I hiked Japan’s epic samurai trail with a child in tow. It surprised me

The small bear bell tied to my backpack jingles as my eight-year-old son and I walk hand in hand through a bamboo grove up the slope to the site where Tsumago Castle once stood. Suddenly, Oliver stops and bends down to pick up a pine cone he spots in the leaf litter before we continue the climb.

At the summit, we settle onto a crumbling wooden bench, the morning sun warming our backs as we gaze across layers of mountains unfurling into the distance. We wonder aloud what it might have been like to be among the 300 soldiers who defended the now-demolished castle against an army of 7000 in the 1500s.

We had learned about the battle in an impromptu history lesson that morning after coming across the Nagiso Town Museum in Tsumago – a cluster of three buildings that includes a historical museum housed in a former honjin, or high-class inn. Built during the Edo period, honjin were official rest houses for the powerful feudal lords who governed much of Japan between the 15th and 19th centuries and travelled along trails such as the one between Tokyo and Kyoto that we are tracing. Known as the Nakasendo Way, meaning “central mountain road”, the path was also used by samurai, merchants and even princesses bound to arranged marriages as it was considered safer than the coastal route.

Before becoming a mum, hiking holidays were among my favourite ways to travel and, like a growing number of Australians, I was drawn to the idea of doing one in Japan. But can you tackle a hiking trip with a child in tow? That’s what I set out to discover. I opted for a self-guided tour with World Expeditions, which meant we could move at our own pace, with our bags transported ahead to our accommodation each day. And, if things became too much, we could skip sections and hop on a bus.

Our journey begins in the town of Magome, where we wander past a rustic water wheel and up a cobblestone path between rows of restored timber machiya (townhouses). With our bellies rumbling after a shinkansen and bus ride from Tokyo, we stop at a restaurant we happen upon for lunch. “Taste this, Mummy – but don’t have too much,” Oliver says, cheekily pouring the ingredients of an unlabelled shaker into my hand. He giggles as the heat of chilli catches on my tongue.

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Sated by a bowl of thick udon noodles, we set off on our way. Its early spring, and snow still clings to the surrounding peaks while plum blossoms are beginning to bloom. We are partway up the first hill when Oliver declares he is exhausted, and I start to wonder if I’ve been overly ambitious.

But while my thighs burn, he is soon skipping up the stone steps, butterflies flitting around him. “Mummy, look how pretty these flowers are,” he exclaims, and part of me wishes he could stay this small and innocent forever. “This is actually really good; I like it a lot,” he adds, and my anxiety begins to ease.

Then we come across the first bear warning sign. It had been one of my few hesitations about embarking on a self-guided tour, though my research suggested sightings were rare and that bells along the trail offered a reassuring – and fun – precaution.