Into the Headwaters

Wednesday was a big day. Settled in at Hatcho-no-Yu, we were all eager to head up into the headwaters and spend the day chasing native char, the iwana.

All six of us were fishing today: Anthony, Matt, and me, along with Hiro, Takashi, and Aki. Takashi took the role of lead guide and made sure we were all properly outfitted before heading out. Not entirely sure what we were getting into, we gathered around one of the outdoor picnic tables to gear up. He had pre-rigged rods waiting for us, Shimotsuke Tenkara Gen 240s, each with a line roughly the same length, some tippet, and a very basic but clean fly already tied on. Off we went.

Moco, the lodge’s resident dog, watched us from the tall grass with what I can only describe as mild suspicion as we started down the trail and into the valley.

The path was well-worn and in a few spots washed away from erosion. The headwaters of the Kinugawa ran off to our right, dropping in and out of view as we descended. Eventually we reached a clearing where we could have turned right to fish the Kinugawa, but instead turned left toward a steep, muddy berm that required a rope to get up and over. As we backed slowly down the other side, the feeder stream we were after came into view.

This was an angler’s playground. Shallow riffles, deep pools, plunge pools, boulders, timber, you name it. If small stream features are your thing, this water had all of them. It was admittedly a little tight in spots, so we spread out and hopscotched each other as we made our way upstream, Takashi leading the way.

The Fishing

I’ll be honest, I found it difficult. Not because the surroundings were unfamiliar. In a lot of ways it felt like home. But I was uncomfortable with the shorter rod and line setup, as I am used to fishing 320 to 360cm rods, and my reach felt limited on every cast. More than anything, though, I was just so damn nervous. I was finally in Japan, standing in the headwaters I’d thought about for years, and I wanted badly to be successful. I was more in my own head than anything else, and that only got worse as the day went on.

Takashi caught the first fish, a beautifully freckled iwana, about ten yards from me. I walked over to get a good look before he released it. If I had been in North Carolina, I could have easily mistaken it for a pale-spotted brook trout. A stunning fish, and one you can tell immediately is special to everyone who encounters it.

Matt was the first of the American contingent to get one. I was scrambling over some rocks when I spotted him upstream handlining a fish to his feet. I hustled up and he was genuinely elated. With a huge smile he said something along the lines of “an iwana in Japan on a kebari, my work is done here.” It wasn’t exactly those words, but you could tell he was happy, satisfied, and filled with accomplishment.

Anthony was next. No photos of the fish in question, just him claiming he caught one on a dry fly. But all jokes aside, I was genuinely thrilled he could check that box. By then it was nearly lunch and we’d been at it for a while, with modest results across the group. Hiro had a fish, Takashi had several more, but it was slow going overall.

Lunch on the Stream

We found a good spot to sit and opened up bento boxes of onigiri and assorted other delicacies. And somewhere in the middle of all that, I started to have a bit of a moment. A kind of surreal stillness where you look around and can’t quite believe you’re actually where you are. This one was more intense than the one I’d felt on the Ojika two days earlier. I was sitting on a remote mountain stream in Japan, with my friends from home and my friends from halfway around the world, enjoying our surroundings. When I’d close my eyes at night and imagine fishing in Japan, this was exactly what my mind would picture. And there I was, right in the middle of it.

The Afternoon

After lunch, we all lost a little steam. The continued ascent was long and steep, occasionally a bit sketchy underfoot, and the fishing didn’t deliver enough adrenaline to keep the energy up. A few more fish were caught collectively, mostly by Takashi, but I ended up with nothing. The group was even generous enough to let me fish out in front for the last half hour, giving me first shot at the best water. Still nothing. The iwana had no interest in cooperating. Oh well.

Being the “bozu” of the group, the Japanese term for getting skunked, was mildly deflating and temporarily embarrassing. But honestly, it was a tough day for everyone. I don’t think Anthony or Matt caught another after their first, and if our group of six managed eight or nine fish total over five or six hours, that might be generous. Either way, it was truly a remarkable day, and one I will remember fondly for a very long time.

The Hike Out and the Evening

From there, we suddenly came to the realization that we had to backtrack, or hike all the way down the way we came to exit over that same roped berm. While the hike along the the stream back to the main trail was not super treacherous, general fatigue and multiple stream crossings certainly made it interesting at times. But eventually, we made it back to the trail and then the lodge.

And let me tell you, the dip in the onsen bath after cleaning up was a real treat for my now achy muscles and joints.

We closed the evening relatively quietly. Aki had to head out after fishing, so we said our goodbyes. Takashi needed to get back to Nikko City to tie up some loose ends before returning in the morning. That left Matt, Anthony, and me with Hiro for a wonderful dinner of vegetables, sake, meats, locally sourced venison, and skewered grilled fish.

Tomorrow was another day of fishing. Would I finally get my iwana? We’d find out, weather permitting.

---

Just catching up on this adventure now? See all Japan 2026 posts here.

---

Do you have a story to tell? A photo to share? A fly recipe that’s too good to keep secret? If you would like to contribute content to Tenkara Angler, click HERE for more details.