that, ask at one of the ticket windows and they're likely to produce a laminated sheet that they (and you) can point at to indicate what needs to happen.
Presuming you're on the right train, you'll reach the end of the line at Tateyama Station in about an hour. The train ride itself is a showcase of rural scenery, what with rice paddies and other fields stretching to fill every non-mountainous space. Sit on the left side of the train for the possibility of foreshadowing mountain views, the chances of relative cloudlessness being better earlier in the season.
At one point, having entered the Jōganji River valley that the train follows for the rest of the way, your ride may slow down for a moment and the driver will make a short announcement about the bridge visible out the left side windows. Frankly, it's a bridge.
More interesting is the history of this river and the world-class sabo (砂防, erosion control) works that have been implemented. The Jōganji River was historically a fast-flowing river, dropping 3000 vertical meters in the span of 56 kilometers, a trait that has led to serious flooding and disastrous debris flows downstream. To rectify this necessarily meant slowing the river, which has been accomplished by building innumerable short, wide dams in the main flow and also in virtually every hillside tributary. Though it can certainly be said that Japan has gone overboard with massive, unnecessary public works and has little nature left to cement up, this case has an obvious and legitimate justification.
If you're interested in this bit of living engineering history, check out the Tateyama Caldera Sabo Museum located a short walk from Tateyama Station.
Alight at the end of the line, then make your way upstairs, then back downstairs and outside, and proceed to buy tickets for the Tateyama Cable Car (立山ケーブルカー), a 1.3km, 7 minute funicular ride that will take you up the steep hillside.
At this point, it's possible to buy a single ticket that will carry you up to Murodō and again back down. This costs ¥4310 roundtrip and includes cable car and bus rides. Be sure to hold on to this ticket: you're issued one and it gets stamped along the way, not handed in. The ladies at the ticket booths speak no English, but are again equipped with finger-pointy laminates should you need to avail yourself of them.
To board your ride up the hill, go back upstairs and find the ticket gate for individual travelers, probably on the left side. Group tours are a constant and somewhat irritating presence on this route, but that's how most Japanese and Asian tourists prefer to travel and the slow moving herds of flag-followers are thus unavoidable.
Incidentally, if you have the time, inclination, and proper weather conditions, it's possible to hike this hill (and, indeed, all the way to Murodō and yonder in later seasons)... but that's beyond the scope of this article. Another time, perhaps.
When boarding the cable car, try to grab a standing position looking out from one of the ends. Sitting down might seem desirable, but you won't be able to see much besides your fellow tourists.
Disembark at Bijodaira (美女平) and take a second to peer back down the tracks you were just hauled up. Next up is the Tateyama Highland Bus, a winding hour-long ride up through primeval forests and wetlands. Queue up and, if asked, say you're headed for Murodō. This bus makes several stops at trailheads and rest points along the way, but we're going to ride all the way.
Sit on the left side to see Shōmyō Falls (称名滝), Japan's highest waterfall at 350 meters, when the bus pauses (weather permitting). Your bus is probably equipped with a view screen and announcements by an Australian lady detailing the interesting points along the way. If your bus happens to be full of folks who the driver doesn't think speak English, he's likely to play the Chinese version, so good luck with that.
Health note: If, like me, you are prone to motion sickness, be sure to prepare for that eventuality. This route consists almost entirely of sharp turns, one after another, and lasts for an hour. Tell the driver if you start to feel ill, as there probably won't be barf bags provided. Additionally, altitude sickness is something to be aware of.
As mentioned, the bus passes through beech and Tateyama cedar forests, some trees in which are notably ancient. Again, the bus will slow and announcements will be made. This area is particularly amazing during the autumn season, though we're more likely to see snow than vegetation now in the spring.
Hop off the bus, bust out your winter clothing and/or sunglasses, because two-and-a-half hours after leaving Toyama we're finally in snowy Murodō. You'll be funneled inside the terminal, a place where you can find yummy snacks, gifts, and various portals to outside destinations. Let's head straight for our main destination, the 15-20 meter high walls of snow that are Yuki-no-Ōtani. After going up the stairs and arriving at the main lobby, take a left back down another flight of stairs. Follow the herds down and outside to the unmissable (unless it's a blizzard, I suppose) snow canyon.
You'll be walking in the pedestrianized road, so watch for opportunities to take that iconic bus-against-snow-wall picture you've been seeing everywhere. Along the way are various explanations of how the wall is built (GPS-equipped snow plows), the different strata of snow, and so on.
Also available is the official opportunity to vandalize the wall with a message or image of your own creation, provided you are able to actually chip away at the rock hard snow. Look for the sanctioned area, if you're a rules follower.
Along the way, eventually you'll get to the point where the wall is the highest—15 meters during my trip. I can only guess that I'm in this picture for scale? Clearly, the wall is 8.3 times my height.
At the end of the walls, you'll find the "panorama road", a clearing and parallel path in the snow back to the lodge. On a clear day, you're able to see all the way down into Toyama and perhaps even as far as the bay or the Noto Peninsula.
It's lunchtime and I'm famished, so it's a bit of standing-soba back at the lobby of the lodge, at Tateyama Soba (立山そば). Soba (そば, buckwheat noodles) tends to be a specialty of higher elevation places as buckwheat grows better than rice does there, though none is farmed around Tateyama that I'm aware of. Several toppings are available, including a fried cake of glass shrimp (白海老かき揚げ, shiroebi-kakiage), meat (pork?) with burdock root (肉ごぼう, niku-gobō), and mountain vegetables (山菜, sansai). I went the meat course, but glass shrimp are a frequently-pushed local speciality that could warrant a try if you like eating tiny, crunchy creatures whole.
To secure your order, use the vending machine at the left of the restaurant's entrance. Take your ticket (and change, don't forget that) and find a place to stand at the counter inside, putting the ticket down in front of you. Surprisingly quickly, you'll be delivered with a steaming bowl of noodles. Standing-only places tend to be utilitarian, rapid-turnover type deals, so it's best to respect that and not linger too long. That said, you don't have to inhale the food the way you might notice Japanese men around you doing.
Still hungry? Just outside Tateyama Soba is a stand selling oyaki (おやき), steamed dumplings made from a buckwheat dough, stuffed with anko sweet bean paste, mountain vegetables, or meat; a specialty of neighboring Nagano Prefecture, the host of the other end of the Tateyama Kurobe Alpine Route.
You don't have to eat your buns inside, though. Head upstairs and outside for the observation deck and an opportunity to wander around in the snow. Behind the lodge you'll see Tateyama—look hard enough and you'll notice the shacks midway up the climbing route and at the top of the mountain.
Venture farther to the left across the field and you'll find yourself overlooking the probably-frozen Mikurigaike Pond (みくりが池) and Mikurigaike Onsen. The highest altitude baths in Japan are open to non-guests between 9AM-4PM for ¥700, while an overnight stay with meals will run you ¥9250-¥14190 a person.
Beyond that is Jigokudani (地獄谷, "hell valley"), an area with fumarole spouts that are the cause of that sulfurous smell in the air. There are hiking paths, but they're often closed because of snow or dangerous air conditions.
Back in the Murodō lodge, if you climb the stairs to the top floor you'll find the shrine building that formerly sat atop the mountain, restored and presented as a historical artifact. In past times, a syncretic religion sprung up around the pilgrimage to Tateyama, featuring an eclectic mix of Buddhism, Shinto, and whatever else. The pilgrimage was a difficult, sacred trek with many stops and points of worship along the way, and gained a good deal of prominence throughout ancient Japan, such that Tateyama is considered one of the three holy mountains (along with Fuji-san and nearby Haku-san).
Check out the Tateyama Mandala Museum, back down the mountain, for a comprehensive overview of the religion and its history. Evidently there is no English to be had, as yet, but I hear they're undertaking a concerted effort to rectify that relatively soon. Fingers crossed.
If you're bushed and in desperate need of a cushy chair, hit the restaurant in the lodge next to the hotel entrance, Rindō (ティーラウンジりんどう). "Tateyama Water Coffee"—that is, coffee made with apparently special hyperlocal water—will cost you a dear ¥800. Food is also available and I think the drink-dessert sets may be a little more reasonable.
When it's time to go, it's back down to the lobby, past the gift shop, and into the line for the Bijodaira bus. Electronic signboards are posted with departure times, but bug the staff if you're not sure or if everything is in Japanese. Again, line up in the "individual" and not the "group" queue, as pictured here on the right.
Once you're on the bus, it's time for your last glimpse at Yuki-no-Ōtani, as well as potential views of all the same things you saw on the way up. Take those motion sickness meds again, because the way down is faster and jerkier than before!
Transfer from the bus to the cable car. If you've got a spare minute or two, visit the always-empty observation deck on top of the station—good views of arriving cable cars and ski areas below.
Do it all again, but in reverse! Load into a cable car, preferably at either end. Prance out when the ride's over and make your way to a train that can deposit you back in Toyama. It's been a long day, but hopefully the weather was with you, you didn't barf too much, and maybe you wrote an obscene message on the snow wall, secure in the knowledge that it would soon be erased by the cruel, bitter passage of time and the inexorable melting of the snow.

















