Gradually Shirane-ga-take (Hakusan) dropped from view, and Hina-ga-take appeared. We crossed the Asamuzu Bridge, and the reeds of Tamae were in ear. Passing the Uguisu Barrier and crossing the Yunoo Pass, we heard the first wild geese at Hiuchi Castle and Kaeruyama, and on the evening of the fourteenth we took lodgings at the port of Tsuruga.
That night the moon was especially clear. "Will it be like this tomorrow night too?" I asked, and the innkeeper said, "That's the way of the northern road: you can't tell what tomorrow night's weather will be," and offered me sake; then I went by night to worship at the Kehi shrine, the resting place of Emperor Chuai. Around the shrine all was hallowed and hushed with age, moonlight filtered through the pines, and the white sand before the sanctuary looked as if frost had been spread on it.
The innkeeper told me, "Long ago the second Yugyo Shonin (Ta'a Shinkyo) made a great vow; he cut the grass, carried earth and stones, and dried out the mud himself, so pilgrims no longer struggled on their way. The old custom has never lapsed, and each Yugyo Shonin in turn carries sand to the shrine. This is called the Yugyo sand-carrying."
"Tsuki kiyoshi / Yugyo no moteru / suna no ue" (How pure the moon on the sand carried here by the Yugyo priests.)
On the fifteenth, just as the innkeeper had said, it rained.
"Meigetsu ya / hokkoku biyori / sadamenaki" (The harvest moon: the weather of the north country, never settled. Tonight should have been the great full moon, but the fickle northern weather brought rain.)
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On the sixteenth the sky cleared, and to gather the little masuho shells, we sailed to Iro-no-hama, seven ri across the water. The beach had only a few fishermen's huts and a poor Lotus-sect temple. Here we drank tea and warmed sake, and the loneliness of evening sank deep into my heart.
"Sabishisa ya / Suma ni kachitaru / hama no aki" (Such loneliness: more than Suma's, this beach in autumn. The autumn loneliness here surpasses even Suma's, famed in The Tale of Genji.)