Caribou

This morning I read that public health advice in Canada's Yukon asks residents to keep one caribou's length apart. For those not familiar with the beast, that is about two husky dogs or eight loaves of sourdough bread. People waiting to get into Sainsbury's today seemed to be complying with the advice.

Before my intrepid expedition, I listed for the first time to the 2016 album by Graham Nash This Path Tonight on which my favourite track was Myself At Last.

I also read about an 1833 Japanese woodcut print by Ando Hiroshige: Morning Mist by Mishima. This delightfully simple work shows two people  taking part in the Tokaido - a 500km journey from Eno (present-day Tokyo) to the old imperial capital Kyoto.  

Their means of travel was to be carried on a litter - a wooden frame from which was suspended a woven basket.  This sounds highly unpleasant both for the litter bearers and the passengers. Those struggling to carry the  weight were local peasants, each team of which would only labour for about eight kilometres before handing-on to another team.  In this image, the journey from Mishima climbed up some 1200 metres to the dangerous Hakone pass.

The passengers may have seemed to be travelling in luxury but the woven basket was prone to swinging about, as they crossed rough ground, often causing motion sickness. Nevertheless, in a novel of the time, describing the journey, Ikku Jippensha described the joys of travel: "With your straw sandals and your leggings you can wander wherever you like and enjoy the indescribable pleasures of sea and sky."

The misty scene in the print was not an artistic affectation.  Between 1830 and 1840, Japan was repeatedly struck by catastrophic rainstorms.  Failed harvests led to famines. Civil uprisings ensued which contributed to the end of shogun rule and the restoration of the emperor in 1868.