Cape Erimo and the "Kombu" Harvest

Before I sail today, a quick few paragraphs about Cape Erimo and the village (Erimomisaki) of the same name:

I am taking Hokkaido as a polygon to be tackled a face at a time. For a while, progress on the face leading to Cape Erimo seemed slow going, but then I conceptualised the task in mountaineering terms. Each day sailed (or sail-paddled) I nudged forward to a base camp nearer to the summit. A day with relatively favourable winds, but a most uncomfortable swell, contributed a 34 nm run. That got me in range (if not in sight, because visibility has been poor) of the pinnacle.

That last base camp was uncomfortable: too close to a run of steep cliffs backed by high mountains. Too close to where winds collide. And with no facilities.

There followed a day with wind that was alternately too fierce and too light, with downpours, fog, and general menace. No option but to wait it out. The next day arrived and the forecast remained unsettled and unsettling. I was intimidated by what the day could become. However, the *actual* day in front of me didn't look so bad, so I determined to make a strategic hop to a better place for waiting to summit. In the moments before launch, the wind increased to a force 5. Is this wise? Maybe I should stay put again. At that moment an infrequently-passing bus drove past. I had walked 2 hours to reach the town of Erimo yesterday. Sailing is better than repeating that walk! I sidelined my concerns, and launched.

As the distance from the vertical terrain increased, the wind eased. Sometimes it eased too much, but by now the current alone was taking me to the Cape. Thoughts of stopping at Erimo town had long since been abandoned. The day now presented an opportunity. The sea became choppy, but was not big and menacing like in the days previous. Memory of photographs and satellite imagery informed my navigational choices. At the Cape, in theory, there were three options: round the end of the chain of rocks, an inshore route, or a middle way. In reality, it was too rough to investigate the inshore route which may or may not have been viable. Round the end was unpalatable as the wind was now spirited and increasing by a Beaufort force with every minute I sailed away toward open ocean. I steered for the gap, dodged a rock on the approach and then arced deep downwind into, and against, a river of current surging through the constriction. Nothing subtle about my sailing: no harness, wide stance, hanging on. Eighties style! The flood rose and fell with the heave of the Ocean swell and in the troughs my fin caught on streaming kelp. And seconds later, probably less than a minute had elapsed, I was through.

Now it was time to consolidate. The wind came in gusts, offshore, from over the cliffs, and much stronger on this side. One kilometre... Two kilometres... Some tiring zigzags to get in behind the towering port walls of Erimomisaki village... And then in behind the walls, to safety.

Erimomisaki

The village also has no food shop. It rains through the night. The morning fishing activity begins at 4 am, in thick fog. Vans, and people, rushing about to launch small boats. A siren goes off at 4:30 am (maybe 5 am, my timekeeping is bleary.) Shit! Is that a tsunami warning? No, it was the start of the allotted time for kelp harvesting. The sound of outboards gunning! Shuttle runs to the port with kelp-laden craft. Mini cranes on the mini vans to unload the boats. Two or maybe three hours later the siren sounds again, and 30 minutes after that the last of the boats are being hauled back up the ramp. The atmosphere is now unhurried, and there is jovial conversation. The last of the kelp is laid out on the stone fields upon which it will dry. People go for breakfast, and I get out of my sleeping bag.

That was a fascinating morning. I wander the drying kelp and meet some folk. Tetsu, who moved here from Tokyo to work on the kelp (kombu) harvesting and has good English after spending a year in Australia, offers me a frond of dried kelp.

Chewing on kombu, I meander some more and then hear a voice that asks "Are you thirsty?" The man hands me a bottle of "Pokari Sweat", an electrolyte drink popular in Japan. "Arigato!" I say, and glug in appreciation. Shortly after, the same voice asks "Are you hungry?" Well, now you come to mention it... A minute later I am sat down and eating fresh, wholesome food. Wonderful!

It remained foggy until 13h. Then I paddled about 6 nm to base camp 1, Shoya, on the next side of the polygon.

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Posted from base camp 2, Hiroo, which was a hard slog to reach (5 nm sailed in upwind zigzags, 5 nm paddled against a meagre headwind, 5 nm paddled in no wind).

Some pictures below (mostly related to this post but also a few extras):