Enoshima Shrine — Okutsunomiya

Descending quietly from Hetsunomiya, I followed the stone steps downward until a red bridge appeared above the mountain path on my left—the bridge leading toward Zuishinmon. This time, I chose to follow the mountain route, a path said to lead to the three goddesses of Enoshima.

Walking beneath Zuishinmon in the clear, early-morning air felt wonderfully refreshing. I wondered what might be waiting at the top, and with each step, my thoughts drifted upward along the path.

I'm not sure how long I walked. Eventually, the view on my right opened up, and there—floating gently above Katase Enoshima Beach—stood Mt. Fuji. Different from the view I had seen from Benten Bridge, this glimpse of Fuji from the mountain trail eased the quiet fatigue in my legs.

I continued climbing. At one point, a small flicker of uncertainty crossed my mind—Is this really the right way? Still, I kept walking.

Then, turning a bend in the path, I suddenly came face-to-face with a crow. Up close, it was surprisingly large, and I stopped in my tracks. But the crow simply stood there, unmoving, watching me. It showed no sign of harm. Somehow, I felt that if I walked in the direction of its beak, I would be fine. Silently thanking the crow, I continued on.

Before long, a stone marker appeared ahead—engraved with “Okutsunomiya” and a blue arrow. On the black stone plate at the top of the marker, the words “O-iwaya Road” were carved. It was the path leading toward the cave beyond Okutsunomiya. Seeing it filled me with a quiet sense of relief—so this really was the right way.

Being winter and still early in the morning, there were almost no people around. The quiet air felt pure, and I found myself quietly happy to have come this far.

As I walked on, stone lanterns appeared on both sides, and white lanterns came into view straight ahead. At last—I had arrived at Okutsunomiya.

Entering the grounds, a gray stone torii stood quietly before me. Though it was winter, a few red-tinged leaves remained on the trees behind it, and in the stillness of the cold season, a faint, unexpected beauty revealed itself.

To the right, in a corner of the offering area, a statue of the “Eight-Directional Gaze Turtle” sat in silence. The image of the turtle that once guided a traveler to Ryūgū‑jō briefly crossed my mind.

Along the way stood a monument to Yamada Kengyō—an Edo-period musician who is said to have composed a piece called “Enoshima” in his youth, inspired by the scenery of this island.

And then, finally, I reached Okutsunomiya—a wooden shrine with a dignified yet gently charming presence. Here, I offered a quiet prayer. It is said to enshrine Tagirihime-no-Mikoto, the eldest of the three sister goddesses. Hetsunomiya, which I visited earlier, is dedicated to the youngest sister, Tatsutsuhime-no-Mikoto. This means that next time, I will be visiting Nakatsunomiya—the shrine of Ichikishimahime-no-Mikoto. Their names are long and difficult to read, but knowing a little about them might make shrine visits a bit more enjoyable.

I'm not sure whether the path to Okutsunomiya felt long or short. But the fresh morning air, the sight of Mt. Fuji, the unexpected meeting with a crow, and the small stone markers along the way—so many tiny discoveries were scattered across this short distance, and realizing that made me smile without thinking.