Where Did Akibare Go?
Summer in Japan has become a bully. In years past, the lingering heat in the Kanto region was a mild inconvenience – something you grumbled about while fanning yourself through September. But lately, it’s turned downright vicious. This year, it robbed a month from spring. On my Mt. Hirugatake hike in mid-April, it was already pushing 30°C in Kofu, and now, six months on, not much has changed, with NHK news this morning giving Kofu a top of 29°C. Summer’s still clinging like a stubborn guest – the last customer at an izakaya who won’t take the hint.
Worse still, autumn’s already struggling, with early reports of snow up north. The seasons have gone rogue.
This three-day weekend, I couldn’t fully enjoy Kanto’s autumn colours on its high peaks. Last year, I basked in near-perfect weather on a four-day Yatsugatake traverse. This year? I was stuck with a shorter hike in Saitama. Sitting on Mt. Dodaira’s summit on Friday, the sun blazing like early September, I couldn’t help but shake my head and laugh.
My real target was the Southern Alps. Early in the week, the forecast looked decent, but by Thursday, another typhoon was on the radar, soon to be bearing down on the Izu Islands. Tent reservations plummeted from nearly full to half-empty overnight – and who can blame anyone for wanting to avoid hypothermia with little hope of spectacular scenery?
It’s hard not to feel gaslit by the weather. One week, you’re drenched in sweat; the next, you’re grabbing a jacket, only to be back in short sleeves two days later. Kanto’s weather has developed its own brand of chaos – typhoons that linger, humidity like wet laundry in what should be a fully fledged autumn, and rain fronts that loiter aimlessly.
This year’s “autumn” – if we can call it that – feels like an encore nobody requested. The cicadas overstayed their welcome (they even started late this year), the ginkgo trees are still green, and typhoon season seems to have merged with winter storms. Even TV weather forecasters sound weary, their tone a resigned sigh of, “Well, folks, it’s still unseasonably warm”.
Of course, there’s the glaring 800-pound gorilla in the room – or rather, the overheated greenhouse in the sky. Call it climate change, global weirding, or whatever comforting euphemism you prefer – the pattern is undeniable. Summers are hotter, longer, and meaner; rainstorms hit harder and linger; and those crisp, postcard-perfect autumn days are as rare as an empty seat on the JR Chuo Line during rush hour.
Some shrug and say, “It’s just a bad year”. Maybe. But when every year feels like a bad year, you start to suspect that’s the new baseline. Kanto has always had quirks – typhoons slicing through the Izu Islands, Karakkaze winds in Gunma, random April snow flurries in Tokyo – but this volatility feels unprecedented. Less seasonal rhythm, more roulette wheel.
Planning a hike now feels like gambling. You can study weather apps, pore over Weathernews forecasts on YouTube, even check mountain hut webcams – and still end up trudging through a downpour or roasting under a “partly cloudy” sky. The weather gods have a wicked sense of humour.
For hikers, that unpredictability cuts deep. Autumn used to be the sweet spot – stable weather, cool air, and the long-awaited burst of colour across the surrounding mountain ranges; in other words, “akibare”, that quintessential clear autumn sky. Now, more often than not, it’s a tug-of-war between heatstroke and hypothermia, depending on which day of the week you decide to head out.
Yet, there’s camaraderie in this shared frustration. Every mountaintop conversation starts the same: “What’s with this weather?” – followed by a resigned laugh and a sip from the Thermos. Maybe that’s what keeps us going: the faint hope that next weekend will bring that perfect blue-sky day we remember from years past.
Despite the false starts, cancelled plans, heat, and storms, there’s still nowhere better to be than the peaks when the clouds clear. Maybe that’s the lesson this new climate is teaching us: seize the good days, savour the rare cool breeze, and never trust an extended forecast.
For now, I’m grateful for a day on Mt. Dodaira – occasional blue skies, a light breeze, and a summit bench to myself. If that’s autumn’s best offer this year, I’ll take it. With the seasons’ current antics, you learn to celebrate small victories – and keep your rain jacket, sunscreen, and down jacket stuffed in your pack, just in case.
