<figure id="attachment_473707" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-473707" style="width: 2500px" class="wp-caption alignnone"><a href="#" data-ident_hash="ef3e98d9"><img src="https://res.cloudinary.com/fridaydigital/image/private/t_article_image/wpmedia/2026/07/a9641a00778aa6e80612171b7c302242.jpg" alt=""></a><figcaption id="caption-attachment-473707" class="wp-caption-text">An illustration by Ms. Kanda</figcaption></figure>
<h2> Weather at Cape Erimo</h2>
<p> Around 9:15 p.m. on December 31, 2010.At the NHK Hall in Shibuya, Tokyo, the 61st NHK Kohaku Uta Gassen was in full swing. Yoshimi Tendo had just finished her passionate performance, and the audience erupted in thunderous applause. Next up was Shinichi Mori, the headliner of the first half.</p>
<p> From the radio commentary booth set up in the front row of the second floor, I stood up, bending at the waist, and slowly climbed the stairs to go outside, where I called the “Sapporo Regional Meteorological Observatory.”</p>
<p> The person in charge answered immediately. “This is Aika Kanda from the NHK Announcement Office; I called you a moment ago.Please tell me the current weather conditions at Cape Erimo.” I had told them in advance that I would always call at this exact time before the Red and White Song Festival began. I jotted down every word exactly as spoken on a sticky note and hung up. Mr. Mori’s singing could be heard from beyond the door. “It’s started!” I thought, panicking, and hurried back to the commentary booth.</p>
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<p> A senior announcer in charge of the White Team was intently observing Mr. Mori’s facial expressions and gestures as he sang. In front of her lay the thick script for the Red and White Song Festival, illuminated by a small lamp.I reached across to the spot on the open page labeled “(Interlude)” and stuck the sticky note I’d prepared there with a *plop!*. I signaled to the senior announcer with eye contact, “Here’s the information,” and she nodded, lowering her gaze to the note.</p>
<p> I returned to my seat, put on my headphones, and shortly thereafter, the interlude began. I heard the senior announcer’s live commentary: “Tonight at Cape Erimo, the temperature is below freezing. They say strong winds are whipping up the snow.”</p>
<p> Shinichi Mori’s “Cape Erimo” is a classic song that epitomizes the Showa era. There are far more people listening to the Kohaku Uta Gassen on the radio than you might imagine—from truck drivers and soba shop owners working on New Year’s Eve to fathers and students on their way home to be with their families.</p>
<p> To convey a sense of realism through sound alone, the producers decided to include commentary describing the actual on-site conditions during “Cape Erimo.”These were just brief comments lasting only a few seconds. But whether or not they were included, the way Mr. Mori’s voice reached the listeners must have been different. Filled with the pressure of the task and the relief of having completed it, “Cape Erimo” became a special song for me.</p>
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<p> It’s been 16 years since that night. The other day, I visited Cape Erimo. It’s a little less than a two-hour drive from Obihiro Airport. Partway there, the road opened up to the sea on the left and sheer cliffs on the right.The sky was overcast that day, and there was almost no wind. Yet, large white waves were crashing against the sea. The memorials dotted here and there, commemorating maritime accidents and other tragedies, made it clear just how harsh this land is.</p>
<p> What left a strong impression was the thick sea fog.It stretched out from the sea, covering the road and clinging to the cliffs as it crept up the sheer face. Since Cape Erimo lies beyond that point, the car drove right into the fog. It felt as if we were being sucked into the afterlife, and I couldn’t help but blurt out, “I wonder if I’ll ever make it back…”</p>
<div data-friday-nextpage-lead=" Cape Erimo Itself"></div>
<h2>The Harshness That Doesn’t Show Up in the Data</h2>
<p> Then I arrived at the Cape Erimo Observation Deck. Through the sea fog, I could faintly make out the rugged cape jutting sharply out toward the Pacific Ocean. A walking trail stretched along its ridge, allowing visitors to walk all the way to the tip.I began walking while listening to “Cape Erimo” through my bone-conduction headphones. Along the way, there was nothing but a small shed for drying wakame seaweed. In spring, there is nothing at all in Erimo. The lyrics of “Cape Erimo” seeped deep into my body.</p>
<p> One false step and I’d fall off the sheer cliff and be swallowed by the violently crashing waves. Just how harsh must winter be here, where last year the highest instantaneous wind speed on record—49.1 m—was recorded?</p>
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<p> I realized this once I actually arrived. That night on New Year’s Eve when I made the call, my senior’s comment—based on figures gathered during his reporting—was surely far from the reality of “snow swirling in strong winds below freezing.” The reality must have been something like, “Amid skin-searing cold and wind, rough waves and snow are lashing the shore without mercy.”</p>
<p> But to begin with, was it really necessary to convey the “current state of Cape Erimo” on New Year’s Eve in such vivid detail during that interlude? Reading between the lines of the lyrics, the song is about Cape Erimo as it prepares to welcome spring. Our role as live broadcast announcers is, after all, to convey the atmosphere of the NHK Hall through words.</p>
<p> I never imagined that 16 years later, I would find myself standing at the very tip of Cape Erimo, pondering the accuracy and meaning of those few seconds of commentary. Amid the sea fog, listening to the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, I reflected on the meaning and weight of the words I should have spoken as an announcer.</p>
<figure id="attachment_473708" aria-describedby="caption-attachment-473708" style="width: 3004px" class="wp-caption alignnone"><img loading="lazy" class="wp-image-473708 size-full" src="https://res.cloudinary.com/fridaydigital/image/private/t_article_image/wpmedia/2026/07/83614dfb64f7defb962a677fca6ada4d.jpg" alt="" width="3004" height="3734"><figcaption id="caption-attachment-473708" class="wp-caption-text"> © Kazuki Shimomura</figcaption></figure>
<p> Aika Kanda / Born in Kanagawa Prefecture in 1980.After graduating from the Department of Mathematics, Faculty of Science, at Gakushuin University, she joined NHK as an announcer in 2003. She left NHK in 2012 to become a freelance announcer. Since then, she has been active primarily in variety shows and currently appears regularly as the main MC on the daytime series “Pokapoka” (Fuji TV network).</p>
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<p> ★ Her first book <a href="https://www.amazon.co.jp/%E7%8E%8B%E9%81%93%E3%81%A3%E3%81%A6%E3%81%84%E3%81%86%E9%81%93%E3%80%81%E3%81%A9%E3%81%93%E3%81%AB%E9%80%9A%E3%81%A3%E3%81%A6%E3%81%BE%E3%81%99%E3%81%8B-%E7%A5%9E%E7%94%B0-%E6%84%9B%E8%8A%B1/dp/4065361834?&amp;linkCode=sl1&amp;tag=fridaymag-22&amp;linkId=7b143dc06b0a909efda233f6deb7d36a&amp;language=ja_JP&amp;ref_=as_li_ss_tl">, *Where Does the ‘Royal Road’ Lead?</a> *, a compilation of this series <a href="https://www.amazon.co.jp/%E7%8E%8B%E9%81%93%E3%81%A3%E3%81%A6%E3%81%84%E3%81%86%E9%81%93%E3%80%81%E3%81%A9%E3%81%93%E3%81%AB%E9%80%9A%E3%81%A3%E3%81%A6%E3%81%BE%E3%81%99%E3%81%8B-%E7%A5%9E%E7%94%B0-%E6%84%9B%E8%8A%B1/dp/4065361834?&amp;linkCode=sl1&amp;tag=fridaymag-22&amp;linkId=7b143dc06b0a909efda233f6deb7d36a&amp;language=ja_JP&amp;ref_=as_li_ss_tl">,</a> is now on sale to great acclaim!</p>
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<p> From the July 17 &amp; 24, 2026, combined issue of *FRIDAY*</p>
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 Aika Kanda

 Sixteen years ago, during the NHK Kohaku Uta Gassen, I assisted with a production segment where a senior announcer provided live weather updates from Cape Erimo to accompany Shinichi Mori’s performance of “Cape Erimo.”After visiting Cape Erimo in person, I reflected on the meaning and weight of the words I should convey as an announcer.

Freelance Announcer Aika Kanda: “Cape Erimo: A 16-Year Journey”

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