Bear attacks have surged in Japan. I met the man who still hunts them

As I fasten a snowshoe to my snow-damp boot, he bares two full rows of ursine-esque teeth; a hospitable smile, eyes wrinkling warmly. I reciprocate, but he senses duplicity in my sheepish grin.

Unconsciously, I judged Tahata-san long before the hours-long drive, over perilously snowy roads, to Sakae village. Long before I saw him cradle the oval-shaped skull in ungloved hands. Long before I listened to the lore of the traditional Matagi hunter. I was fixated, in fact, from the moment I discovered that this man kills Asiatic black bears for food and supplemental income.

There will be no hunting or killing today, however. Tahata-san is guest guide for the penultimate day of my week-long snowshoe trek around Nagano’s “Snow Country” with Walk Japan. We will tackle thigh-deep powder in his “backyard”, towards a sacred semi-frozen waterfall, way above his tiny hamlet on the mountainous border of Nagano and Niigata prefectures, north of Tokyo.

As we stomp through snow-laden beech forest, Tahata-san unpacks the Matagi culture – which began in Akita prefecture, further north – one perplexing layer at a time. “I hunt bears but also hare, deer and wild boar,” he says, through an interpreter. “This is the way that I live, how I make a living and how I pass on my name.”

Bears were once especially prized because they used to be “a huge source of income” [skins, gall bladders etc] but “we don’t just go into the mountains to kill an animal to sell it. The Matagi hunter receives the living animal from the mountain, itself a Kami-sama [Goddess].”

Tahata-san adheres to strict rituals before entering the mountains. He won’t communicate with female family members for three days beforehand, nor hunt before a wedding. Rule breaches upset the Goddess, “making her jealous” and ruining the hunt.

His eyes habitually scan the snow crust. So far, Tahata-san sees only subtle hare prints, stirring memories of hunting with dad way back when. The 60-year-old became a fully fledged Matagi 30 years ago, continuing a tradition on his maternal grandmother’s side. On his first hunt he killed a bear so large it had to be butchered on site. His “seniors” considered this great fortune.

Bear attacks on humans are on the rise in Japan, with 13 deaths and hundreds of injuries reported in 2025, particularly concentrated in the Tohoku region in northern Honshu, where the animals are pushing into regional communities where human populations are waning. Warnings have been issued in recent weeks as the animals emerge from hibernation, hungry and venturing into populated areas. The Matagi maintain that their practices keep bear numbers “under control”, but snowballing animal rights debates have loomed larger.

Traditionally, Matagi would “hunt” bears while they were still hibernating inside dens (in hollows under large trees and rocks). It was an easy kill and the animal’s organs – specifically the prized gall bladder – were “cleaner” in winter stasis. Tahata-san now only hunts post-hibernation because “it’s not fair to attack the bear while it’s asleep”.

Group hunting is also the norm, but increasingly he ventures out solo, a perilous pursuit given a human could never win a foot-race with a bear in the deep powder we’re currently grunting through. Two years ago, Tahata-san fired at and missed a bear digging for food [ your correspondent silently cheers], deciding to chase the startled animal which, minutes later, “surprised” him. He managed, perhaps by the grace of the Goddess, to fight off or at least startle the bear with his trekking pole. Both fled unharmed – physically at least.

We glissade down into a gully, gazing into the face of the sacred waterfall, guarded by trees and rugged topography. A narrow but formidable snow-bracketed flow plunges into a petite unfrozen pool. Tahata-san breathes profound breaths that seem little to do with exertion, staring into the snowscape; his past, his present but, perhaps, not his future.

Only six Matagi hunters remain in the district. The seniors, himself now included, will happily teach newcomers the old ways to help “maintain an appropriate spiritual presence”, but no one from the family and few of the younger generation are interested in pursuing this “very dangerous thing”, which is no longer financially lucrative.

We retrace our deep tracks back down to Tahata-san’s inn where he serves guests meals made with wild mountain vegetables, seasonal river fish and handmade soba noodles, the buckwheat farmed locally. And, yes, among the proteins on the menu is black bear, a “tough meat that demands slow cooking”. (No, I didn’t!)

Only because I ask, Tahata-san shows me his small collection of skulls and a thick black-bear skin, its mighty claws triggering a millisecond of fight-or-flight response. He handles everything reverently, more like talismans than trophies. As we drive away, further into the Nagano mountains, snow furiously falling, I have a hunch that this is the last time I’ll cross paths with one of Japan’s Matagi hunters.

The writer was a guest of Walk Japan.