The year was, I believe, the second of the Genroku era [1689]. I had taken a sudden fancy to make the long pilgrimage on foot to Mutsu and Dewa - to view places I had heard about but never seen, even at the cost of hardships severe enough to "whiten a man's hair under the skies of Wu."* The outlook was not reassuring, but I resolved to hope for the best and to be content merely to return alive.

We barely managed to reach Soka Post Station that night. My greatest trial was the pack I bore on my thin, bony shoulders. I had planned to set out with no baggage at all, but had ended up taking along a paper coat for cold nights, a cotton bath garment, rain gear, and ink and brushes, as well as certain farewell presents, impossible to discard, which simply had to be accepted as burdens on the way.