Thousands of Gates, One Epic Hike: Fushimi Inari
When you're in Kyoto, Fushimi Inari is one of those must-see spots that everyone talks about—and for good reason. On my first full day in the city, I signed up for a small group tour to visit this iconic site tucked into the Higashiyama mountains. It was an early morning tour to beat the crowds, so we arrived around 7:00 a.m. The air was cool, the grounds were still, and we had the place mostly to ourselves.
We started our walk along the lower path, while our guide explained the origin story of these sacred shrines, which dates all the way back to the year 711. With only a few other early risers nearby, it was wonderfully peaceful. We wandered slowly for about an hour, taking in the atmosphere—calm, spiritual, and incredibly photogenic. Just as we were leaving, large bus groups started pouring in. The timing couldn’t have been better.
What Makes Fushimi Inari So Special
The Japanese call it “O-Inari-san,” referring to the Shinto deity Inari Ōkami, a figure associated with rice, foxes, prosperity, and good fortune. What sets Fushimi Inari apart is the sheer number of torii gates—over 32,000 bright vermilion gates lining the path up and around the mountain. Each gate has been donated by a person, family, or company, some for many generations.
To walk the entire loop is a 4-kilometer (2.5-mile) hiking up and down a series of stone steps. It winds through smaller shrines along the way, and it’s usually packed with tourists, locals, and pilgrims alike. The torii gates are well maintained and preserved, each etched with the donors name. Fushimi Inari receives 10 million visitors each year to climb these sacred stones.
A Night Hike to the Top
One of my goals while in Japan was to hike the entire loop, climbing to the top of Fushimi Inari. After reading up on the best time to go, I learned that doing it in the evening—after the sun sets—is a great way to avoid crowds and enjoy the trail in peace. It sounded perfect. On my last night in Kyoto, I set out around 8:30 p.m.
At first, I passed a few people taking photos and selfies under the lantern lights. But as I made my way higher, the crowds thinned. The air still held a bit of the earlier rain, with dewdrops falling gently from the trees above. It was quiet. Magical, even. The torii gates seemed to stretch endlessly before me, each one framing the next in syncopation up the mountain.
As I walked, I thought about all the people who had passed through these gates—locals honoring their gods, tourists from around the world, seekers like me. The gates are more than decoration—they represent prayers, wishes, and generations of reverence.
The climb itself wasn’t easy. Some stretches were steep, and parts of the path were almost entirely dark. The heat and humidity lingered in the air as it was 28°c (82°f), and I had to stop a few times to catch my breath. But I felt something pulling me upward, like the spirits of the shrine were encouraging me to continue my trek.
And when I finally reached the top, about 90 minutes later, I was greeted by a quiet little shrine glowing with lantern light. The night breeze, the distant sound of cicadas, and the ancient stone guardians standing watch—there was such a stillness to that moment. I just stood there and smiled, knowing the journey had been worth it.
A Sudden Rustle in the Dark
As any good hiker knows, walking down a mountain after a long climb is so much easier, as the hard work of climbing is complete. And there is a euphoria in knowing you reached the top. Not long into my descent, I noticed small signage along the trail warning about wild boars, particularly at night. I chuckled at first, thinking it was more of a rare precaution.
But then I heard something. A rustle. Then a quick, heavy movement just beyond the gates. I turned, expecting to see someone, but no one was there. The sound came again, louder this time, and I saw something moving fast in the shadows. It was big.
Now, I’ve watched enough horror movies and Harry Potter adventures to know that this could very well be the part where a wild boar appears, and honestly, I didn’t feel equipped to handle that encounter gracefully. I froze. Then, slowly, started backing up toward a nearby lantern for some light. I waited.
And just as I was deciding how to proceed, I heard the unmistakable sounds of teenagers—laughing, joking, being wonderfully loud. They were French, and they were my new favorite people. As they passed, I quietly followed at a close distance, figuring their noise would scare off anything wild in the woods. There’s wisdom in the old saying: safety in numbers.
Final Thoughts
By the time I made it back down, I was feeling a mix of emotions—pride, relief, calm, and just a touch of adrenaline. I’d climbed to the top of one of the most iconic places in Japan, walked through thousands of gates, and survived a possible boar encounter. Not a bad night.
What really stayed with me, though, was the quiet respect the Japanese people have for their traditions. The care, the reverence, the attention to detail—it’s all so deeply embedded in the culture. It’s not just about visiting a shrine. It’s about being there. Observing. Honoring. Learning.
And I feel grateful to have experienced even a small part of that.