A classic of Japanese mountain literature,blending climbing, art, memory, and reflection.
Ueda was born in 1911 and died in 1970. In his twenties, he helped found the Japan Mountaineering Club and, before the war, worked on pioneering difficult climbing routes on mountains such as Mt. Hakuba and Mt.Tanigawa. He also took part in establishing the second Rock Climbing Club (RCC) and later served as its representative. His main profession, however, was painting, and he was selected for a special prize at the Nitten (The Japan Fine Arts ) exhibition. Mountains in Shadow, Mountains in Sunlight was first published in 1958, when the author was around forty-seven years old.
As stated in the book’s afterword, it had originally been planned before the war as an illustrated literary collection in memory of his eldest daughter, who had died young. But as the war situation worsened, the project was never brought into the light of publication. After the war, having also lost his eldest son and father, he finally wrote these reflections on the mountains to which he had devoted his life, publishing them on the occasion of the thirteenth memorial service for his father.
Regarding the meaning of the title, Ueda explains that in mountain scenery there are sunlit peaks and valleys full of shadow, yet, in his words, all of these are “mountains in sunlight,” not “mountains in shadow.” “Yes,” he writes, “Mountains in shadow do not physically exist. … Action is the mountain in sunlight; contemplation is the mountain in shadow. They are like the two wheels of a cart—inseparable however one may try to part them. That is why mountaineering is called the king of sports, and why I chose this title.”
Throughout the book appear vivid travel sketches of ski tours and journeys in the open landscapes of Jōshū, Shinshū, Hokkaidō, and the satoyama(lower) hills of rural Japan. At the same time, the author seems to have been an exceptional skier, ranging freely across winter mountains and challenging steep rock faces as well. Considering the era, his activities must have been remarkably advanced. Yet the book is not merely a record of athletic achievement. Each moment and scene in the mountains is infused with poetry. The illustrations, naturally superb from a professional painter, combine with the prose to create striking immediacy and lasting emotional resonance. To me, every piece in this book is an anthology of mountain literature. And though unrelated to mountaineering, he was also said to be an accomplished tango dancer and, if my memory serves me correctly, achieved notable results in the All-Japan Championships.
Among the climbing pieces is “A Certain Ascent.” It begins:
“It was truly the feeling of having barely slipped free from the crushing weight of death. Even to remember it now sends a chill down my spine—that experience of that day… and now there are those repeating it.”
This is the record of the first winter ascent of the main ridge of Hakuba. At the greatest obstacle, the knife-edge ridge, a climber struggles desperately at an overhanging section created by the Bergschrund. Ueda watches from Hakuba’s summit, scarcely daring to breathe. He confesses to mixed emotions: hoping the climber will succeed, yet not wishing the route to be overcome too easily.
“What frightened me most was the thought that people might say, ‘Hakuba’s main ridge is easy.’ Yes—I wanted to boast, ‘You see, Hakuba’s main ridge is not so simple.’ Blown by the fierce Echū-oroshi wind, I bit my lips and was filled with gloom.”
Another unforgettable piece, “The Butterfly and the Bivouac,” tells of a storm-bound bivouac on a narrow ledge. His companion is critically injured, and there is scarcely enough room even to draw up one’s knees. At dawn, several butterflies, seemingly dead, are found clinging nearby. Then they flutter into the air, and with them arises a hope of survival. The sense of life at the very edge is rendered with extraordinary immediacy.
By contrast, “Winter Lodging” recounts a gentle human episode from the months he spent in a cheap apartment in Sapporo while pursuing ski mountaineering, including a brief but warmhearted exchange with a geisha in the neighboring room.
And in “Extracts from an Azumino Diary,” his interactions with local people in the Ushiro-Tateyama range during spring unfold alongside the changing season of snowmelt.
Every essay in the book moves deeply into the heart and stirs one’s longing for the mountains. To conclude, I would like to quote a passage from the commentary by Mitsuhiko Yoshino, himself a climber, painter, and poet:
A mountain-mad boy usually has a “book of inspiration.” I had several books that shaped my own love of climbing, though they changed somewhat with time: Edward Whymper’s Scrambles Amongst the Alps, Yukō Maki’s Mountain Journeys, Kuzō Fujiki’s Rooftop Climber, Taizō Katō’s Ridges of Mist, Hans Morgenthaler’s Year Berge, and others. But when I first held Tetsunō Ueda’s Mountains in Shadow, Mountains in Sunlight, I suffered such a shock that I nearly lost confidence in continuing either climbing or painting. There are countless fine books in the world about mountains and art, but no other book has so transformed—indeed derailed—the course of one young person’s life. Or perhaps I should say not a boy, since I was already past twenty, but a young man. In any case, no other book has so altered the way one human being lives.
English version prepared with AI assistance
(Originally written in Japanese)
Japanese version:https://hifuka-otibohiroi.net/post_143/