A bit of a blur of a week down the northeast coast of Hokkaido, from which I’m having to use photos and Strava posts to remind me of – not the best sign.

Off the ferry, we weren’t in Wakkanai for long – a helpful wind pushing us around the bay in the late afternoon heat. We diverted up a steep sweaty climb on the Path of White Shells – road surface is coarsely crushed scallop shells, long bleached by the sun. More sika deer, but the highlight was the dusk views of Rishiri, Rebun and finally we could see Russia forty-odd kilometres away.

The northern tip of Japan, Cape Soya, was reached soon after. The tourist traps all closed for the night, the small numbers at the monument were quite bearable. We pottered for a bit before trying to find somewhere to camp. We found a great spot next to yet another artificial harbour – picnic shelter, power outlets, toilets and grass. The only disadvantage was the fishing boats going and coming from two in the morning – diesel thrums disturbing any remaining sleep for me.

A few days of about a hundred kilometres with few hills along a more prosperous looking coastline (compared to the northwest, fewer abandoned buildings, bit more going on, plenty of scallop processing plants and big dairy farms) commenced. Thankfully, while still hot, we didn’t have high humidity to deal with. I got a bit tired of seeing so much concrete in the sea – coastal protections, artificial harbours; unlike the northwest coast we did see, and stop at, some beaches which were pleasant.

The highlight for me was a friendly Japanese couple, Yumi and Ken, that we met at one of the free campsites. They are from Yokohama area and were traveling in their van for a week or so – Ken having been to Hokkaido forty-odd times. They seemed keen to meet foreigners and spoke English far better than we speak Japanese. They invited us to dinner and Ken cooked up a storm, we’d previously resupplied to cook for ourselves so there was plenty of food and Sapporo beer over a fun discussion. It was good being able to ask some of the questions of Japanese life and language we’d been accumulating.

There must have once been a train line running up the coast as we kept seeing signs – disconnected bits of rail trail, old rail corridors and later old steam locomotives on display. There were even a couple of places where you could stay cheaply in an old carriage that had had seats removed and hard sleeping platforms installed – unfortunately we didn’t find them at the end of any days. My curiosity of what the line was used for, when it closed and its general history was never satisfied – there were no helpful information boards.

One big section was rideable – twenty three asphalted kilometres into Abashiri (which is still serviced by Japan Rail, so no more rail trail for a while), it looked like it had been converted to trail decades ago and generally neglected. Nice to be off the road though. Previously we’d ridden a similarly old section of sealed rail trail, after bashing through a bit of gravel road overgrown with bamboo, which was deserted and delightful – until we got to a bridge that was closed and barricaded. A bit of backtracking was needed through the nice forest, thankfully we didn’t come across the bear that had left some droppings on the path some time earlier.

The Abashiri Prison Museum was an interesting historical glimpse into Hokkaido. I hadn’t realised that the island hadn’t really been set up for settling until late in the nineteenth century – and then mostly to ward off the “menace” of expanding Russia. Prisoners did a lot of road, and other, building quickly in demanding conditions. Having spent a decent period there, we didn’t have time to get out of the city so went to the nearby auto-camp, Tent-o-rando, to find the campsites were “full” – so we opted for a small chalet for the night. The ride off the hill the next day was great – first a very impressive playground to explore, then a fun route of gravel back roads through forest and farms before a long stretch of rollers through cropping land.

Lunch in Shiri near the railway station showed a town that didn’t look so neglected, which was a nice change. The heat ramped up again that afternoon as we headed back to the coast on the nastiest section of highway we’ve encountered – no shoulder and the edge of the lane was in very poor condition. Thankfully drivers remain courteous. Stopping at vending machines for a cold drink, we found a delightfully retro coffee shop run by two senior women. Photos of the pack of ice, that comes down from a Russian river, to block in the harbour in winter were shown. The closest we got were the ice cold towels provided to cool us. I was interested in a cabinet of classic Japanese cameras, but bemused by the Colt 45 and 9 mm pistols sitting on the bottom shelf.

A couple of waterfalls to see and tunnels to negotiate and we were in Utoro, our gateway to Shiretoko National Park before the forecast rain arrived. While I posted another kilogram of unneeded gear home, Rachel and Orlaith were checking into the campground and being told of trail closures due to a hiker having been dragged into the forest by a bear – eek.

Photo dump still here.