Chichibu Tama Kai National Park

Listen first. Under the trees, the city noise is gone. You hear water moving over stone, the creak of cedar trunks in the wind, and somewhere far off, the call of a bird you probably cannot name. The air is cooler here and smells of damp moss and resin. It is hard to believe that the crowded streets of central Tokyo are only a couple of hours away by train.

This is Chichibu Tama Kai National Park, a wide band of mountains and forest on the western edge of the Kanto Plain. The park crosses four prefectures. Tokyo, Saitama, Yamanashi and Nagano all share pieces of it. For most visitors, the gateway is the Okutama area, at the far western tip of Tokyo itself. Yes, this is still Tokyo. The capital has a wild side that most travellers never see.

The park was first designated in 1950, under the name Chichibu Tama National Park. In 2000 the name grew longer. The word Kai was added, an old name for the province that is now Yamanashi Prefecture. Each name in the title points to a different region. Chichibu is the mountain basin in Saitama. Tama is the river valley of western Tokyo. Kai is the land on the far side of the ridges, toward Mount Fuji.

Here is a fact that surprises many people. The highest point in all of Tokyo is inside this park. It is Mount Kumotori, at 2,017 metres. Its name means something like the mountain that takes the clouds. On a misty morning, you can see why. Kumotori sits where Tokyo, Saitama and Yamanashi meet, so a hiker on its summit stands close to three prefectures at once.

These mountains matter far beyond their own slopes. They are a source of water for millions of people. The Tama River begins in these hills and flows east through Tokyo to the bay. The Arakawa River starts in the Chichibu mountains of Saitama. On the Yamanashi side, streams feed the Fuefuki River, which joins the Fuji River system. When you drink a glass of tap water in the city, part of it may have started here as rain on a forested ridge.

In the Okutama area, you will find Lake Okutama. It is a reservoir, created by the Ogochi Dam in the twentieth century to secure water for the growing capital. When the valley was flooded, villages were moved away. Today the lake is long and quiet, with steep green slopes falling straight into the water. In autumn, the reflection of red and gold leaves on its surface draws photographers and day-trippers from across the region.

The forests here are layered. Lower down, you see dense planted cedar and cypress, tall and straight, standing in neat ranks. These plantations were grown for timber over many decades. Higher up, the forest changes. Broadleaf trees take over, with beech, maple and oak, and above them, on the highest ridges, dark conifers. Walking uphill is like moving through several different climates in one afternoon. The light, the smell and the sound of the leaves change as you climb.

These mountains are also sacred ground. On Mount Mitake, in western Tokyo, stands Musashi Mitake Shrine, reached by cable car and a steep walk past old lodging houses for pilgrims. For centuries, people climbed here to pray. In Chichibu, deep in the Saitama mountains, Mitsumine Shrine sits high among old cedars. Both places share an unusual feature. Their guardian animals are not the lions or foxes you may know from other shrines. They are wolves.

Japan's native wolves are gone today. They disappeared around the start of the twentieth century. But in these mountains, wolves were long honoured as messengers of the gods and as protectors against fire, thieves, and wild boar that ate the crops. Local farmers once took paper charms from these shrines to guard their homes and fields. So when you see a carved stone wolf with a thin, sharp face, you are looking at a memory of an animal that once lived in these forests.

The park also hides a world underground. Near Okutama is the Nippara Limestone Cave, a cold, dripping cave system cut into the rock by water over a very long time. Inside, the temperature stays low all year, so it feels cool even in the heat of a Tokyo summer. Further west, on the Yamanashi side, Shosenkyo Gorge shows granite cliffs and clear rushing water. It is often called one of the most beautiful valleys in Japan.

People still live and work in these valleys. Small towns hold onto old ways. You may see stacked firewood beside wooden houses, small vegetable plots on steep slopes, and family shops selling wasabi, river fish, or mountain vegetables. Clear, cold streams are good for growing wasabi, and the Okutama area has a long connection with it. If you stop for lunch, look for soba noodles or grilled river fish on a stick. These are simple foods from a mountain life.

The seasons change this place completely. In spring, the forest turns a soft, bright green, and blossoms appear in the villages. Summer brings heavy, humid air, loud cicadas, and families wading in the cold rivers. Autumn is the most popular time, when the maples turn red and orange. Winter is quieter. Some high trails get snow and ice, and the bare trees open up long views across the ridges toward distant peaks.

Before you move on, pause for a moment. Look at the ridge line in front of you. Notice how it folds into another ridge, and then another, fading into blue haze. Behind those hills is one of the largest cities on Earth. And yet here, the loudest sound may be your own footsteps, or water running somewhere below. As you walk away, listen for that water. It is already on its way to Tokyo.