Held in the depths of winter in the outmost corner of the village of Otari at the end of Hakuba Valley, the Oami Fire Festival is a ritual dedicated to the deity of Mt. Amakazari, long worshipped as a source of life and protection in the region.
For the past 50 years, the Oami community has gathered to pray for a safe year, a strong harvest, and the return of spring. The festival unfolds through a series of symbolic acts. A shrine maiden opens with a sacred dance, purifying the space and inviting the deity to descend from the mountain. A fire is lit, representing both purification and a connection between the human and divine.
At the heart of the festival are the oni. Typically portrayed as fearsome demons in Japanese folklore, these oni instead serve as messengers of the gods. Carrying torches and moving to the rhythm of drums, they circle the fire cheering the arrival of the gods.
As the flames build, the ritual reaches its peak in the dondoyaki bonfire. The rising fire is believed to carry prayers to the heavens while cleansing the space below. In the final act, the deity is symbolically sent back to the mountain, completing a cycle that mirrors both nature and community life.
For the local community, it is a special moment to come together, strengthen bonds, and carry traditions forward while welcoming outsiders to share in and experience this rare and meaningful event.
Originally from Tokyo, Ken Horaji moved to Oami around 30 years ago. What started as work became something more as he made the village his home. Today, as one of the festival’s key figures, he speaks candidly about its future. While there is a strong desire to preserve the festival, a shrinking and aging population makes that increasingly difficult. Outside participation is increasingly important, but it comes with one condition: an understanding of the festival’s meaning. We spoke with Ken to better understand what it represents.
WHAT WAS THE MOMENT THAT MADE YOU FEEL RESPONSIBLE FOR PROTECTING THIS FESTIVAL? 27 years ago, I actually held my wedding here on the festival grounds. I had been coming to this village for about five or six years and when we decided to get married, I thought maybe we could borrow a small corner of the festival and make a simple vow in front of the gods. By chance, I mentioned it during a local gathering, and someone said, “Why don’t you do it at the snow festival?” At first, I imagined something very small. But people became excited, and before I knew it, we were placed at the center of the festival. Within the sacred space, we held a full wedding ceremony, including exchanging rings and vows. The community embraced and genuinely enjoyed it. Because I was allowed to do that, I felt a responsibility to protect and carry it on. That was a big moment for me.
SINCE YOU’RE ORIGINALLY FROM TOKYO, WHAT STRUCK YOU MOST ABOUT THE FESTIVAL CULTURE HERE? What surprised me was that people here create their own festival. When I was a kid in Tokyo, festivals were something organized by someone else. You just joined in. But here, it’s the village’s festival, and everyone plays a role in making it happen. That sense of people’s energy and emotion coming together felt really fresh to me.
DO YOU EVER STRUGGLE WITH BALANCING PRESERVATION AND CHANGE? It’s very difficult. This festival originally started as an event to attract visitors. Some of the older guys still say, “It’s just an event.” Maybe that’s why we were allowed to have our wedding in it. But over time, I’ve come to understand the intentions of the people who created it, and that makes me want to preserve it. So there’s always a tension—do we grow it as an event, or treat it as a sacred ritual that doesn’t need an audience? Everyone sees it differently, and there’s no clear answer. There’s also a generational gap. We’re constantly thinking about how to bring those different perspectives together.
HAVE YOU SEEN CHANGES IN PARTICIPATION IN RECENT YEARS? Yes, COVID had a big impact. The festival was suspended for three years. During that time, many of the older residents stopped coming or couldn’t participate anymore. So suddenly, the younger generation had to figure things out on their own. We realized there were a lot of things that had never been passed down. The first year back was honestly pretty worrying. But after a few years, things are finally starting to settle again.
HOW DO YOU VIEW PARTICIPATION FROM OUTSIDE THE COMMUNITY? Change is inevitable. Even what we’re doing now would probably look different to previous generations. But I hope people understand and respect the spirit that’s been built over the past 50 years. It’s up to our generation to pass that on.
WHAT IS THE CORE OF THIS FESTIVAL? At its core, it’s about fire. We used to call it a “snow festival,” but now people call it a “fire festival.” At first, that felt strange, but over time I realized the key really is the fire. When I first participated as an oni, I was just told to wave a torch and shout. But one day, an older man explained to me:
“You’re not shouting in anger. You’re
celebrating. The gods descend into the
fire, and we share that fire—it’s a
symbol of happiness.”
That changed how I saw it. Now I know the heart of the festival is the fire.
WHAT WOULD YOU LIKE TO SEE 10 YEARS FROM NOW? Simply put, I hope someone else is running it. If that’s happening, it means we’ve successfully passed it on.
IF THE FESTIVAL DISAPPEARED, WHAT WOULD THE COMMUNITY LOSE? The population is declining, and we don’t know how long we can keep it going. But even if the festival stopped, I think the relationships we’ve built wouldn’t disappear. The people who come together around it—that connection would remain.
HAS BEING INVOLVED IN THE FESTIVAL CHANGED YOUR OUTLOOK ON LIFE? Definitely. Thinking of it as our festival taught me about commitment—about making a decision and standing by it. You can’t control everything, but your mindset and your resolve matters. It’s shaped how I think about life, the community, and how we live.
WHAT DO YOU HOPE THIS FESTIVAL CONTINUES TO BE? For me, it’s very important—but more than that, I want it to be important to everyone involved. Something we all build together. If everyone feels that it’s their festival, and we create it together—that’s what I hope for.
