East Meets West on the Mountain

Korea is a country blessed with natural beauty. Its landmass is predominantly mountainous and there are many National Parks for hikers of every level. The Federal Government has done a surprisingly good job at maintaining vast areas of untouched wilderness and countless nature enthusiasts delight in the joys of ascending craggy peaks that tower over fields of cherry blossoms, interspersed with gnarly coniferous trees, in National Parks that span the peninsula. To reach the summit of most of these mountains, parks officials have hammered cables into the rock face and climbers grab hold to pull themselves skyward, inching their way towards the peak. It can be a nerve wracking experience, as the mountains grow ever steeper and the sky becomes the hiker’s primary view, but these challenges, these slight brushes with death, do nothing to dissuade hoards of Koreans, and foreigners alike, from flocking to the mountains every weekend for a taste of fresh air and an escape from the exhausting bustle of life in the city.

For foreign hikers, the enjoyment is twofold. On the one hand, there is the simple joy of hiking, the challenge and the accomplishment of summiting a mountain. This is obvious, but there is another, slightly unexpected source of amusement that we are privy to as we join the parade – or is it traffic jam – of weekend warriors pushing their way towards the sky. The hikers themselves, the men and women we encounter on the trails, are often as eye catching as the mountains themselves. Most come equipped with the latest in mountain technology, ready not only for a day hike in the outskirts of Seoul, but well prepared to endure a winter gale high atop some unnamed peak deep in Alaska’s Valdez Mountain Range. Like all of us, they usually ride the subway to the base of the mountain and they are not planning on spending the night at altitude, but their equipment is astounding: Goretex boots, polypro long underwear layered under some kind of quick drying and breathable pants, goggles, retractable walking sticks, touring back packs loaded no doubt with medicine, extra water, sodium tablets, extra socks, a week’s worth of kimchi, muscle relaxants, bear spray, a flashlight, a camping stove, soup, meat, dried and fresh fruit, a medical kit fit for a paramedic and soju – Korea’s mandatory celebratory alcoholic drink of choice – not to mention the lightweight sweater that hugs their body and the thousand dollar wind breaker protecting them from the worst that mother nature could possibly hurl their way.

These intrepid day hikers stare with equal awe at groups of foreigners who amble past them sporting only jeans and a t-shirt, our ankles protected by Chuck Taylor’s signature shoes. As we meet on the trail and exchange friendly smiles, we are hikers at opposite ends of the extreme and each is shocked by the level of preparedness our comrades have taken to battle the beast. While foreigners often laugh at the obsession Korean hikers have taken with planning, packing and dressing, there are situations when jeans, a sweater and pair of converse just won’t cut it and when such predicaments arise, it is the Koreans who inevitably have the last laugh.

I have a personal example. Sorak Mountain, arguably Korea’s most beautiful and famous National Park, is a grueling ten to twelve hour climb that leads the hiker through various climate zones and forest types. At the base, it can be twenty degrees Celsius but well below freezing as one reaches the peak. In fall, these temperature fluctuations are all the more extreme, so having a variety of gear for all weather types is highly recommended if one wants to safely reach the summit. I mentioned that foreigners often do not adequately prepare for a Korean mountain climb; this typically does not present any serious risks, but in the case of Sorak, or any other big mountain, it is wise to take some extra precautions. When a group of friends and I embarked on an October ascent, what we may have possessed in spirits and expectations, we definitely lacked in gear and fitness.

The climb begins with a pleasant stroll alongside a pristine river, the banks of which are lined with families, couples and groups of friends, all relishing in their time away from urban life. There are also numerous restaurants at various spots along the river and they prove to be wonderful spots to stop and have a meal. These opening few kilometers, so tranquil and serene, are in stark contrast to the painful ascent to come. Glimpses of the mountaintop pop in and out of view as the river twists and turns through the canyon that it has carved; the peak towers above like a massive thunder cloud, dark and foreboding. The hike begins so nicely and everywhere there is laughter, songbirds and children, but then, in a single sharp right turn away from the river and into the trees, everything changes. At this stage, hikers are immediately confronted with a long, steep climb up moss covered stairs. Breaths quickly shorten, the heart pumps madly and the climb goes on and on and on.

Leaving the peace of the river behind was a mistake and my legs began to burn about ten minutes in, which was worrying, since I knew that it would be at least another eight hours to the summit. Sweat poured from my body as I labored up the endless trail, and it seemed that with each step, the temperature dropped by a degree or two. I can remember looking back down at the river below, longing to find myself a round rock on which to sit, drink a beer and simply listen to the water flowing past, but up here, climbing higher and higher, all that I could hear was my pounding heart and the howling wind. My friends were not faring much better. Conversation came to a grinding halt and our entire existence became one of tired steps, relentless wind and ailing bodies. It was not too long, and not too far into the hike, that my legs began to cramp up. This excruciating occurrence always gives me the feeling that my muscles will simply snap and tear themselves in two and I was not thrilled to be experiencing them so soon, but the rapidly falling temperature, the intense wind and the sweat covering my body, substantially chilled me and my legs began to spasm until they finally locked up and refused to budge. I sat, clenched my teeth and began to massage my tired quads until I could feel the tremors starting to subside; when they did, I stood and resumed my painful march, eager to catch up with the group, but certain that this would not be my final encounter with the dreaded cramps.

I was not the only one to experience such hardships, but I do not wish to damage anyone’s pride, so all stories of pain will be strictly personal. I pushed and pushed, dealt with severe spasms in the legs and back but still I climbed. The summit was the goal and I would let allow my body to keep me from attaining it. As we neared the top, things got really bad. The temperature had plummeted to minus 10 degrees Celsius, which, although not particularly cold, is miserable when the wind is gusting to over eighty kilometers per hour and one is protected only by a thin sweater and blue jeans. We had, for the past couple of hours, been hiking alongside an elderly Korean man who gleefully informed me that he was sixty five years old. He said this without any shortness of breath and his cheeks had a healthy blush to them that angered me when I compared them to the grey complexion that had no doubt fallen upon my face. He was also incredibly well prepared, right down to the Goretex boots, the bulging touring pack and his top of the line parka. Inside, I’m certain that he scoffed at this group of young foreigners before him, all wearing blue jeans and running shoes and all struggling badly.

About 200 meters from the summit my legs simply gave out on me. I buckled under a rock and lay there, fetal, groaning on the frozen ground. The old man, in a gesture of nervous kindness, approached me and asked if I was all right. I informed him that no, I was not okay and that I needed to take a rest because I could not move my legs. He understood my predicament and immediately dropped his bag, crouched down onto his knees, and began to vigorously massage my inner thighs and quads. My legs were like bread dough and his hands were kneading the hell out of me; although his grip was painful, slowly my legs began to soften, my muscles unclenched and the pain subsided. However, I when I stood, my legs locked up again, worse than before, and I yelled out long and loud, my cry echoing off the rocks and traveling down into the valley below. Passing hikers turned to see what kind of animal was capable of such a noise and were probably not surprised to see that the culprit was the rare and unpredictable foreigner.

The old man hurried over to his pack and started rummaging through it. He returned with some kind of aerosol can with unknown Chinese characters written on it. Meanwhile, I was teetering on the brink of passing out while my caring friends looked on with noticeable smiles lurking just below the surface; to them this was all quite comical. Well, when the man returned I was slightly taken aback, but incapable of a reaction, when he reached straight for my belt and without saying a word, began to unbuckle it. Then his fingers were fiddling with the button on my jeans and then it was my fly’s turn to fall. In a single fluid motion, he grabbed my pants and pulled them right down to my ankles, then wrapped his hands around my quads and squeezed. Never before had I been so man handled. Too shocked to protest, I allowed him to massage parts of my body that seldom see the light of day, let alone an aged Korean man’s fingers. I was paralyzed, but truthfully, he was making my legs feel much better. There I stood, two hundred meters from the summit of the mountain, with countless hikers streaming past and my friends staring in amazement at the spectacle before them, while the old man worked his hands like a pro and soothed my aches and pains. Next, he grabbed the aerosol can and began to spray my inner thighs. Without being too graphic, I will just say that he was liberal with his dosage and a good deal of the stuff crawled into my boxers and settled on some fairly sensitive areas of my body. The spray had a cooling effect and it was quite a pleasant experience. Mere minutes later, my legs felt fresh and new, as did other regions not worth mentioning, and I was ready to make my push for the peak. I pulled up my pants, thanked the man for his kindness and triumphantly reached the apex. Without his help, without his loving hands and his magic touring sack full of surprises, I never would have made it to the top. Although I am slightly disturbed by the memory of what occurred that day, I remain forever touched by the experience.

Mountain Gridlock

Hiking in Korea is not without its fair share of hazards. From sheer cliffs to loose rock to landslides, injuries are a real possibility and the mountains should be taken seriously. That in mind, the hikers themselves only add to the danger, especially on weekends and holidays when there are literally thousands of people all sharing the same objective. As a result, there are often traffic jams and long lines, especially as one nears the summit of the mountain.

In Korean society, it seems that waiting one’s turn has never been hammered into the collective consciousness and any time that a queue is formed, be it at a movie theater, an airport or a thousand meter mountain, it is a regular occurrence to feel a pair of elbows jabbing into your back and tiny feet kicking at your heels. Annoyed, you turn around and at first you see nothing, but then you gaze down and there is a tiny old lady, sporting a perm, a floral shirt and plaid pants, her back hunched from years of toil, with her elbows extended, thinking nothing of barging past you for a better seat on the train or the chance to get to the cash register ahead of you in the grocery store. In the city, this is little more than a nuisance but the situation can be a lot more hairy when it is taking place a high up on a mountain side and it is occurring en masse. In the push towards the summit, many Koreans adopt the same mentality that causes the opening of a subway door to become a virtual stampede. When one is clutching a thin metal cord, feet barely gripping the slick mountain face, the last thing you want is to feel that jabbing sensation in your back and someone kicking at your heels, but it happens more often than you would think and it can turn a simple adventure, classic man versus nature, into something altogether new and terrifying: Man versus nature versus impatient old lady. Like a massive winter storm, one must wait out the abuse and hope that they emerge from it unscathed.

If you would like to experience this phenomenon for yourself, head to Bukan Mountain National Park in the northern outskirts of Seoul. Make sure that it’s the weekend and try to go on a sunny day. The mountain itself is quite breathtaking and it rises close to the thousand meters above the skyscrapers of Seoul. To reach the summit takes about three hours and in that time, hikers get plenty of views, both of the great city and of the range of peaks that stretch all the way to the eastern shores of the peninsula. Along the way, you will encounter people from all walks of life and of all fitness levels. You will marvel in amazement at groups of female university students who have decided to climb the mountain sporting the season’s latest fashion trends, from the miniskirt right down to the high heel pumps. Your eyes will widen when you encounter another group of ladies, only this time they are all retired, over sixty five and out for a weekend stroll. You will stare in disbelief at a group of children, no older than seven, climbing together without any parental supervision. Groups of thirty-something men will blow you away as they careen along the trail, passing soju bottles around and arguing loudly about nothing in particular. Although Korea may have done away with most of its wildlife, there are still plenty of fascinating animals to view on any given day within the mountains of this fascinating nation. While still hiking through the trees and on a definite trail, such a cornucopia of people is entertaining and helps to pass the time, but when all of you, the group of old ladies, the university students, the seven year olds, the drunken men, and about a thousand other people, all reach the summit push at exactly the same moment, utter chaos ensues.

It is the perfect situation for everyone to practice their line forming skills, but in reality it is little more than an excuse to push, to jab, to yell and to battle. In short, the mountain becomes a subway car and the peak the best seat on the train. For unaccustomed foreigners, this can be a terrifying experience and temporary paralysis is often the result. Of course, being immobile exacerbates the problem, as you become the focus of everyone’s jostling and impatience. As scary as this is, it is compounded by the fact that there are also people descending the mountain and doing so with the exact same mindset as those who are climbing it. Your arms begin to shake. You stare over a thousand meter cliff directly at certain death. Meanwhile, you feel that god awful jabbing right between your shoulder blades and someone kicking at your heels. When you turn to you face your abuser, you are shocked to see that it is the same old lady from the grocery store and the subway queue. She is everywhere. How can this be? Her perm is undeniable and you would recognize that floral shirt a mile away. Panic sets in and your entire body a freezes up. Everyone is pushing, fighting and then the wind hurls down from the peak – oh god, not the wind – and you wrap your arms around the cable and fall to your knees. It is horrible and you are certain that you will either be stampeded or thrown from the mountain. Either way, you are positive that you have met your end.

When the madness subsides and you summon the courage to carry on, you become part of the battle to the summit. Arms extended at your side, elbows flared out, you push past old men, young children, the ailing and the strong. No one will stand between you and the peak and once you arrive, there is brief moment of exaltation followed by the shocking realization of what you have done, who you have become. You stand atop the world in utter disbelief and you apologize to your family for your horrible actions. How could you have disregarded the queue? How could you be so rude? Head down, depressed and forlorn, you clamber down the mountain and try to erase the memory, suppressing the knowledge that Korea has changed you, that for all intents and purposes, you are the little old lady in plaid.

2 Comments To "The Mad Hikers"

#1 Comment By Eliot Che On March 15, 2008 @ 4:36 pm

#2 Comment By David Carson On March 16, 2008 @ 9:24 pm