For Chuseok, the autumn harvest festival, a couple friends and I headed off to Jirisan National Park to hike the tallest peak in mainland South Korea. Although I hadn't trained, or done almost any rigorous physical exercise in awhile, I thought it would be great to get back into hiking, what with all of the gorgeous mountains tempting me here.
We headed out on Tuesday night, since two of us had work despite most of the country already being on holiday. After arriving in Jinju, a city near the Park, we explored the Jinju Fortress and Castle. We had a lovely time just sitting in a green park space, a rare treat since we live in Busan's concrete jungle.
Eventually we had to leave the Fortress and found a "love motel" (cheap motels that are often used by couples for a night because people commonly live with their parents until they're in their 30s here) called Buckingham Palace. We got to sleep late, as we're all used to since we work at hagwons and teach in the evenings. Unfortunately this meant that we overslept and only awoke to the sound of the phone at noon, which we assumed was telling us to get out. We caught a bus and finally made it to the National Park at around 2pm, ready for our 6 hour hike to the shelter where we intended to stay.
A slight drizzle had made us nervous in Jinju, but we told ourselves that it appeared to be letting up to the NW where we were headed: false. As we started up the trail to Daewonsa Temple, the drizzle became a steady rain. We remained in high spirits as we passed beautiful river rapids crashing over enormous rocks with the backdrop of the mountains framing the view. Upon reaching the temple, we stashed our bags in the dry entryway and bowed to thank Buddha for keeping an eye on them before venturing into the rain to explore Daewonsa. The view was breathtaking.
Closing my eyes, I could only hear the female monks chanting afternoon prayers, hitting their hollow-gourd temple bells in rhythm with the rain falling outside. I could have stayed for hours like that.
While walking, a monk gave us fresh mandarins and persimmons - the first I'd seen them this season. The gesture brightened the grey day, and gave us something to look forward to later, since we'd brought very little in the way of food for the trip.
We set off again, up the road to a small village, where the wooded trail began abruptly next to a building, marked simply by a sign:
The sky was beginning to darken, and as we looked down the trail, Carissa expressed the first note of hesitation - but we pressed on. It didn't take long for us to get off the trail a bit, but at that point it was still light, and after a few minutes we managed to find the path again. We each took it at our own pace, Elliot, our hiking pro, racing ahead; Carissa keeping a steady and even pace in the middle, and me bringing up the rear as my asthma began to wheeze into force with the increasing altitude. Such is life.
After about 2 hours the light was so dim that it became difficult to discern perception and distance. Within an hour of that, we could barely see our feet. It didn't take long for us to be thrown into near complete darkness, the rain still beating down on us, aided in it's work by the dripping forest around us. By now, we were sopping wet. I discovered that the raincoat I'd brought had lost some of it's impermeability, leaving my arms covered in a thin layer of rain water under the jacket. The footing was becoming more difficult, and my first flashlight was dying. Elliot had a bright one in front, Carissa had nothing, so was counting on the two of us to light her way some. Then, we got off the trail again.
This time I allowed myself a brief moment to panic, as I was still unsure if the large black shape I'd seen was a Moon Bear (aka the Asian Black Bear) or a big rock, and I didn't want to discover, in the dark and the rain, that it was the former. Luckily, we managed to find the trail again.
We climbed rocks using ropes permanently fixed to help climbers, and made our way up ravines and the occasional stair. I tripped at one point and fell face down, but by some miracle managed to be unhurt. Finally, just as my lungs were starting to feel as if they were on fire, we saw a sign for the shelter, 1.1km ahead. We rejoiced, but only for a second, because really, we were miserable by then. Our bags were soaked through, our clothes were sopping wet, and I was stopping every few minutes to keep my lungs from exploding, or at least it felt that way. Then, just as I was about to give up and accept a cold, wet night sitting on a big rock, I heard the faint sound of a generator in the distance. I dragged myself up and made myself move. Ahead I could see stairs, which invariably led to a temporary heaven of sorts. As I began up the steps, I heard my friends call, "Kendra! There's light! I see a light!" (A solar powered light, btw - the whole shelter is run on solar power!) It was the most excruciating staircase I could imagine walking up right then, but I took one last stop for oxygen, and semi-crawled up to the shelter. As I turned around, I could see nothing except mist and darkness where we'd just come from.
Within moments, a Korean man was bombarding us with questions - were we going up to the highest peak that night or staying at this shelter? did we rent flashlights? did we want to? did we have blankets? He was very sweet, and very thoughtful, but I wanted to throw something at him so he'd go away and let me sit and breathe and just appreciate being alive and making it 1,490km uphill in the dark in 5 hours. In the end he was very helpful in dealing with the ranger, who chose to communicate with us by yanking at our wet clothes and gesturing hurriedly that we remove them immediately. He also poked around my bag, and seemed dissatisfied with our general existence, but I think I would have immediately disliked anyone who met me in those moments after that hike. I explained in very poor Korean that we wanted to find water first, that we understood about taking off our wet things, and that we needed 2 blankets, not 2 blankets per person, which he initially charged us for.
Finally, after what felt like ages, he let us be, and we managed to peel off our soaking wet layers and get into semi-dry clothes. Only then did Carissa and I finally express how miserable we'd each felt during the last leg of the hike, and how relieved we were to have made it up. We made a meal of the few beers we'd picked up at the village, the various nut mixes we'd brought along, my beloved "Dubu Sna -kuh" (Tofu Chips), hard boiled eggs, the oranges from the temple, and a few Chuseok treats Elliot had gotten in China recently. It felt like a well-deserved feast.
That night I barely slept with the cacophony of snoring coming from the men's bunk beneath ours (women got the loft). My travel pillow had gotten soaked in the rain, too, so it was difficult to get comfortable enough to remain asleep for long. This made it much easier to rouse myself at dawn to prepare for the day's journey ahead. We packed up and set off for the highest peak, Cheonwangbong, at 1,915km, and approximately another 4 hour hike from the shelter.
The second day began brighter and better than the first, and happily it stayed that way. Around one of the earliest bends in the trail, we came across a stunning view of the mountains and valleys, with the mist dipping across them and then subsiding as the sun rose higher into the clear blue sky. It almost made the misery of the previous night fade.
Not long into the hike, a Korean, who introduced himself by his English name, Tim, joined us. He thought we'd left a pair of sandals, so he'd brought them with him to give to us. Unfortunately they actually belonged to the ranger, who'd let us borrow them to walk to the bathroom in the dark. Still, he was so kind to have brought them that we just thanked him and put off deciding what to do about them.
As we went on, we got back into the routine from the night before, each picking our own pace again. Tim and I ended up being pretty evenly matched - or he pretended to be, because he insisted on staying with me, and keeping an eye on me. At first it was disconcerting, but with time his company became welcome and it felt like added security and companionship. We both stopped often to catch our breath and to take in the view. He'd been there numerous times before, and knew the trail well. We talked some, but generally kept our focus on the hike. We shared food and chatted some whenever we caught up with the other two. In addition, he gave me advice about which path to take going down the mountain - the one that was longer, but would take less time and was less steep. Later on, this advice proved true and led us on a less-traveled, more scenic walk than the alternative. If I ever meet Tim again, I'll have to thank him.
Eventually we reached the top, and in that moment the events of the night before seemed worth every bit of the effort. Knowing that my relatively weak lungs and body had pushed on and that I'd made it, on my own, to the top of this stunning mountain peak left me feeling a rush of pride unlike any I've felt in awhile. It also made me realize that I need to do this more often - push my physical boundaries to the limits and challenge myself to accomplish tasks are physically daunting to me - because the payoff is so worth the work required.
As I gazed out across the landscape, I couldn't imagine wanting to be anywhere else in the world. It's that kind of feeling that I think we should strive for in life. I realized that I feel that way in general here most of the time. With each day I am more and more sure that coming to Korea and staying longer in Korea were the right choices. While I am deeply excited to start grad school in a year, and to begin a new part of my life in a new part of the world, I am also so happy living in the present, in Busan, right now.
It snowed - in Busan!! Granted the snow lasted for less than an hour in my neighborhood, but nevertheless I was tickled pink. The decorative cabbages on the streets looked so pretty with the little flakes of snow that lingered on their leaves.
