Almost everyone who learnt of my hiking trip went, "Good Lord, you're going mountain climbing alone? But you can always find tigers in the zoo!" Firstly, hiking constitutes traveling a long way on foot, usually for fun or exercise, and especially with equipment on one's back. So technically, anyone who has ever lugged a 10kg bag to school while mastering "walk-the-dog" with a yellow yo-yo in his or her primary school days is a hiker, albeit not a mountaineer. Unless the classroom happens to be on the 5th storey. Secondly, one is more likely to come across strange wriggly orange millipedes than fanged carnivorous orange tigers on a mountain hike.

So now that those misconceptions are cleared up, what will you need for that first hike since your primary school or national service days? A healthy dose of good humor for one, for that inevitable moment when you almost wish that a fanged carnivorous orange tiger will put you out of your misery. A trustworthy camera with extra rolls of film will come in handy as well for reliving that memorable experience shared with swarms of incessant buzzing dragonflies after your return to civilization as we know it. Other than that packing is a very subjective matter depending on your disposition. Bring along that hiking stick (it can be quite useful for downward descents in wet weather), sun hat and insect repellant if you must. For me, packing is about grabbing what you want, when you feel like it, and shoving them into a suitable backpack.

For this hiking trip I made do with a raincoat (sprightly colored umbrellas are ill-advised for the sole reason that disorientated paratroopers might land on you), camera, relevant maps and a scrapbook dumped in a sling bag that could be manipulated to double as a backpack. A couple of energy bars (think Uncle Toby's, not Transformers) helped to alleviate the hunger pangs, though they are best consumed away from the vicinity of pesky dragonflies, if such a place exists at all. Most indispensable of all was the gourd of magic potion specially brewed by Druid Getafix tucked snugly by my side at all times. The supply can be replenished along the way, albeit you may have to make do with different flavors sometimes. And it's amazing how much more smoothly your hike will go with some money in your bag as well, especially if you do not intend to walk all the way from your hotel.

Now that all the packing is done you're all ready to go. The best part about hiking alone is that you get to savor nature all by yourself, for stating the bleeding obvious. There is no need to burst your lungs trying to catch up with your triathlon-seasoned companions and you can stop whenever you want to absorb the sight of majestic green mountains wrapped by cotton white clouds and the symphony of leaves whistling in the wind and running water breaking over polished rocks. Sure, experienced with your other half, beachside sunsets will seem rosier and buzzing dragonflies will serenade you with romantic songs instead. However nothing ruins a trip more than being deprived of a good night's sleep by someone who sounds like a blocked drain every time he gets a little shut-eye. Just ask all the people I've traveled with. That and the fact that no friends can possibly live with one another’s idiosyncrasies and personality disorders over an extended period of time in a foreign land and still remain the best of friends, and you can see why hiking is an activity best enjoyed alone.

Hike #1: Yunoko-Yudaki-Senjogahara-Ryuzunotaki

Taking the 6.22 a.m. bus---with only one other passenger on board--- to Yumoto Onsen, through long winding uphill roads that stood the drivers in good stead for whatever careers that involve navigating through long winding uphill roads (bus driver?), the first leg of my hike started in earnest in a fine early morning at Lake Yunoko.

Stepping off the bus, the crisp wispy country air rejuvenates you after a long journey and lulls you into a misplaced sense of security until a soothing breeze rustling through the trees prompts you to inhale deeply in your relaxed state, only for you to pick up the first whiffs of a malodorous scent that you can't quite place. Horse manure? Dragonfly droppings (You can blame them for almost anything)? The mystery remains unsolved.

A boat-renting hut lay down by the lake, with a long row of boats deposited on the shore. A brown wooden sign nailed onto two adjacent trunks burrowed into the sand boasted of the many species of fish that could be found in the lake, though the swarm of dragonflies buzzing enthusiastically around the shoreline could feel aggrieved at not gaining a mention. Otherwise the only other habitat-dwellers I saw was the dignified squadron of ducks who flew abreast in a neat row before landing precisely, one after another, on the shimmering waters of the lake dyed an alluring bluish-green tinge by the dense trees decorating the imposing mountainous landscape running around the lake. The only hint of a flourishing underwater community was the zealous skip-fishermen decked in a trademark cap and vest ensemble standing knee-deep in the lake watching hikers embarking on their long journeys, each thinking the other a fool consumed by his own particular passion.

The trail started off innocuously enough with a well-beaten footpath just next to the tarmac main road overlooking Lake Yunoko, with rectangular red marker blocks planted along the way to reassure navigationally challenged hikers.

Fending off a crisscrossing spider-web that extended from one side of the footpath to the other and the persistent questioning of a panting Japanese mother walking in the opposite direction eager for a time estimate to Yunoko, I eventually arrived at the top of Yutaki Falls.

Overlooking a dense canopy that ran into the horizon, the falling waters plunged furiously into the bottom with reckless abandon. Thankfully I would not have to retrace the steep downward descent =). A viewing balcony provided a spectacular view of the falls, and if you got down from the bridge it was possible to venture right under to the foot of the falls. Incidentally this was also my favorite falls for the proximity it allowed. The grandeur of the falling white waters, the deafening roar of defiance by the tortured rocks and the aura of mystique created by an enveloping spray of mist all added up to an intoxicating experience.

Moving on, I was treated to the peculiar sight of a ring of tall slender trees having seemingly sprouted from the same point on the ground. Was there a story behind it? There should be. Other noteworthy sightings along the way to Yugawa River include Pooh Bear's pantry (a tree with a navel-like hole in the trunk) and the studio set of Cluedo Version 3 (geddit?), where contestants have to investigate the murder of a fallen tree.

Yugawa River is nothing much to scream about; in fact it looks like a scene straight out from Jurassic Park 2 where the gone-for-a-pee guy is devoured by many little dinosaurs that spring out from nowhere once he goes to ground. Nonetheless I enjoyed this part of the hike as much as any for the quaint wooden planks lined along the river, the charming fart bubbles accumulated by the river bank and the quite incredible piece of metal pipe drilled into the river with water sprouting out from the neat columns of tiny holes bored around its circumference. And if you stopped in your tracks for a minute or two and kept really quiet, you could listen to the river water gurgling as it streamed over fallen branches and rocks, the song of birds chirping in the dense vegetation on the opposite side of the river, and even the buzzing of a stray dragonfly or two.

After passing by Izumiyado Pond, where I bumped into a ranger (?) with an armband who offered me my first "Konnichiwa!" for the day, and where butterflies and dragonflies thrived in abundance, I came to Senjogahara, literally translated as "Battlefield Marsh". After trekking through woods and trudging under dense tree canopies for the good part of an hour or so, the boundless open space of Senjogahara almost seemed like a liberation of sorts.

The vast plain of bright glorious tall grass basking in the uninhibited summer sunshine just seemed to stretch on and on forever in front of a row of paternal trees against a backdrop of undulating hills with their contours accentuated by a pure white sky. Observatory platforms along the way provided a brief respite for the hiker, with signs detailing blossomed flowers to be admired in summer proper. One could only imagine what the enhancement of sprinkling a myriad of sprightly colors across this lush green canvas would look like.

Walking on in good spirits along the long wooden planks akin to those found in Yugawa River, I heard a familiar voice in the distance, one that had been ingrained into my consciousness on a Nikko-bound train from Tokyo only a day before. True enough, it was Makoto-chyan, along with five or six of her friends. Chirpy konnichiwas and toothful grins were exchanged as we passed each other in the opposite direction. As I ran into more and more staggered groups of schoolchildren down the way, "konnichiwa-ing" my way through the rest of the Senjogahara leg, I felt much like a teacher on a school excursion.

After all that unanticipated chorus of greetings I made a 400m detour to Akanuma to replenish my water supply, which incidentally I discovered to be the drop-off point for the schoolchildren, with a main road dividing a souvenir shop and the hiking trail. I would take a bus back to the same area again, weary and hungry, in the latter part of the day after losing my way a little.

Returning to the trail, a monotonous trek through dense foliage and the occasional river, in addition to encounters with more students (and many more konnichiwas), brought me to the most dangerous part of the hike so far: crossing a four-lane road to get to Ryuzunotaki (Dragon Head Falls). After drinking in the sylvan charms of Yutaki, Ryuzunotaki was a damp disappointment to me. Personally a large chunk of the enjoyment derived from waterfall viewing lies in the hike to the falls. There is nothing quite like trekking through mud and grime to be teased by the distinctive sound of falling water rumbling in the distance before coming face-to-face with the actual spectacle. And since Ryuzunotaki was sandwiched between major roads in the midst of civilization, it lost some of its allure for me. Still, it did resemble a dragon head, complete with a perennial runny nose.