I read “How to Walk on Beast Trails” (Written by Shinya Senmatsu, Little More, 2015), which I bought at the new “Bookstore YamaYama” located in a repurposed, former library in Tatsuno Town.

This is a collection of essays by an author who practices trap hunting in Kyoto, discussing Japanese nature from a hunter’s perspective. For each familiar animal like deer or wild boar, he shares insights into their ecology and hunting based on his own experiences. Living in Nagano, I have people nearby who hunt, yet this book allowed me to peer into a world I knew nothing about.

There is a wonderful part where he feels that he, as a hunter, is just another animal like his prey. He notes that once the hunting season has progressed and he’s acclimated, he can sense whether a catch has been made just by the atmosphere of the forest:

“It might sound extreme, but even a single displaced twig or one overturned leaf can convey the movement of the prey.” (Quoted from page 60 of the same book)

In a book I read previously, “The Wimp Anthropologist Goes to the Desert” (Written by Kodai Konishi, Yamato Shobo), there was a scene describing desert dwellers in India hunting by moonlight, while the author from Japan was bewildered, unable to see anything. It makes me realize that while technology brings many benefits, there must be various innate human abilities that we are losing in exchange.

I also loved the inclusion of hunting experiences and the history of animals living in satoyama (borderland forests) beyond just deer and boar—badgers, raccoons (they live in Japan too!), and various birds. I had no idea that the feral pigeon (dobato) came to Japan from around Europe during the Asuka period. The fact that these historical and ecological details are listed with precise citations makes the book even more captivating. The list of books I want to read just keeps growing!

Above all, I find it deeply moving how the author, Senmatsu-san, continuously grapples with the weight of taking an animal’s life, and how those swirling, unresolved thoughts are laid bare on the page. Furthermore, the chapter regarding the impact of radiation on wildlife following the Fukushima nuclear accident is profoundly compelling.

I remember feeling a strange joy when I spotted badgers and masked palm civets in Nakameguro during the COVID-19 pandemic when humans had disappeared from the streets. Flocks of feral parakeets, and abandoned turtles sunbathing along the Meguro River… even in the megalopolis, there is an ecosystem, and I used to watch it for hours.

Now, I take a walk every day in Nagano (for my diet!). I don’t necessarily go deep into the mountains, but I’ve seen a serow (it was so motionless I thought it was a piece of contemporary art left in the woods), and I occasionally spot deer, foxes, and badgers—mostly at night. There are troops of monkeys with their young, woodpeckers, and wagtails that fly as if guiding my way—yesterday, I even saw a grey wagtail. Its vivid yellow stood out beautifully against the forest. I’m not well-versed in plants yet, but I’m so happy that there are things I want to know right here in my daily life, and that this curiosity continues to grow.

I finished reading “The Wimp Anthropologist Goes to the Desert: I Wavered, and Became a Little More Free“ by anthropologist Kodai Konishi.

This book is packed with phrases I absolutely love. The opening is incredible: “Hey, Kodai. Don’t you think the whole world is made of wind?” I didn’t quite get it at first, but it felt powerful! (And as I read on, I started to understand.)

It completely flips the image of a “smart anthropologist” who elegantly unravels the secrets of hidden cultures. Instead, it’s a lighthearted “story” that doesn’t hide his failures or his “wimpiness” during fieldwork. The story begins when he leaves for India, prompted by his university mentor’s lecture: “Go savor the foreignness of the world to your heart’s content—let it toss you around and break who you are.” I love that it’s a journey not of “self-discovery,” but of “self-destruction.”

I couldn’t help but laugh at how he ended up holed up in his hotel room in 90s India because he was so terrified, and I appreciate that he wrote it all down. Through various encounters, he eventually reaches a village in the desert. At first, he’s welcomed, but after a week, everyone gets used to him and starts scolding him mercilessly. His belongings become like communal property, and no one ever says “thank you.” From rituals for slaughtering sheep to a witch doctor who treats cobra venom and midnight hunting (where only the author can’t see a thing because it’s so dark)—episode after episode of an unimaginable world kept me turning the pages. It’s also great as an anthropology book because he provides interpretations based on previous research for these events.

A key word in this book is “Anger.” I was deeply moved by how he derives a perspective for overcoming individual differences through the way anger is expressed in Indian society—both in being scolded and in getting angry.

I was reading a book I wanted to read, but before I knew it, my interest shifted and I was reading something else. This is how my unread books pile up. Last night, I read “The World Seen from the Natives’ Perspective” and “A Struggling Anthropologist in the Desert,” short stories from Spanish horror, one chapter at a time, before falling asleep. I had a strange dream where they all blended together.