Just 18 kilometres from Nagasaki, Hashima is one of dozens of tiny islands that pepper the coastline around Kyushu in the south of Japan. Yet the discovery of coal beneath Hashima in the early 1800s would transform the island’s future. Coal mines were dug underneath the island, and for nearly 90 years a unique micro-community thrived on Hashima until it became deserted in the 1970s.
Over the course of the 20th century, tiny Hashima found itself crammed with concrete apartment blocks, schools, shops and more. When coal lost its supremacy as a source of fuel to gas the mining stopped. The island was quickly abandoned and left to fall into a rapid ruin.
Most of Hashima’s buildings still lie empty and dilapidated today. Battered by decades of storms and typhoons, these crumbling buildings offer a glimpse into the unique and fascinating community that once called Hashima home. Today Hashima is one of Japan’s most unique tourist sites.
In 1890 Hashima became the property of an early incarnation of Mitsubishi, then a fledgling shipbuilding company based in Nagasaki port. The highly prized coal mined from Hashima fuelled the construction of Mitsubishi’s ships as Japan rapidly modernised during the the early 20th century.
Mitsubishi hired miners and staff to live on the island full time, and over the next 84 years, Hashima became a fascinating example of mass urbanisation and industrialisation on a miniature scale.
The first high-rise buildings to be constructed using reinforced concrete in Japan were built on Hashima in the early 20th century. A series of six land reclamations projects carried out over a period of 34 years meant that by 1931 Hashima had almost tripled in size.
The growing number of concrete towers and the high sea wall built to circle the island both helped to give Hashima a distinct shape. From a distance Hashima had come to resemble a warship, which gave the island its more common nickname, Gunkanjima, meaning Battleship Island.
The high-rise concrete tower blocks built on Hashima housed an expanding population of coal miners and upper management, along with their families. The mine’s owners tried to make life on the island as normal as it could.
Crammed on to the tiny island were apartment blocks, shops, a pachinko parlour, a cinema, a temple, a hospital, a kindergarten and schools. By the 1950s Hashima was home to over 5,000 people in a total area of less than 0.03 square miles. Suddenly Hashima had become the most densely populated place on earth.
By the mid 20th century the growing global preference for oil over coal meant that it was only a matter of time before Hashima’s mines would close. Nearly ninety years of constant mining also meant that the supply of coal beneath Hashima were almost completely spent. By April 1974 the mine had closed for good and the last of Hashima’s residents moved to the mainland.
The seas around Nagasaki are prone to devastating high winds, storms and frequent typhoons. Even when fully inhabited the buildings on Hashima were liable to damage and even partial collapse thanks to the brutal storms and typhoons that regularly battered the island.
Left unguarded against the elements, Hashima fell apart in no time at all. Footage shot in 1975, just a year after the last residents left Hashima, shows just how quickly the island’s buildings began to crumble. Nearly fifty years since it was abandoned, today Hashima’s domineering concrete blocks lie empty, derelict, and in many cases, in ruins.
Few things captivate the mind as much as urban dereliction, and Gunkanjima manages to fascinate many who are intrigued by its past as well as its desolate present. Tourists were allowed to visit the island on chartered boat trips from 2009 and today a handful of tour companies provide trips to Gunkanjima.
On the day of my trip it was a beautifully sunny winter morning with barely a cloud in the sky. The motionless waters of Nagasaki port couldn’t have been more at odds with the ravaged and ruined island.
It takes around 40 minutes to reach Hashima from Nagasaki port. Vastly at odds with the green and rocky landscapes of neighbouring islands, Hashima is easy to spot in the distance as the boat inches towards the island.
Noticeably jagged and grey, Hashima sticks out like a sore concrete thumb. As we approach it quickly becomes clear just how accurate the battleship comparison is and why the island came to be called Gunkanjima.
The scale of Hashima’s rapid dereliction is instantly clear as we near the dolphin pier on the west of the island. Several storeys high on our right at the far end of the island the former elementary and middle schools are little more than concrete husks.
High above us stands the ghostly remains of one of many housing blocks. One of the highest points on the island, its tenants must have enjoyed breathtaking views across the sea once upon a time. Hashima’s lighthouse, the one remaining structure still fully intact, stands next door.
Landing tours allow visitors onto the island to take a fascinating if limited look around. When occupied Hashima was divided fairly evenly into two sections, with one side kept predominantly for mining and the other the island’s living quarters.
A small walkway passes along the southern tip of the island inside what was the mining area. There are three observation areas along the walkway. At each a tour guide gives a brief explanation of what the dereliction were now looking at used to be.
Facing us are plenty of examples of what’s left of the island’s mining infrastructure. A corridor of concrete supports are all that’s left of the conveyor belts that brought the coal out from the mines. Nearby, a staircase that led to the entrance to mine shaft number 2 still stands, surrounded mostly by empty space and towering over rubble and collapsed brick walls.
The walkway continues alongside what was once the island’s swimming pool, now an empty space filled with rubble. Above us, two local men stand on the sea wall casting fishing rods in the sea below, oblivious of the pack of visiting tourists.
From the final observation spot we get the chance to see some of the remaining apartment buildings. Directly ahead of the viewing area is a seven storey apartment block known as building 30.
Constructed in 1916, this is the oldest remaining reinforced concrete building in Japan, though it’s feared that it could soon fall victim to the region’s unforgiving climate. Battered by nearly five decades of high winds and fierce storms, building 30 looks like a warzone in the aftermath of a bombing raid.
Sadly, though understandably, the residential side of the island is off limits. Built in to the island’s naturally formed peaks, Hashima’s residential area remains a dense cluster of capsizing concrete and exposed steel.
The sagging remains of apartment blocks, shops and schools that were once the heart of the community are now empty and perilously dangerous ruins. Towering over it all, the remnants of the island’s Shinto shrine, perched on top of a tower block, still protrudes from the dilapidated island’s skyline.
The remains of the entrance to mine shaft number two and the shrine on top of Hashima
Today Hashima is a UNESCO World Heritage Site, one of a number of locations dotted around Kyushu collectively called Sites of Japan’s Meiji Industrial Revolution.
The awarding of World Heritage status was not without controversy – during the Second World War thousands of Chinese prisoners of war and conscripted Koreans were put to work in the mines. It’s thought that over 1,000 Chinese and Koreans lost their lives here due to the unsafe working conditions in the mines and the harsh treatment they endured whilst on the island.
Hashima’s status as a World Heritage Site has brought a renewed interest in the island, as well as concerted attempts to preserve what still remains. Along with the freshly concreted visitor’s walkway, efforts are underway to stem the steady disintegration of Hashima’s remains.
After we’ve seen everything we can from the walkway we return to the boat. Aware that much of the good stuff is inaccessible on land, our tour continues on the water. Our boat sails around to the west side of the island, stopping for a closer glimpse of the apartment buildings from the safety of the sea. From here it’s easy to see the damage caused by time, as well as to imagine what life may have been like for those who lived on the island.
With a view from this side of the island it’s also possible to see just how closely compacted the apartment buildings were. Families would have lived on top of each other in a warren of narrow corridors and concrete staircases.
For now, and possibly for many years to come, the best way to wander around Hashima’s ruins is via Google Street View’s cameras, but a boat trip from Nagasaki remains a tantalising peek into an unimaginably unconventional way of life.
