Mt. Atago, Kyoto
The Sacred Fire Mountain
Home of the Storm Winds
The high-pitched morning song of the brown-eared bulbul was the first sound of the day, carrying through the still, cool air. We were staying high on the slopes of Mt. Heie, one of Kyoto’s twin guardian mountains. Outside, the garden was touched with autumn magic—dew clung to delicate cobwebs stretched between azaleas and maples, each droplet catching the early golden light like a tiny jewel. Behind them, the fiery oranges and reds of the leaves blazed against the soft morning sun.
Our destination today was Mt. Atago, known as The Fire Mountain. Sacred for centuries, it rises 924 metres above Kyoto—the city’s highest peak.
The drive took about an hour, winding through landscapes utterly unlike our home in Northern Europe. Ancient oak forests and familiar woodlands were replaced by swaying bamboo groves and brilliant maples, with flashes of sakura still holding onto their leaves. Heading northwest, near the famous Arashiyama district, we reached the entrance to a single-lane tunnel just wide enough for our car—a gateway of sorts.
Emerging from the other side felt like stepping into Spirited Away. A further short drive brought us to the sleepy village of Kiyotaki, where we began walking under the feet of the Storm Mountains themselves, leaving the edges of suburbia behind for the wilder heart of Japan.
Crossing the river, the ornamental stone guard rail to our left, the valley opened in sweeping views. A row of vermillion torii gates marked the start of the climb from Kiyotaki, signalling that the entire mountain was sacred. This was not just a hike—it was a pilgrimage, a place to pray, reflect, and walk with respect.
We followed a steep path into lush green forest, the air scented with earth and leaves. The trail was lined with shrines, stone lanterns, and weathered ruins. Here and there, we caught glimpses of forgotten places—an old schoolhouse, abandoned tea rooms—slowly being reclaimed by moss and vines.
Eventually, the path led us to the summit. Here stood Atago Shrine—and, in true Japan fashion, a vending machine. The shrine offers protection against fire-related disasters and is dedicated to Atago Tarōbō, the King of the Tengu. In Japanese folklore, tengu are mischievous, supernatural beings—part human, part bird—known as both tricksters and protectors.
