You’ll wait quietly with binoculars as dusk falls over Nagano’s forest, watching for the giant flying squirrel to leap from tree to tree above you. A local guide shares stories and ecology tips (with English slides), making even the wait feel special. If you’re patient—and lucky—you’ll catch those silent flights overhead that stick with you long after.
Your evening includes use of binoculars during observation time, guidance from a local nature expert (with English support via slides), and an easy forest walk starting from Hoshino P1 parking near Sonmin Shokudo before returning after watching the flying squirrels glide at dusk.
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Read all the reviews ›The first thing I noticed was how the air in Karuizawa changed as we left the lights behind—cooler, sharper, and carrying that earthy smell you get after a light rain. Our guide, Yuki, met us at the Picchio Visitor Center and handed out binoculars (which I kept fumbling with). She spoke mostly in Japanese but smiled a lot and pointed to her English slides when she saw me squinting. The group was a mix of families and one older couple who seemed to know every bird call by heart. I liked that it wasn’t just tourists—some locals too, bundled up and whispering quietly.
We walked maybe fifteen minutes through the trees, flashlights off. It was that blue hour where everything feels hushed and expectant. Yuki stopped us under this huge chestnut tree—she said it was a favorite spot for the Japanese giant flying squirrel (I tried to say “musasabi” but probably butchered it; she laughed). We waited in near silence except for someone’s jacket rustling and distant frogs. Then suddenly there was this soft thump above us—Yuki flashed her light just as this big squirrel stretched out like a tiny cape and glided right over our heads. I actually gasped out loud; didn’t expect it to be so quiet or so close.
We saw two more flights after that, each time everyone holding their breath until the squirrel landed on another trunk. The whole thing lasted maybe twenty minutes, but honestly it felt longer—time kind of stretches when you’re standing still in the dark waiting for something wild to happen. On the walk back, my shoes picked up mud but I didn’t care. Still think about that first glide sometimes when things feel too noisy back home.
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