The Yonaguni Polo Club
(by Dan Harvey Pedrick)
Fifteen Hundred of the Emperor's largest Horses, each about four Inches and a half high, were
employed to draw me towards the Metropolis, which, as I said, was half a Mile distant.
--Jonathan Swift, Gulliver's Travels, A Voyage to Lilliput, Chapter I
Until recently I did not believe I would go to Japan this lifetime. And if I did admit the
possibility, I certainly never thought I would play polo there. And some may suggest, even after
reading this, that I did not play polo there. Because it wasn't exactly the Argentine Open, I know
(and maybe it wasn't really Japan, either). Nevertheless, we lined up on horses with mallets in
our hands, threw the ball in, and scrambled to pass it to our teammates and send it through the
goal, laughing, cheering--and occasionally arguing--every step of the way. Judge for yourself,
but it felt like polo to me.
Once I realized I would truly go to Japan to meet my wife's family I began searching for
some kind of polo connection to experience there even if it was only a rare collection of prints of
samurai warriors playing da-kyu (an ancient mounted game of Asia similar to polocrosse). My
hopes brightened when I heard rumors of a budding Japanese Polo Federation in the vicinity of
Fukuoka. But, alas, my inquiries were discouraged--like Commodore Perry's had been on his
first visit to Tokyo Bay in 1853.
Then I discovered Yonaguni Island, an isolated and rocky strand in the East China Sea,
actually located close to Taiwan. Not appearing on any but the most detailed maps, Yonaguni
Island might have evaded my notice entirely were it not for the good ol' internet. Searching
further I soon found the web pages of one Mr. Masateru Hisano (Markun to his friends--of
which I am now one, I am happy to say), a self-styled advocate for the embattled native
Yonaguni Horse.
Originally from Nagasaki, Markun is that rare creature in Japanese society who marches
to the beat of his own drum. After a stint in California during the hippie era (Remember that?
Just after Commodore Perry's times, wasn't it?) he returned to his native land, eventually settling
on Yonaguni Island with his wife Yuki. There he found the Yonaguni Horse in dire need of a
champion. Its numbers had dwindled to less than seventy-five individuals and the breed was
considered endangered.
Yonaguni's horses may have been friendly to Markun and Yuki but the small population
of humans inhabiting the island were somewhat more aloof. It was three years before the two
were able to gain the confidence of the locals enough to acquire a horse of their own. Finally
Markun obtained a stallion and, with his encouragement for environmental protection and the
development of a careful breeding program, the Yonaguni Horse population began to recover. It
now numbers close to a hundred and fifty and counting.
The Yonaguni Horse is not a truly wild species, having descended from domestic stock
imported to the island in the distant past. It is bay or chestnut in color, often with dorsal stripes.
It is surprisingly small running about 12 hands high, its diminutive size the result of successful
adaptation to an island environment of limited resources. Its hooves are compact and hard and
do not usually require shoeing. The horse is gentle and accommodating in nature but possessed
of legendary strength and stamina.
The Yonaguni Horse is recognized as a native breed of Japan--although its presence on
Yonaguni Island long pre-dates Japanese occupation there. In the years following 1906 local
breeds in Japan were being improved to produce larger war horses, but the Yonaguni Horses on
their remote island were excluded from the plan. Thus, the original breed has been preserved.
But where did the Yonaguni Horse come from originally? Professor Ken Nozawa of Kyoto University claims that the genetic characteristics of the Yonaguni Horse indicate a relationship to the Korean Cheju breed, which in turn came from Mongolia. I personally postulated the colorful theory that the horses ended up on the island in the wake of two huge invasion attempts by Kublai Khan in the thirteenth century, but Markun and other islanders politely discounted it. "Our horses were here long before that," they said.
Part of Markun's conservation effort has involved raising consciousness both on and off
the island to recognize and appreciate the Yonaguni Horse as the natural and cultural asset it is.
Today he hosts a regular stream of visitors, mostly young Japanese, who come to learn of this
unique zoological treasure in a land otherwise rather short on such natural features. Many of
these visitors volunteer to work in the day-to-day effort for the preservation of the Yonaguni
Horses and their environment.
Markun's development work also includes the resident population of elementary and
junior high school students. He now teaches regular courses on horsemanship in the local
schools including, of course, riding the hardy little creatures. As this program became
established, groups of smiling children on horseback were soon seen all over the island.
Mounted games became a part of the curriculum--and that's when I realized that this was an
environment ripe for polo, or at least a form of it, as I surmised that we might have to modify the
game to suit the environment just as nature had modified the Yonaguni Horse long ago for the
same reason.
Having made up my mind to visit the place and reveal the madness of my mission no
matter what, I searched through my stash of broken canes and heads and salvaged the material to
fashion a small quantity of mallets, forty-inches in length. I reckoned these would be about the
right size for small hands on small ponies. I stuffed my handiwork into an old golfbag along
with some arena balls and checked them in for a flight to Okinawa, the first step on the way to
distant Yonaguni. In Naha we transferred to a ship and began cruising the Ryukyus, a chain of
islands that formed the stepping stones of trade routes that were ancient long before Marco Polo
(not affiliated with Polo Ralph Lauren) arrived in China--there to be further titillated by rumors
of an offshore kingdom of gold (Japan) greater than anything he'd seen yet .
By the time we got to Ishigaki Island we learned (in spite of the fact that my wife could
not understand the local dialect) that a six-hour ferry ride through heavy seas still stood between
us and Yonaguni Island--one that guaranteed seasickness, we were told. At this point I admit
losing heart for the whole adventure. After all, we've already seen and done a whole lot, I said to
my wife Naoko. Even Marco Polo (not affiliated with Polo Ralph Lauren) eventually had
become fed up with traveling, turned his back on the East, and returned to Italy. "Let's just mail
these mallets over," I whined, "they can figure out what to do with them on their own." But my
stalwart mate, who earlier seriously considered having me committed for psychiatric examination
over my so-called brainstorm regarding polo in Japan, would hear none of it. "We're taking these
mallets to Yonaguni if we have to swim," she said, topping up my cha, "so drink up and be
brave."
So, I did. I screwed up my courage and... walked bravely up to the airline ticket counter
and bought two tickets to Yonaguni Island. Sorry, but barfing for six hours--twelve, there and
back--is just not on my list of fun things to do. And I've no doubt that Marco Polo (not affiliated
with Polo Ralph Lauren) would have done the same, given a choice. It proved a wise decision;
we landed feeling perfectly chipper and the time saved was just sufficient to accomplish our
goals. Otherwise, we'd have had to leave the next morning after our late arrival--or wait nearly a
week for the next ferry.
Once ashore on Yonaguni we discovered that the usual strict protocols of Japanese life
were left far behind. No sooner had we discovered that there was no bus transport from the
lonely airstrip than we were invited to clamber into the back of a pickup piloted by some local
fisher folk. When asked where we were going (after receiving some curious stares at the golfbag
full of tiny polo mallets hanging from my shoulder), all we could do was utter the name of
Markun and Yuki. The fisher folk smiled and nodded knowingly and soon dropped us off in the
hamlet of Kubura, the westernmost settlement in all of Japan. "Up there," they gestured towards
a small establishment that was one of the few--very few--restaurants on Yonaguni Island.
There we were met by Markun and Yuki who invited us to sit and have a bowl of curried
rice and chicken--the only item on the menu that day at their curry house known as Yuki's Place.
It didn't take long for the purpose of our mission to come up and I could see by Markun's eager
expression that he was totally prepared to embrace it. The mallets came out of the bag and
before we had finished our curry Markun and several of his young retainers had learned how to
hold them and were standing on benches practicing their swing.
The curry consumed, we piled into a small convoy of miniature vans and trucks and
headed to the interior of the island where Markun's horses were found grazing in a large pasture.
"Rei! rei! rei!," Markun shouted ("Come!" in the local dialect--actually a Chinese word). When
the horses galloped over to the fence to greet us I was amazed to see how tiny they really were.
Various people we had met along the way to Yonaguni had told us that these animals were
exceptionally strong despite their size and could carry well over one hundred kilos on their backs.
Markun, seeing the shock on my face as I gazed open-mouthed at his lilliputian herd, re-iterated
that fact. I wanted to believe him.
Another curious thing that caught my eye was the headgear used on these ponies. A fine
headstall of plaited hemp fibre held a wooden device called an omogai in place of a bit. The
omogai, obsolete by the time of Confucius according to some sources, is still used in certain
isolated parts of East Asia. It consists of a pair of carved pieces of wood that hang on either side
of the jaw. The frontal ends of the pieces are strung loosely together while the posterior ends are
connected with a line running through holes drilled laterally in the wood. The line is knotted on
the outside of the offside hole but runs freely through the nearside hole. Pulling on this nearside
line contracts the device like a pair of scissors, applying pressure on the horse's jaw from without
and forcing it to open slightly due to protuberances carved on the inner surface. We first saw the
omogai on Ishigaki Island where the rein is doubled back and attached to each posterior end of
the wooden pieces and crossed under the throatlash. But on Yonaguni only one rein is used.
I thought, I'd like to try that on certain polo ponies I've known!
My first fear was that I had made the mallets too long even at forty inches, but when I handed them out to the first takers I realized that they were going to work alright. After tacking up and warming up the ponies (a procedure that Markun directs his young charges to follow carefully) Markun turned the program over to me and invited me to teach them all how to play polo.
I couldn't believe this moment had finally arrived! Here I was, on the other side of the
world, out in the middle of nowhere, where even my Japanese wife felt on strange soil, about to
introduce a group of Asian youngsters to a game that had originated not terribly far away from
here in the first place thousands of years before, and then had traveled westward to Europe and
America. Now it had come almost full circle to reach this lonesome rock in the East China Sea.
Another concern was, how would these animals react? I thought about how much long
and patient effort it takes to make a pony on our side of the pond. These mounts would have to
be extraordinarily cooperative if my mission were not to end in a debacle before it even got off
the ground. I looked at Markun. He didn't seem worried. It was now or never. After a short
peptalk on the rudiments of the game and a stick-and-ball session to get the feel of it, I asked if
everyone felt ready for a little chukka or two. "Hai!" they answered in unison. They were ready.
I lined up the teams, threw in the ball, and... Suddenly, there was polo where there had been no
polo.
Before you could say "my line!" two goals were scored. A cacophony of excited shouts,
laughter, and hoofbeats resonated across the usually quiet valley for the next twenty minutes or
so. The only spectators were a herd of goats who seemed to watch the game with detached
interest. Reluctantly I finally blew the whistle and ended the last chukka. "That's enough for
today," I said to the disappointed players. "Do that a little bit each day, and in a year you'll be
ready to host the first Yonaguni Open."
Afterwards, the ponies were cooled out and I watched their eager riders groom
and feed them with every bit as much enthusiasm as they had shown in riding them on
the field. It was plain to see that Markun's young apprentices quickly learn to share his
deep affection and respect for these horses. Meanwhile Markun is planning to lead a
field trip of his young charges to Mongolia this year--the Year of the Horse--where the
genetic evidence suggests these animals came from long, long ago. Perhaps someday, as their
numbers grow, they will be recognized and appreciated throughout the world, maybe even
designated by the Japanese government as a National Living Treasure.
It was easy to grab a window seat on the twin-engine propeller aircraft that would take us
back to relatively bustling Ishigaki Island, as there were few passengers traveling. The plane
climbed and banked after taking off, and Yonaguni Island quickly disappeared among the waves
of the sea and the clouds of the sky. It had been a very brief stay, not even twenty-four hours.
Unbelievable, I thought.
I said further That if good Fortune ever restored me to my native Country, to relate my Travels
hither, as I resolved to do, every body would believe that I said the Thing which was not; that I
invented the Story out of my own Head;
--Jonathan Swift, Gulliver'sTravels, Part IV, A Voyage to the Country of the Houyhnhnms,
Chapter III.
(This piece was originally published in POLO PLAYERS'S EDITION magazine, March 2002 issue.)