Jirisan was certainly a challenge, in all possible ways. Everything turned out pretty well, but there were times—namely, Friday night—when I was on the verge of breaking down, crying, and going home. I might have, if it had been a possibility. But home being hours and buses and trains away, I had no choice. And even though my every plan fell apart completely, I still feel pretty satisfied with what I was able to do.
The first problem was that I wasn’t entirely sure where I’d already been last year. I have this terrible tendency to not pay attention at all when following others and in this case, I was already nearly dead with teacher-induced hangover and the beginnings of a terrible cold. I remember what it looked like, but I am sure I never even knew the name. So there was great potential that I’d choose the same place to hike, which wouldn’t be a complete tragedy but I would prefer to venture elsewhere, as Jirisan has so many trails that I will not have time to hike, anyway. Since I really couldn’t remember, I decided to go to the trailhead was far enough from Nogodan (where I had reservations to spend Saturday night in a mountain hut) to make for a nice long day hike. I figured I’d spend the bulk of the weekend in the mountains—Friday night at a campsite (I didn’t have time to hike, considering transportation time and gathering food supplies), Saturday hiking, Saturday night at a mountain hut, and Sunday hiking out and perhaps sampling a nearby festival (there were two going on that weekend).
And things did, amazingly (considering the misadventures of the day before), start out well enough. I may have made a public spectacle of myself in running across the town of Nonsan, pack bouncing on my back, but I caught the early train, which put me in the Jirisan vicinity by 1:30pm. I decided to go to Baemsagol Valley because it had the advantages of a certain campsite, a direct bus, and what appeared to be a nice meander through a rocky valley. The bus didn’t leave until nearly 4, but this gave me time to gather food in the Namwon market—peanuts, cucumber, tangerines, etc.
And, of course, it was the same place I’d gone last year. Of the twenty or so trailheads, of COURSE this was the one. I suspected it might be, but its advantages were too great and so I took a chance. This is where I ran into problem number two: trail closures for “fire season”—a phrase I put in quotes because I find it ludicrous that fire is a concern in winter, to the extent that they’d close trails…specifically, ONLY the trails that were covered with two foot snowdrifts. Seriously…I could understand that they’d close the ridge trail for safety, but fire? Really? But apparently they close select trails in all the national parks for two months every spring, along with the month-long closure in late fall that aggravated me so. I have yet to figure out where I can access trail information, so it’s always an irritating gamble when venturing to a national park during this time. The Baemsagol Valley was open, but only to the shelter…exactly where I’d hiked last year! Denied the possibility of lengthening my hike or reaching Nogodan Shelter by creative trail means, I had to make a quick change of plans. At least the park rangers were able to give me some advice on which trails were open, and they were so sorry to have sabotaged my plans they gave me an excellent map for free! I decided to go to Baekmudong, from where I’d be able to hike to Cheonwangbong, the highest peak in the park and on mainland South Korea at 1915m. I wanted to go there, anyway…I’d just planned on going on my return trip in late May, as it’s on the far east end of the park and I had reservations at the hut at the far western end (about 30km separates the two…too much for a day hike, most likely, and at any rate, the trail is presently closed). I’d thought about heading to this entrance initially, but I had much less information about it than Baemsagol—I didn’t know if there would even be a campsite—and I figured it was much too far from Nogodan. So I had to give up on the mountain hut plan, which was all right because they kept canceling my reservation, anyway, and I was far from certain they’d retained a place for me. I really wanted a long, tough hike, and going up to Nogodan would only take me a few hours.
So I began to navigate my way eastward to Baekmudong. First I had to catch a bus back to the tiny town of Sannae, which didn’t leave for another hour so I killed time with the most delicious meal of all time—mushroom soup and about 15 mountain vegetable dishes. Though I’d had to make a major revision in plans and was a little frustrated, things were looking okay—I’d just had a delicious meal, I’d received the most current park information, and I was still anticipating a long weekend of mountaineering. This is where I ran into major difficulties, however. There I was in Sannae, from which I had to take another bus to Baekmudong. I’d asked at the police station for directions, and I knew exactly what to do: stand by the side of the road and wait for a bus labeled “Baekmudong.” They evidently ran quite frequently. And they did…right past my outstretched hands. Two of them, at top speed. I was so frustrated, I actually broke into a little jig of uncoordinated stamping, coupled with unintelligible yelling. I have no idea what happened—usually bus drivers go out of their way to help me! All the ones going the opposite direction stopped for me, of course, even without beckoning. And then, as I’d resolved to stand in the middle of the road until the bus hit me, they stopped running. It was dark and I was alone on a street corner in a deserted village. Oh, how I’d fallen. My savior came in a very unlikely form: a withered old woman who ran a supermarket on that corner. I’d told her where I was trying to go and I think she got the picture that I was meeting little success. She must have told her next customer what happened, because he offered me a ride. I’m fairly certain in retrospect that he wasn’t going there at all—he had to consult his fancy GPS on the trailhead’s whereabouts and they appeared to zoom off once I disembarked—and for this I’m even more grateful. I’d been feeling very frustrated with the apparent unhelpfulness of the people around me and this act of spontaneous generosity restored my spirits once more.
A side note: Completely against my otherwise independent nature, I’ve developed the habit of asking for help in Korea. Considering the out-of-the-way places I’ve been visiting lately, it never fails that I need it. Plus, now that I am competent enough in the language to ask for help and understand somewhat when it’s given, it does almost always save me some time, at the very least. And, I’ve found, I often receive much more: a ride, a meal, a friend…Sometimes people will spot me and spontaneously offer assistance, but this is rare as Koreans (and people in general) tend to keep to themselves. Once I ask for help, though, the floodgates open. I’ve had so many positive experiences as a result of simply asking for directions.
Anyway, by then it was after 8 and I was exhausted. I was determined to camp—I’d brought my bag and hammock, both of which I’d had yet to use—so I stumbled around in the dark, found the campsite, and laid down with some of my provisions for some star-gazing before bed. And thus began problem number four for the day: turns out the mountains are still bitterly cold this time of year, especially when you’re completely exposed to the elements as I was. I figured it couldn’t possibly be colder than our indoor but unheated rooms in Darjeeling and Sikkim, but I was wrong. I woke around 11 because my feet had become numb (they didn’t thaw again until around 9 the next morning). I curled in a ball in my bag, but to no avail—the stubborn lower extremities refused to warm. Everywhere else was okay, but it was difficult to sleep with frozen feet and the anxiety they produced. Also, hikers started noisily up the trail starting around 3 am…apparently sunrise at Cheonwangbong is one of the breathtaking sceneries of Korea. I briefly thought of following them, but figured if I was already frozen in my sleeping bag, venturing out of its comforting folds would be fatal. And there I remained until 8 the next morning, when two concerned and confused men woke me. They probably thought I was dead. Really, I’d decided to forgo my planned early start, despite the fact that I was already awake, in favor of warming my body. I was deathly afraid of the mountain air by this point. My early morning pee break had inspired body-wracking shivers…I certainly was not about to move until I was warm again! Moving would warm me, certainly, but would it be enough?
I finally gathered my courage, jumped out, packed up, and started up the mountain. I was numb again, but the trail was steep enough to quickly make me sweat. I had 1500m of vertical climb to accomplish in 7.5 kilometers. It was definitely challenging, but I did pretty well…I beat the men who had awakened me, in addition to a few others, and finally reached the top just before noon. It was surprisingly crowded at the top…though only a few people climbed up my route, a lot of people had tackled the other side of the mountain, where the climb was shorter but steeper. It was a gorgeous day, but apparently it had been cloudy that morning for the sunrise, so I felt vindicated for my laziness. Things were starting to look up. I’d conquered one of Korea’s most challenging peaks and was, literally, at the top of the country. It was gorgeous…snowy ridge after ridge, fading off into the mist, and blue skies above.
The descent was difficult for me—in fact, it took me almost as long as the ascent, counting my lengthy mid-mountain lunch break—but with the help of my trusty crampons, I made it down without a fall. I also made a friend—a thirty-year-old guy, Jeong Hoon, out hiking alone. We were an even match on the way down and eventually began talking. His English was excellent—another one who’d studied abroad, in Australia. He’s not much of hiker, apparently—says he likes to stay inside all the time—but occasionally heads up to Cheonwangbong to “check [his] body’s condition.” He’s from the nearby town of Jinju and gave me a ride there…score! I missed the last bus to Gurye by one minute, unfortunately (I’d decided to go there and try for Nogodan the next day, Sunday), but two buses and one huge bowl of delicious strawberries later, I eventually made it to Hwaeomsa. (I’ve made a point of indulging in the red stuff the last few weeks…I remember how fleeting the season is and I want to make sure I eat my fill, as I love the stuff so much! Alas, they’re hard to pack, so I usually end up eating a ridiculous amount in one go.)
I was not at all sure I’d have enough time on Sunday for Nogodan. I wanted to see the temple, which would take up to an hour, I figured, and then the hike was reputed to be four hours one way. And if my altimeter was correct, it was much steeper than I thought…another 1400m vertical hike. And I still had to make it home…But apparently, I am finally getting my India-wasted body back into shape. After poking around the absolutely gorgeous mountainside temple grounds in the early morning light, I booked up the mountain in a little more than two hours. Once I got there, I realized I had in fact been there before with the teachers from my school, as I’d suspected. We went the easy way, though, which is only about 2km and 400m vertical. I went down that way for the sake of time and knees. Plus, according to my informative new map, there should be a trail that would take me down to the hot springs village, where coincidentally, a flower festival was also taking place. It was shaping up to be a terrific day, but of course, my difficulties were not over.
I found the aforementioned trail BARRED. Fire prevention, again. So I had to find the very infrequent bus back to Gurye and then another bus to the hot spring village…approximately 30-40 km in all instead of 3. Luckily, another Korean came to my rescue: a man from Gwangju saw me, asked where I was going, immediately realized my predicament, and swiftly escorted me to the Gurye bus station. I found a bus right away (I wasn’t going to lose any time! I thought excitedly. I’d be able to do a soak AND walk through the festival!).
And then were was another problem. I saw signs for the flower festival, and curiously, they gave the date as March 20-23. I was a week early. Foiled again! But luckily, even though the bus schedule was less than ideal, I did have time to indulge in an herbal sauna and wash away my mountain dirt before I headed home.
I like to think of all these difficulties I encounter as opportunities to work on building patience and flexibility—two things I’ve always lacked. And, too, a few bumps along the way always make victory that much sweeter. The fact that I was able to do all I did this weekend—hike two major peaks, visit one of Korea’s major temples, indulge in delicious mushrooms and strawberries, and wash it all away in a sauna—is pretty amazing and, in the end, that’s what I’ll remember.
However, I’m going to concentrate on provincial parks until the “fire season” is over.