Kintai Bridge

Listen first. Under your feet, the boards give a soft, hollow knock with every step. Below, the Nishiki River runs wide and shallow over pale stones, and the water is so clear you can count them. Ahead, the deck rises steeply, then falls, then rises again. Five times. You are not simply crossing a river here. You are climbing a small wooden hill, one arch at a time.

This is Kintai Bridge, in the city of Iwakuni, in Yamaguchi Prefecture at the western end of Japan's main island. The name is often translated as something like the brocade sash bridge. Stand back from it, and the meaning becomes clear. The five curves lie across the river like a belt of folded silk, the dark timber against bright water and green hills.

The first version of this bridge was built in 1673. It was commissioned by Kikkawa Hiroyoshi, the third lord of the Iwakuni domain. A domain was a feudal territory, ruled by a lord who answered to the shogun. Hiroyoshi had a real problem. His castle and samurai district stood on one bank. Much of the town stood on the other. And the Nishiki River had a habit of flooding and carrying ordinary bridges away.

Here is the first surprise. The bridge of 1673 did not last a year. A flood in 1674 swept it downstream. Hiroyoshi did not abandon the idea. He rebuilt it the same year, and his builders strengthened the stone piers that hold up the arches. That second bridge stood, with regular repair and replacement of its timbers, for well over two centuries. It became one of the most admired wooden bridges in Japan.

Look at the piers now. They are large, rounded mounds of fitted stone, set low in the riverbed. Their shape is not decoration. It helps the floodwater flow around them instead of striking a flat wall. Between these piers, the three central spans are true arches. They spring from stone to stone with no posts underneath. The two end spans are different. They rest on rows of wooden pillars standing in the river.

There is a popular story about where the design came from. According to the tale, Hiroyoshi saw a book of pictures showing West Lake in Hangzhou, in China, where small islands are linked by arched bridges. The story says this gave him the idea of building islands of stone in the river and joining them with arches. It is a lovely account. Treat it as tradition rather than firm record, but it does explain the look of the piers.

Now look underneath, if you can find a spot on the riverbank. The arches are built from many layers of timber, stacked and locked together with traditional joinery. You will often hear that the bridge uses no nails. The truth is more careful. The strength comes mainly from the way the beams interlock and press against each other, with metal fittings used to bind the joints. It is carpentry as engineering.

The second big surprise comes from the twentieth century. The bridge that survived for generations was destroyed in 1950. A powerful typhoon brought heavy rain, the river rose, and the old bridge was swept away. Many people in Iwakuni had crossed it all their lives. The city chose to rebuild it in the traditional style, and the new bridge was completed in 1953. The stone piers were rebuilt more strongly this time.

A wooden bridge in rain, sun and floodwater does not stay young. Between 2001 and 2004, the bridge was rebuilt again, section by section, by carpenters using traditional methods. This is a living tradition in Japan. Old wooden structures are often renewed by replacing their parts, so the skills pass from one generation of craftsmen to the next. In a sense, what you walk on is both new and very old. The timber is recent. The design and the knowledge are centuries deep.

As you cross, notice how the town changes. Behind you is the busier side of Iwakuni. Ahead is Kikko Park, on the grounds of the old residential district where the lord's samurai once lived. It is said that in the Edo period, the long era of shogun rule, crossing this bridge was not open to everyone. Today, anyone with a ticket can walk it, and a ticket covers the crossing in both directions.

Now lift your eyes. On the forested hill above the park, a small white castle sits near the summit. This is a modern reconstruction of Iwakuni Castle, built in the 1960s. A ropeway carries visitors up the hill. From the top, you can look straight down at the five arches, and the shape of the brocade sash becomes very clear. Many of the best photographs of the bridge are taken from up there.

Iwakuni has one more unusual resident. In the area near the park live the famous white snakes of Iwakuni. They are a rare white form of the Japanese rat snake, and they are protected as a national natural monument. Locals have long treated them as a sign of good fortune. You can see them in a small facility nearby. And on the bridge side, look for the ice cream shops, which are known for offering a surprising number of flavours.

The river itself changes with the seasons. In spring, cherry trees bloom along the banks, and the pink blossom frames the dark wood. In summer, there is traditional cormorant fishing on the Nishiki River, an old method where trained birds catch fish for the fishermen. In autumn, the hills turn red and gold behind the arches. And in winter, the clear water and bare trees make the shape of the bridge stand out sharply.

Before you leave, stop in the middle of an arch, at its highest point. Feel the slope under you, the slight give of the boards. Look down at the water sliding past the stone piers. Then look back along the deck at the next curve rising behind you. As you walk away, listen for that hollow knock of footsteps on timber. It is the same sound people have heard here for more than three hundred years.