How Japan’s Mountains Turned Me Into a Solo Hiker
Before I moved to Japan, I never really considered hiking alone.
Back in Australia, bushwalking was always a group activity. From my earliest days in the Cubs and Scouts, through to school camps, weekend trips with friends, and eventually university bushwalking club hikes—there was always someone alongside me. Often many someones. Some of my most formative outdoor memories involved setting off in big groups—10, 20, or even more—with plenty of laughs, shared camp meals, and evenings spent under the stars around a fire. I absolutely loved those experiences and wouldn’t trade them for anything.
We were taught that hiking in a group was the safest and smartest option. Ideally, four people. That way, if someone was injured, one could stay behind while two others went for help. It was drilled into us as common sense—and to be fair, it is. When you’re days from the nearest road in remote Australian bushland, hiking in company makes a lot of practical sense.
But then I came to Japan.
One of the first things that struck me while hiking here wasn’t just the number of people on the trails—it was how many of them were hiking alone. Of course, you’ll still find plenty of hiking clubs and university groups here too. But just as common are solo hikers: men and women, young and old, confidently heading up into the mountains by themselves.
At first, this surprised me. But it also intrigued me. And before long, I found myself doing the same.
One reason, I suspect, is that hiking is simply more popular in Japan than in Australia. There’s a higher density of people on the trails—especially on weekends—which means that even if something goes wrong, you’re rarely too far from help. But that’s only part of the story.
Over time, and after chatting with dozens of other solo hikers, I’ve come to see there’s a deeper motivation—one that resonates with me more and more each year: some of us just prefer to hike alone.
When you hike solo, you set your own pace. You decide when to start and stop, how far to push yourself, when to rest, and for how long. You can linger at a viewpoint as long as you like or breeze past others if you’re in the flow. There’s no negotiation, no compromise, no need to match your stride to someone else’s. For many of us, that sense of autonomy is not just a convenience—it’s part of the reward.
Living in Japan—especially in a city like Tokyo—can be intense. The noise, crowds, and social expectations can be wearing. Hiking alone, for me, offers a much-needed contrast: silence, space, and a chance to completely switch off. I recently read a blog post by Sean Breslin, another foreign hiker here, who put it perfectly: “If you’re going to the mountains, it’s better to go alone; otherwise, you might as well stay in the city”. I couldn’t agree more.
Solo hiking, for me, is almost meditative. The rhythm of my steps, the sound of wind through the trees, a gurgling stream, or the sudden flutter of a startled yamadori (copper pheasant)—and those quiet moments spent pausing to marvel at an ancient tree—all become part of a kind of moving mindfulness. A way to reconnect with myself by disconnecting from everything else.
Of course, that’s not to say I’ve become a total lone wolf. I still enjoy the occasional shared hike, and my main social outlet—at least when it comes to connecting with Japanese people—is actually my local gym, not the mountains. For others, that balance might look different—some people find companionship on the trail energising or even necessary for motivation. Horses for courses.
I should also stress that solo hiking isn’t something I’d recommend right off the bat. If you’re just getting started, hiking with others is not only safer—it’s also a great way to learn. Trail etiquette, map reading, gear choices, pacing—these things are often best picked up in good company. And there are real risks to hiking alone, especially if you’re unprepared or in unfamiliar terrain.
But once you’ve built that foundation, going solo can be one of the most liberating and fulfilling ways to experience the outdoors. It’s not about isolation, but independence. It’s not about avoiding people but reconnecting with yourself.
I didn’t set out to become a solo hiker. Japan’s mountains simply nudged me in that direction. And I’m glad they did.
