We got a phone call last night as we were about to watch A Night at the Museum in the theater. My mother in law had been incommunicado for a few days due to the holidays and work, but she finally got in touch with us to invite us to a mountain trek on New Years Day. We only had a minute to talk before the trailers started, so we didn’t confirm our plans of going immediately. The only thing I asked was if we were going to be hiking early in the morning, or at a more reasonable time, since I was feeling tired and wanted to sleep in. She couldn’t reply, so we told her to call tomorrow when they got more solid plans.

We got a call at eight o’clock in the morning today about going. We actually declined since they had woke us up, but thought better of it and called back to confirm that we would go on a hike with them. My wife’s mother, and most Koreans I know, go to the mountain for exercise. Perhaps growing up around mountains has spoiled the sense of accomplishment that is given after hiking up a steep slope, but their goals are antithetical to what I enjoy doing. My American family would hike up the occasional mountain on vacation to enjoy the view. Our goal was never to go as fast as possible up the slope to prove that we could. The destination was secondary to the enjoyment of the trip. This is the exact opposite of what it is like hiking with a group of Korean people.

We went to "Stung-kol" which is a nearby mountain fed stream that is popular for picnics. It also happens to be one of my favorite Korean words to say, and I have no idea why. I’ve been there a few times, and it’s surrounded by a series of sloping mountains. Korean mountain climbs are different that in the United States. There are "paths", but a minimal amount of other services. Since the park is free to visit (most of the time), they don’t have much in the way of upkeep or safety concerns. Only on the steepest, most dangerous parts have ropes been tied between posts or to trees. There are no paved parts to the trail, but if you need to cross a stream or flowing waterway, there are wooden bridges. Signs are limited as well. We saw three or four signs in a four kilometer hike, and some banners telling people that throwing litter or smoking at the summit was banned. (Not that anyone followed those rules.)

The grueling pace setter for most of the trek up the mountain actually happened to be Yoshi. We brought him along since he had never been to a mountain for a walk before. Besides, her parent’s love Yoshi, but don’t really know how to take care of a dog. It turns out that he is an expert mountain climbing dog. He’s a long legged for a shih zhu, but isn’t the tallest dog. Since there are no steps, and the path is covered in jutting rocks and bare exposed roots, he had a lot of walking to do. Climbing the mountain with one hand while trying to keep a dog on leash from getting trampled by busy Korean hikers was a lot of work. Yoshi set the pace and drove us forward, but wouldn’t walk with my father in law holding him. He wanted me to lead him around. My father in law couldn’t understand the whole range of "dog" issues we concerned ourselves with when we brought Yoshi water or gave him encouragement for climbing well.

We got to a marker that was roughly 25% of our way though the trip that said that we had a long way to go to reach the peak of our mountain. Every time I asked if we had any plan about our descent, or how much farther we were going, I got a rather stock response of "Five more minutes to the top". We had climbed the first kilometer in about an hour or so, but the peak was that distance once more walking along the top of the mountains. No one would stop and say, "Wow, look at the view," at any time. They pressed towards the peak, and any desire to stop and look around at where we were and that we had accomplished was met with pity. "We’re exercising! Come on! Five more minutes to the top!" That’s nice, but why climb a mountain if you can’t look around and see something? Everyone we met would turn to each other and say, "Oh, five more minutes till you get there! Honest!"

You think I don’t know what a watch is?

We did eventually make it to the top. We stopped in the middle of a forest with a large group of people who had pushed to the top of the mountain. There was no view whatsoever. The best clearing to see anything had been much farther back. We made it to the peak and were surrounded in a pine forest. No wonder no one climbs mountains for the view.

Now, the descent was either back the way we came, or along a "steeper" path. The way we came wasn’t exactly a great to begin with, but the route from the top back was hellish. Immediately upon the descent I saw that there was actually a lined path with hand ropes for support. It was extremely rocky and it was too hard to hold on, descend, as well as trying to keep Yoshi from become a pinball between all the rocks. My father in law offered to carry Yoshi when we put him in his red back pack. Yoshi loves being carried in his bag, and my Father in law got to set the pace for the decline.

We got to some stairs, which made me think, "Yay, Stairs!", except these were the most uncomfortable, hard to descend stairs ever. They were half the size of normal stairs, and had been covered with a thick rubber made from slashed recycled car tires tied in a mesh. The effect was that each of these stairs was enough to make you bend your leg, but never straighten it completely when you placed your foot down. It was like trying to descend the mountain hunched over. Several of the people behind us said that it was actually harder to go down on the steps than just walking down the steep slope, and I actually agreed. While the danger of falling and cracking your skull was slightly lessened, by the end of the steps my knees were aching. My In-laws were moving much faster than I was, because I had twisted my ankle. We caught up when Yoshi was let out of the bag and refused to keep pace with them.

Everyone on the mountain was happy when they saw Yoshi. People were surprised to see a dog on the mountain. It’s not a common sight. We didn’t see any other dog on the mountain. We clean up after him, and we leave less of a mess than the average littering Korean (there are never garbage cans) does on our hikes. When we got down from the mountain, we realized why there were no other dogs on the mountain: There were rules that said that you weren’t allowed to bring them because dog feces disturbs other animals.

Yeah, WHAT other animals.

Other than birds, there isn’t ANY wild life on Korean mountains. People trudge so loudly, and it’s so crowded, you can’t see a single animal. This is another was reason Korean hiking is different than what I’m used to in the United States. My father, a hunter, loved to spot animals in the wild while hiking. We would march through woods and on trails trying to spot wildlife in parks. I’ve never seen a wild land mammal in any Korean park I’ve visited, ever. Despite the parks size and the numerous mountains and forests, there is absolutely no wildlife to be seen here. Seriously. You can’t even see a squirrel or a rabbit if you tried. People I’ve asked said it was because of the Korean war. It’s incredibly depressing.

After the hike, we went to lunch at the entrance of the park. We had some lack luster pajeon (large squid and vegetable pancakes) and some smoked duck. The restaurant was crowded despite Koreans being being rather freaked out about the bird flu outbreaks. Duck happened to be the first meal I ate with my Father in law when I met him with my wife a few years ago. He spent most of the meal telling me that I need to go to the mountain and climb for exercise every weekend. We had to put Yoshi on a pole outside the restaurant, but we couldn’t see him from our seats. Every five to ten minutes or so, we would get up to check on him. He was cold and tired from the long mountain hike. We gave him a snack and water.

I had a huge scare when I went out to check on him the first time. He had slipped out of his leash and was running around in the parking lot. He could have been hit, stolen, or run away. He had only just escaped when I called for him, because I found him not far away. He was wearing a shirt, so I tied the leash again through the shirt and made sure he wouldn’t get free while we worked on our sujaebe (dumpling soup). 

This was the hardest exercise Yoshi had ever tired, but he did very well. The only place where he needed to be carried was because of the danger involved to the person holding the leash trying to descend one handed. We got Yoshi back to the car with no problem and cleaned him off the best we could with wet tissues. We had been lucky, as our descent coincided with a light rainfall, but the trail wasn’t that muddy or wet. Yoshi was clean enough to make it to our apartment, where he promptly got a bath

He and I spent the rest of the day napping off our exhaustion.