I awoke in the morning filled with regret. Had I really given in to momentary weariness, wussed out, and cut half of my trip - just because I didn't want to "go down and back up"? I felt as though I wasn't even worthy of the piece-of-crap, fallen-apart-after-one-summer, cheap-ass boots I was wearing.
How could I make up for this?
Starting just before sunrise, hoping to reach the next clearing in time for some early light photos, it soon became clear what I could do to feel good about myself again: just keep hiking. What I hadn't realized was how much elevation gain and loss there actually was along the ridge between Hoouzan (2840m) and Kaikomagadake (2967m). It was far from "wussing out." It was also extremely beautiful.
By noon I had taken at least twenty photos of Kaikomagadake. Every time I reached a clearing, it looked different - better, more beautiful than before. I had fewer photos of Kita-dake and the area I'd come from - not because they were less spectacular, but because the low southern sun made everything into silhouettes. If I had followed my original plan the day before, I would have missed this section of trail entirely.
A Panda in the Southern Alps?
As I began my descent of Kaikomagadake, I thought the highlights of the day were behind me. But I was wrong.
Somewhere along the way (I remember the exact location, but I'm withholding that information in the name of endangered species preservation), I heard a strange sound - something between a half-bark and a half-howl. Definitely not a dog.
I slowed down, trying not to startle whatever it was. Then, in a clearing, I saw it: a panda bear - right there in front of me.
Granted, it was moving quickly into the woods, but what else could it have been? So big. So fluffy. So unmistakably black and white.
It paused just at the edge of the forest, shadowed but visible. I approached slowly, managing to get within about fifteen meters before it made its escape, clambering down a steep slope into the valley below and out of sight.
I spent the rest of the evening wondering what it all meant.
Had a panda escaped from a zoo? Surely I'd have heard about that.
Or was this something else?
A long-lost relative of the pandas in China - survivors of a time when Japan, Korea, and the mainland were still connected? Given the steep, remote terrain, it's possible a small population had survived for thousands of years without discovery... until today.
But now I face a dilemma.
If I publicize what I saw, I might become famous. They might even name this species the Japanese Cameron Panda. But doing so would almost certainly guarantee their extinction, as thousands of tourists would descend on this remote habitat, destroying what keeps them hidden and safe.
On the other hand, if this is a new species, isn't there an opportunity here for study, awareness, and maybe even protection?
What would you do?