The sand here doesn't crunch underfoot. At low tide, Chichibugahama transforms into a shallow mirror stretching more than a kilometer, your boots leaving fleeting impressions that fill with seawater and sky. Wooden poles—remnants of old fishing nets—punctuate the wet expanse, their weathered forms doubling in the reflection. Across the inlet, the mountains of Shikoku soften into violet as the sun descends, and the boundary between sea and air dissolves into gradient.
“Few beaches anywhere offer such predictable, accessible mirror reflections at low tide, turning amateur photographers into artists twice daily.”
Sea-foam edge on volcanic black sand
You'll share the beach with tripod-wielding photographers and families who wade ankle-deep, children shrieking as their reflections ripple beneath them. The magic window is narrow: arrive when the tide pulls back, roughly two hours before sunset, and the sand holds just enough water to act as glass. Miss it, and you're left with ordinary shoreline.
This isn't a swimming beach—the Seto Inland Sea here is calm, shallow, and more suited to contemplation than plunging in. Instead, you walk. You frame shots of weathered pilings against tangerine skies. You watch egrets pick through tidal pools, their white bodies mirrored below. As dusk deepens, the reflected light turns cobalt, then indigo, and the posts become dark sentinels. By the time you leave, your shoes will be caked in fine silt, your camera roll full, and the tide already creeping back to erase every footprint.
