Ever heard of the Michinoku Coastal Trail (MCT)?

Stretching for more than 1,000 kilometers (600 miles) along the Pacific coast of the northeastern Tohoku region, the trail connects Hachinohe city, in Aomori prefecture, with Soma city, in Fukushima prefecture. I walked the trail, end to end, from September 7 to October 10, 2024.

I’ve hiked a lot of long-distance trails overseas, and the Michinoku Coastal Trail is every bit as appealing as those. The opportunity to deepen my understanding of the Tohoku region, the generosity and kindness of locals, the riches of my daily routines in an unfamiliar corner of my own country ー these are some of the things that I hope others will experience for themselves.

There’s uncertainty in traveling anywhere new. This MCT Hikers’ Handbook will highlight the trail’s attributes, offer practical tips ー and maybe even assuage jitters about hiking the trail. Think of it as a guidebook written by a hiker for his fellow hikers.

A long-distance trail stretching along the Pacific coast, from Kabushima in Hachinohe city (Aomori prefecture) to Matsukawaura in Soma city (Fukushima prefecture), connecting 29 municipalities across the four prefectures of Aomori, Iwate, Miyagi and Fukushima.

1,059 kilometers (658 miles)

Around 38,000 meters

740 meters above sea level (Hashikami-dake, Hashikami town, Aomori prefecture)

The creation of the Michinoku Coastal Trail was part of the reconstruction and recovery initiatives in the Tohoku region, following the devastating earthquake and tsunami that struck in March 2011. Under the Environment Ministry’s Green Reconstruction Project, the trail was built by local governments, private organizations and residents in four prefectures, Aomori, Iwate, Miyagi and Fukushima. The first sections of the trail opened in 2013, and the entire route was completed in 2019.

Tourism and recreation weren’t the only objectives. The trail was designed to be an opportunity: Hikers would visit local communities, experience a mix of nature and culture, and contribute in some way to the recovery efforts through their interactions with residents. The Michinoku Coastal Trail Charter outlines the vision and aspirations for the project.

How to define a long trail?

The short answer is that it’s a walking route spanning a great distance. It might connect hiking trails, forest roads and paved streets, and ultimately represents a journey.

Typically, when we talk about long trails, the iconic ones in the US spring to mind ー the Appalachian Trail (or AT, roughly 3,500 kilometers long), completed in the 1930s, or the Pacific Crest Trail (or PCT, some 4,200 kilometers long), to name a couple.

But it can also include sacred routes that originally served religious purposes and are now popular with hikers: Japan’s 1,200-kilometer Shikoku Henro (pilgrimage) connecting 88 official Buddhist temples, or the Camino de Santiago, which ends at the Cathedral of Santiago de Compostela in Galicia, northwest Spain, thought to be the resting place of St. James the Apostle.

What many people may not realize is that Japan’s long trails have been around for some time. The Tokai Nature Trail, from Takao, in western Tokyo, to Minoh, in Osaka, was created in 1970 and inspired by the Appalachian Trail. Today, 10 long trails spanning 27,000 kilometers (16,700 miles) crisscross the archipelago. These routes are a reflection of Japan’s environment, history and culture, and can be thought of as a distinct offshoot of the US-centered long-trail concept.

How long does a route need to be before it qualifies as a long trail? There is no strict definition or specific distance that determines whether a trail deserves the “long” designation. Nor should there be one.

Even so, to help explain what the Michinoku Coastal Trail is, I would make the following distinction. A long trail connects mountains and communities. It’s a journey that encompasses more than just the physical distance that it spans. Contrast that with a long-distance mountain trail, which is fundamentally a route to reach a peak.

One of the defining experiences of long-distance hiking is meeting people who live along the route. Because these journeys unfold over vast distances and weeks or months, resupplying and recharging in towns along the way is essential ー stopping at supermarkets, eating in restaurants and even spending the night at inns or guesthouses.

These towns are where travelers passing through and residents going about their daily lives bump up against each other. These moments ー serendipitous, funny, out-of-the-ordinary and memorable ー are what a long-distance hiker lives for.

What makes the Michinoku Coastal Trail so special? Four unique features set it apart.

For many hikers, scenery is a big part of the journey.

The Michinoku Coastal Trail traverses the Sanriku Geopark, encompassing roughly 220 kilometers (137 miles) from north to south and nearly 300 kilometers (186 miles) of coastline. (A geopark is a UNESCO designation aimed at attracting tourists who want to explore the links between geology, local communities, culture and nature of a place.)

The trail features dramatic coastal landscapes: sunrises, rocky shorelines and towering cliffs. It’s an ever-changing backdrop. North of Miyako city, Iwate prefecture, you find marine terraces carved by erosion. To the south, you see a labyrinth of inlets and peninsulas of the ria coastline.

Within the geopark, the northern region consists largely of seabed sediments formed around 180 million years ago, while the southern region originated as part of a continent that moved from near the equator some 500 million years ago. The two landmasses collided against the Asian continent approximately 140 million years ago, shaping the Sanriku region we see today.

Learning that history transformed the landscape before my eyes. With each step, I felt a profound sense of wonder about the forces of that unimaginably distant ages.

The coastline is hardly the trail’s only attraction.

The Michinoku Coastal Trail threads through villages and towns that are keepers of the history and culture of the region. Many of the paths trace the old mountain passes and vital highways that were once lifelines for these communities. The historic Sanriku Hama Kaido, which connected Hachinohe in Aomori with Kesennuma in Miyagi, was once an important trade corridor and is part of today’s trail.

Walking from one village to the next through the mountains is one of humankind’s most fundamental forms of travel. When you do this today, you’re retracing the steps of travelers from centuries past. You’re also reexamining the fragments of knowledge of a community’s history, culture, geography, geology, ecology and folk legends. I felt this deeply on the Michinoku Coastal Trail ー an experience that’s evaded me on long trails outside of Japan.

Something else dawned on me. As a child, I read stories of heroes leaving their villages on journeys across mountains toward distant lands. They said their goodbyes, carried their belongings along rugged paths, faced monsters along the way, hunted for food, gathered around campfires at night, and slept beneath the stars before arriving at their destination. I never imagined I would one day step into a world that felt so similar to those stories. It was thrilling.

Meeting people is one of the joys of long-distance hiking.

On the Pacific Crest Trail ー a 4,265-kilometer (2,650-mile) route, from the Mexican border in California, to the Canadian border in Washington ー I experienced a trail culture that’s more than a half century old. There are trail angels, local volunteers who help hikers in countless ways, maintaining paths, giving rides into town, placing water caches in dry areas, and offering food and drinks at trailheads. These unsolicited acts of generosity are known as trail magic. Besides these, a simple smile and “Happy Trails!” was enough encouragement to keep moving forward.

During my walk along the Michinoku Coastal Trail, I sensed the beginnings of a similar culture taking root. The entire trail has been open for only about six years, but I met many local residents who were familiar with the paths and eager to support hikers. Some shared information about trail conditions and campsites. Others offered food or water. A few even invited hikers into their homes. These gestures offer warmth to travelers during what can otherwise be a solitary journey.

Another pleasant surprise: the condition of the trail. Throughout my hike, I came upon remarkably few washouts, and almost never found sections overgrown with vegetation. It was consistently a joy to walk. Maintaining more than 1,000 kilometers (600 miles) of trail is no easy task. On long trails in the US, sections where the path had disappeared entirely were frequent enough. Without hikers and volunteers, nature trails go back to being nature. The Michinoku Coastal Trail’s accessibility is a credit to the nonprofit Michinoku Trail Club, Environment Ministry, local governments and numerous volunteer maintenance crews.

One day, after descending into a town along the route, someone unexpectedly called out to me: “You’re a hiker! That section up there was easy to walk, right? We just finished working on it last week!”

No single entity can realistically maintain such a vast trail network alone. Local volunteers play an indispensable role. The fact that, six years after the trail’s completion, so many people are already contributing time and energy to support hikers and maintain the route may be one of the clearest signs that a trail culture is taking shape along the Michinoku Coastal Trail.

Another important part of that support network is the Michinoku Coastal Trail Supporters program. Businesses ー shops, inns and campgrounds along the route ー that sign up offer an array of services, from water refills and charging facilities to toilets and camping space. Recognizing these contributions is essential to understanding that long-distance hiking is about more than reaching a destination.

Painful traces of the devastation caused by the earthquake and tsunami in 2011 haven’t disappeared. They’ve been preserved as memorial museums and heritage sites that tell the stories to and offer lessons for future generations.

Rikuzentakata. Ishinomaki. Kesennuma. Ofunato. Onagawa.

I’d heard the names of these places on TV news broadcasts back then. At the time, I was looking for a job, and they seemed a distant historical event with little connection to my life.

It’s different when you’re standing in front of these ruins and forced to confront the reality of what happened. I bowed my head in prayer and stood there in silence, unable to think of something appropriate to say.

“May the victims rest in peace.”

“May we never forget the disaster. May we pass on its lessons to future generations.”

This is what you’re supposed to say. But I couldn’t bring myself to utter the words.

The people whose lives were suddenly taken away by the force of nature surely had dreams and hopes of their own; a desire to find happiness in this world.

There was little I could do. Realizing that did nothing to ease my frustration at my own helplessness. Walking the trail afterward, I carried that feeling with me. More than a year has passed since I completed my journey, and yet I haven’t fully processed those feelings. What stuck with me is a lesson: how precious it is to be alive, to be present in the moment. There’s no guarantee that we’ll get to see the future we imagine for ourselves. As someone who had only had this brief glimpse of the disaster’s aftermath, I struggled with whether to even include these thoughts here. But my hope was that others would walk the Michinoku Coastal Trail to see for themselves what I saw.