Three Years in the Making: A No-Overnight Yatsugatake Traverse Round

Contents

• Introduction
• How I came up with this route
• Both previous attempts ended partway
• My approach this time, and what I focused on most
• The 40km road — my stomach churned on the descents
• From Kanondaira to Mt. Amigasa — the section not to push
• Toward Mt. Akadake
• A bonk, and lessons on fueling
• North Yatsugatake, and the descent from Mt. Tateshina
• The finish — "It's over!"
• What changed from three years ago
• The gear that carried this challenge
• In closing

Introduction

After three years, I've finally finished a challenge.

The parking lot at Suzuran Pass came into view, and I saw the car. In that moment, I thought, "This long, long challenge is over."

It's different from the feeling of a journey ending. A challenge had ended, and I was released. That was the sensation. On a normal traverse there are times you think "I'd like to keep walking," but this time it was the opposite — the sense of release, "It's over!", was the biggest thing.

In late June 2026, I took on a round that traverses Yatsugatake without an overnight stay. I left my car at Suzuran Pass, ran nearly 40km of road to the Yatsugatake trailhead, traversed the main ridge from there, and came back to Suzuran Pass. A loop where the start and the finish are the same place.

About 77km in distance, roughly 4,800m of climbing, and around 22 hours 45 minutes in total. But those numbers alone can't convey how hard this outing was. Counting from my first attempt, it was a challenge that took more than three years.

How I came up with this route

The first spark was simple. After a traverse, going back to pick up the car is a hassle.

So — why not run on the road from the car first, then traverse and come back? Leave the car at the start, make one big loop, and return to the same place. That way you don't have to worry about retrieving the car.

It was an idea born of laziness. But when I actually tried it, it was not simple at all.

Why Yatsugatake? Yatsugatake is a compact range with plenty of huts. And it still has ridgelines with real climbing to them. I think it's a superb mountain no matter when you go. When I was thinking about a round that joins road and traverse into one, Yatsugatake naturally came to mind.

Both previous attempts ended partway

This round was actually my third attempt. The previous two both ended partway.

On the first attempt, I pushed the road too hard. On top of that, my body got chilled to the core in a fierce wind on Mt. Akadake. Battered by the wind, my left eye went completely white and I lost my sight in it — a terrifying experience even now to recall. In the end I escaped down Jizo Ridge that time. Kumiko's support truly saved me.

On last year's revenge attempt, Tsuruzono, who came with me, blew up. While I let him nap in a bivy shelter, I ended up running about 30km of road in the middle of the night to go get the car. It was less a challenge than a night that turned into a bit of training.

That's how it went — from the idea to actually pulling it off took more than three years.

My approach this time, and what I focused on most

My gear approach this time was neither hiking nor trail running. I don't stop to stay overnight, but it's close to fastpacking thinking.

Basically, I carry all my fuel myself. If there was time, I did think it might be nice to have a big meal at a hut, but fundamentally I get by on only what I've brought. Only for water and drinks do I resupply at huts and water sources. That inevitably makes the pack heavy. The 5- or 10-liter packs you'd use for trail running won't hold it all, so I went with a 20-liter pack.

The one who came with me was Uemura, who's taking on VOLCANO72. Since I hadn't been able to train properly since TDT200, honestly I had some anxiety.

And there was one thing I was most determined about this time. The causes of my two past failures were pushing the road too hard and getting badly worn down by the windstorm on Mt. Akadake. Those two were huge. So this time, the one thing I decided I would absolutely stick to was "don't push the road — keep an even pace."

It's about a four-hour drive to the site, and Uemura and I went together. We didn't nap; I spent the time trying to conserve energy. In the car we talked about checking the course, the dangerous spots, and tactics like "let's go this way here."

The 40km road — my stomach churned on the descents

Starting from Suzuran Pass, first I run nearly 40km of road. My target pace was a rough image of around 6 min/km.

The early part was all downhill-leaning. Here, something I hadn't expected happened. Partly because I'd eaten quite a lot right beforehand, the food sloshed in my stomach on the descents. It felt like my gut was bouncing up and down, and I had no sense that what I ate was being absorbed.

In ordinary trail running or hiking, you don't often bomb long descents right from the start. So I hadn't noticed before, but running downhill on a full stomach messes up your belly more than you'd think. Thinking this was heading somewhere bad, I mixed in about 2–3km of walking partway to give my gut time to settle.

When the start of the road leans downhill, it taxes your stomach more than you'd expect.

This was a new realization for me this time. As we ran, Uemura and I talked about how "our stomachs are getting hit more than we thought." There are no aid points at all in this 40km section, so I carried all my fuel in the pack. I adjusted the pace a little near the end and reached the Kanondaira trailhead, the lowest point.

From Kanondaira to Mt. Amigasa — the section not to push

At Kanondaira, there was no sense of a special switch flipping. I took in a little fuel and started the climb. The scenery changed from the road, and I felt refreshed.

From Kanondaira to Mt. Amigasa, it's a near-1000m direct climb right from the start. There's no descent — you just go up in one push. But in my mind, I'd decided this was "the section not to push."

A route that you'd normally walk over two days and one night, or three days and two nights, I was doing this time with no overnight. So rather than climbing fast, I prioritized never stopping and staying in motion to the end. The pace was one where my breathing rose a little but I could still hold a conversation. My pack was heavy and it was hard to judge by heart rate alone, so I didn't watch the HR — I judged purely by feel from experience. I valued that sense of "if I push harder than this, the second half gets brutal."

I'd run the road, but the damage to my legs wasn't great. The climb itself was smooth. It's tough, of course, but my legs had plenty left. That forest so typical of Yatsugatake — slightly damp, a mix of moss, rock, and earth. The scenery was wonderful too, and I could feel, "Ah, I really have come to Yatsugatake."

When you climb up to Mt. Amigasa, the Southern Alps, Mt. Fuji, and Mt. Akadake come into view. "So I'm going to climb that," I thought. Mt. Akadake really is a cool-looking mountain. At this point, I figured that getting up Akadake was the crux, and once past it, the rest would be something like a pleasant hike.

Uemura, who was with me, had a lot in reserve. He climbs fast too, and I thought, "He really is strong." But I didn't try to keep up with him there. There were moments I had him wait a bit, but I held my own pace to the end.

Toward Mt. Akadake

From Mt. Amigasa, over Mt. Gongen, and at last I head for Mt. Akadake.

Mt. Akadake has rocky sections and some long ladders. It's generally said to be a bit difficult. But if there's no wind and no rain, I think most people can climb it normally. This time the weather was good, so I climbed it smoothly. It was long, though.

Even so, I always kept the feeling that you must not underestimate Akadake. Three years ago, I was hit by a windstorm here and lost the sight in my left eye. When wind or rain comes in, Akadake changes level. It's the sense that it can suddenly transform into a terrifying mountain. Precisely because I was climbing smoothly on a clear day, I remembered that fear from back then and stayed cautious.

Past Akadake, I stopped in at a hut too. That said, not to eat a meal — just to buy some water, a little chocolate, that sort of thing — and I kept pushing on. On to Mt. Yokodake, Mt. Iodake, and Mt. Tengu. This section has the most spectacular views of any on the Yatsugatake ridge, with real climbing and a wonderful ridgeline. The weather was good too, my spirits rose considerably, and I moved along feeling great.

The one that left the strongest impression was Mt. Iodake. That grand rock face is a view you can only see in Yatsugatake. At that point I stopped, went to a spot with a good view, and took photos. It was a moment when it really hit me: "I've climbed all the way up to the high mountains."

A bonk, and lessons on fueling

There's one thing I regret most from this outing. Fueling.

What I brought this time was OIENA, gels, Apple Honey, ramune candy, dried fruit, nuts, and freeze-dried food you rehydrate with water. Gels are fast-acting, light, and energy-efficient. Ramune tops up glucose and also satisfies the urge to chew. Nuts and dried fruit give the satisfaction of chewing. Freeze-dried food, rehydrated with water, gives you the feeling of a proper meal. OIENA can be used straight as a gel or cut with water as a drink. I'd divided things up by role and had a full range.

I thought I had enough fueling knowledge of my own. And yet, partway through, feelings like "I'm still okay for now" and "eating while walking is a pain" crept in. As a result, I got a bit of a bonk. That's a big lesson.

What brought me back was Apple Honey. High-calorie, low-GI, and easy to drink with a cap. I took it in, and strength gradually started to return. Still, it took about an hour to fully come back. During that hour, I walked carrying the regret of "I really messed up."

Along the way, Uemura ribbed me with a laugh: "Yamane-san, you're always saying fueling is important, aren't you?" He was completely right, and I had no comeback.

North Yatsugatake, and the descent from Mt. Tateshina

Past Mt. Tengu, and from around when I passed East Tengu, the atmosphere shifts to something more like North Yatsugatake. The ridgeline ends, and the mossy forest returns.

Yatsugatake is a range that already has a damp feel to it, but on this day it had rained heavily around a couple of weeks earlier, so it was even wetter. The rocks were terribly slippery, and the earth was slippery too. I got quite worn down on the descents. I'm not the type who's especially bad at descending, but even so — loose rock, wet, and slippery earth. As conditions go, it was a pretty difficult descent.

I'd thought the crux was up to Akadake, but in fact the second half was harder than I'd imagined. The climbs were tough, but the descents were tougher — that's my honest impression. Even though I know it's better not to mind the course time, I couldn't help minding it, going along thinking "my speed just isn't coming up."

It got dark and I moved on with my headlamp lit. Even after finally climbing Mt. Tateshina at the very end, I still had to drop 700–800m all at once from there. And that surface was truly all loose rock, with the gradient reaching close to 30% at its steepest moments. Short as the distance was, that brutal descent did major damage to my feet. Right down to the very end, it was downhill.

Rain had begun to fall too. It was just long. Even though I knew it would end, the elevation stubbornly refused to drop. "Tomorrow I'll be sore," "ugh," I thought as I kept descending.

The finish — "It's over!"

And then the parking lot at Suzuran Pass came into view, and I saw the car.

Only then did I think, this long, long challenge is over. Rather than a journey ending, it was the feeling of being released. In that quiet stretch of time as it turned to night, even though the end was in sight, I still needed distance, elevation, and time, and that weight had been riding on my mind the whole way. It was the feeling of being freed from all that.

I pulled off what I'd envisioned for more than three years. I nearly blew up partway, but the reason I could see it through to the end was, without a doubt, thanks to Uemura. I'm nothing but grateful.

What changed from three years ago

The difference from three years ago isn't leg strength, I think.

What changed is that I've come to understand, more logically than before, the sense of keeping moving over long hours. This time — holding my pace on the road, recovering from the fueling mistake, moving on without panicking — all of that was possible because of past failures.

It was a challenge that started from a passing thought — "going to pick up the car after a traverse is a hassle" — but it was not simple. From the first attempt, it took more than three years. It was an outing that distance and elevation alone can't put into words.

Total: 78km / D+4800m / 22h45m

The gear that carried this challenge

Road, climbs, rock, mud, rain. This course was packed with all sorts of surfaces and conditions. This time too, I was helped by various pieces of gear. The closer things get to the edge, the more you understand a tool's worth. I'd like to write in a little detail about the gear I used this time.

Backpack: SAMAYA UltraPace

When you carry all your fuel and go with no overnight, the 5- or 10-liter packs used for trail running won't hold it. This time I chose the 20-liter SAMAYA UltraPace.

It's a waterproof pack, and its biggest feature is the construction of the front. It's built like a trail-running vest, and you can fine-tune the sides with dials, cranking them in bit by bit. The fit is exceptionally high. Even loaded up, it doesn't bounce, and you can just run in it. For a challenging outing like this one, it's a pack my hand naturally reaches for. And above all, it looks great.

Top: Teton Bros. Axio Lite Tee

What I wear on mountains like this is usually merino wool. Among those, the active merino I choose is the Teton Bros. Axio Lite series. This time I wore the tee from it.

For merino, it's remarkably thin and dries easily even when you sweat. People often say "cool when it's hot, warm when it's cold," but in reality, when it's hot it's hot and when it's cold it's cold. Even so, compared with other materials, the discomfort is clearly less. What I feel especially is that after you sweat and it dries, it returns to its original state. Of course it doesn't smell odd, but there's also no sense of sweat lingering — it resets properly. That sensation is what's so good about the Axio Lite.

The Axio Lite was a big reason I came to want to wear merino actively in midsummer. The material changed a few years ago and got even better. I have it in long sleeve, short sleeve, sleeveless, and hoody, and I wear it as everyday clothing too. It's a piece you can pick with confidence in any weather, and my trust in it is off the charts. For anyone who doesn't have one, it's an item I really want you to have.

Shorts: milestone Fast Trail Shorts

For bottoms, I was really torn about what to wear. Right at that timing, the milestone Fast Trail Shorts were newly released. I thought they'd be just right, and when I actually wore them, they really were.

As the name says, they're shorts for moving fast on the trail. That said, they're not "pure running" either — the balance is perfect for outings where you move faster than ordinary hiking. Very light, and they dry quickly even when you sweat or get wet. There's some water repellency too. The pockets are large, and your phone fits in a separate pocket so things don't shift around inside. You can quickly stow the things you want on hand — gloves, a hand towel, fuel — and yet they don't bounce or snag. You can run in them, but the length isn't too short; it was just the right length for climbing mountains.

It was a hard outing, so they got a little dirty, but every time I see that stain, I remember my time in Yatsugatake. The light color is nice too.

Shoes: LA SPORTIVA Prodigio Pro

For shoes, I chose the LA SPORTIVA Prodigio Pro. It is a trail-running shoe, but a big point is that the sole is laid on in a way that's quite close to a single piece.

Shoes that cut out sections for weight savings are fine too, but on rock I want the sole covering as much of the whole as possible. So I don't slip in odd places, and so it doesn't break. It isn't a perfectly single-piece sole, but there's the reassurance of "practically one piece." On top of that, the road is very easy to run on. It rebounds properly, has a bit of thickness, and you can run comfortably. And it's not as if the trail is hard to walk — up and down, it's stable without any squishy wobble. You can run the road and stay stable on the mountain. For an outing like this, it was the best choice.

Another thing that was good: the ankle area has a gaiter-like sock construction that closes snugly at the top. Yatsugatake has plenty of rocky ground, but the early climbs and such are surfaces where small debris, twigs, and gravel get in easily. None of it gets in at all. That total absence of that stress is exactly where I feel glad I chose the Prodigio Pro. The upper is also Flyknit — strong and hard to tear. Among the shoes out there now, it's one I rate quite highly.

Socks: THE NORTH FACE Trail Durable Wool Crew

For socks, THE NORTH FACE's Trail Durable Wool Crew. I've genuinely used these all the time, and for tough outings and tough trail races, these are the only ones I pick.

They're wool socks — not too tight, and they don't give strong support, but there's absolutely no discomfort wearing them. They don't slip, yet the grip isn't so strong that you get blisters inside from rubbing. Foot trouble is simply minimal. For ultra-distance in the mountains, I love them so much I wonder if I could wear anything else. They don't tear, so I want to keep a few in stock as spares. The color variations keep dwindling, and it's getting to the point where black is about all there is now — but if these disappeared, I'd really be in trouble.

In closing

Yatsugatake is superb no matter when you go. There's no doubt it's a demanding mountain, but it's compact, it has plenty of huts, and there are many ways to enjoy it. This round challenge is, for now, a milestone reached. For a while, that's plenty. Next time, in some different form, I'd like to take on a new kind of play.