Exploring Shōmyō Falls Hear two waterfalls fed by melting snow, and feel their spray

At midday in late May, I left my red car in the Shōmyō-daira car park and set off along the trail to the falls. The path climbs beside the river, and the walk takes about 30 minutes. As I walked, the sound of the water grew louder until I knew the falls were close, even before I could see them.

From the viewing platform, white water streamed down the rock face straight ahead. Shōmyō Falls was on the left; the tall, narrow fall on the right was Hannoki Falls. I followed the two streams with my eyes as they joined below, and my mouth fell open. I’d seen this view in photos, but there it was in front of me, with a roar that filled the air.

I’d heard that Shōmyō Falls drops 350m, tumbling down four tiers of rock. Hannoki Falls to the right appears in spring, when the snowmelt is at its heaviest. Looking at the snow still clinging to the gorge in May, I could picture the mountain snowmelt feeding these two falls.

The spray reached my cheeks, and the air felt cooler than it had on the walk up. I held the front of my coat with both hands and looked up from behind the wooden railing. New leaves framed the cliff, and white spray spread out before me. The force of the water at such close range stopped me in my tracks.

I’d heard that the name Shōmyō comes from the sound of the water, said to resemble the chanting of sutras. I’d been so caught up in the size of the falls that I hadn’t really listened until then. Standing still behind the wooden railing, I listened as the sound seemed to fill the whole gorge.

The walk back felt easier, and every time a breeze came from the river, it brought the spray back to mind. Once I get back to the car, I’d like to look for Tateyama croquettes down in the foothills. I’d heard they’re a local speciality made with taro, and thinking about a stop after the walk gave me something else to look forward to.