Japanese cedar looks just as expected -- ominously tall with a booming girth. These ancient trees, known as Yaku-sugi, embody a presence, however, that is deeply spiritual, even holy. They are found only on Southern Japan's Yakushima island, in Yakusugi Land, where they loom and boom around every other corner, like skyscrapers in downtown Tokyo.Shaped roots arch upward nearly two metres, beckoning hikers to walk underneath, and to peer upwards in awe. Three thousand-year-old stumps, larger than most Japanese apartments, sit alone, carpeted by the thick green moss of time.

As I mingled in their midst, the meditative hum of a polite stream relaxed my mind, and washed away the stress of deadlines. Four days in this unique World Heritage forest reserve was all it took to alleviate my stress and to rejuvenate a vitality that had me skipping down the hiking trail.

The ocean wraps the island of Yakushima with fantastic beaches and seductive shorelines. In the interior, Yakusugi Land is a lush, primeval forest with walking courses and hiking trails, snaking through Yakushima's mountains. The oldest of its famed, ancient cedars is estimated to be more than 5,000 years old and is located on the north face of Miyanoura-dake, the highest of Yakushima's seven peaks and the highest peak in Southern Japan. Reaching this was the highlight of our journey.

Midway on our hike, there was one triumphant afternoon when the sun burst through the clouds, just as delight burst through my exhaustion. Red cheeks tracked with drips of sweat and tears, I had only adrenaline pumping my hiking-boots onward. Alone on the trail, I took the time to hear the buzz of dragonflies in the bamboo grass, to slide my hands along the massive granite boulders, and to gaze at the late moon drifting across the blue sky.

Two days prior, with my brand-new pack filled to the brim with instant suppers and emergency chocolate treats, my brother, his girlfriend and I began our journey at the port of Miyanoura, the main town on the north side of the island. Our checklists were complete and we were prepared. We had set up our tents once, spent $100 on a taxi ride to find camping fuel (for sale at the port for $5), and broke in our boots by wearing them out of the store.

Oh, and we had a guidebook too. Our hiking plans encompassed a four-day, 39-kilometre trek up and down mountains, carrying 16-kilogram packs. So what if it was typhoon season? How hard could it be for the inexperienced and naive?

Catching up to my companions, I followed their lead and removed my pack to rest my weary legs. Perched on the 1,935-metre peak of Mt. Miyanoura, the thrill of achievement diluted the pain of blisters and quelled our anxiety about impending rain. We ate lunch, took and posed for pictures, and greeted fellow hikers in Japanese: "Otsukare sama desu! Good job!"

We could see the ocean, glittering in the distance between panoramas of forested mountains. Sliding through valleys and combing through trees, we felt angelic clouds creep past us, and then vanish into the warm, midday air. Fantastic high-altitude flora was at our fingertips, and luck was on our side. With annual rainfalls in the interior approaching 10 metres, Mt. Miyanoura is the rainiest location in all of Japan.