Four Seasons at Yokoyama Observatory | Ago Bay’s Inlets and a Detour to Look Up at the Sky

In spring, I was drawn to the fresh leaves and a cool bite; in summer, I looked forward to the breeze beyond the shade. In autumn, the green forest beneath a high sky caught my eye; in winter, the crisp horizon drew me in. Which view should I seek out on my next detour?

At Yokoyama Observatory in May, a woman in a white shirt, pink top and white flared skirt holds pink-and-white soft serve near her lips. The inlets of Ago Bay stretch beyond the wooden deck and black vertical-slat railing.

SpringAn afternoon in May

I wanted another look at what lay beyond that channel

I parked and walked from the Yokoyama Visitor Center along the path to Tenku Cafe Terrace. It’s 0.6 km and takes about 15 minutes. In spring, Yokoyama’s evergreen trees shed their old leaves and put out new growth. When I looked up, young leaves at the tips of the tabunoki and yamamomo trees caught the light. Azaleas were blooming beside the path, and I could hear Japanese white-eyes singing and spring cicadas calling from the forest.

On a May afternoon, I stepped onto the deck at Yokoyama Observatory. Beyond the wooden deck, I could see Ago Bay’s water winding through one inlet after another. I’d always pictured the sea as one wide expanse, but here it seemed to wind between the forested hills. Where did the islands end and the mainland begin? I let my gaze travel from the inlet in front of me into the distance.

I rolled up my white shirt sleeves and brought the soft serve I was holding to my lips. Pink and white were layered together. The soft tip melted on my tongue, first cold, then clean and refreshing. I’d been so caught up in the view, but now I wanted to slow down and savor this, too.

My friend pointed at the water farther off and asked, “Do you think that connects, too?” I looked the same way and tried to find what was hidden beyond the nearby trees. I followed her gaze to another inlet, different from the one I’d just traced. There were still so many shapes waiting to be seen in that broad view.

I noticed a line of square patches on the water my friend had pointed out. Ago Bay has pearl-farming rafts, and you can see their rows from the observatory. I hadn’t realized pearls were being cultivated right there in the bay. Once I thought of it that way, each patch of water seemed a little more special. When I told my friend, she leaned over the rail. “Are those all rafts?”

I shifted my grip on the soft serve, holding it upright, then paused inside the railing. Shadows from the trees fell across the boards at my feet. I’d been looking out at the distant bay, but the shadows of spring leaves were swaying right below me. I watched them shift in the breeze, then took another bite. I let my eyes move between the view in the distance and the deck where I stood.

After I finished eating, I walked with my friend to Komorebi Terrace. It’s about a 1-minute walk from Tenku Cafe Terrace, in the shade of Japanese zelkova and chinquapin trees. From between the branches, Ago Bay looked different from the deck we’d just left; my friend and I started searching for the inlet we’d seen a moment ago.

Even after we finished eating, my friend and I lingered over the bay. It was surprising how different the same inlet looked after moving just a little. Even though you can drive to the observatory, it’s fun to walk around and see the view from a new angle, too. Before we left, I wanted to choose one more place to look out from, so I traced the shapes on the water once more, hoping to remember how they wound between the land.

At Yokoyama Observatory in summer, a woman in an aqua gingham halter top, white shorts and white sneakers looks out over Ago Bay, one hand at her hair and a water bottle in the other.

SummerJuly–August, around 14:00 on a sunny day

With a hand to my hair, I waited for the breeze

I came off the shaded woodland path and stepped onto the deck at Yokoyama Observatory. The cicadas I’d been hearing among the trees were still calling beneath the open sky. I had a water bottle in one hand when I spotted Ago Bay beyond the forest and stopped in my tracks. In the afternoon sun, I was hoping a breeze might reach me from the sea.

I heard that silk trees bloom near Tenku Cafe Terrace in summer. When I looked up to find them, their fluffy, threadlike flowers peeked out between the leaves. A large dragonfly darted past my feet, and I stopped to watch. Could it have been a Japanese giant dragonfly? There’s so much to spot in Yokoyama’s summer forest, from flowers to insects.

Just then, a breeze reached me and stirred my hair. I held my hair back by my ear with one hand and let the bottle hang from the other. I’d come in an aqua gingham top and white shorts, and after walking in the shade, that breeze felt wonderful. I’d meant to keep walking, but my feet stayed put.

Past the peninsula in front of me, I could see more water farther back. I’d been focused on the nearby inlet, but when I let my gaze travel farther, even the sky seemed so much wider. I was standing on a wooden floor, yet it felt as if I’d stepped out beside the sea. Even after the breeze had passed, I couldn’t take my eyes off the view beyond.

A little later, I adjusted my grip on the bottle and realized I’d completely forgotten I had a drink with me. I’d been so absorbed in the view. After a sip, I looked out over the forest and bay again. I thought I could take in the view more calmly this time, but then I found myself watching the trees sway beyond the railing.

There’s more to summer in Yokoyama than the distant sea; I can take in the sounds and the breeze, too. I’d just started to turn to leave when my hair lifted again. I put a hand to my hair and let myself linger a little longer. I wanted to stay here and feel the breeze for a while.

Before leaving the deck, I took a break on a bench at Komorebi Terrace. In the shade of Japanese zelkova and chinquapin trees, I set my water bottle on the counter and looked out at Ago Bay, where the breeze had just reached me. It looked softer from beneath the leaves than it had from the sunny deck.

I heard that the loop around Yokoyama takes about 1 hour and 20 minutes. Today I only went as far as the observatory, but next time I’d like to come while the morning is still cool and walk the whole loop. I want to take that shaded path again. Remembering the bay in the sunshine makes even the walk between the trees sound lovely. Before returning to the car, I’d like to stop for soft serve at Mirador Shima. I think that cold bite will bring the breeze back to mind.

At Yokoyama Observatory in November, a woman in a short cream jacket, lavender hoodie, denim shorts, opaque tights and black boots lowers her phone as she looks out over Ago Bay beneath a sky of fish-scale clouds.

AutumnEarly to mid-November, around 15:00

I’d finished taking photos, but couldn’t put my phone away

At Yokoyama Observatory one November afternoon, I noticed that much of the forest was still green. A few leaves had changed color, with Ago Bay stretching out beyond them. I’d thought of autumn scenery as something to look for in the leaves, but here I found myself looking up at the sky, too. Tiny fish-scale clouds stretched across the bay.

I picked up my phone to capture the sky and inlet together. Should I include the peninsula in front, or give more room to the clouds? I stopped and shifted my stance this way and that, peering at the screen. I can see the whole view at once, but trying to frame it in a photo makes me wonder which part I want to keep.

When I’d finished and lowered my phone below chest height, I loved seeing the view continue beyond the edges of the frame. I looked up, and the clouds went much farther than the piece I’d just framed. I could feel the hoodie collar beneath my cream jacket as I kept looking across the bay. I’d meant to check the photo, but right then I wanted to look at what was in front of me.

I heard that the warm Kuroshio Current keeps Yokoyama mild, so autumn arrives slowly here. That must be why the forest is still so green in November. The greenery in my phone photo wasn’t a sign that the photo had turned out badly; it was simply the color of autumn here. I was glad to realize that.

Then I went up to the second floor of the observatory rest area and looked out over the same bay from its partly open-air viewing area. A little extra height made the water seem to run all the way into the inlets. This time, I left my phone in my pocket and took in the bay from a different angle with my own eyes. The breeze had turned a little chilly, so I pulled my jacket closed.

When I looked down, my shadow stretched across the deck. It ran out from the toes of my black boots, and I realized how much of the afternoon had gone by. I’d been looking at the bay, but I wanted to remember the direction of the light, too. I thought about taking one more photo, but looked up at the sky first.

On the way back, I spotted acorns of all shapes scattered along the path: some long and narrow, others round. I heard that different kinds of acorns fall along the trail in autumn. I’d been looking up so much on the way in that I hadn’t noticed them, but on the way back, one after another caught my eye. Next time, I’d like to find out at the visitor center which tree each one came from.

By the time I put my phone away, I was thinking more about how long I’d spent looking than how many photos I’d taken. If I came a little earlier in the afternoon next time, I wonder what the deck’s shadows would look like. I’m also curious about the bagels at Mirador Shima. I’d like today’s photo to bring back the time I spent deciding what to capture, not just the view.

On a clear winter day at Yokoyama Observatory, a woman wearing a cream coat, lavender scarf, opaque tights and winter boots, with the hem of her knit top showing stands with both hands in her pockets, looking out over Ago Bay toward the distant horizon.

WinterJanuary–February, around 11:00 on a clear day

Hands in my pockets, looking out to the distant sea

I left my red car at the Sozo no Mori Yokoyama car park and walked to Yokoyama Observatory. I’d walked there with my scarf tucked close around my coat collar, but as soon as I reached the deck, the distant sea caught my eye. Beyond the forest and inlets, the horizon stood out clearly. I’d meant to take in the bay nearby first, but instead I was looking straight to the farthest point.

I stood with my feet together and put both hands in my coat pockets. I wasn’t holding anything; I was just looking at the view. Under the clear winter sky, the thought of the sea stretching beyond that line made something inside me feel wide open. I’d been walking just moments before, but here I wanted to stand still.

I heard that there’s very little frost or snow in Yokoyama in winter. The mountain behind the observatory apparently blocks the cold north wind, which may explain why the deck felt milder than I expected and my hands didn’t get too cold in my pockets. I hadn’t known there was such a lovely place to take in the winter sea. Before I realized it, the hand that had held my scarf was resting in my pocket, too.

When I looked back from the distant sea, I could see a channel nearby through the trees. From there, I followed one stretch of water after another into the distance, until the view seemed to reach the same horizon. The forest stays green even in winter, and layers of land and water overlap in every direction. There’s so much to take in, near and far, that I can’t get my fill of the view.

I thought about taking out my phone for a photo, but left my hand in my pocket. Right now, I wanted to take in all this space without carrying anything. The wooden floor was under my boots; beyond the railing were the forest and bay. I moved my eyes slowly, following the view from where I stood all the way to the distant sea.

After looking for a while, I finally took my hands out of my pockets and started walking again. On a winter detour, I found myself lingering in front of the view much longer than I expected. I’m looking forward to trying a jar cake at Mirador Shima when I stop for a break. Thinking again about the inlets I’d just seen made me want something sweet.

On my way back to the car, small birds were flitting noisily from branch to branch among the trees at Sozo no Mori. I heard that Japanese white-eyes, long-tailed tits and Japanese pygmy woodpeckers flock together in the winter forest. I stopped by the rest hut and watched them go by for a while. A Japanese camellia flower peeked out between the deep green leaves, too.

The distant horizon I’d noticed first stayed with me all the way back to the car. I like the nearby channels, too, but in winter I want to come back for that far-off view. The next time I stop by on a sunny day, I’ll give myself longer to linger at the terrace. I want to stand here again, hands in my pockets, and take in that quiet view.

The story sections are fiction inspired by this location. For accurate information, please consult official tourism and information websites.

Photos of this place4 images

Shima City, Mie Prefecture · Spring
Shima City, Mie Prefecture · Summer
Shima City, Mie Prefecture · Autumn
Shima City, Mie Prefecture · Winter

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A taste of the region

Soft Serve at Mirador Shima

Mirador Shima at Tenku Cafe Terrace in Yokoyama Observatory serves soft serve. After a cold bite, I found myself tracing the inlets across the bay again. I wanted to take my time over both the view and my treat.

What to see here

Ago Bay’s islands and peninsulas

From Yokoyama Observatory, you can see the small islands and peninsulas scattered across Ago Bay. I find myself tracing the channels through the water, from nearby to far away.

A walk to Komorebi Terrace

Komorebi Terrace is about a 1-minute walk from Tenku Cafe Terrace, surrounded by Japanese zelkova and chinquapin trees. I looked through the branches at the bay, and my friend and I tried to find the inlets we’d seen from the other deck.

Road and location details

Yokoyama Observatory Trail (starting at the Visitor Center)

Walking loop distance: 3km
Yokoyama’s elevation: 203m

A walking loop described by the Ministry of the Environment that passes Tenku Cafe Terrace, viewpoints along the ridge and a grassy open space. I’d love to add a walk like this to a break from the drive.

The distance is an estimate for the walking loop from the Visitor Center; the elevation is for Yokoyama itself. This distance and elevation are separate from the one-way walk to the terrace and the terrace’s height.

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