[Editor's note: Our Japan correspondent swears these monkeys were treacherous but they sure look cute to us.]

We humans think we are special and have it all figured out. Millions of years ago we were hunched-over, ape-like creatures that threw rocks at the moon, but now we are rational and scientific beings. We've created languages and cultures, cured disease, harnessed the atom and built towering metropolises with museums and libraries to house the details of our accomplishments. Perhaps the greatest symbol of our progress, we have even trounced about the face of the cold and desolate moon that scared the bejesus out of our ape-like ancestors millennia ago.

Yeah, we're pretty darn advanced. But this wasn't always so. Once upon a time, way back when, we were just another smelly species in the food chain. We were trapped in the Darwinian struggle for life with all the other wild beasts. We were predators, but we were also the prey. We did battle with the saber-toothed tiger, the woolly mammoth and a host of other carnivorous beasts that often tore us to shreds before feasting on our entrails. We were in the Game! Winner take all; zero-sum; survival of the Fittest!

What does it feel like to be the prey? You probably don't know. You have no connection to Nature. The closest you get to wild and dangerous animals is at the zoo watching them behind caged bars.

Now what if the cage were removed? What if it were only you and the hungry beast out in the wild and you had no place to run? Could you handle it? Could you survive?

Those of you who would like to learn the answers to these questions should take a trip to "Monkey Mountain" in Arashiyama, a scenic and popular tourist area located in the northwest corner of Kyoto, Japan.

Monkey Mountain is a verdant and beautiful mountain with a "monkey park" at its top remarkable for a population of hundreds, if not thousands, of wild and hairy Japanese monkeys (Nihon Zaru, a.k.a. Japanese macaque). The mountain overlooks Arashiyama's famous Togetsukyo Bridge and is innocuous when viewed from afar; however, upon closer inspection, one quickly learns that Monkey Mountain is one of Earth's last bastions of monkey supremacy. Monkeys inhabit every inch of the mountain and humans are in the minority.

My journey up Monkey Mountain began at the base of the mountain where I paid a 500 yen (approximately US $4) entrance fee. This is Japan, of course, and nothing in Japan, pleasurable or otherwise, begins without the payment of a fee. Once passing through the entrance gate, I was immediately assaulted by numerous signs in Japanese and English that warned me not to show food to the monkeys or to stare directly into their eyes. This could be dangerous the signs warned. I was also advised that visitors could feed the monkeys, but should do so only from the safety of one of the "feeding huts" at the top of the mountain. With this advice I began my ascent.

With tension building in my gut, I came to a clearing in the trees. That's when it happened! All of a sudden, monkey wails to and fro! A nervous rustling in the bushes and tree branches shaken by an unseen force! Noises to the left, noises to the right, quickly building to a crescendo. Hysterical wails started popping up everywhere and before I knew it, I was surrounded by the sound of dozens of monkeys, but couldn't see a damned one! One thing was for certain - they were surrounding me and starting to close in. How big are they? How many are they? Are they angry at my intrusion and trying to scare me off? Visions of Chuck Heston being chased down and netted by talking gorillas on horseback began to race through my mind.

Wanting to take the upper hand, I darted through an opening in the bushes. The monkeys protested with grunts and more wails, but I momentarily saw the hairy backs of two chimps doing their best to get out of my way. Once I broke through the encirclement, I had the upper hand; they knew I wasn't going to be scared off easily, and quickly calmed as a result.

After returning to the trail, I soon formed a more symbiotic relationship with the monkeys. I started to see more and more of them, big and small, and they began to peacefully draw near me as I followed the trail up to the feeding huts. They were calm and playful and I began to feel at one with my surroundings. I even passed within a few feet of several chimps sitting on the trail and received only inquisitive stares. No growling, hissing or monkey lunges for the throat. "See," I reassured myself, "Man really can get along with Nature and live in a wonderful state of peaceful coexistence." It took only a few minutes for me to realize just how terribly wrong I was.

As I broke through the last of the bushy vegetation, I realized suddenly that I was near the top of the mountain. I scanned the horizon above my position and caught a glimpse of the brown roof of the feeding hut about 30 yards up slope. As I drew nearer, the number of monkeys and their apparent level of agitation grew. Many were moving in the same direction as I was, toward the hut, but they paid me no notice. They were preoccupied with something - a psychotic desire that was pulling them toward the hut like a million hairy magnets. "What is it that summons the wild beasts with such hypnotic force?" I wondered. What else? Free food!!!!

When I finally arrived at the feeding hut any and all hope of a symbiotic relationship with Nature died a horrible death. The scene was anyone's worst nightmare; hundreds of psychotic monkeys swirling about in a miasma of fear and loathing with countless hairy beasts enveloping the hut like a swarm of killer bees! The few humans who dared to approach either beat a hasty retreat or quickly dove into the hut to seek sanctuary from the beasts. The hut itself was simple; an old, wooden structure, with a guard at the entrance who did his best to let nothing but Homo Sapiens through the door. However, the hut is unique in that it has cyclone wire in place of windows. This allows the humans inside to feed the monkeys through the fencing without being mobbed or bitten. Ever the entrepreneurs, the proprietors sell little bags of peanuts and bananas for 250 yen (about US $2) so that you and the kids can enjoy feeding the monkeys and watching them tear each other apart as they fight over the food.

The view from inside the hut is something that must be seen to be believed! Dozens of ticked-off monkeys cling to the cyclone wire and reach their grubby hands into the feeding hut in the hope of getting a hand-out. They scream and wail and regularly attack any of their furry brethren that try to hog a prime feeding position. Monkey-on-monkey violence is copious and wretched; as soon as one monkey receives a piece of banana, large packs of jealous monkeys descend upon him to kick his monkey ass so as to steal his food. Darwin would be proud.

Humans either feed the hairy beasts or sit on benches safely located at the center of the hut to contemplate the apocalypse portended by the scene unfolding before them. Some young kids seem to enjoy taunting the hungry beasts by holding morsels of banana just out of their furry arms' reach. The monkeys bristle with anger at this hazing and maniacally shake the cyclone fencing like psychopaths freshly committed to asylum. The brighter monkeys don't take this lying down. They release the cyclone fence and disappear from sight only to return several seconds later with steaming chucks of monkey turd which they hurl at their oppressors with savage fury! Indeed, the monkeys' feces revolts are so common that the proprietors have assigned special workers the task of collecting monkey turds with large pooper-scoopers before the hairy demons can turn their waste into lethal weapons. As diligent as the poop-patrol workers are, some monkey excrement slips through the cracks (no pun intended). Indeed, I saw one Japanese child get slapped in the face with a large, brown monkey turd moments after he had taunted a vengeful monkey with a peanut. The hairy demon and his friends wailed with delight as the child retreated to his mother in humiliation.

Outside the hut, the feeling is one of constant menace. One may walk around the hut, but there is a constant flow of agitated and hysterical monkeys traveling to and from the site. The space is wide open with no hiding places. As an outnumbered human, I instinctively felt the need to find a defensible location where my back would be protected, but with none in sight, I found myself whirling constantly to face the wails of oncoming monkeys. Even the outer walls of the feeding hut are useless; dozens of monkeys seek the high ground on top of the roof and sit like furry gargoyles waiting to pounce on any human stupid enough to exit the hut with open food in his hands.

After about a half an hour at the top of Monkey Mountain, I decided that it was time for me to leave. As I descended the mountain, the feeding hut slowly faded from view. In the quiet coolness of the trees, I noticed my heartbeat returning to normal and felt a sense of relief that I don't often experience in my normal everyday life. I had survived an encounter that my ancient ancestors once struggled with on a daily basis. For few brief moments, I had been inside the cage with the beast.

I recommend Monkey Mountain to anyone who wants to take a step back in time to see how we humans once lived. You won't be killed, but you will have to work up a sweat dodging the beasts and their flying feces. Even if you make it back unscathed, I can guarantee that you will have an exciting time. And perhaps, just perhaps, you too may gain a little perspective on your hectic modern life by appreciating some of the deeper meanings to be found on this mountain in Japan that is seething with the white-hot magma of monkey chaos.

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