There are a few old elevation markers scattered along the G-trail.
One of my favorite parts of Mount Halla were these areas where there were as-yet-leafless birch tree forests growing in the midst of the ground cover you see above. The bright green leaves of this ground plant are trimmed in a thick whitish color. The combination of the tall, slender, white and gray birch trees with these little guys gave these areas of the mountain a surreal look and feel–as if I were standing in one of those black-and-white photos that the photographer had touched up with only one splash of color, a bright green for these ubiquitous ground plants.
Now it’s been exactly two weeks since I hiked the Gwaneumsa Trail and I’m completely back to my lazy self (Since then I attempted to play squash for the first time, only to find that there is only one racquet available at the Hyundai foreigner’s compound gym John joined. He and a few expats proceeded to get me drunk at the compound pub instead).
I want you to click on that link for the trail and pay particular attention to the opening of the trail’s description: “This trail is very popular for professional mountaineers…”
John and I read three things in the ol’ guidebook: that this was the most scenic trail, that it was one of only two that reached the summit, and that it was difficult, but doable. Five hours.
The signpost on the left should read: "Really bitchin' trail, Korean mountain people only."
John also checked with the info booth at the Jeju airport while I waited for the car rental people to copy my passport and int’l license. She concurred with the first two points, and added that it would be an 8 hour journey, round-trip (the two of them were sharp enough to realize that with the car, we would have to double back on whichever trail we chose–good for them. It didn’t even occur to me that we might want to go back down a different path than the one we would ascend).
I don’t know if you know this, but John and I are ambitious people. We are ambitious, stubborn people.
We didn’t check any websites, of all this one at least would have been useful.
We started much later than we meant to, because I insisted on 1. showering, and 2. stopping at the Mysterious Road to 1. check it out and 2. eat hot dogs and fish-dogs (not their name but what they are).
We started off at around 10:38, after having only briefly glanced at the trailhead map. We did not notice any closing times or anything similar.
After about an hour and a half or so, we made our first stop. We’d gotten pretty far and were making good time, so we sat down on a sort of community-resting-platform to have a little water. I felt suddenly very chilly, and it was at this time that I first ran a hand over my hair. It was at this time that I first noticed that my hair was completely soaked through with sweat. It was actually dripping all over my hoodie’s hood (hood).
I was “leaking” a lot, but had an ample supply of tissues. No, not Sally Solomon leaking, just allergies-left-over-from-dust-storm-leaking.
Further on up the trail, probably ten markers or so, I ran to get out of the way for a Korean man who’d patiently stepped aside the trail while we passed. There was no reason for this; I’m simply the kind of person who’s afraid of making strangers wait (friends and boyfriends are quite a different story). So I sprinted along this narrow portion of path and leaped for the high rocky steps where he stood and…missed. Well, not missed, so much as tripped. I landed on my left elbow, right knee, and tiny ego. John tried to check for blood; I swatted and blinked back those nasty pain-tears that burst onto the scene out of nowhere, as if they’ve been waiting in the wings on the balls of their wet little feet, even though you thought you’d locked the stage doors. It wasn’t until another hour or so later, when we stopped for more a-gwa, that John realized I’d shredded my jeans. When I say shredded, I mean shredded. Oroku Saki style.
These jeans were at least four years old, and I am almost positive they were older. We'd been through a lot together. Had to say auf wiedersehen in Jeju-si.
In spite of bad knees, being out of shape, a hard fall, and swiss cheese jeans, you know what the only discomfort I felt was? Constricted airways.
Sometime in college, my allergist decided to test me for asthma. I made her retest me multiple times because I thought she was nuts. Turns out she knows more about health and airways than me. Go figure. Anyway I never took to the whole inhaler thing, probably because I’d lived up until that point without it, and probably also because I was too proud or some shit. Little a Column A, little a Column B. As I haven’t touched one since that time (maybe…five years ago?), it never occurred to me that hiking that damn san (mt. in Korean) might be hard ’cause I couldn’t breathe.
At 1:00 we made it to the checkpoint that’s about 2/3 or 3/4 of the way up the hill. And by hill I mean volcano. This checkpoint is just a shelter where you can go in and sit to rest or eat or hide from inclement weather. John and I paused to snap off a shot, and as we stepped off to continue on our way, a small Korean man stuck his head out of a window. He was eating something. Seemed like a fellow hiker.
But he began pointing to a sign just below the window that clearly said something about yowldool shi baniyo (12:30). Sternly, he insisted that we not continue and that we turn back now. This was not welcome news. Although my lungs screamed a relief-filled “YEEEES!”, I screwed up my best indignant face. I pointed to my non-existent watch. “But it’s one o’clock!” He pointed to the big red “12:30″. Some food flew out of his mouth to the ground below. I stamped my foot and rolled my eyes. He yelled a bunch of stuff in Korean. We acquired an audience. I turned around in a circle, edging closer to the trail. “Let’s just go. Let’s just GO,” I repeatedly murmured to John. I gave it one last stand.
“Umshik issoyo?” Yes, we did have food: “Nay, umshik issoyo.” I patted my hardy little Colgate tote. He sputtered a defeated father’s stern instructions. He pointed toward the summit, pointed back to our current location. “Bali.” “Yogi, sashigan.” Translation: “Okay, fine, go. Hurry up. Go straight up, and come straight back. No stopping for pictures, lunch on the summit, or any of that crap. Be back here by 4:00.”
Meddling children with a green light to go, we thanked him profusely and assured him we’d be back here by 4:00 in our best Korean. And we were off for what looked to be about a half hour’s walk up a gentler-sloping portion of the hike. An hour and fifteen minutes, one cracker break, a photo op, some icy patches, and many many lava rock steps later, we mounted mount Hallasan. The view was AWESOME. And cold. And there were this big beautiful black crows everywhere. And a big beautiful crater lake. And in all our summit pictures, you can clearly see my black spandex covered crotch through the nice big hole I made in my pants. What a fantastic adventure.
백록담 (White Deer Lake) on top of the tallest mountain in South Korea, Mount Halla. Hallasan peaks out at 1,950 m (6,398 ft).
We could see the whole island from there, including the crater we’d hiked the evening previously. This island is 1,845.5 km². How big is that? Well, Manhattan is only 59 km². Rhode Island is 4,002 km².
Please notice two things: 1. the extreme Lack of Gear. 2. That is not my camera case hanging from a belt loop, but my spandex shining brightly through the gaping hole in my crotch.
We were immediately shooed off the summit by another apparent park worker or concerned citizen. There was one other group of people–some Koreans that had come up the ‘easier’ trail and who were kind enough to take our picture. We met a lot of people who were nice enough to take our picture on this trip…and they always take a few shots, from different angles, to make sure we get a good shot. We met one family on the first crater made up of two children who’d been born in PA because their father went to Penn State to study engineering. Cool stuff. But I digress. 다시.
The group on top of Hallasan were NOT shooed off, from what I could tell. But we moved. A few minutes down there was a popular (and less chilly) spot for hikers’ lunching, so we stopped to have the snack we’d brought. Since we’d made it from the checkpoint to the top in an hour and fifteen, we figured we could take a fifteen minute break to snack. As we ate our peanuts, beef jerky, and water, the ‘easy trail’ hiking pack came down to lunch. They took pity on us and our poor choice of lunch food, and invited us over for some pigs’ feet, cherry tomatoes, oranges, kimbap, and cookies. John told them all about where we live and what we do and I nodded along happily. When we got up to leave, we realized it was already 3:00. Oops.
We made it to the checkpoint in time, but there was no angry little Korean man. Instead we sat with a group of hikers who appeared to be feeding the already large Hallasan crows. They fed us, too: raw chestnuts. Yum! We sat around for awhile, hoping to see our lunch friends, but they never showed. In fact, we never saw them again that day. We’re pretty sure they were ghosts.
These guys were HEALTHY-lookin'. They had shiny feathers and big, strong bodies. They had to, to survive the nasty winds at the top!
The way down was much easier on the lungs, and also on my mental state. John refused to talk on the way up, and he also insisted on going up in spurts and then waiting for me to catch up. I’m a slow-and-steady type. I don’t like to stop, and I don’t like to sprint. I also don’t like not talking for almost four hours. “It’s a beautiful day! Aren’t you enjoying it?” were some of my favorite phrases to repeat. But the way down was filled with much more banter and joking. Also, we both pretty much jogged our way down dozens of stairs. We also tried to calculate the distance between the emergency markers…
There are a lot of nice things about Koreans and their love of hiking. Not only do they maintain the paths pretty well and try to make them accessible for more than just the twenty-somethings, oh no. On this particular path, at least, they put up ropes that function in two ways: they give you something to grab onto on the really rough or steep patches, and they gently discourage people from venturing off the path where they will assuredly ruin the precious fauna and geologically significant formations all over the mountain. They also put up markers that John and I decided were about 425 footsteps apart which had an emergency number to call and a location number. There were about 34 of them (perhaps about 55 m apart?). If these facts are both true, or at least trueish, then we can assume that we took at least 29,000 steps each that day.
It was during this time that our calves began bleating. I don’t remember the last time I had a good hill to run, or too many stairs to climb on a regular basis. Same goes for Johnny. So our calves were sorely out of shape for such exertions. We started chanting “JIM JIL BANG!” somewhere around step 20,000.
One last thing before we leave (and before we left) the mountain: we exited the trail, passing the main park office on the way out. I was headed for the hwa jang shil (bathroom) I’d used when we’d first arrived; John was headed for a convenience store across the road. A man jumped out and waved us down. He wanted to know where the heck I was going. After our previous experiences with the maybe-park-officials, I was wary. “Hwa jang shil!” I shouted, hoping this was not going to take long. I was a bit antsy.
The concern dropped from his face. He was suddenly cordial. He assured me that there was a bathroom just inside his building. “Oh. Cool.” So I ran in as John jogged off to find beverages. I was greeted by an empty old building. Empty except for a giant stuffed bird of prey in a giant glass case lined on the bottom with bright green turf. “That’s weird.”
It's not like I've never seen a stuffed animal in the entrance of a park office before. It was simply unexpected. And strangely alone.
I made it past the big scary bird monster to the ladies’ room. Two stalls. Squatters.
#$@%!
No TP, but I had plenty of hway ji (tissues/tp). I was leaking, remember?
I consider leaving and going to the other bathroom, which had been much nicer. Very clean for a public restroom in Asia (in fact, most of the public restrooms in Jeju are very clean, stocked, and impressive…I assume because it’s the most touristy destination in Korea, and maybe because it’s a self-governing province. the soap in all the bathrooms smells of the local oranges). Welcoming. Especially with its western commodes and my bleating calves.
But I sucked it up. I was here, wasn’t I?
Then there wasn’t any soap. And nothing to dry my hands with. F you, “helpful”-park-ranger-man. Let people pee where they want.
We got ourselves back to the guest house, where we rested our calves long enough to watch a few minutes of a bad movie on TV. I put on my best Korean stilettos and we hit the town for grub. We ran into the first place we saw…some tourist-friendly joint right across from E-Mart. Turned out not to be a trap. I think it was called Jeju Sea Dragon, but there are so many restaurants that I’m sure one couldn’t go too wrong.
Mmmmm.
Some yummy seafood (성게국 for me and 전복죽 for John) and side dishes later, we found ourselves a standard 24-hour jimjilbang. There we washed up and treated our weary muscles to hot tubs and salt rock saunas. I made J bury me in salt rocks…this is a wonderful experience and I highly suggest it. They had little shovels in this particular one so that you can bury yourself if necessary.
It was during this time that we began plotting our third day’s adventure: a trip to the Wormhole and to Jeju Love Land. John did not like my pet name for the lava tube, but I find it quite appropriate. I took too many pictures at Love Land. More details later. CAN’T WAIT to return to Jeju for the beaches, other sights, and the foods we missed (island specialties include black pig and a fish called okdom).
In case you’re a foreign teacher who ends up in Jeju before I get the third installment in: DEF. go to Manjanggul and Love Land, please DON’T waste your time at El Paso restaurant in Jeju-si. Their nachos and tacos were surprisingly yummy but also very much the same and very overpriced. And their enchiladas were Guh-ROSS.
P.S. We couldn’t get the Mysterious Road to work. Your car is supposed to roll uphill on this road and on “Ghost Road”. We tried putting the car in neutral on every part of the road, the car’s nose pointed in every direction. I realized later that this happened because we can’t follow directions. In the guidebook, it clearly says to turn your car off. This we never tried. Still, if you go to the MR or the GR, don’t expect much. MR was just a short strip of road with cracked pavement and two combination souvenir/food stalls.
