Something has changed, for the better, forever

The sea, it's such a sea. Seagulls, fishing boats, the sound of waves and the smell of breeze. Crooked coastal houses in any country in the world. They fish here to make sure they catch something. Each fisherman brings five or six rods, sticks them in the sand in a neat row and waits in the shade under an umbrella. And so... Sea, sand, silvery waves and the smell of shells. I stopped by to say hello and drove on. In the mountains, four hundred meters above the seagull walking along the shore, lies Lake Kuttara.

A narrow forest road leads to it. On the steep climb between the trees, fog got tangled and the higher you go, the thicker it gets. Like an endless spider web thread, it bound every bush, every trunk into one wall. There's a sign on the way - 7 degree incline. I'm no longer riding the bike, but pushing it in front of me. The fog hides from me how much is left. That's the hardest thing about all climbs. I have no idea how much is left and how much my quickened pace will bring me closer to the goal.

But then a car passing by sinks into the asphalt and I realize I've arrived. A mountain lake is not like others. It's like a treasure of this place, protected by nature itself around it. It's smooth, as if it fell asleep among the mountains and doesn't know I've come.

Because of the fog, the opposite shore isn't visible, and neither is the boundary between sky and water. The impression is that if I set off swimming across it, I'd hit a wall like in The Truman Show. Only later did the lake notice me, giving a sign with a fish's splash. Today I'm sleeping alone in nature again next to a hunting lodge. I don't like being alone. I realize this most when the sun sets, and I understand it now, by the silent lake. At night I slept restlessly. I'm no longer afraid of bears, but I put a knife next to me again. First the wind rose and woke up the lake. The tent resisted its assault. The wind brought with it the smell of rotten eggs, like you get at hot springs. Then people came and started doing something in the hunting lodge. I dreamed that someone walking along the shore stumbles upon the tent, he smirks and, after standing in thought, starts opening the entrance. I lie on my stomach, gripping the knife in my hand, staying quiet and waiting for him to get closer. But now he's inside, and I can't move, my body won't budge. That's how I woke up.

But morning prepared a completely different lake for me. Small and cozy, with gentle ripples. I went in for a swim, small fish curiously swam up to my feet. The sun was climbing across the cloudless sky. A new climb from the lake led me to hot springs. I left my bicycle by the roadside, climbed over the barrier myself and started scrambling up, to where steam was rising from the peak. I climbed through low bamboo under the bright sun. This reminded me of my childhood on Sakhalin. That's exactly the picture that stayed in my memory. Blue sky, hills and blindingly bright reflections on bamboo leaves. From the peak you can see the hot lake and small people. I waved at them. The last two days changed something inside me. For the better. Forever.

The "Gate to Success" that I climbed yesterday is called that not for its difficulty, but because it's close to Sapporo. The real Monster Gate is the pass to Lake Toya, where I'm dragging my bicycle to a height of 1000 meters. This is the highest peak I'll have to climb on Hokkaido.