Brandon is not a happy man. He's physically exhausted and is having difficulty breathing. He is verbally abusing the mountain, claiming the situation to be "ridiculous" among other, less flattering terms.

I’m not faring much better. I've just lost my footing and am flying down a steep slope at alarming speed, clinging to my snowboard with my left hand and desperately trying to halt my descent with my right. It’s times like this that I wonder why I chose a snowboard over skis. Our Japanese friends, who are all of the two plank discipline, have made short work of the steep traverse and are now sitting in sun, patiently waiting for the two snowboarding foreigners to catch up.

We're 2,500 meters up into Japanese airspace on Hakusan, an extinct volcano. Situated on the main island of Honshu, the mountain spans the prefectures of Fukui, Ishikawa and Gifu, and is one of the nihon sanmeizan: Japan’s three most sacred mountains. As a result, many people come to the mountain each year on a Shinto pilgrimage, though most come to pray to the spirit of the mountain rather than the spirit of the snowboard.

It’s been a long, tiring hike, and we’re not there yet. We started early this morning, crossing a suspension bridge and hiking up a streambed before hitting a narrow rocky path that wound its way up through wooded slopes. The hot spring sun beats down on us, and the snowboard, water, food, and clothes we carry on our backs are a heavy burden in the May heat.

After about an hour and a half, we reach the first patches of intermittent snow. Here we stop for a welcome rest, my legs feeling the exertion. I gulp down some liquids and nibble on strips of breaded horse kastu. We exchange greetings with a group of other climbers who pass as we sit in the shade of dwarfed paper birch trees.

"Tabete kudasai! Please eat!” shouts Yasu, our guide, as he cooks up a local delicacy called ton chan, the intestines of a cow, on his camp stove. It’s not exactly gourmet, but the chewy tissue goes down well after burning so many calories on the way up.

Upon reaching the snowline, the difficulty of the hike increases. The spring snow is so compact that we left our snow shoes behind. Instead, I have opted to climb in my trusty old Merrels rather than my snowboarding boots. They may be lighter, but they have considerably less grip, and see me taking many a tumble in the snow.

Brandon, too, experiences similar problems, especially during some of the steepest sections where he takes two steps forward, only to slide one step back. However, little by little, after several breaks and around four hours, we make vertical progress, eventually stopping at the top of a steep chute for lunch.

At this point, we can see the peak, perhaps just 30 minutes away. Sitting in the sun, we each drink a can of Kirin, the local brew, to celebrate our progress whilst we relax, chat, and take in the stunning views below. My stumbling Japanese makes communication basic, but the American Brandon speaks the language well and bridges the gaps when sign language and intuition fail.

From where we sit, we can see a shrine and a tori (traditional Japanese gate). Brandon and I discuss the idea of building a ramp up to it and performing a few tricks over it to impress our Japanese friends, but the idea is quickly dismissed as a waste of precious energy.

After lunch comes the final assault--a quick blitz to take us to the top. Re-energised by cow intestines and horse meat, and slightly light-headed from the beer and altitude, summit fever has set in. My pace picks up as I follow in the footsteps of Yasu while he powers ahead to the peak.

Yasu, who is 47 years of age, is a smoker and self-confessed alcoholic, but has put us young, "healthy" whipper-snappers to shame. A local legend, he has conquered several Himalayan peaks in Tibet, Nepal, and Pakistan. His bar, Yumeya (meaning “dream shop”) in Ono, Fukui, has become a hang-out for local climbers, skiers, and snowboarders who come to sample the fine nihonshu (rice wine) and feast on his famous home-smoked cheese. Ice picks, snow shoes, and many pictures of sabre tooth peaks adorn the walls--souvenirs from past expeditions.

There is much rejoicing at having reached the top. Brandon in particular is especially happy, and in true American fashion lets rip with a series of “Whoops!” and “Hell Yeahs!" Little does he know what’s in store for him on the way down.

We pause for a short while to take in the views of the valley, before swapping shoes for boards, donning gloves, and beginning the descent. The first slope is pure joy; we cruise down the perfect pitch in the sunshine-sugar-snow, feasting on spectacular scenery and carving clean white lines into the surface of the speckled, dirt-ridden snow.

Yasu is leading the pack and going at quite a speed when he experiences some technical difficulties which deposit him heavily onto the ground, leaving a ski and his poles strewn out in his wake. After confirming that he is not seriously injured, we all have a good laugh, and continue onwards, with Yasu exercising a little more speed control from then on.

We soon reach a snowless rocky outcrop that forces us to unstrap from our boards and walk. This brings us to the top of the next slope which is steep and littered with rock debris. We carefully make our way down this pitch, but are then faced with a long and challenging traverse to get to the next slope.

It’s times like this that I’m reminded of how impractical snowboards are. Whilst Brandon and I are continually unstrapping our boards, scrambling up, slipping down, and generally struggling to make our way across this steep and awkward section, the skiers are far ahead, engaging the terrain with ease.

It is at this point that Brandon decides he wants out. Physically exhausted, and having difficulty breathing, he is, to put it mildly, very unhappy. However, we both know that the only way down, is across, so we continue the slow traverse, praying we won’t take another fall, whilst our Japanese skiing friends wait patiently in the sun, and most probably have a good chuckle at our predicament.

Eventually we make it over to where they sat, but by this time Brandon is past the point of no return, and all traces of his love for snow have long since evaporated.

“I want a chopper,” he gasps, and I believe he’s serious, but we’re on our own, and he knows the air support will never come.

Next is the final straight, back down to the place from whence we came. Our Japanese friends fly down, popping 360 spins at every available opportunity. I attempt to follow suit, but end up misjudging and having a close encounter of the first kind with a tree.

The very last stretch is a battle through the forest. As the trunks close in around us, tight technical boarding is required to navigate through the birch and pine. Somewhere along the way we manage to pick up an out-of-control telemark skier, who provides us with much entertainment as he appears not to have learnt how to stop, thus has a series of quite spectacular collisions with trees, rocks and other people.

By this time Brandon has given in to the mighty mountain, and has fully accepted defeat. He removes his board and makes the remainder of his way down on foot. It could be said, with quite some certainty, that at this point in time the young American is not a happy chappy.

Eventually the trees become too dense to ride through, so boards and skis go back onto packs, and out come the hiking poles. Yasu says his goodbyes and races off down the mountain; he must get back home to open his bar. This leaves the rest of us to make our way back at a more leisurely pace.

That final hike is the hardest of all. Exhausted from our long ascent, tricky traverses, burdened with heavy gear, and in dire need of decent rest, we still have a good 1.5 hour walk to get back to base. With aching legs and shoulders, sore feet, and bodies in need of some serious tlc, we endure on. As we near our starting point, Brandon’s spirits rise again, and by the time we reach the cars, he is back to his normal jovial self, and we are already joking about how he had "lost it up there."

From top to bottom, it has taken us nine-and-a-half hours, left us thoroughly exhausted, and good for nothing but bed. We’ve paid our pilgrimage price to the mighty Hakusan in the form of kilojoules, sweat, and American tears. Today was more about the hiking, scenery, and camaraderie than the snowboarding, but despite our fatigue, it’s been an incredible experience and a great workout.

It appears that Yasu also had a good time. As I near my car, I notice something stuck under the wiper, flapping in the gentle breeze. On a scrap of paper is a hastily-written message from our local legend. In scrawled Japanese katakana script it reads:

Za Dogs Danga Raz!

A broad smile instantly spreads across my face. It means “The Dogs Danglers!”--British slang for “Awesome!”

It seems all those nights spent “internationalizing” at Yasu’s bar over cups of sake are finally beginning to rub off on the locals.

Sam Baldwin is the editor of snowsphere.com--an online magazine blending snow sports with travel, publishing stories about the more mysterious peaks of the planet, from India to Iceland.