Today’s destination is Fushimi Inari Taisha, a temple that has over 3 miles of trail up Mount Inari. The mountain temple path is lined with over 10,000 Tori Gates. My son has picked the location because of internet reviews and photos of the Tori gates. It does look impressive and a little intimidating. However, if I can hike a mountain with my son, I am all for it. After a 2.5 hour train ride from Tokyo and a transfer onto a regional train, we arrive.

It is already crowded by 10:00 am. People are jostling around large temple buildings directly across from the train station. Founded in 700 by the Hata clan, the temple is dedicated to Inari, the sacred spirit (Kami) of rice. Inari has evolved into a patron of business, thus each of the thousands of Tori gates snaking up the mountain has been provided by a Japanese business. They make a colorful and memory sight.

We wander the lower courtyard and take in the sights. There are monks making music, stalls selling prayer cards, fortune telling sticks, and lots of burning incense. People queue to pray. But mostly there are endless crowds.

Unlike other temples we have visited, the bulk of the people appear to be tourists. Perhaps the tennis shoes and fanny packs give it away, but something is different. There is a literal stampede of people trying to get to the Senbon Tori, a tunnel made of 800 Tori Gates. I feel like I am in a cattle stampede. It gets worse once we are inside the tunnels. I think I know how livestock feel when they are forced through loading chutes.

This may be worse. While it is picturesque on the internet, once inside it is hard to see anything. There are elbows and selfie sticks to dodge. Every three feet there is a person making duck lips and trying to pose balanced with one foot pointed sideways and a hand shooting awkwardly forward. It seems YouTube and instagram have turned this temple into an “it” destination. Sigh…

Unlike 90% of the “influencers” and internet travel warriors, we do not turn around at Senbon Tori. I want to. The crush of tourists has cooled my enthusiasm. I can’t do this all day. It is too people-y. But the crowds all seem to be going back downhill. We came to walk the mountain. We decide to walk the mountain. Instead of following the herd, we turn onto a different path less used trail and we climb. The mountain unfolds slowly. Now we cross paths with pilgrims and random travelers seeking something more from the Fushimi Inari experience. The forest opens up. There is bamboo and maple. I hear bird song.

Every so often we encounter ancient shrines and offerings. Always, the Tori gates lead the way. On and on they go, through the forest and up the mountain. The old path. It feels sacred in ways that the circus happening below can never be part of.

There are rest houses along the path and we stop for tea. No English signage. No souvenir shops. Just stone dragons with agate eyes staring as we pass. Jade circles and lantern boxes marking the path near trail side shelters.

Here old men kneel to pray to the ancestors. A line forms up a steep escarpment, apparently a celebration culminating with the blessing of a priest. I can hear the shouts of joy as we walk on. It is different here on the mountain. I can feel the peaceful relaxation in my body.

About two miles in, the path becomes steep. The trail is now just endless steps taking us higher and higher. The Tori gates lead on. My son moves like a mountain animal born to the climb. He is steady and onward. I am older and despite my love of hiking, the climb is starting to take its toll. I find I must rest between stairways. My heart is pounding. I look up and my boy is patiently waiting ahead. I wouldn’t trade this moment for anything. While I will always feel the need to take care of him, today he is looking out for me.

High on the mountain, there are no people visible in the temples. The incense burns. The prayer chains sway in the breeze and someone the isolation makes it seem holy. Set apart. We linger.

Too soon, we realize it is time to return. We have been on the mountain for hours. We have a train to catch. But as we backtrack on legs that feel like jelly, I am amazed at all the things I didn’t notice on the way up the mountain. As I pray my knees will keep holding me up as I descend thousands of stairs, I reflect on the power of perspective. The view is absolutely breathtaking, but I didn’t see it when I was focused on climbing. What else have I missed in my life because of tunnel vision while surrounded by a sea of humans? What surprises have I missed because I failed to pause and turn around? It is said that people come to the mountain for wisdom. This mountain may be teaching me something after all.

Okay…it is time to put my elbows back out. We made it back to the base of the mountain, but there are thousands of people between here and the train. Somehow the crowd grew while we conquered Mt. Inari. How is that even possible?

I want to tell the hordes that the joy of Fushimi l Inari Taisha is not taking a selfie in front of a Tori gate. I want to tell them the star attraction is the pilgrimage itself. I want to shout that the beauty of this place is its ancient sacred path. I want to emphatically share that it is about the journey with those you love and not about how many buttons or stamps you can collect. But I don’t. Mount Inari is too special to be an “it” destination. Let’s just keep the secret between you, me, and the others that have walked to the top the sacred mountain.