The park stretches 55 kilometers along the borders of three prefectures: Shizuoka, Yamanashi, and Nagano. Within its 358 square kilometers, seven peaks exceed 3,000 meters. Kita-dake stands tallest, but the procession of summits reads like a roll call of Japanese mountaineering: Aino-dake, Senjo-ga-take, Shiomi-dake, Arakawa-take, Akaishi-dake, and Hijiri-dake. The name Akaishi translates to "red stone," a reference to the reddish chert formations visible along exposed ridgelines. Together with the Northern Alps and Central Alps, the Akaishi Mountains form the Japanese Alps, a term coined by the English archaeologist William Gowland in the 1880s. But while the Northern Alps draw the crowds, the Minami Alps remain quieter, wilder, harder to reach.

These mountains are not just peaks. They are the source of water that sustains millions of people across central Japan. The headwaters of three major rivers originate within the park's boundaries: the Fuji River, the Oi River, and the Tenryu River. Rain and snowmelt filter through volcanic rock and ancient sediment, gathering in steep valleys before carving paths toward the Pacific. The Oi River's upper reaches run through gorges so deep and narrow that they attracted hydroelectric engineers in the early twentieth century, leading to a chain of dams downstream. The mountains' abundant rainfall, combined with their steep terrain and sparse population, made them ideal for power generation. Today the rivers serve double duty, supplying drinking water, irrigation, and electricity to Shizuoka Prefecture and beyond.

The elevation gradient from valley floor to alpine peak creates layered ecosystems that support a remarkable array of wildlife. Japanese serow, the goat-like kamoshika, navigate rocky slopes with the confidence of animals that have never known a predator larger than themselves. Asiatic black bears roam the beech forests at mid-elevation, feeding on nuts and berries through the long autumn. Wild boar root through the understory, and Sika deer browse at the forest margins. Above the treeline, rock ptarmigan survive year-round, their plumage shifting from mottled brown in summer to pure white in winter. These birds are Ice Age relicts, stranded on Japan's high peaks when warming temperatures pushed their habitat skyward. Each isolated population is a living artifact, separated from the nearest colony by kilometers of uninhabitable lowland.

The park has minimal public facilities by design. Mountain huts dot the ridgelines at intervals, offering basic shelter for multi-day traverses, but the approach to any trailhead requires commitment. The nearest major train station sits in Kofu or Shizuoka, hours from the trail. This remoteness is the park's defining feature and its greatest asset. Hikers who make the effort find themselves on ridgelines with views extending to Mount Fuji on clear days, walking through meadows of alpine flowers in July, crossing snowfields that persist well into summer. The Shirane Sanzan traverse, linking Kita-dake with Aino-dake and Notori-dake, ranks among Japan's classic multi-day routes. It demands fitness, preparation, and respect for weather that can turn violent without warning at 3,000 meters. In exchange, it delivers solitude that is increasingly rare in a country of 125 million people.

The geological story written in these mountains stretches back hundreds of millions of years. The Akaishi range formed through the collision of tectonic plates, with ocean floor sediments thrust skyward to become alpine summits. Fossils of marine organisms have been found at elevations where snow lingers into June. The park was designated in 1964, part of a wave of national park expansion during Japan's postwar economic growth, and was later recognized as a UNESCO Biosphere Reserve. The designation reflects not just scenic value but ecological significance: the park protects one of the largest contiguous wilderness areas remaining on Honshu. For a country that often defines itself through its relationship with nature, the Minami Alps represent the wild extreme, mountains that remain genuinely difficult to reach and genuinely rewarding for those who do.