Saw Mountain

There’s something about seeing Buddha that always puts me in a good mood. Maybe it’s his restful pose, assuring gesture, or level mind free from desire. Whatever it is, he makes for a good role model if there ever was one.

Although Japan’s population is 84 percent Shinto/Buddhist, it’s a secular society. So unlike other Asian nations, Buddhas are few and far between the massive department and electronic store temples enshrining Japan’s dominant consumer culture. Of Japan’s two famous Buddhas, I already made a pilgrimage to Kotoku-in in Kamakura. Todai-ji’s Buddha in the ancient capital of Nara is even larger (60 feet). I will pay respects later this month when my parents visit.

Rising more than 100 feet is Japan’s largest daibutsu, yet also its most obscure (unreferenced in Let’s Go). Nihon-ji temple dates from 725 A.D., but its Buddha arrived 1,058 years later. This stone beheamouth sits about halfway up Nokogiri-yama, or “Saw Mountain,” so called because it’s shaped like the teeth of a saw thanks to bygone quarries chipping chunks out of the mountain’s face.

The mountain is only 329 meters (1079 feet) high. Getting up took a few minutes in a cable car. Getting there took three hours. To halve my transportation costs, I opted for local trains that required four transfers, one taking an unprecedented 45 minutes (I’ve never had to wait that long for a train here). My destination was worth the wait.

Cool mountain air whisked away sweat as I soaked up panoramic views of Tokyo Bay. Hawks soared overhead in cloudless skies. Sunlight percolating through the leaves lit shady footpaths. I walked alone along mountainside paths, but 1,500 stone arhat figurines (novice buddhas) – each said to have a different expression – kept me company. They were wedged into rocky ledges and perched on trees. Moss, lichen, and faith held them in place. If I had to be a statue (and hopefully not one of the headless variety), this would be where I’d want to sit gathering moss.

Later I found another Buddha-like icon carved into the mountain. A 30-foot high image of Kannon, the Buddhist Goddess of Mercy, towered from within an alcove. Dating from the 1960s, however, it’s a recent addition to the mountain’s attractions.

Under the watchful gazes of Buddha and Kannon, I paused for water and to reflect on life. Around 4:30 I climbed down the mountain and happened upon a beach. I stopped first at a 7-11 for dinner: soba noodles, a riceball, and a “freeze lemon -196C” chu-hai (canned cocktail). You know, just the essentials. I sat and sipped on the beach as daylight departed. It wasn’t Thailand, but it wasn’t Tokyo either, and that’s all that mattered.

Click here for more scenes from Nokogiri-yama.